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Because my ex, the one from a short summer relationship that was supposed to stay casual and fun and, above all, temporary, plays hockey for the Appies.

And if Camden finds out I’ve moved here, he’ll probably think it has to do with him. It seems a little too coincidental.

So, I just need to make sure he doesn’t know I’m here. Ever.

This shouldn’t be too hard, considering the fact that the Appies are basically low-key celebrities. When Camden and I first met, I did a little reconnaissance—a.k.a. curious social media stalking—and the man has two hundred thousand followers. Not as many as some of the other players, but way beyond normal-person level. Even beyond typical AHL players. Camden’s comments may be turned off, but every post has thousands of likes and shares. It’s honestly a little unnerving.

But it makes my point: He’s busy. Kinda famous. Our paths are very unlikely to cross.

The challenge would actually be getting in touch with him if I wanted to. Which I don’t. But knowing how geographically close we are to Camden—I mean, he could be in that building over thereright this moment—combined with the reminders from Liam’s constant stream of hockey facts, is like massaging salt into very open wounds.

I thought I ended things with Camden before Liam’s heart got tangled up as badly as mine did. IthoughtI made the right choice. The smart choice.

I mean, Camden as a long-term, serious boyfriend or possiblymorewas a pipe dream. Which is why we talked about keeping things casual. He’s a hockey player, and any professional athlete comes standard with a whole slew of unpleasant side effects like constant travel, weird schedules, fame … and stuff I don’t know about because I barely know hockey. Plus, his home was off Oakley, and I told myself a long-distance relationship—assuming Camden might even want the same thing—would be impossible.

But it wouldn’t be long distancenow…

Shut up, inner voice, I silently tell the voice ofunreason.

Because all other reasons aside, there is also the little factor of the boy in the back seat, who, despite how quickly he stopped asking me about Camden after the breakup, was clearly impacted by my short-lived relationship. Hence the hockey facts.

I’m only grateful Cam’s name hasn’t come up. Not in relation to our move or included in the litany of information he’s been fire-hosing at me. I keep waiting for the other shoe—or in this case, skate?—to drop. But between the two of us, Camden has become like the boogeyman or, to use a more current analogy fromEncanto, a movie Liam obsessed over and I couldn’t stop humming for months, like Bruno.

We don’t talk about him. Even if he might still be present, living quietly behind our walls.

“I think the Summit is closed right now, bud.”

“The gift shop in the lobby is open,” Liam says. “The hours today are from twelve to five.”

He memorized the Summit’s hours. Just swell.

I draw in a slow breath and remind myself how much I appreciate my child’s unique brain, even if I don’t know where it came from. Certainly not me. My brain is a combo of a pinball machine with half a dozen balls going at once and a sieve, all connected to a mouth that’s at times a little too smart for my own good. And Liam definitely didn’t inherit his smarts from his biological father, an absolute nothing of a man I’d regret if not for the amazing kid I ended up with.

“I want to get to the house before it’s dark,” I tell him. It’s January, and now we’re in the mountains, which means at three thirty in the afternoon, shadows are already stretching long, the sun dipping below the mountains, and leaving a ribbon of gold along their peaks.

This will take some getting used to. I’m lucky there’s no snow or ice at the moment. I am completely ill-prepared for that. We don’t even own coats. It’s on the list. Along with fifty thousand other things. At least the house we’re renting came mostly furnished. One small thing.

“We should settle in,” I continue gently. “Unpack the car and all that.”

“Oh,” he says, and the disappointment in his voice is a backhand to my heart. “That makes sense. Okay.”

As we pull up to a stoplight, I lift a hand and press two fingers right between my eyes where a headache is forming. Too little sleep lately. Too much caffeine today on the drive.

Too many NHL facts.

But what do I hate more than thinking about hockey and especially hockey players?

Disappointing my kid.

“I promise to take you another time, okay?”

“Really?” Liam’s voice rises with unbridled excitement.

“Sure. Yes.” This is the kind of promise that kills me to make, but I’m making it anyway. “We’ll go to the Summit.”

“To a game?”

I swallow around what feels like a handful of sand. “Sure.”