Prologue
Ophelia
There aresome memories you never truly let go of. Some stay buried so deeply they only drift to the surface in fragments—edges blurred, voices muffled, like a half-remembered dream. But others remain vivid, piercingly clear, refusing to blur or fade.
Keane Stone is like that for me.
Even in my quietest moments, he’s there—not as a ghost, exactly, but as a part of me that I can never quite shake, a permanent imprint on every corner of my heart.
I remember the way he laughed, a sound that could light up any room and reach right down into the lonely spaces inside me. I remember the warmth of his hand in mine, steady and certain, grounding me in ways I never thought I needed. And I remember the promises we whispered to each other, spilling softly into the stillness of the night with the stars as our only witnesses. In those moments, the world was just ours. It was the kind of love that makes you believe in forever, that gives you the courage to believe nothing could ever touch it.
But then came that night.
One moment, he was there—my everything, the axis my world turned on. And then, in a heartbeat, he was gone. Taken from me, left hovering between life and oblivion in a coma that kept him breathing but stole everything else. For weeks, I held on to a fragile hope, imagining he’d somehow wake up and come back to me. But then, one day, he was gone. Slipped away in the night, just like that.
There was no goodbye.No last look, no final words, no whispered “I love you.” Only a silence that felt endless, and the memories that wrapped around me like a blanket—memories of who we were, of everything we were supposed to become.
Now, in the quiet spaces where he used to be, I feel him as a wound that never heals. His laughter, his warmth, the promises we made—they linger, haunting me with the life we almost had, with all the things we could have been. And sometimes, I wonder if this love, this aching, unfinished love, will be enough to keep him with me. Even if only as a memory that refuses to let me go.
Chapter One
Haydn
They sayyou can’t help falling in love. That it’s not a choice, not something you can control or plan for. One day, someone walks into your life, looks at you in a way no one ever has, and suddenly they’re speaking to parts of you that no one else even knew existed. And just like that, you’re done for. Not becausefalling in love is bad—far from it. But because everything that comes after it.
It’s the way they shift your entire world without even trying. The way their laugh stays with you long after they’ve gone quiet, the way their voice feels like home even when you don’t know where you stand. It’s waking up and realizing that every decision you make now revolves around them, like they’ve become the axis your world spins on.
And yeah, that’s beautiful. But it’s also terrifying. Because what happens when the shine fades? When the flaws come out? When the cracks in both of you start to show? What happens when you realize love isn’t a fairy tale, that it’s work, that it’s compromise, that it’s letting someone see the ugliest, most broken parts of you and hoping they’ll stay anyway?
And even if they do catch you, even if they’re everything you dreamed they’d be, there’s still the aftermath. Because love doesn’t leave you the same. It tears you apart, rearranges the pieces, and puts you back together as someone you barely recognize. Someone who suddenly can’t imagine life without them, someone whose world starts to crack at the edges just thinking about losing them.
And that, my friends, is exactly where I’m at with Ophelia Foster. My Pia. Meeting her felt like something out of a movie—one of those chance encounters that make you believe in serendipity. The kind of moment that shifts your life before you even realize it. But unlike the movies, there was no dramatic music, no instant fireworks. Just her. A girl with sharp wit and a guarded heart, looking at me like she could already see the ways I might let her down.
When she said, “I’m not interested,” I should’ve walked away. Taken the hint. Saved myself the heartbreak. But then she followed it up with, “I’m attracted to you, you’re fun, but I don’t think this will ever work.”
She gave me hope.
And let me tell you, hope is a dangerous thing. Especially when it’s wrapped up in someone like her—someone who lights up your entire world but is still holding back pieces of herself. We weren’t on the same wavelength, but we got caught up in something we couldn’t quite name—and couldn’t seem to let go of, either.
But the biggest issue? Her previous relationship.
She’d just come out of a love so big, so consuming, that it had left her hollow. Her heart wasn’t just broken—it was shattered, and every piece of her was wrapped up in the idea that she’d never be whole again.
I get it. I do. Love like that doesn’t just disappear. It leaves marks, scars that run so deep they make you question if you’ll ever be brave enough to try again. But listen—if everyone who’s ever had their heart broken decided love wasn’t worth it, this world would be full of empty people too afraid to take the risk.
So I took it for both of us. I was patient, gave her space, let her set the rules even though I hated every second of holding myself back. Because the truth is, I wasn’t just falling for her—I was falling for the possibility of us. For the life I knew we could have if she’d just let me in.
And now? Now I’m terrified. Because she’s my everything, but there’s still a part of her that’s trapped in the past, a part of her heart that I can’t touch, no matter how much of mine I give her. And if I lose her . . . if I losethis. . . I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
I’m usually good at guarding myself. It’s what I do for a living, after all. I’m a hockey goalie—one of the best in the league. My save percentage last season was a solid .932, with six shutouts. No one gets past me. Not on the ice, not in life. My net is my sanctuary, my fortress, and I’ve always been good at keeping my heart just as protected. But thenshecame along.
And here I am, at Ophelia’s apartment, making sure every last box is packed and ready to go. Three years. Three years of loving her with everything I have, of breaking down her walls bit by bit, of proving to her that we’re not just a moment—we’re a lifetime. And now, after all this time, she’s finally agreed to move in with me.
She said yes.
I still can’t believe it.
Her apartment is tiny, barely enough space for her camera equipment and editing desk, let alone a life we could build together. And don’t get me started on the creaky floors and drafty windows. But it’s hers. It’s the space where she’s been safe, where she’s retreated when the world feels too big, too overwhelming. So, yeah, the fact that she’s willing to leave this place and step into a new chapter with me? That means everything.
