Fuck. I look down at the kitchen island.
What is wrong with me? Why am I acting this viscerally to Piper?
Because it’s always been her.
I shake my head against the thought.
Back in high school, I knew better than to make a move on my best friend. She was a good girl, and I was an athlete with a reputation. I’d never be good enough for her. In fact, I didn’t rank myself higher than the chumps I kept from sniffing too close to her.
The only time I almost crossed the line, I was smart enough to backpedal. I remember everything about the night before we threw our caps in the air and said good-bye to high school. We were hanging out, sharing a beer on the roof, late at night. She told me she sees me as more than just a friend.
Her eyes glimmered in the moonlight. She was earnest and so damn trusting, and in that moment, I knew I’d break her fucking heart if I even breathed. Because at that age, all I could see was hockey. I’d only let Piper down since nothing—and no one—was going to come before the game.
I told her as much and watched, with my heart beating in my throat and my fingers curled into my palms, as her sunny disposition clouded over. Hurt flared in her eyes, and for a flicker, I hated myself.
Then, she laughed it off. Agreed with me. We finished the beer, and she went back to her house. The next day, we received our diplomas and…life happened.
“Why don’t we talk anymore?” I blurt out.
Her eyes land on mine. Hold. Hurt and disappointment flares in their depths and my stomach twists at the knowledge that I’m missing something crucial in this exchange.
Piper straightens and pours herself another glass of wine. She tucks her dark brown hair behind her ears and stares at me. She studies my expression, and my breathing increases.
Then, she picks up her glass and takes a hearty sip. Smacking her lips together, she says, “No reason, Hudson. We just grew apart. Our worlds spun in two different directions.”
I sigh, not liking her explanation.
Without a backward glance, Piper pinches the stem of her wine glass and relocates to the living room, leaving me in the kitchen alone.
I’m still reeling.
“Can you pass the bread?” Frankie asks.
I pick up the breadbasket, but before I pass it, I grab an extra dinner roll and lob it onto Piper’s plate.
It drops into the gravy next to her turkey, splattering it slightly. She glances up and gives me a look.
“What? You love carbs,” I remind her.
Joe snickers.
Stacy rolls her eyes.
Piper glowers. She pushes the roll to the side of her plate. Sighs. “What every woman wants to hear.”
Mom and Misty laugh. Dad changes the subject.
I lean closer to Piper. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls that doesn’t eat carbs.”
She snaps her head toward mine. “I eat carbs. And what do you mean by ‘those girls’?”
“Tread carefully, bro,” Joe warns.
I smirk. “Just that you look great, Piper. And you should eat all the dinner rolls you want to.”
She takes a massive bite from the roll in response.
Her dad laughs. “Trust me, Piper still has the appetite you remember. She could probably out eat you, Hud.”
