Without thinking, I let instinct take over. I flash a grin at the camera, tap my stick to my lips in a mock kiss, and point at it with a cocky tilt of my head. Stupid? Maybe. But there’s a part of me hoping—just hoping—Pia might be watching. And if she is, I want her to know I’m thinking of her, even if it doesn’t mean anything to her anymore.
“Wesford’s flirting with the cameras again,” Hanson hollers as he skates past, his grin wide, easy.
“Someone’s gotta keep the fans entertained,” I shoot back, adKeaneg my mask as my focus shifts back to the ice. The puck’s moving fast, a blur of black against white, and I’m already tracking it, blocking out everything but the game.
But tonight, no matter how hard I try, there’s a crack in my concentration. It’s her birthday. All I could manage was sending her a gift. A present for a woman who walked away from me two months ago, leaving behind a hole I can’t seem to fill.
Pia moved out after Constantine showed up and let some of their secrets out into the world. Rowan picked up Keane, she packed her things and left with Constantine, and me . . . well, I was relegated to the sidelines once again, which was maybe for the best.
Pia left claiming she wasn’t ready, and I deserved more. More of what, I still don’t know. She was everything to me, even with all her unresolved pain. But then again, who doesn’t have their scars?
Mine? They’re still tied to my mother walking away, her absence a wound that hasn’t healed, no matter how many therapists or coping strategies I’ve tried. After Pia left, I knew Ihad to face it, so I changed therapists, changed tactics, started digging deeper. For what? To be better. For myself. For her, if there’s ever a chance.
If our paths cross again, I want to be ready. But if they don’t? That’s the question I can’t bring myself to answer. Every time I imagine moving on, meeting someone new, I can’t see it. No one else fits the picture. No one else feels like home.
Ophelia Foster is it for me.
When she left, she said she loved me. But even love wasn’t enough to hold us together. She had questions she needed answered, truths about her past and the accident that left her doubting what was real and what wasn’t. She needed clarity. Closure. And she needed it without me.
I get it. At least, I tell myself I do. But it doesn’t stop me from hoping—hoping that one day, when she’s pieced together the broken parts of herself, we’ll find our way back to each other.
It has to happen, right? It’s the only way this story makes sense.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Pia: Congratulations on another well-deserved win and thank you for the birthday present.
Haydn: Were you watching?
Pia: I never miss a game—even wear black, white, and silver for good luck.
Haydn: How did you spend your birthday?
Pia: Constantine and Francine came over with takeout and cake.
Haydn: I’m glad you spent the day with your siblings. Are you getting ready for the Andes assignment?
Pia: Nope. I can’t go. The doctor recommended I skip it.
Haydn: Are you okay?
Pia: I’m okay, but I’m constantly flaring, and with the high altitude, my body might take a turn for the worse.
Haydn: You can always swing by the house, and my massage therapist can help.
Pia: I’ll use the spa gift certificate you gave me instead.
Haydn: Go out on a date with me.
Pia:What if I bring yet more drama to your door?
Haydn:What if this time you tell me what drama might appear so I’m ready? No more keeping me in the dark.
Pia:Hey, I had no idea Keane was alive. You already know why I was hiding most of the relationship with him.
Haydn:Are you two . . .?
Pia:Together? Nope. That’s not a relationship I want to revisit. Lang was right, it was toxic. For some reason I thought I was there to save him—but no one was there to save me from him. Not that I thought I needed it back then. I was blinded by love. I did love him, you know?
