Claimed By My Ex's Rival Hockey Captain

The key slid into the lock and turned with a soft click. Aurora pushed the door open and dragged her suitcase into the foyer. The living room was dark, lit only by the Chicago dusk filtering through the windows. She glanced at her watch—6:30 PM. Perfect.

"Surprise," she whispered to the empty room, a smile she couldn't suppress touching her lips.

She pulled a small box from her bag. Blue velvet. Inside was the watch she'd saved three months' salary for. Ethan had pointed to this model in a magazine last week, saying, "One day I'll wear that on the front page of the sports section." She'd just smiled then, not telling him she'd already memorized the model number.

On the kitchen fridge was a photo of them from last year at Lake Michigan. Ethan had his arm around her shoulders, laughing, eyes crinkled. Below it, a note in her handwriting: "Don't forget your protein shake after practice! Love, A."

She set the box down and crept upstairs. The bedroom door was closed, a strip of light visible underneath.

"Ethan?" she called softly, her hand on the doorknob.

Then she heard the sounds.

A muffled groan. The creak of bedsprings. And a woman's voice—definitely not hers—a stifled, wanton moan.

Aurora's hand froze on the knob. Blood rushed to her head, then receded just as fast, leaving behind an icy numbness. She had to be mistaken. Maybe it was the TV. Maybe...

"Oh, Ethan... yes, right there..."

That woman's voice. Sugary. Thick with undisguised pleasure.

Aurora shoved the door open.

The two people on the bed froze simultaneously. Ethan was shirtless. A blonde woman was straddling his hips, equally naked. On the nightstand, the custom lamp Aurora had given him was still on, its warm yellow light mercilessly illuminating everything.

Time stopped for three seconds.

"Aurora?!" Ethan sprang up, shoving the woman off him. "Oh my god, you... you weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow!"

Aurora stood rooted, staring at the familiar blue-striped sheets—the ones she'd washed just last week. At Ethan's panicked face. At the blonde woman who was now pulling the sheet over herself with deliberate slowness, not a trace of shame on her face.

"Get out," Aurora said, her voice unnervingly calm even to her own ears.

"Baby, just listen—"

"I said, get out." She pointed at the woman. "Now."

The blonde raised an eyebrow, looking at Ethan. "Darling?"

"Scarlett, you should... just get dressed," Ethan fumbled for his pants on the floor. "Aurora, it's a misunderstanding, I can explain—"

"A misunderstanding?" Aurora laughed, a short, sharp sound. "In my bed. With another woman. That's a misunderstanding? Then tell me, Ethan, what exactly did I misunderstand?"

"It was her! She came onto me!" Ethan's hands shook as he tried to fasten his pants. "Just this once, I swear, I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing—"

"Shut up." Aurora cut him off. "You don't smell like alcohol. The room doesn't either. And her," she glanced at the woman now buttoning a shirt, "she looks perfectly sober. This wasn't a drunken mistake, Ethan. It was a choice."

Ethan's face flushed red. He stood, trying to move closer. "Can't you just listen? Do you know the pressure I'm under? The season's starting, the coach is on my back every day, the sponsors—"

"So this is how you cope?" Aurora took a step back, avoiding his reaching hand. "By fucking another woman? In our bed?"

"our bed?" Ethan's voice rose suddenly, the panic giving way to anger. "Yeah, our bed, ourapartment, ourlife! You have to put your label on fucking everything, Aurora! Did you ever stop to ask if I even wanted that?"

The air solidified.

"What?" Aurora asked quietly.

"I said you're suffocating me!" Ethan waved his arms. "What I eat, what I wear, when I train, who I see, who I don't—it all has to be according to your plan! Yeah, you left Michigan for me, left your precious family, but did it ever occur to you that I never asked for that sacrifice?"

Aurora looked at him as if seeing a stranger. "I... I was just trying to help you."

"I don't need your help!" he roared. "I don't need you to manage my life like I'm a child! I don't need you reminding me of every little thing! I need space, I need to breathe, I need to make my own damn decisions like a grown man, not live by your schedule!"

Tears welled up, but Aurora bit her lip hard. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of this asshole.

"So," she took a deep breath, "that's your excuse for cheating? Because I loved you too much? Because I did too much for you?"

"It's not cheating, it's..." Ethan faltered, looking toward the bed, toward the woman, as if for help.

The blonde woman—Scarlett—stood up gracefully, fastening the last button on her shirt. She walked to Ethan's side, resting a hand on his arm with practiced ease.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself," she said with a smile. "Scarlett Bishop. Ethan and I have been together for six months. Oh, and my father is one of the league's major sponsors."

Aurora looked at Ethan. He refused to meet her gaze.

"Six months," she repeated, the words a sigh. "When I went back to Michigan to take care of my grandmother. When you said you were too busy with training to take my calls."

"Aurora, I—"

"You don't need space," Aurora continued, each word like an icicle. "You need connections. A ladder to climb. And I couldn't give you that, could I? All I could do was your laundry, your meals, your schedule, listen to you whine after a loss. That's too cheap, too plain for the future star, Ethan Vance."

Scarlett gave a light chuckle. "At least you have some self-awareness."

Aurora ignored her. She looked at Ethan, one last time, really looking at the face she'd loved for three years. Once, she thought his eyes were like a Michigan summer sky. Now she only saw a muddy grey.

"You know what the saddest part is?" she said. "It's not that you cheated. It's that until a minute ago, I was still making excuses for you. Thinking maybe it really was a one-time mistake. Maybe you did still love me."

She shook her head, bent down, and picked up the fallen blue velvet box.

"But those things you just said... you said I suffocate you." She opened the box. The expensive watch glittered under the light. "You said you never asked for my sacrifices. Well, let me tell you something, Ethan Vance."

She raised her hand and let go. The box, watch and all, dropped into the half-empty glass of water on the nightstand with a dull plunk.

"You're a coward. A coward who's too afraid to admit his own greed and selfishness. You enjoyed everything I gave you, then looked down on it for not being glamorous enough. You used my love, then complained it was too heavy."

She turned and walked toward the door.

"Aurora!" Ethan shouted after her. "Where are you going? We're not done—"

"We're done." She paused at the doorway, not looking back. "We started three years ago. We end today. You're free, Ethan. Completely free."

"What do you mean? You're breaking up with me? Over this?"

Aurora finally turned to look at him. Tears finally spilled over, but she didn't wipe them away.

"No," she said. "I'm not breaking up with you. I'm telling you that you've been dumped. Because you are not worthy of me. Not worthy of anything I did for you. And certainly not worthy of the love I gave you."

She walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, picked up her never-unpacked suitcase, and pulled the front door open.

"Aurora! Get back here! You—"

The door swung shut behind her, cutting off his final words.

The motion-sensor light in the stairwell flicked on. Aurora leaned against the cold wall, her hands shaking, her whole body trembling. But she didn't sit down. She didn't collapse. She didn't crumple to the floor like in some dramatic movie scene.

She gripped the handle of her suitcase and took the stairs, one step at a time. Her footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell—clear, steady, unwavering.

The cold night air from the street swept in, drying the tears on her face.

She took out her phone, opened her contacts, found the number she hadn't dialed in three years. Her finger hovered over the call button for a few seconds.

Then she locked the screen, shoved the phone back in her pocket, pulled up the suitcase's handle, and merged into the crowded flow of Chicago's night.

Behind her, the apartment building that was once called "home" grew smaller and smaller. Ahead, the city's neon lights stretched into a boundless, endless river.

And for the first time, she had no idea where to go.