“Derek.” Her voice cracked. She leaned forward, reaching for my hand, and her engagement ring caught the light.
For one disoriented moment, I didn’t understand why she looked so heartbroken. Had something happened? Was someone hurt? My brain felt like it was swimming through molasses, thoughts sluggish and disconnected.
Then it hit me.
Not all at once, but in fragments—jagged pieces slotting together like broken glass reassembling itself into something sharp.
The bad chicken salad. My key in the lock. The sounds before I saw anything. Sounds that didn’t make sense. Sounds that made too much sense.
Cooper.
In my house. In my bed. With her.
Cooper, who was supposed to be my best friend. Cooper, who I’d known since juniors. Cooper, who moved to Chicago to support me.
Mackenzie’s voice—high and startled.Wait, Derek—
Aspen on the stairs. My foot catching air. The world turning end over end.
And then nothing.
My stomach lurched violently. For a terrible moment, I thought I was going to vomit right there in the hospital bed. The fluorescent lights suddenly felt too bright, the beeping too loud, her presence too close.
I pulled my hand away from hers like her touch burned.
“Don’t,” I said. My voice came out hoarse, scraped raw. “Don’t touch me.”
She froze then slowly sat back.
“What happened?”
“You fell down the stairs.” She twisted the sleeves of the hoodie in her hands. “You… you tore your ACL. And you have a concussion. The doctors said—”
“Where’s Aspen?”
She blinked, caught off guard. “He’s fine. He’s at home. Samantha’s watching him.”
Good. At least one of us made it out unscathed.
I closed my eyes. The ceiling spun even behind my eyelids. My career. My knee. Everything I’d worked for since I was four years old, strapping on skates for the first time at the Traverse City ice rink.
Gone. Because of a chicken salad and a cheating fiancée and a dog on the stairs.
“Derek, please. Let me explain—”
“Get out.”
“Derek—”
“Get the fuck out, Mackenzie.”
She flinched like I’d slapped her. For a long moment, she just sat there, tears streaming down her face, waiting for me to take it back. To soften. To be the guy who always forgave her, who always understood.
But I wasn’t that guy anymore.
Finally, she stood. The chair scraped against the linoleum. She hesitated at the door, one hand on the frame, looking back at me like she wanted to say something else.
I turned my head away and stared at the wall until I heard her footsteps fade down the hallway.
