"I deleted all my footage," I blurt out.
His expression cycles through confusion, surprise, and something that might be relief. "Why?"
"Because you're not content. You're just... you. And that felt like something worth seeing without a camera between us."
Neither of us speaks. The weight of what we're not saying fills the space between us. Jax makes a strategic retreat, mumbling something about "getting the car warm."
"I was a mess tonight," Ryder says finally. "Couldn't get out of my own head until—" He stops, jaw working.
"Until what?"
"Until I saw you. Just watching. Not recording, not playing a role. Just... there." He takes a step closer, and suddenly we're in that same charged space we were in his cabin. "I'm terrible at this."
"At what?"
"At wanting something I can't have." His voice drops lower, rougher. "I've got four more games, Piper. Four more chances to prove I belong in the NHL. I can't afford distractions."
"I know."
"But you're distracting as hell." He runs his fingers through his damp hair, and a smirk tugs at his mouth as he glances around the parking lot before his eyes lock back on mine. "You show up next door in your ridiculous boots, screaming at moose, nearly freezing to death, getting lost on clearly marked trails—and every time I try to focus on hockey, all I can think about is whether you remembered to add wood to your fire."
My pulse hammers in my throat. "Ryder?—"
"I'm not asking you for anything," he continues. "I just need you to know that walking away the other night? That wasn't because I don't want... this. Whatever this is. It's because I can't risk losing focus. Not now."
"I understand."
"Do you?" He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his shampoo, see the flecks of silver in his grey eyes. "Because I'm standing here telling you I want to kiss you more than I want my next breath, but I'm also telling you I can't. Not until after the scouts. Not until I know if I've got a future in hockey or if I'm staying here fighting fires until I retire."
"Four games," I whisper.
"Four games." He reaches up, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear with infinite gentleness. "Think you can stick around that long? Let me focus on hockey, and then..."
"And then we figure out what this is?"
"Yeah." His thumb brushes my cheek. "If you're still here. If you still want?—"
"I'll be here." The words come out before I can stop them, before I can remember that I'm only temporary, that this was supposed to be a quick rebrand before returning to real life. "Four games. I can wait four games."
His smile starts slow, spreading across his face until it transforms him completely. "Piper Meadows, are you making me a promise?"
"I don't make promises I can't keep."
"Good." He drops his hand but doesn't step back. "Because I'm going to hold you to it."
From the parking lot, a horn honks—Jax being subtle as a foghorn.
"Team's waiting," Ryder says, but he doesn't move.
"Diane invited me to The Ashwood Café."
"Then I guess I'll see you there."
A giggle escapes before I can stop it. His eyebrow lifts.
"Sorry," I say, biting my lip. "It's just—I keep picturing you doing the sprinkler in skates. The running man with a hockey stick. Very intimidating captain energy."
His mouth twitches. "We take our pre-game rituals seriously."
