Divorced by the Hockey Captain

Tabitha's POV

I stared up at the white ceiling tiles of the hospital room, trying to count the tiny little dots just to keep my mind from fracturing. My head felt like it was splitting wide open, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing right behind my eyes. But that was nothing compared to the cold, empty weight settling deep in my stomach.

The doctor had just walked out a minute ago. His voice was still echoing in my ears, flat and professional, delivering a blow that felt way worse than the actual car crash.

He told me I was pregnant. And then, in the very next breath, he told me I had lost the baby.

I didn't even know. I didn't have a single clue that there was a tiny life growing inside me until everything went horribly wrong.

I closed my eyes, and the whole scene played on a loop behind my eyelids. I was just driving down Fifth Avenue, on my way to pick up Bradley from the arena after his afternoon practice session with the team. Then, out of nowhere, a delivery van blew straight through a red light. The impact spun my car around, throwing my head violently against the side window. But it wasn't the head injury that made me panic. It was the twisting agony in my lower abdomen that made me double over in the driver's seat. By the time the ambulance arrived and I noticed the dark stains on my clothes, the worst had already happened. It was already too late.

A tear leaked out, tracing a path down my temple and soaking into my hair. I pressed my palm against my stomach, wishing I could somehow turn back the clock.

Bradley is going to be so heartbroken, I thought, a sob catching in my throat.

Bradley Norwood. My husband. The billionaire captain of the city’s hockey team, a man who literally had the world at his fingertips. He was larger than life, a fierce competitor who hated losing more than anything. And underneath all that rough, athletic exterior, he had this quiet obsession with the future. 

He talked about it sometimes after a tough game, staring at the ceiling of our bedroom, mentioning how much he wanted a family once his playing career finally slowed down. He wanted kids to teach how to skate. He wanted a real home. And I failed him. I didn't even know I was supposed to be protecting our first baby, and now, before either of us could even celebrate, it was just gone.

The quiet beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room until the nurse adjusted the IV line in my arm. She looked at me with so much pity it made my chest ache.

"Mrs. Norwood," she said softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "The doctor mentioned that we still need to run a few additional examinations. Your blood pressure is still fluctuating, and your condition isn't stable yet. We need a family member to sign several consent forms before we can move you to the next wing."

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling dry as sandpaper. "My husband... he's probably still at the rink or at the team offices."

The nurse smiled gently, pulling a work phone from her pocket. "I recognize your husband, of course. Everyone knows Captain Norwood. Let me call him from the desk line. I'm sure he'll want to rush right over once he hears."

I watched her dial his private number, my heart doing a nervous flutter against my ribs. I wanted him here so badly. I needed his arms around me. I needed him to tell me that we would get through this horrible mistake together.

The phone rang twice before the line clicked open. The nurse put it on speaker so I could speak to him.

"Bradley?" I breathed out, my voice trembling.

"Tabitha?" Bradley’s voice cut through the line, loud but free of any worry or concern at all. Just irritation. I could hear the faint murmur of voices and the rustle of papers in the background. "Look, I'm in the middle of a serious meeting with the front office and the team board. Unless someone is literally dying, this can wait until I get home tonight."

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. I froze, my mouth opening, but the explanation about the crash and the baby died in my throat.

"Bradley, wait, I'm at the—"

Before I could even finish the sentence, the line went dead. He hung up.

The silence that followed was suffocating. The nurse’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed pink, and she looked down at her shoes, awkwardly tucking the phone back into her scrub pocket. She looked like she wanted to disappear right through the floorboards, mortified by how my own husband had just brushed me off.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Norwood," she murmured, not looking me in the eye. "I can try calling the team's security detail instead?"

"No," I whispered, pulling the thin hospital blanket tighter around my shoulders to stop myself from shaking. "No, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

I couldn't just lie there anymore. The humiliation was burning through my veins, mixing with the raw grief in my gut. I couldn't tolerate the looks of pity from the staff for another second. If Bradley wasn't coming, I would handle it myself. I insisted on getting out of bed, ignoring the nurse's protests, and dragged myself down to the billing desk to pay a portion of the initial hospital fees myself just to get the paperwork moving. My head was spinning, and every step felt like I was walking on broken glass, but I pushed through it.

Once the paperwork was temporarily settled, I slowly started walking back toward my room, keeping one hand flat against the cold corridor wall to keep my balance. I was wearing a standard, oversized hospital gown, my hair was a tangled mess from the crash, and I felt hollowed out.

I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere near the main elevators, because the sterile, crowded hallway suddenly gave way to wide, carpeted floors and quiet wood-paneled walls. The VIP wing. It was the section of the hospital reserved for the city’s elite, separated from the chaos of the emergency rooms.

I was about to turn around and find my way back when a familiar figure caught my eye further down the hall.

A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking quickly toward one of the luxury private suites at the very end of the corridor. He was wearing his tailored charcoal suit, his thick dark hair slightly messy from the day, and his posture was rigid.

It was Bradley.

My heart stopped. A wild surge of relief flooded my chest, so intense that I almost lost my footing. He lied to me on the phone, I thought. He was just trying to hurry off the line so he could drive over here faster. He found out about the accident from the police or the insurance company, and he came straight to the hospital to find me. He just got the wings mixed up.

"Bradley," I tried to call out, but my voice came out as a pathetic, raspy squeak that didn't even make it past my own lips.

I hurried my pace as much as my aching body would allow, leaving the wall behind and walking down the center of the plush carpet. I noticed he was carrying something in his right hand—a gorgeous bouquet of fresh pink peonies and white roses. My favorite flowers. My eyes welled with fresh tears. He really did care. He brought flowers to comfort me after the crash.

Bradley reached the door of the private suite, pushed it open, and stepped inside without knocking. He left the door slightly ajar, a gap of a few inches showing the warm, ambient lighting of the luxury room inside.

I reached the threshold a second later, my hand already raising to push the door open fully, a breathless smile trying to form on my face.

But the words died in my throat, and my hand froze mid-air.

The room didn't look like a standard hospital room at all. It looked like a five-star hotel suite. And sitting up in the middle of the large bed, wearing a silky designer robe instead of a gown, was Rachelle Pierce. The famous model. The woman Bradley had been hopelessly in love with before his grandfather forced him to marry me to secure his inheritance.

The moment Bradley walked through the door, Rachelle’s face lit up. She didn't hesitate for a single second. She threw her covers off, stood up from the bed, and let out a soft, dramatic cry as she launched herself into his arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder like her entire world had been saved.

And Bradley didn't pull away. He dropped the expensive bouquet onto the nearby table, his athletic hands coming down to wrap firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he held her really close.