Me: I'm fine.
Sage: Liar. But I'll let you be a liar tonight because you won and I'm proud of you.
Then:
Sage: Whatever you're deciding, choose what makes you happy. Not what you think you should want.
I stare at that message for a long time.
Choose what makes you happy.
The NHL would make a lot of people happy. Preston. The scouts. Every coach who ever believed in me. Dad would've been proud. Mom will probably cry either way.
But staying? Staying makes me happy. Being lieutenant like Dad was. Fighting fires. Mattering to the people who matter to me.
Being with Piper.
I set my phone on the coffee table and lean back, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
Tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow. Before anyone else can. Before the world weighs in. Before this becomes anything other than what it is—a man choosing the life he wants over the life everyone expected.
Chapter 21
Piper
The games are over.
That's the first thought when I wake up Tuesday morning in the cabin that's become home.
Sunlight streams through the curtains Sage forgot to close last night, and my phone shows fourteen text notifications—mostly Tessa and Patrice losing their minds over Ryder's game-winning goal.
The games are over, which means the waiting is over.
Which means today, Ryder and I can finally have the conversation we've been dancing around for weeks. The one where we figure out if what we have is real or just really good acting.
Except I already know the answer. It's been real since the snowball fight. Maybe even since the night Morris ate my side mirror and Ryder showed up as my Hockey Stick Hero and saved the day.
Sage is sprawled across the couch, snoring like a hibernating grizzly, so I make coffee as quietly as possible and pull out my phone. The community outreach job application sits in my sent folder, proof that I'm not just thinking about staying—I've already committed to it.
Now I just need to tell Ryder.
My stomach flips at the thought. Not the bad kind of flip, the kind that happens before stepping on stage or posting a video I'm proud of. The good nerves. The ones that mean what happens next matters.
I'm halfway through my second cup of coffee when Sage stumbles into the kitchen, hair sticking up at angles that defy physics.
"Is there coffee?" she croaks.
"Pods on the counter," I say, gesturing.
She grabs one for herself, a mug and collapses into the chair across from me waiting for it to brew. "You're annoyingly cheerful this morning."
"The games are over."
"And you survived my brother's emotional constipation. Congratulations."
I laugh despite myself. "He's not that bad."
"I know." Sage sets down her mug and fixes me with a look that's pure Lockwood intensity. "My brother doesn't let people in. Ever. Mom and I have been trying for years. But you? The way he looks at you is different."
