"Huh." She sits back, studying me like I'm a particularly interesting equation. "You know what? I believe you. He looks different."
"Different how?"
"Lighter. Less like he's carrying the weight of the entire universe on his stupidly broad shoulders." She takes a long sip of coffee. "He hasn't looked this happy since before Dad died. It's good to see."
I press my thumb into the table's wood grain, finding the grooves worn smooth by years of use. She thinks this is real. She thinks I'm the reason Ryder's healing, and maybe part of it is real, but it started as a lie and somewhere along the way the lines blurred and now I'm sitting here accepting credit for something that might evaporate the second we stop pretending.
"Sage—"
"Oh, here's a good story." She interrupts, pulling out her phone. "Did Ryder tell you he cried during The Notebook?"
"He did not."
"Oh, it gets better. He was seventeen. Made me promise never to tell anyone. Took me to see it because his girlfriend wanted to go and he needed backup in case it was terrible." She's grinning now. "Ten minutes in, she's texting her friends. Twenty minutes in, she's asleep. Ryder? Full-on tears during the rainy kiss scene."
I'm laughing before I can stop myself. "No."
"Yes. And then, when Rachel McAdams is old and dying, he had to leave the theater." She clutches her chest dramatically. "Said he had use the bathroom. Came back five minutes later with red eyes and a Slurpee."
"That's actually really sweet."
"He's a secret romantic. Don't let the grumpy hockey player exterior fool you." She pauses as Dotty delivers two plates of blueberry pancakes and actual pie. The blueberries are stillwarm, steam rising from the golden crust. "He also wrote letters to Dad when he was a kid."
"Letters?"
"Dad worked long shifts at the fire station. Ryder hated it. Used to write these letters about his day and leave them in Dad's gear locker." Her voice goes softer. "Dad kept every single one. After he died, we found them in a box in his office. Everything from Ryder's terrible spelling tests to his goals for hockey season to this one letter about being scared of the dark."
"How old was he?"
"Twelve. Way too old to admit being scared of the dark, but he told Dad everything." She stabs at her pancake. "After Dad died, Ryder stopped writing things down. Stopped talking about feelings. Just buried himself in hockey and firefighting like if he worked hard enough, he could outrun the grief or bring Dad back."
"He's trying," I say quietly. "To deal with it. He's just been doing it alone for too long."
Sage reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "That's where you come in."
"Sage—"
"Listen." She leans in, her expression turning serious. "Ryder is the best person I know. He's also a self-sabotaging disaster who will absolutely ruin the best thing that ever happened to him if you let him."
"What do you mean?"
"He's a runner. When things get good, when things get real, he finds a reason to blow it up." She holds my gaze. "Dad's death made it worse. He thinks he doesn't deserve to be happy. That he has to sacrifice everything to be worthy of this town or Dad's memory or whatever impossible standard he's set for himself."
My coffee cup is suddenly very interesting. "I don't think he'd run from?—"
"He already has the perfect excuse," Sage interrupts. "The NHL. If he gets drafted, he can tell himself he's doing the noble thing by leaving. That he's chasing his dreams, honoring Dad's legacy. And if he doesn't get drafted?" She shakes her head. "He'll convince himself you deserve someone better. Someone who isn't broken by grief or stuck in a small town fighting fires." Her jaw sets. "Don't let him. Call him on his bullshit. Make him stay and fight for what he actually wants instead of what he thinks he should want."
"What if what he wants isn't me?"
"Piper." The way she says it makes me feel like I'm missing something obvious. "My brother hasn't looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Not ever. He watches you like you're the only person in the room. Like you hung the moon and the stars and maybe invented oxygen while you were at it."
My face burns. I look down at my pancakes, pushing blueberries around with my fork.
"It is. And you look at him the same way." She releases my hand and picks up her fork again. "Whatever you two have, don't let him sabotage it. He will try. It's what Lockwoods do when we're scared."
The warning settles into my chest alongside all the things Ryder and I haven't said yet. The "two more games" promise. The agreement to wait. The professional boundaries we're both clinging to while our feelings get messier by the day.
My phone buzzes against the table. Loud enough that Sage glances at it.
