"Marnie. Loudly. At the café." I cross my arms, staying on the porch. "The entire town knows you're flying out Thursday. Multiple teams. Serious money. Preston handling all the logistics. Any of this ringing a bell? Or was I the only one who wasn't supposed to know?"
"I was going to tell you," Ryder says quickly. "Today. After you woke up. I just?—"
"Just what? Waited to see if a better offer came through first?" My voice cracks despite my best efforts. "Or were youplanning to text me from the airport? Maybe post about it on social media so I could find out with the rest of your fans?"
"That's not fair."
"You know what's not fair?" The words pour out, two months of uncertainty crystallizing into this single moment. "Preston congratulating me at the café. Thanking me for the arrangement. For selling it so well. For creating great content that helped your scout appeal."
Ryder's face goes pale. "Piper?—"
"Was I ever more than a strategy?" My hands clench into fists. "More than the girlfriend angle Preston wanted? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like I was just another piece of your NHL playbook. The compelling narrative. The stable, mature relationship that made you marketable."
"No. God, no." He steps onto the porch, reaching for me, but I back away. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" Tears burn my eyes and I hate it. Hate that he can make me feel this much. "Tell me, Ryder. Was any of this real, or was I just performing again without knowing it? Because Chad said everything with me is a performance, and maybe he was right. Maybe I was so busy playing the part of your girlfriend for the scouts that I didn't realize you were just stringing me along for the optics."
"It was always real for me." His voice is raw. Desperate. "From the beginning—" He hesitates, and that pause says everything. "But yeah. It helped. With the scouts. Preston wasn't wrong about that part."
The truth lands like a punch to the gut.
"Right." My voice comes out flat. Dead. "Thanks for the honesty."
I turn toward the steps.
"I'm in love with you."
I freeze. Hand on the porch railing. Breath caught in my throat.
"What?"
"I'm in love with you, Piper." Ryder steps closer. "And I need you to come inside before you freeze to death, because I'm about to say a lot of things and I'd prefer you didn't get hypothermia while I'm trying to tell you that I'm an idiot."
"Ryder—"
"Inside. Please." He holds the door open. "Five minutes. If you still want to leave after that, I won't stop you."
The cold bites through my purple parka. My fingers are numb. And despite everything, I step inside.
The cabin is warm. Too warm after the freezing air. Ryder closes the door behind us, and suddenly we're in the space that's become as familiar as my own. His couch where we watched hockey. His kitchen where he made me coffee. His life, which I somehow became part of without meaning to.
"I already told Preston no," Ryder says before I can speak. "This morning. I just hung up with him right before you knocked."
I stare at him. "What?"
"I'm not going to the NHL meetings Thursday. I'm not flying out. I'm not taking any of the offers." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I'm accepting the lieutenant promotion at the firehouse. I'm staying in Ashwood Falls."
"You can't?—"
"I'm not giving it up for you," he says, and the words stop me cold. "That's what you think this is, right? That I'm sacrificing my dream for some girl I fake dated? That I'm going to wake up in five years and resent you for it?"
The accuracy makes my chest tight. "Yes."
"You're wrong." He steps closer. "I'm not giving up anything. I'm choosing what I want. There's a difference."
"The NHL is what you want," I say, but my voice wavers. "You've been working toward it your whole life."
"I've been working toward what I thought I should want," Ryder corrects. "What Dad would've wanted. What would make sense of losing him—like if I made it to the big leagues, his death would mean something. But that's not how it works."
