Finally, blessedly, Preston declares the photo op over. The scouts disperse. The press packs up their cameras. The hallway empties. And Ryder and I are left standing there, still not touching, still drowning in everything we're not saying.
"My cabin," he says. "Give me twenty minutes to deal with press stuff. We can talk there."
"Okay."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key. "So you can let yourself in. I'll be right behind you."
The key is warm from his body heat. I close my fingers around it and nod.
"Piper—" He stops, jaw working like he's trying to find the right words. "I'm sorry. For the other morning. For leaving like that."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine." His voice drops. "Nothing about this is fine."
Before I can respond, someone calls his name. More press obligations. More responsibilities. The life of a hockey captain with NHL scouts watching his every move.
"Go," I say. "I'll wait for you."
He hesitates, then nods and heads back down the hallway. I watch him go, key clutched in my hand, pulse pounding so loud in my ears I almost miss the sound of my own footsteps.
Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting on Ryder's couch in his cabin, surrounded by his things—hockey gear in the corner, dishes in the sink, a photo of him and his dad on the mantle—waiting for a conversation that will either fix everything or break it completely.
The key feels heavy in my pocket. The jersey smells like him. And outside, the Alaska darkness presses against the windows like it's holding its breath.
When the door opens and Ryder walks in, he looks straight at me.
He's still in his dress shirt from the press conference, sleeves rolled up, hair damp from the shower. The exhaustion in his face makes him look older, but his eyes—those dark eyes that have seen me fall apart and come together and everything in between—they're wide awake.
"Hi," he says.
I stand up because sitting feels wrong, like I'm waiting for a verdict I don't want to hear. "Hi."
He closes the door behind him. The lock clicks.
Three feet of hardwood floor, but it feels impossible to cross.
Chapter 16
Ryder
Piper Meadows is standing in my cabin.
Wearing my jersey.
Looking like she's about to either kiss me or kill me, and honestly, I'm not sure which one I deserve more.
She's by the couch. I'm by the door. The lock clicked shut thirty seconds ago, and neither of us has said a word since.
"So," I say, because apparently my brain has decided to abandon me. "You came."
She shifts her weight. "You gave me your key."
"I did." I run a hand through my still-damp hair. "Twenty minutes ago. Feels like longer."
"Feels like forever," she says quietly.
The silence stretches. Gets uncomfortable. Reaches the point where Morris the moose could crash through my window and it would be less awkward than this.
