“He’s moved here.” I open my eyes and stare at her. “He lives here now.”
“He’s a pro hockey player, right?” She looks confused again, then something shifts in her expression. “Why would he move here?”
“He must not be playing anymore. I guess he’s only coaching now.” I bite my lip. Why would he quit? Did he have an accident?
I’ve made it a point to not follow his career over the years, and I hate how intensely curious I am about it now.
“You okay?” Maya asks softly, but there’s steel underneath it.
“No.” I press at the corner of my eyebrow where tension is gathering. “I’m going to have to see him at the high school.”
“Oh.” She chews her bottom lip. “Can you get out of working over there?”
“No, not without asking one of my colleagues to take over the supervision, and I can’t ask that of anyone. I volunteered to do it.”
“Hmm.” She drums her nails on the table, painted red and green for Christmas. “What do you want to do tonight? I can create a distraction while you escape. Set off the fire alarm. Fake a medical emergency. Start a flash mob. Your choice.”
“No.” I sigh. “Thank you.”
“You sure? Don’t you still need to finish that intarsia sweater for your mom?” Her eyes light up. “Or you could text Joe. See if he’s available.”
I drop my head back against the booth. Usually, a few hours with Joe is exactly what I need to shake things up. He’s a fun guy, but we also don’t have much in common, so we have a good time together without any risk of me really falling for him. Which makes it perfect.
Right now, though, the thought of leaving the pizzeria makes me almost as sick as the thought of staying. This is my party, my town. And if I leave, I’ll look like a wimp. I’ll look weak.
It’s the last way I want Oliver to see me. Despite the way he treated me when we were together, I don’t want to give any indication that he’s broken me in the slightest. I’ve built an amazinglife since I moved out of our New York apartment, and I’m not going to tuck my tail between my legs and run away.
“I’m staying.” I stand, firm in my decision.
“What are you going to do?”
“What I’ve been doing for the last five years.” I raise my chin. “Live my life. Forget about him.”
Even as I say the words, I know it’s not that easy. The thousand tiny cuts have healed, but the scars are still there. Every time I look in the mirror, I see them, hear the echo of words telling me I’m not good enough, that I’m doing things all wrong.
I’m not living after Oliver. I’m living in spite of him, as much as I hate that even that gives him some power over me.
Chapter Two
Oliver Paxton
“So…” Niall takes another sip of his drink, ice cubes clinking against the glass. “Ex-girlfriend?”
I release a heavy sigh, my throat suddenly parched. The weight of seeing Devin after all these years sits like a boulder on my chest. I need a drink before I explain anything. “What kind of beers they got here?”
The bartender slides an IPA my way, condensation already beading on the amber bottle. I slump onto the barstool that Devin vacated—still warm from where she sat—and take a long pull before answering. “Yeah, we dated. For five years.”
Niall lets out a low whistle that cuts through the restaurant chatter. “Seriously? Weird. I had no clue you two knew each other!”
“Yep.” The beer goes down bitter and cold. Calling it dating seems too simple, too casual for what we had. Dating doesn’t cover the Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, the shared toothbrush holder, the way she’d steal my hockey jerseys and wearthem to bed. Dating doesn’t explain how we memorized each other’s coffee orders, how I knew she hummed when she was happy and went quiet when she was hurting. How our lives became so intertwined I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began—until suddenly I could, because she was gone.
“Did you know that she lives here?” His question pulls me back to the present.
Beer nearly shoots out my nose. I manage to swallow, coughing slightly. “Nope. No clue. How do you know her?”
“She’s my boss. She started the clinic I work at.”
The bottle freezes halfway to my lips. I set it down carefully, as if it might shatter. “Seriously?”
