Dad’s lips thinned. “We thought we could handle it, that it would even out.”
But nothing had evened out. Everything was different.
I took them in, my parents but strangers in everything except names. And suddenly I wasn’t only angry at what they’d done or that I’d been shut out.
“And you called Vince?” I said, my voice rising with disbelief. “You didn’t trust me or Sam enough to tell us what was going on, but you trustedhim?”
The betrayal sat brick-heavy in my chest.
“That guy broke off our engagement for a job, and you still thought he was the person to fix things? That’s just freaking unbelievable.”
Mom looked on.
Dad didn’t say more.
The disappointment sat heavier than the anger now. I went to my room, grabbed my purse, and walked out, not caring that my socks were different colors. I really needed air to hold it together.
And right now, I didn’t even know whattogetherlooked like.
I took the bus to the Tahoe West celebration bar’s parking lot and got my car. Then I drove aimlessly until I pulled into theold Sacramento shopping stretch near Land Park. The afternoon was warm as I wandered past cute shops and boutiques, windows stacked with vintage Levi’s and band tees, midcentury glassware, and handmade crafts. I stepped into a store selling indoor plants in color-coded pots. No one expected anything from me here.
That was the point.
I stopped to admire tiny fruit tarts sparkling under glass domes in the bakery window, each one posing so perfectly. The sugar-crusted kind my Gran used to buy for birthdays. I didn’t go in, I lingered by the glass window. A little kid, held by a woman talking on the phone, pressed his nose to the glass, watching too. The baker behind the counter waved, the kid waved back.
Normal life. Would I ever get back to it?
It reminded me of last Friday morning, when everything had looked normal, too. I’d gotten ready and stopped in the kitchen to grab coffee on my way to work. The space made its best impression of normal—coffee sputtered, a magazine lay open to beautiful houses, and Mom floated in wearing her robe, as if a country club were about to materialize around the toaster. She caught my eye.
“You’re really traveling with an NHL team?” she asked, bright-eyed. “Team plane? Do they put you somewhere nice—Four Seasons nice?”
“The hotels are nice, but it’s about work, icing bruises and video clips,” I said, reaching for my mug.
“That part is per diem, right?” she joked. “With our situation…” She let that hang, then added, “I’m happy you got that job, and a fancy one at that. You’ve always been our star.”
Her words felt off. I said I’d be late and left.
I shook my head at the memory—she was living outside of this world.
After a bit more strolling through Land Park, I drove home. Inevitably, my mind wandered to Sean. He wasn’t the kind of man who filled silences with awkward jokes; he let them breathe. When I’d needed space more than words, he’d understood without asking.You don’t have to be okay, not when it comes to me,he’d said. And just like that, a tingle settled in my chest. A sudden, ridiculous urge to want things, soft things, real things. Like him. Which, again, was ridiculous.
My car’s dashboard blinked 7:58 a.m. as I parked in the employee lot. I walked quickly toward the Tahoe West quarters, sipping my coffee, but the taste in my mouth turned dry as I neared the building. The thud of pucks from the morning skate echoed through the arena, making me want to disappear. Being the girl who may or may not have sobbed into her boss’s chest two days ago was stressful.
I walked in, trying to look normal. Not too peppy, not too stiff, just professional and emotionally unmemorable.
No Sean in sight, no players lurking with raised eyebrows. Good.
I turned the corner and my heart lurched. Asher was heading toward the rink, and we crossed paths. His eyes flicked to mine, one eyebrow barely lifting. But it was enough to make my stomach clenched.
“Morning,” he said, easy as a Monday.
“Good morning,” I replied, tight-lipped.
Did he know it was me that face-planted into the coach’s chest? I beelined for the staff lounge before my brain spiraled further. The coffee machine wheezed out a half-hearted brew when the door opened behind me.
“Morning,” Sean said.
Every cell in my body snapped to attention, dragged back to the parking lot, then in his car, where I hadn’t kept it together.
