When I finally leave the firehouse, it's almost one in the morning. The championship party's still going at Moosehead Lodge—Jax sent three increasingly incoherent texts demanding to know where I am. Preston sent four about the Thursday meetings. Sage sent one that just says "WHERE ARE YOU" in all caps with a lot of question marks.
But my truck doesn't go toward Moosehead Lodge or Twin Pine Cabins.
It just sits in the firehouse parking lot while I stare at my phone.
Two text drafts I've written and deleted:
Me: Can we talk?
Too vague.
Me: I made my decision and I need to tell you before anyone else.
Too dramatic.
I delete both and shove my phone in my pocket.
Tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow. Morning. Over coffee. Like a normal person having a normal conversation about completely turning his life upside down.
Except Preston's probably already drafting press releases. The scouts will leak it to their networks. By tomorrow afternoon, the whole league will know Ryder Lockwood got NHL offers. And by tomorrow evening, when I turn them down, everyone will have opinions about why.
Piper needs to hear it from me first. Before Preston spins it into a narrative. Before the town gossip machine turns it into a story. Before it becomes news instead of a choice.
She needs to know I'm choosing this. Choosing us. Choosing the life we could build together if she wants the same thing.
If she wants me.
That's the part that makes my hands shake on the steering wheel. The uncertainty. The possibility that maybe this is all one-sided. That maybe the fake arrangement felt more real to me than it did to her.
But then I remember the way she looked at me in the stands tonight. The tears. The smile. The bittersweet expression of someone watching the person they care about win everything while knowing it means losing them.
She feels it too. I know she does.
I just have to tell her before someone else does.
My phone buzzes. Preston:
Preston: ESPN wants a comment about tonight's performance. What should I tell them?
I stare at the message, then at the firehouse behind me, then at the road that leads either back to the cabins or toward Moosehead Lodge and the celebration. I ignore his text.
First thing in the morning, I'll go to her cabin, wake her up if I have to, and tell her everything. The NHL offers. The lieutenant promotion. The choice I'm making.
The fact that I'm completely, terrifyingly in love with her.
I pull out of the parking lot and head toward home, phone notifications still buzzing in my pocket, championship trophy still sitting in the arena, and the biggest conversation of my life waiting twenty-three feet away from my front door.
The cabin's dark when I pull up. Piper's light is off. She's asleep.
Good. She should rest. Tomorrow's going to be complicated enough.
I let myself into my cabin and sit on the couch without turning on any lights. Through the window, I can see her place—dark and quiet and close enough to touch if I just walked across the driveway.
My phone buzzes again. Sage this time:
Sage: You better not be having a crisis alone in the dark. That's what sisters are for.
I text back:
