I float through the rest of the evening disconnected from everything around me, and when it’s time to leave, I’m desperate to be alone again.
For the next few days, I throw myself into work, staying late to review files and arriving early to prepare treatment rooms. Anything to keep busy and keep my mind off the man who broke my heart.
It works when I’m busy at work, but in the evenings, the pain returns.
I can't sleep in this apartment. Every creak in the hallway makes me wonder if it's him. Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it's a text from him. Living next door to someone who wants nothing to do with you is hell.
So on Thursday night, I do something about it.
I curl up on my couch with my laptop and start searching for apartments near the arena. Something small, affordable, and far enough from this building that I won't risk running into Ethan every time I step outside my door.
The listings are so bad that it’s disconcerting. Studios with tiny kitchens, one-bedrooms in sketchy neighborhoods, and places that cost twice what I'm paying now for half the space.
Nothing feels right.
I close the laptop with a sigh and rub my tired eyes. I'll look again tomorrow. Right now, I need to sleep.
The next morning,I drag myself to work on autopilot. The grey sky overhead matches my mood perfectly. I enter the arena through the staff entrance and immediately notice something strange.
People are smiling at me weirdly.
The receptionist at the front desk looks like she's about to burst with excitement. Two trainers I pass in the hallway exchange glances and poorly concealed grins.
“What's going on?” I ask Lane as he walks by.
“You'll see.” He winks and keeps walking.
My confusion only grows as I make my way to my office. More smiles. More whispered conversations that stop abruptly when I approach. By the time I reach my door, my heart is pounding.
I push open the door and freeze.
Every surface is covered in flowers. Roses, lilies, peonies, and tulips, arranged in vases that crowd my desk, my shelves, thewindowsill, even the floor. The scent is overwhelming, filling my lungs with every breath.
I step inside with unsteady legs and search for a card. I find it tucked into a bouquet of pale pink peonies on my desk. A small white envelope with my name written on the front in handwriting I don't recognize.
I tear it open with trembling fingers. The card inside is blank. No signature. No name. Nothing to indicate who sent enough flowers to fill a florist shop.
My first thought is Ethan. My heart leaps with desperate hope. Maybe he's realized he was wrong. Maybe this is his way of apologizing.
But no. It can't be him. He can barely stand to look at me. He's made it perfectly clear that we're over. He wouldn't do something this grand. This romantic and completely out of character for a man who communicates in grunts and glares.
Which leaves Brody.
My stomach sinks. Brody must be back in Charlotte. I made it absolutely clear that there was no future for us. But this is exactly the kind of gesture he would make. Big and flashy. A grand romantic overture designed to wear down my defenses.
Except I can't ask him. I sink into my chair, surrounded by flowers, and stare at the unsigned card in my hand.
Why would someone send such extravagant flowers and not sign the card?
26
Ethan
“So did you send the flowers?” Nova is lacing up his skates in the stall next to mine, his voice low enough that only I can hear him.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
