My glass house perches on the mountainside like a floating display case for my insecurities. Floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist furniture worth more than most people’s cars, and a view that realtors would kill their firstborns to list—all of it designed to scream “successful hockey player with his shit together.”
Oh, the irony.
I pace the sleek hardwood floors, checking my watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Sydney will be here any second, and I’m about to tell her that the man she loves is probably dying. Not exactly the romantic evening I had planned when I bought this place.
The wine’s breathing—some expensive Cabernet the interior designer insisted would complement the “aesthetic”—and I’ve changed my shirt three times. As if the right combination of cotton and collar will somehow cushion the blow of “Hey, I most likely have a degenerative brain disease that will slowly rob me of everything that makes me me.”
Outside, the sun begins its descent behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that look like a postcard. Below, Boise sprawls, lights winking on as dusk approaches. It’s the kind of view people post on Instagram with hashtags like “blessed” or “living my best life.”
My phone buzzes with a text.
SYDNEY:At your gate. This place is FIRE. Did you buy an entire mountain??
I smile despite myself and press the button to open the electronic gate. The smile fades as I watch through the window as her car—sensible, practical, so Sydney—winds its way up the private drive. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, to run to this conversation, no matter how bad, so it’s on the other side.
The doorbell chimes, an understated tone selected by the same designer who picked out all the finishes and lighting fixtures. I take a deep breath, wiping suddenly damp palms on my jeans, and move to answer it.
Sydney stands on the threshold, hair catching the last rays of sunlight, her eyes wide as she takes in the entrance hall with its two-story ceiling and floating staircase. She changed into jeans and a blouse, casual but put-together, and she’s so beautiful it hurts to look at her.
“Holy shit, Brooks,” she says by way of greeting. “When you said you had a place in the mountains, I was picturing, like, a cabin. Maybe a nice A-frame. Not...” She gestures broadly at everything. “...the superhero villain lair from a Marvel movie.”
I laugh, tension cracking. “You should see where I keep the laser sharks.”
“Seriously, though.” She steps inside, her eyes traveling up to the chandelier that cost a small fortune. “This is incredible. Who knew being good at chasing a rubber disc could pay so well?”
“I didn’t pick any of it.” I close the door behind her. “Hired a designer after I signed my last contract. Told her to make it look nice.”
Sydney turns to me, her expression softening. “She did her job.”
“Let me give you the tour before it gets too dark. The sunset view is the best part.”
I lead her through the main floor, watching her reactions more than the spaces themselves. The kitchen with its too-many appliances and waterfall island. “Is it so fun to cook here?” The living room with its massive fireplace and low-slung leather furniture. “Very pimp.”
I cut in, saying, “The designer called it ‘masculine minimalism.’ I call it having nowhere comfortable to nap.”
Then off to the home gym with its wall of windows facing the forest. “Wow, you don’t need virtual reality glasses to motivate you in here.”
With each room, each quip exchanged, the knot in my stomach tightens. This isn’t just showing Sydney my house; it’s showing her what her life could be like. What she’s potentially signing up for. A beautiful place with a view, and a man who’s falling apart inside it.
Finally, we reach the enclosed patio at the back of the house, my favorite space and the reason I bought this architectural monstrosity in the first place. Three glass walls and a ceiling that can retract in summer, creating a space that feels both protected and exposed. Comfortable outdoor furniture arranged around a firepit, and beyond, the valley stretching to the horizon, the sky now a deepening purple as the sun makes its final descent.
“Brooks,” Sydney breathes, moving to the glass wall. “This is... wow.”
“I know.” I stand beside her. “Sometimes I just sit out here for hours, watching the weather change. Thought of you, actually. Figured you’d appreciate the atmospheric show.”
She turns to me, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you saying you think about me when you’re alone in your lair?”
“All the time.” The truth slips out before I can package it in sarcasm or deflection.
Her smile fades into something more serious, more searching. I look away, afraid of what she might see in my eyes.
“Wine?” I move to the small wet bar in the corner where I’ve set out the bottle and glasses.
“Please.” She settles onto one of the plush outdoor sofas. “This place is something out of a dream.”
I pour two glasses, using the mundane task to steady my hands, my breathing. When I turn back, she’s silhouetted against the darkening sky. I hit a switch, and subtle lighting illuminates the space—enough to see by, not enough to compete with the view.
“Here.” I hand her a glass as I sit beside her, not too close, not yet. “To new beginnings.”
