The Final Whistle

Britt

Beneath the glow of arena lights, a game unfolds that's less about goals and more about life's fragile turns. Holden's dad shares plans over the rumble of the crowd, painting hope into the chilly air. As the puck drops, tensions weave through the stands—a chorus of balance, choices, and the echoes of decisions not yet made. Later, the empty parking lot holds silent echoes of missed connections and words left hanging like breath in the cold. Entangled in a dance of missed kisses and muddled intentions, our beautiful couple navigates the icy patches of communication that frost over my streets. As the evening closes, I watch, a silent witness to the twisted tale.

Playlist: "Hurt Me" by Josh Daniel

Holden's dad and I sit together while we wait for the game to start.

"I'm so excited for you two," he tells me. His eyes sparkle with genuine excitement, and once again I'm grateful for the fact that I have people in my life who support me in ways my parents won't. "You're good for him. I hated the idea of him on his own in that house, working two jobs to take care of both of us, with nothing to give his life meaning. Mind you, the boy loves hockey, but it's not enough. No matter how much you love your job, you can't rely on it for everything." He rubs his palms against his thighs. "And what if something happened to him? People need balance."

"Work-life balance hasn't always been my strong suit," I admit.

"From what you've told me about your family, I'm not surprised. Good thing you've got us now."

"You should come over to celebrate. We can have dinner. It'll be easier soon. I tried to order a ramp, but the stairs are a really unusual angle."

"Aw, that's okay. It's no trouble."

"...so I hired a contractor to build one, but he can't do much until the ground thaws."

Bill"s jaw drops. "Really? Won't that be expensive?"

"It'll be worth it to ensure that our baby has at least one grandparent in her life."

His eyes well up. "It's a girl, then?"

"I'm keeping my fingers crossed. The guys in my family are average, but the women are top-notch." I wink at him and pat my belly. "Although your side of the family does pretty well when it comes to the men."

"You should be saving your money for when the kid comes, not wasting it on me."

"It's not a waste. Plus, it'll make it so much easier for me. I'd rather take a stroller on the ramp than lug a stroller and a baby and a diaper bag down those old steps every time I need to leave the house."

While we talk, I scan the ice for signs of Holden. The game will be starting soon, and he'll need his kiss for good luck.

"You're a sweetheart, Britt. I'm glad you decided to stay. Holden was a bit of a mess when we talked at Christmas, but it seems like you have everything under control."

I turn back to him. "Holden was a mess?"

Mr. Travers nods. "He doesn't want to disappoint you."

"I can't imagine how he would." After growing up with Montgomery, my tolerance for being disappointed by men is low, but Holden has never come close. "You raised a good man, Bill. Probably the best man I've ever known."

We chat a bit longer, until the game starts. I'm worried that something happened to Holden since he never came out to meet me, but eventually, I spot him moving among the other players. Maybe he arrived late? I check my phone on the sly to see if he messaged earlier, but aside from a few photos from Tierney, my inbox is empty.

Weird.

I try to summon my usual team spirit, and even manage to laugh at Slammy's antics. Still, I can tell that something's off. Holden keeps making rookie mistakes, so obvious that even I can tell that his performance isn't up to his usual standards. Whoever's in the Slammy costume today is really hamming it up, swooning and lifting one hand to his hammer-head every time the other team scores.

Holden's mood must be impacting the other players because they're all off their game today. Unless they can manage a miracle during the last period, they're going to be absolutely trounced.

Bill's philosophical about the team's impending loss. "It happens. If they won every game, there would be nothing to root for. Losing here and there is natural, and it's part of what makes this enjoyable."

"Right." I force a smile. "Every loss makes the wins matter more."

Still, my stomach lurches when we lose by three goals, and for once, it has nothing to do with the baby.

* * *

Bill got a ride with a neighbor, so I make sure he's safely bundled into the truck before circling back to look for Holden. His van isn't in the parking lot. Maybe he caught a ride with another player?

I hover around the back exit and just about tackle Shep when he steps through the door.

"Is Holden in there?" I ask.

Shep shakes his head. "Left already." He barely looks at me as he lopes off toward his own vehicle.

They lost, so it makes sense that he's feeling low. And Holden and I did arrive separately, so why would he wait for me? There's nothing weird about this, I tell myself. I'm making too much of a little thing. Pregnancy hormones have been fucking with my head, but I'm used to them by now. I decide to be calm.

Which has never helped anyone, probably, but I refuse to be mastered by these pesky, erratic emotions. I'm going home to my fiancé, who kisses me all the time. So we missed one smooch. So what? There's more where that came from.

* * *

To my immense relief, there's no sign of Montgomery's car when I get home. Holden's van is parked closer to the door. It's a small thing, but it stands out to me because Holden's been letting me park on the left. The bigger I get, the wider I have to open the door to clamber out of the passenger seat. Letting me park on the left has been a small courtesy that, for some reason, he's revoked today.

He forgot. That's all. No biggie.

"Hey, babe!" I call as I step inside. "Too bad about the game. Do you want to head over to Power Play and lament with the rest of the team?"

Holden emerges from the bedroom. "No," he snaps. "I don't."

I take a deep breath, because one of us has to be the mature adult right now, and something's clearly got him upset. "Seems like there's a lot of things you don't want to do today."

Holden crosses his arms and frowns down at me. "What does that mean?"

Aw, fuck it, I'd rather be petty. "Well, you didn't come out for your kiss. And look… the team lost. You can't do that again. You owe it to the guys."

Holden's upper lip twitches. "Right. For the guys. Because you don't want to kiss me."

I throw my hands in the air. "Where is this coming from? Of course, I want to kiss you."

"But only while you're here?" he asks.

Okay, my buttons are officially pushed. "Did we step into the fucking Twilight Zone? We're getting married. I'm here. Where you are, I am. This is it."

Holden's cold tone slices through me, leaving a shiver trembling down my spine. He's always been the calm, steady force in our whirlwind romance, the guy with a smile ready to brighten any gloom. But now, seeing him like this—tight-jawed, eyes hardened with an emotion I can't quite place—it's unnerving. The way his voice cuts off, sharp and bitter, it's like he's a stranger standing in our kitchen, not the man I'm about to marry. His anger, this icy barrier he's put up in the space of an afternoon, scares me more than I want to admit.

I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my chest as I try to reach for him, to find the warmth that's always defined us. But the space between us feels like miles now, filled with unspoken accusations and doubts I never knew he harbored. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly vulnerable, as the realization hits hard—maybe I don't know Holden as well as I thought. Maybe we're just two people who rushed into something, blinded by infatuation and the thrill of defiance.

I already feel like my heart is breaking.

"Forever, or until the trust fund comes through?" Holden sneers at me. I've never seen that expression on his face before, and I hate it.

"Um… forever. Wasn't that the plan?" God, I want to throttle him. I want to slap some sense into him. I want to shake him until he remembers that I'm the one who came into his bed. Our first fight, the night we found out I was pregnant, was about how he wanted me to stay. Now, it's like he's trying to run me off. What in the actual fuck?"

Holden rubs his forehead. "I don't know, Britt. I'm just some idiot marrying for love, while the whole time you only care about the money."

"You think I'm marrying you for the money?" I wave my hands around the house. "Holden. Really?"

His expression darkens. "What does that mean?"

"If I was marrying for money, I'd have married Fitz. It would have been a hell of a lot more convenient than marrying you!"

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to snatch them out of the air and stuff them back in. Sometimes I have so many thoughts at once that they get log-jammed in my brain, and I end up saying something that's three separate, rational thoughts all condensed into a single shitty sentence.

Like now, for example. What I mean is, How could you believe that I'd agree to uproot my whole life, change careers, and have a baby with you just to get some extra cash? If I was going to take advantage of someone, I could have screwed over Fitz… hell, if that was the plan, I could already be married and divorced by now! I love you, and I chose you, even if it means that I've had to step into your world and leave so much of myself behind.

But none of them comes out, and instead, I end up sounding like a complete bitch.

"Wow." Holden backs away from me. "Tell me how you really feel."

My stomach plummets to the toes I can no longer see. Reflexively, I hold my baby bump. I don't want my child hearing this. "Holden—"

He storms through the door, slamming it behind him with such force that the whole house shudders. I stomp my foot and turn to the couch, pummeling the abundance of throw pillows with both fists. What in the hell just happened?

Holden's engine roars to life outside. I hear him back out and pull away. Gradually, the fight drains out of me, and I throw myself down onto the couch, bury myself in pillows and blankets, and curl up into a ball.

All of my procrastination catches up with me at last. I haven't let myself imagine what the future will be like, since it's easier to take things day by day. But now, I press my hands to my belly again and try to imagine the future. My future.

No. Our future.

Things with Holden have felt so… right. He blunts my soft edges. He's found ways to make me feel loved and cared for in ways that I never have before. I know I'm brusque. I know I'm standoffish. Stubborn. Independent. Focused. I'm a lot of the things men believe women shouldn't be, and a lot of that's by choice. In law school, I learned pretty quickly that being small and feminine would get me steamrolled by my peers, so I pushed back. I haven't let them see me as soft, because I'm not. I'm a badass. But it's exhausting to be a badass 24/7.

With Holden, I've been able to let my guard down and step into my feminine energy. I could almost let myself picture a future in which I could take off my badass lawyer persona at the door when I come home and become… someone else. Someone I've never been allowed to be. I can't quite imagine what it will be like when this baby comes into the world at last and is this whole other person.

I don't want to be hard with her. I don't want to be intense and controlling. The things that make for a great lawyer don't necessarily make for a great parent, and I should know.

But if I'm going to do this alone, I don't know what other option I'll have. Without Holden, I'm afraid that the softness I've been tentatively exploring will shrivel up and die.

I sag against the door, my mind a jumbled mess of guilt and frustration. Yes, I should have talked to Holden about the trust fund, laid it all out—how it felt watching my brother get his just because he's a man, how it stoked a fierce determination in me to prove I wasn't just my father's afterthought. The weight of that inequality has been a silent partner in every decision I've made, even in coming here. But admitting that now feels like I'm confessing to some calculated plot, rather than just scrambling for my piece of respect.

My hands clutch at my stomach, the swell of our future between us, and it hurts that he might see my silence on the trust fund as deceit. I thought I was stepping away from the power plays of my family, not entangling Holden in them. And now, as the distance grows between us, both physically and emotionally, the guilt gnaws at me—maybe I've been unfair, maybe I've demanded too much without giving enough.

I need help. I need to talk to someone. Someone who gets me, who cares about me unconditionally. Which leaves me with only one option.

I free myself from my pillow fort, pull out my phone, and FaceTime Tierney.

I don't have long to wait until her familiar face pops up on the screen. "Hey, Britt! Long time no—oh." Her eyes widen when she sees my puffy, miserable face. "What's wrong? Why are you freaking out? Don't worry, girl, jitters are totally normal."

"It's… it's… not… he left." The tears I've been holding back spill over at last. "I th-think we're done."

"Aww, sweetie." Her voice goes all soft and musical. I bet she'd use the same voice if she found a stray cat rooting around in the trash. "I've seen the way he looks at you. He's not leaving."

I rub my knuckle in my eye. "And yet I'm here in his house alone."

"One sec." Her camera swings crazily as she moves around. About half a minute later, she comes back into focus; she's in a bedroom I don't recognize, propped against the pillows. "Now we've got some privacy, and I'm all cozy. So. Tell me what happened."

The story spills out of me in a decidedly incoherent manner. I'm rambling and erratic, circling back to share details and context, but Tierney doesn't complain. She just nods and makes quiet noises of affirmation, peppering in phrases that let me know she's paying attention.

As we talk, I start to relax. Holden isn't the only person who makes me feel safe. This talk is a nice reminder that, even if he's really done with me, the world won't end.

When I'm finished, she thinks for a moment. "It's weird that he'd get upset about the contract now. You told him about that before, right?"

"Totally." I stop to think. "Probably. I mean, I must have, right?" But as I think back, I'm not sure I ever did. We were too busy humping like rabbits when I first moved in, and after that, I might have just assumed I'd told him. "Oh, shit."

Tierney rolls her eyes. "Okay, that's one mystery solved. I bet your little snotwipe of a brother said something to Holden before he left."

"Ooh, you're right." I slap my palm to my forehead. "That asshole! But why would Holden believe Montgomery over me? Doesn't he know me at all?"

"A, we don't know what Montie said. B, you do have totally different lifestyle priorities."

I sink lower on my cushions. How dare she criticize me in my hour of need? "I don't have a shopping issue. We needed things. He had… nothing."

"That's not what I mean." Tierney's voice is as comforting as a hug, although I wish she were here in person. "I'm talking about how you were raised. You have a sore spot that comes from being treated as a commodity, but you also have a lot of privileges he didn't. For you, spending a bunch of money to fix up the house is no big deal, but he might not feel that way. What if he really felt emasculated, but he loved you so much he just wanted to make you happy? And from what you told me, it sounds like he might feel inadequate in some other ways too, especially if Montgomery said something to that effect."

"Um." Okay, yeah, that's almost exactly what Holden's dad said earlier today. "True."

"And as for communication, you're used to being in rooms with a moderator… whether it be business or the courtroom. You're used to defending your case to a jury rather than looking for a compromise. You don't know how to talk to him. He's always being treated like an adversary."

"Shit." I rub my forehead. She's making a lot of valid points, but the picture she paints is a pretty unflattering one. "I can see that. But if I'm so hard to talk to, how come we get along?"

"Because we grew up together, and we have a lot in common. I've had more than twenty years of training, and I'm pretty familiar with your family and why you react to things the way you do. Holden has had twenty weeks. Give the guy a break. And for the love of God, show him your heart. He deserves it. You both do."

The silence stretches between us as Tierney's words sink in, each one a stark reminder of what I've taken for granted. Maybe I've been expecting too much without giving enough. The ache in my stomach mirroring the squeeze in my heart. Love isn't just a shelter; it's a foundation we're supposed to build together. If Holden feels less than enough, cornered by my expectations or poisoned by Montgomery's words, I need to bridge this gap. I need to show him he's not just an option or a means to an end—he's my choice, my priority. It's time to show him what he truly means to me.

"Hold on, let me write this down."

She laughs. "You need to write down that honesty is the best policy?"

"Uh, yeah. I went to law school. I literally have a degree that says the exact opposite." I scribble out a few notes on the legal pad I keep in the side table. "Thank you, Tierney. You're the best. Your room looks super cute, by the way. How are you and Declyn getting settled in?"

"Oh, we're doing well. Things have been really good. Whoa, Britt, are you okay?"

I vault off the couch, scattering pillows in my wake. "I just heard a car door. I gotta go. Call you later? I really do want to hear about your new life together."

"Go! Get your man back!" Tierney pumps her arm like a cheerleader before ending the call.

I drop the phone on the coffee table and sprint toward the door. I don't bother putting on my shoes as I dart out to the porch. "Holden!" I exclaim. "I'm so sorry, come inside, we need to talk."

But it's not Holden's van in the driveway, and the man climbing out of the driver's seat is more than twice his age. He and his vehicle both reek of money and privilege. I stop just shy of the top step and stare down at him in disbelief.

"Britt." My father tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks and looks up at me. "I'm sorry to show up like this, without warning. Do you mind if I come in?"