"Feels the same from where I'm sitting."
Marcus sat down across from Jake's desk. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
"I'm trying to be okay with her decision. I am. I told her to choose what made her happy, and she did. I should be proud of her for being brave enough to go after what she wants."
"But?"
"But I miss her. Every single day. I wake up and for a second I forget she's gone, and then I remember and it's like—" Jake's voice cracked, "—it's like losing her all over again."
"That's grief. You're grieving the relationship."
"I know. But I'm also angry. At myself, mostly. For thinking we could make long distance work. For letting her go to Paris in the first place. For not fighting harder to keep her."
"You did fight. You went to Paris, you tried to show her what she'd be choosing. She just chose differently than you hoped."
"I know. And logically, I understand. Paris was the right choice for her. But—" Jake rubbed his face, "—that doesn't make it hurt less."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. Then: "Emma keeps asking when Miss Lucy is coming back."
"What do you tell her?"
"That sometimes people we love choose different paths. That it's okay to be sad about it but we have to respect their choices."
"Very wise."
"I'm secretly brilliant. Most people don't realize it." Marcus stood. "Jake, I'm ordering you to go home. Sleep. Take tomorrow off. Do something that's not hockey-related."
"I don't know how to do that anymore."
"Then learn. Because if you keep going like this, you're going to burn out before the season even starts."
After Marcus left, Jake sat in the quiet office and pulled out his phone. He hadn't talked to Lucy since he'd left Paris. They'd texted a few times—brief, polite messages that said nothing real.
He opened their text thread and read through their history. Six months of messages. From flirty and fun to logistical to sad and distant. The entire evolution of their relationship captured in blue and gray bubbles.
Jake started typing a message:How's Paris? How's the new job?
He deleted it. Too casual. Like they were acquaintances instead of people who'd loved each other.
He tried again:I miss you. Every day. I hope you're happy.
Deleted. Too needy. Too raw.
Finally, he just typed:Thinking of you. Hope you're doing okay.
He stared at it for a long time, then deleted it without sending.
What was there to say? They'd said goodbye. They'd made their choices. Texting her now would just open wounds that were barely starting to heal.
Jake closed their text thread and pocketed his phone.
Then he went home, climbed into bed, and tried not to think about Lucy in Paris, starting her new life without him.
Le Bernardin was everything Chef Laurent had promised.
A three-Michelin-star restaurant with a pastry kitchen that looked like something out of a magazine. Professional equipment, talented colleagues, the chance to create at the highest level.
Lucy should have been thrilled.
