Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~6 min read
Chapter 5: Almost Brave Enough
POV: Rory
Rory – FALSE ALARM
Rory’s period shows up Friday morning with the kind of dramatic cramping that feels like her body’s way of saying “you thought you escaped consequences but here’s a reminder that biology doesn’t care about your emotional state,” and the relief is so overwhelming that she actually has to sit down on her bathroom floor for five minutes just breathing through the physical confirmation that she’s definitely not pregnant, the doctor was right, the crisis is officially over and she can stop mentally calculating due dates and parenting schedules and how to explain to her editor that she might need maternity leave from a job she’s had for less than a month.
She texts Henrik before she can overthink it: *Period arrived. Definitely not pregnant. Crisis officially over.*
His response comes back immediately: *That’s good. Really good. Are you okay?*
*Relieved,* Rory texts back honestly, sitting on her bathroom floor with her phone and a heating pad and the strange hollow feeling that comes with the end of a crisis that had started to feel like it might lead somewhere unexpected. *You?*
*Same. But also disappointed. Which I know sounds weird.*
*Not weird,* Rory sends. *I get it.*
They don’t talk about the disappointment—don’t examine why both of them feel something other than pure relief that they’re not having a baby together, that they’re not permanently connected by biology, that they could theoretically go back to being professional acquaintances instead of two people who held hands in a doctor’s office and made promises about trying to see if there’s something real beneath the attraction and the crisis.
Henrik calls that night like he promised he would, and they talk for two hours about everything except pregnancy and work—about his childhood in Sweden, about her complicated relationship with her Puerto Rican father who wanted her to be a teacher instead of a journalist, about favorite books and terrible movies and whether cats are better than dogs (they agree to disagree), and by the time Rory finally hangs up at midnight, she’s smiling in a way she hasn’t smiled since before her divorce, in a way that feels dangerous because it requires trusting that Henrik means what he says about wanting to know her, about being different from Carlos, about staying even when staying gets complicated.
She sees him at practice Monday morning for the first time since the doctor’s appointment, and there’s a moment when their eyes meet across the rink where everything else fades away—the other journalists, the players, the constant noise of a team going through drills—and it’s just them acknowledging that something changed in the parking lot of that coffee shop, something shifted when they admitted they like each other despite all the reasons they shouldn’t.
Henrik skates over to the boards near the press box after practice ends, ostensibly to grab water but really to get close enough to talk to Rory without other people overhearing, and he says quietly, “Dinner tomorrow? Somewhere quiet where we can actually talk without teammates or press around?”
“That sounds like a date,” Rory points out, even though her heart is doing complicated flips at the suggestion.
“It is a date,” Henrik confirms. “If you’re okay with that. If you’re ready to actually try this instead of just talking about trying.”
Rory should say no.
Should maintain professional distance and avoid complications and stick to her promise about never dating athletes.
But Henrik is looking at her with those ice-blue eyes and genuine interest and the kind of patience that suggests he’ll wait however long she needs to feel safe, and Rory finds herself saying yes before her rational brain can interfere.
“Okay,” she says. “Dinner. Tomorrow. But somewhere discreet. I can’t have people from the Tribune seeing me on a date with a player I cover. The conflict of interest would get me fired.”
“I know a place,” Henrik says. “Quiet Italian restaurant in Lincoln Park. Incredible food, private booths, owner is Swedish and owes me a favor. No press, no teammates, just us.”
“Sounds perfect,” Rory admits, and then because she needs to establish boundaries before this goes any further: “But Henrik, we need to talk about how this works. If we’re actually doing this—dating, getting to know each other, whatever this is—we need rules about keeping it separate from work. I can’t compromise my journalism ethics. I can’t give you special treatment in articles or interviews. And if anyone finds out we’re involved, my credibility is shot.”
“Agreed,” Henrik says without hesitation. “At work, we’re professional. You do your job, I do mine, and what happens between us stays private. I would never ask you to compromise your ethics for me. That’s not who I am.”
“Okay,” Rory says, and she realizes she believes him, trusts that he means it, which is either progress or stupidity depending on how this eventually ends. “Then tomorrow. Dinner. A real date with the Swedish hockey player I accidentally slept with and then thought I might be pregnant by.”
“Romantic origin story,” Henrik says with a smile that makes Rory’s stomach do flips. “We’ll tell our grandkids someday.”
“Getting ahead of yourself there,” Rory says, but she’s smiling too because the idea of a future with Henrik doesn’t feel as terrifying as it did a week ago when she thought that future might include an unplanned baby and coparenting arrangements.
This feels like choice instead of consequence.
Like possibility instead of crisis.
Like maybe—just maybe—taking a risk on an athlete won’t end the way it ended with Carlos.
Henrik leaves to shower and change, and Rory watches him go while trying not to think about what he looks like in the shower, definitely not thinking about the way his body looks without clothes, absolutely not remembering the way he touched her that night with a combination of urgency and care that made her feel seen in ways she’d forgotten were possible.
Professional distance.
She can maintain professional distance at work while also having dinner with him tomorrow and seeing where this leads.
She’s a professional.
She can compartmentalize.
She’s absolutely not going to fall for the Swedish hockey player who held her hand in a doctor’s office and called her just to talk and looks at her like she’s the most interesting person he’s ever met.
Completely manageable.
Totally under control.
She’s definitely going to fall for him.
The question is whether she’s brave enough to let herself.
🔥
END CHAPTER 5
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