But part of him, a small, treacherous part, wondered:What if he's right? What if I am limiting myself?
No. That was crazy. Mac loved Evergreen Cove. Loved his team. Loved Rachel.
But Derek's words had planted something.
Not about Rachel. About whether he was being completely honest with himself about his hockey choices.
No.That was Derek's manipulation working. That was exactly what he wanted.
"You should leave," Mac said.
"Of course. I apologize if I've upset you." Derek turned to leave, then paused, glancing back. "Oh, and Mac? You should ask Rachel about our conversation at the coffee shop. What I told her there. Or rather what she told me. I think you'd find it illuminating."
“What? She didn’t—”
Rachel had met with Derek? At a coffee shop? When?
Why hadn't she told him?
Because he was lying.That’s why. None of this was true.
Derek walked away, his expensive shoes clicking on the concrete, leaving Mac standing at the boards with his thoughts spiraling.
Then Derek stopped, turned back, and pulled out his phone. "Oh, Mac? Since you seem skeptical, I thought you should see this."
He held the screen toward Mac.
It was a photo. Rachel sitting in The Grind, the only other coffee shop in town besides Sophie's, across a small table from someone whose back was to the camera. The timestamp read two days ago.
Mac's gut lurched. "Where did you get this?"
"I was there. Having coffee with Rachel." Derek's smile was sympathetic. "She was upset after everything that happened. She needed someone to talk to who understood the situation. Someone who'd been there for her in the past."
"Rachel would never—"
"She wore that gray cardigan. The one with the little pearl buttons. Had her hair down, she does that when she's anxious, lets it fall forward so she can hide behind it." Derek zoomed in slightly on the photo. "Still drinks her coffee the same way too. Latte with oatmilk. Two sugars. Some things never change."
Mac's stomach turned. Rachel did all those things. The cardigan, the hair, the coffee.
Derek noticed Mac's expression and continued,his voice softening like he was being helpful. "She smelled like that vanilla perfume. The one she always wore back in Burlington."
"Stop." Mac's hands clenched into fists. "Stop talking about her like that."
"Like what? I'm just describing our conversation—"
"You're describing her like you're—" Mac couldn't finish. The way Derek talked about Rachel felt wrong, almost invasive. Like he'd been cataloging details he had no right to notice.
"This doesn't prove anything," Mac managed.
"Mac, I'm not trying to cause problems. I'm trying to help." Derek pocketed his phone. "Rachel is struggling with her past trauma. She reached out to me because I'm the only person who understands her. That's all."
"If you talked, Rachel would have told me."
"Would she? When she knows you'd be upset about it?" Derek said. "Mac, I'm not the enemy here. I'm trying to help Rachel heal. But if she's already keeping secrets from you, two months into your relationship... well, that's concerning, isn't it?"
"I—"
"No need to say anything. I'll text you the photo. I have your number, of course."
