Without a word, he leans in, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the space between us. His hands, still holding mine, squeeze gently, like he’s trying to tether me to him, to this moment.
“You and me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He just looks at me, his gaze steady and intense, as if he’s committing my words to memory, letting them sink deep into the parts of himself he rarely shows. Then, slowly, a radiant smile spreads across his face, warm and genuine, and right now, it feels like the rest of the world simply fades away.
It’s just the two of us, standing on the edge of something vast and unknown, something equal parts terrifying and beautiful. And somehow, despite all my fears, he already feels like home.
Haydn’s expression softens. His hand reaches up, fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
“Ophelia. My Pia,” he murmurs, his voice low and tender. “I need you to always remember that you’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re everything. You’re the only one who sees me beyond all the noise, beyond the image everyone wants to see. The only onewho makes me feel . . . real. Normal. Like I’m not some hero on a pedestal, just a man who loves you.”
His words seep into me, reaching places I didn’t even know were starved for reassurance, for belonging. Something inside me unravels, and I blink back the sting of tears, trying to keep my voice steady.
“But what if it’s too much?” I whisper, barely able to look at him. “What if . . .what if I can’t handle this? The house, the fame, the . . . pressure of it all? What if you can’t handle my bad days? The days when my illness takes over, when I can barely move, let alone keep up with your world?” I swallow, the words tumbling out, raw and vulnerable. “What if I become a burden, Haydn?”
He doesn’t hesitate for a second. His hand moves to cup my face, his thumb brushing softly across my cheek. “You’ll never be a burden, but when things are too much to handle . . . well, then we’ll take it one day at a time,” he says, his voice so full of conviction that it melts a part of my fear. “We don’t have to figure everything out today. I want all of it—the good days, the bad days, the hard days. Whatever you bring, whatever you need, I’m in. You’re my partner.”
He pauses, his eyes searching my face as if he’s trying to reach the parts of me that still hold back, the parts I keep hidden, too afraid to let anyone see—even him. “You take care of me, too, you know,” he says softly. “You’re there when I feel like the world’s closing in, when the pressure builds up and I can’t shake the memories of that concussion—the fear that one wrong hit could end everything. You see me when I’m overwhelmed, when I’m lying awake the night before a big game, unable to quiet my mind. You’re the one who brings me back, who reminds me that I don’t have to be ‘Haydn Wesford, hockey star’ every second of the day. With you, I get to just be . . . me.”
I draw in a shaky breath, his words sinking deeper than he might realize. The truth is, I’ve spent so long feeling like myillness is something I have to manage alone, like it’s this quiet, invisible battle I have to fight in silence. But here he is, standing by my side, asking to share in it, to shoulder some of the burden I’ve always carried on my own.
His gaze holds mine, deep and certain, filled with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. “You and me, we’re a team, Pia,” he says softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here, always. And when the days are hard, when you feel like you can’t keep going, I’ll be here to remind you that you don’t have to do it by yourself. That I’ll carry you if I have to because I love you.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb, his touch so gentle it almost breaks me. And in that moment, I feel something shift, a quiet acceptance settling in—a feeling that maybe I don’t have to be strong all the time. That maybe I can lean on him, let him see the parts of me I usually keep hidden. Because he’s here, willing to carry it all with me.
“I love you,” I whisper. He glances over, and a soft, radiant smile spreads across his face, so full of warmth that it feels like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“You’re my life now, Ophelia,” he murmurs, his voice low but unwavering. He reaches over, his thumb gently brushing along my cheek, and his touch makes my heart skip. “This house, this life . . . none of it means anything if you’re not in it with me.”
I close my eyes, breathing him in, letting his words steady the rhythm of my own heart. Maybe I don’t need all the answers right now. When I open my eyes and meet his gaze, I feel an irresistible pull. His hand lingers on my cheek, warm and reassuring, and before I can second-guess myself, I close the distance between us.
Our lips meet, soft and tentative at first, but then he deepens the kiss, pouring so much emotion into it that it feels like a promise—a silent vow that he’s here, and he’s all in.
And yet, there’s still that nagging fear twisting inside me . . . that if I let myself fall completely, everything will vanish like a dream.
Chapter Five
Ophelia
Anyone would thinkHaydn is a hopeless romantic with the way he sets up our dates. Like right now—we’re on the terrace, and it feels like something out of a dream.
Twinkling lights drape over the pergola, casting a soft, golden glow against the deepening night sky. Below us, the pool shimmers like glass, its gentle ripples scattering reflections intowhat looks like a galaxy of stars. Beyond that, the lake stretches endlessly, its surface so still it feels sacred, as if it’s holding its breath. Tonight isn’t about unpacking boxes but celebrating what this move truly means.
Tonight is for us.
Of course, Haydn doesn’t do this alone. He has people—planners, assistants, anyone he needs to call to make something like this happen. One phone call from him, and suddenly there are tickets to the ballet, reservations at the opera, or a terrace transformed into a fairy tale. He’s not just thoughtful, he’s intentional. He doesn’t simply aim to impress me—he ensures I feel like the most cherished person in his world.
And I love him for it. Not because of the grand gestures—though I’d be lying if I said they weren’t magical—but because of the thoughtfulness behind them. Despite his crazy schedule and the constant demands of his career, he always takes the time to think about what makes me smile. He remembers the little things: how I like the lights dimmed just so, or that I’d pick an evening under the stars over a crowded gala any day.
But it’s more than that. It’s the way he notices me, even when he barely has time to notice himself. The way he senses when I’ve had a hard day and has my favorite tea waiting for me when I walk through the door. The way he looks at me, like nothing else in the world could ever matter more, even when everything around him demands his attention.
I don’t just love Haydn for taking care of me or for treating me like a princess. I love him for the way he makes me feel seen. For the way he always carves out space for us, no matter how demanding life gets.
Today, he did more than just carve out space—he cleared his entire day for the move. He paused his routine, his rigid schedule, and gave me something rare and precious: his undivided time. And not just that. He gave me tonight, thisperfect moment that feels like it’s wrapped in golden light and promises.
I glance over at Haydn, his tall frame leaning casually against the railing. The faint glow of the terrace lights catches the sharp lines of his jaw, the strong curve of his profile. He’s staring out at the lake, his shoulders more relaxed than I’ve seen in weeks, his expression unguarded.
These are the moments I live for—the ones where he’s not “Haydn Wesford, the hockey star,” but just Haydn. The man who knows me better than I know myself. The man who makes my heart ache in the best way possible.
