"About the other night," she starts.
"About the other night," I say at the same time.
We both stop. She gestures for me to continue, and I realize I have no idea what I was about to say. Sorry I left in the pre-dawn darkness? Sorry we broke our agreement? Sorry I've been too much of a coward to face you for three days?
"I shouldn't have left like that," I finally manage.
"You mean at all? Or just the part where you said we'd figure things out and then proceeded to ignore me for three days?"
The accusation in her tone is deserved. "Both. All of it. The leaving, the ignoring, the complete failure to act like an adult who can handle his own emotions."
"So you ran away."
"I panicked." I shove my hands in my pockets. "We weren't supposed to sleep together until after all the games were over. That was the whole point. And then we did it anyway, and I didn't know how to deal with that. So I left, and then I kept avoiding you because I still didn't know how to deal with it."
"How to what? Face me? Talk to me?" She crosses her arms over my jersey. "We live twenty-three feet apart, Ryder. You couldn't walk over and knock on my door for three days?"
"Twenty-three feet," I repeat quietly. "You measured?"
"I had a lot of time to overthink things while you were ignoring me."
Despite everything, my mouth twitches. "You measured the distance between our cabins while overthinking?"
"Don't laugh. It's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"It's pathetic." But there's a hint of that snarky humor breaking through now. "I also counted ceiling tiles, reorganized my entire camera bag, and learned seventeen new editing techniques I'll never use. Very productive avoidance."
I move further into the cabin, drop my bag by the door. "You want the truth? I've been a mess for three days. Couldn't focus at practice—took a puck to the face during a basic drill. Coach threatened to bench me if I didn't get my head together. And I couldn't, because every time I tried to focus on hockey, all I could think about was you. Twenty-three feet away. Probably hating me."
"I don't hate you," she says softly.
"You should. I slept with you and then ghosted you like some kind of?—"
"Coward?" she supplies.
"I was going to say asshole, but yeah, coward works too." I shove my hands in my pockets because if I don't, I'm going to reach for her. "But I wasn't avoiding you because I didn't want to see you. I was avoiding you because I wanted to see you too much. Because being around you makes me forget about everything else—hockey, scouts, the NHL—and I can't afford that. Not with two games left."
She moves closer, just a few steps, but enough that I can smell whatever fancy shampoo she uses. "We broke our rule."
"I know."
"We said we'd wait until after the games. Keep things professional. Clear boundaries."
"I know."
"And now there are two games left, and scouts are watching your every move, and—" Her voice catches. "And I don't know what we're doing here, Ryder."
The vulnerability in her tone kills me. This woman who faced down internet trolls and public humiliation, who screamed at a moose and survived Alaska winter in designer boots—she sounds scared. Of me. Of us. Of whatever this thing between us has become.
"I'm terrified," I admit. "Not of you. Of choosing wrong. I've spent my entire life working toward the NHL, and these last two games are my shot. But then there's you, and when I'm with you, hockey doesn't feel like the only thing that matters anymore. And that scares the hell out of me because what if I choose wrong? What if I blow my shot at the NHL because I'm distracted, or what if I make the NHL and have to leave you behind? Either way, I lose something I can't get back."
Piper's eyes are bright with unshed tears. "You think I'm not terrified? My ex dumped me on a livestream, Ryder. In front of thousands of people. Said I was too much, too needy, too exhausting to love. Do you know what it's like to have that happen and then fall for someone who might have to leave for his career? Who might decide I'm not worth the complication?"
"You're not too much."
"You don't know that."
