The chair across from me scrapes against the floor, and I feel Haydn’s presence before I see him kneel next to me. His hands are on my shoulders, firm and warm, and I feel his voice more than hear it. “Pia,” he says softly, and that stupid, tender tone just undoes me more.
“No,” I cry, struggling to pull away, but his grip doesn’t falter. “You don’t get to push me away and then act like this.”
“I’m not pushing you away.” His voice is raw, rough and spilling over with something I can’t quite name. “Fuck it, Pia, I’m trying to keep you from having to choose because I don’t know if either one of us would survive a situation like that. You think I want to do this?”
Before I can answer he continues. “Of course not. You’re my life, baby. All I want is for you to be happy, and if he is it . . . I’d rather walk away today.”
I freeze, his words crashing into me like a wave I wasn’t ready for. The fight drains out of me completely, leaving only the raw truth hanging between us, cutting into the space like something sharp and unrelenting. My breath catches, hitching in my chest, and for a moment, it feels like the world tilts—just enough to make me lose my footing.
In the middle of all my anger, all my heartbreak, I see it. I see him. Haydn, next to me with his jaw tight and his eyes filled with something I can’t quite name but can feel all the same. It hits me—he’s just as terrified as I am.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to find the words even though they burn in my throat. “He’s a stranger to me now,” I say softly, my voice trembling. “But I owe him, Haydn. I owe him the chance to get back on his feet.” I glance down at my hands, twisting nervously in my lap. “And yes, he was the man I loved once, but now?—”
I stop abruptly, overwhelmed by everything I can’t say. I don’t know how to finish that sentence, because the truth is, I don’t know what comes after “but now.”
My voice wavers as I try again. “He was there for me when my dad died. He held me together when I thought I couldn’t survive it. Francine and Constantine were too wrapped up in their own pain to care for their youngest sister. But he was there. I can’t just walk away from him, not when he needs me.”
Haydn exhales sharply, his hand raking through his hair in a gesture that feels more like frustration than anything else. His voice, when he finally speaks, is low, subdued and unsteady. “You’ll remember him,” he says, each word deliberate, as if he’s bracing himself for the impact. “Your heart will remember everything. Like every other muscle, it’ll remember how to love him, and you’ll love him back. And then . . . you’ll forget me.”
He looks away, as if the thought is too much for him to hold. “Lang warned me not to be in the line of fire. He said he’s seen you two together. That I don’t stand a chance.”
I scoff, the bitterness rising in my throat. “Fucking Byron Langdon shouldn’t be meddling. He’s a cold, soulless bastard,” I snap, frustrated and so angry at him. Don’t get me wrong, I respect him because he’s the best agent I could ask for. Since he took me as his client I’ve sold more images than I could have ever imagined. He even got me a book deal, but he’s all business and no heart . . . “Well, unless you’re his husband or his kids. Then he’s a complete softie. But you know that already. He’s worried about the Cup, the sponsorships and everything that you might lose if your head isn’t in the game. I wouldn’t listen to him, Haydn.”
Haydn’s eyes narrow slightly, locking on mine. “And is he wrong?” he asks, his voice quiet but edged with something sharp. “Is he wrong about you two?”
I open my mouth to answer, but the words don’t come immediately. My breath catches, and for a moment, I hesitate. “It was a different time,” I finally manage to say, my voice soft, pleading. “I was a different person. I don’t even know if I’d be in love with a man like Keane now.”
“But youwerein love with him,” Haydn presses, his tone filled with a frustration that feels too much like heartbreak. “You were engaged, Pia. You never told me that.”
“There are a lot of things I don’t want to discuss about that time,” I say quickly, my defenses rising. “Yes, we were supposed to get married. After a five-year relationship and a baby on the way, that’s kind of what you do. At least that’s what he said when he proposed and handed me the fucking ring.”
Haydn’s expression shifts, confusion giving way to something deeper—something almost like fear. “A baby?” heasks, his voice barely above a whisper. “What happened to the baby?”
I freeze. The room blurs at the edges, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. The words stuck in my throat, jagged and unrelenting. “I was in a car accident, remember?” My voice trembles, cracking as the memories come rushing back, vivid and cruel. “I almost died. Keane died. And . . .”
My chest tightens, and I press a hand to my stomach, the pain as fresh now as it was all those years ago. “I was in critical condition for a week, and when I woke up . . . she was gone,” I say finally, my voice hollow. “I never got to hold her. Never got to hear her cry. She was just . . . gone.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Haydn doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just stares at me, his eyes wide with something that looks like both grief and helplessness. I hate this. I hate this moment, this conversation, this feeling of being torn apart all over again.
“I’m sorry,” Haydn says, his voice barely audible. “Pia . . . I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t need to know,” I snap, harsher than I intend, and his head jerks slightly, like I’ve slapped him. “It’s not something I wanted to talk about. It’s not something I can even think about without—” My voice falters, breaking under the weight of it all, and I shake my head. “I’ve tried to forget. I’ve tried to bury it. But now . . . now it’s all coming back, and I don’t know how to deal with it.”
“Pia, babe?—”
“No,” I cut him off, my voice firm despite the tears streaming down my face. “You wanted me like this, vulnerable and exposed. Showing you all the pain that the accident caused? Why do you think I keep telling you that I’m not sure if I’ll want a baby? The guilt. I lived and she didn’t. I would’ve given my life for hers. How can I protect a new baby if I couldn’t protect her?”
Haydn’s eyes stay locked on mine, his expression unreadable. But the tension between us is undeniable, humming like a live wire, filled with unspoken questions and fears he refuses to voice. He’s always been the one I could count on—the one who pulls me back when I start to lose my way. But now? Now it feels like we’re standing on opposite sides of a bascule bridge, and neither of us knows how to cross the widening gap.
I want to promise him. I want to say that nothing will change, that we’ll be fine, that this thing between us won’t break under the pressure of everything happening around us. But I can’t. Because I don’t know. I don’t know how this ends, and the uncertainty is already wrapping around us like a rope, pulling us further and further apart.
He exhales slowly, like he’s bracing himself for the words he’s about to say. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and strained. “My house is yours. Whatever you need—whatever Keane needs—my home is at your disposal. I’ll help you, Pia. I want to help because I love you with everything I have.”
I feel the sting of tears behind my eyes, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’s not about to say what I know is coming.
“But now more than ever we have to pause our relationship,” he says, the words landing like a punch to my chest.
“What?” My voice cracks, trembling under the weight of disbelief. “Haydn, no. We can’t. We?—”
