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HARPER

T he hot water cascades over my skin, but it does nothing to ease the knots in my shoulders. I roll my neck, willing away the tension, but the past clings to me like steam against the glass.

Goddamn it. Why does being here remind me of Ford?

My hands move over my skin, mindlessly scrubbing myself with the loofah, but my thoughts stay tangled in the memories I swore I buried.

Once upon a time, Ford and I were everything —inseparable, inevitable.

Where one of us went, the other followed.

Ford was my first everything—first crush, kiss, love, and heartbreak.

He set the bar so high that every man after him has felt like a cheap imitation.

My body betrays me, heating at the thought of the last time I watched him play. I never fully understood hockey, but that was because I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The sheer focus, the intensity, the way he owned the ice.

Unless he got into a fight, then I was hyper-aware, feeling every hit, every punch as if his bruises and pain were my own.

I squeeze my eyes shut and turn the water to cold, gasping as it shocks my system.

Stop it.

Stop thinking about him.

It’s been a decade.

I broke up with him.

And I moved on.

Didn’t I?

I turn off the shower and grab a towel, wrapping it around my body before swiping another through my damp hair. I frown, critically eying my curvy reflection in the mirror.

Turning away, my feet pad across the hardwood floor to my old bedroom, heading straight for my suitcase.

Then I see it.

The bottom dresser drawer is slightly open.

And inside, folded neatly, is a navy sweatshirt I haven’t seen in years.

My breath catches.

My mouth is dry as I slowly walk toward it, almost afraid it'll disappear if I move too fast.

Crouching, my fingers tremble as I pick it up.

Ford’s sweatshirt.

I’d curled up in this very fabric the night I lost him.

The night I sobbed into my pillow, hating how much I missed him, even though I was the one who walked away.

Like it burns, I drop it back into the drawer, slamming it shut.

This is the past.

A decade has passed, and you’ve moved on .

I inhale sharply and force myself to look in the mirror hanging over the dresser.

My reflection stares back, eyes rimmed red, cheeks flushed.

Have I moved on?

My phone rings, yanking me from my thoughts.

I blink rapidly, swiping a hand over my face.

When did I start crying?

Walking to my dresser, I peer at the screen. When I see Allie’s name on it, I practically sag in relief.

“Hey, Allie.”

“What’s up, my favorite bish?” Her voice is teasing, and I can hear her smirk through the phone.

I let out a soft laugh. “Oh, you know. Just back in the hometown.”

“Ugh. Why do you have to be the one dealing with the house? Couldn’t your parents have stayed and handled it instead of jetting off on a cruise?”

I roll my eyes. “They worked their asses off for years and sacrificed for me. They deserve a vacation.”

What I don’t mention is that I volunteered.

That I practically insisted on handling everything myself.

I know she’d read too much into it.

“I told them I’d deal with it until they get back,” I say instead, hoping my voice sounds casual.

“Uh-huh.” Suspicion laces her tone. “So, you’re just doing them a favor? Has nothing to do with a certain hockey player also being back in town?”

I scoff. “Don’t start.”

She hums knowingly.

Damn her.

I’d heard the rumors that he was here. When a pro hockey star returns to his hometown, the entire community is abuzz with gossip.

I change the subject. “How are things with Mark?”

Predictably, she launches into a tangent about how wonderful he’s been, how things are progressing, and how she thinks he might be the one.

I’m happy for her.

I really am.

But there’s something about hearing her talk about love that makes my stomach tighten.

“Who knows?” she says, her tone playful. “Maybe you’ll find the love of your life in your hometown. It’s all the rage in Hallmark movies.”

I snort. “Yeah, well. This isn’t a Hallmark movie. It’s real life.”

I pace to the window, my stomach twisting when my eyes automatically drift to the house across the lake.

Ford’s house.

Well, technically, his grandmother’s house.

The place I once spent so much of my time.

I used to know every inch of that place—every creaky floorboard, every warm, comforting scent, every space where Ford would pull me close and make me feel like I belonged there.

That I belonged with him.

A flicker of nostalgia slams into me, uninvited.

I can still see us, his gloved hand tugging mine as we stepped onto the frozen lake, my skates wobbly beneath me, my limbs flailing.

I was awful. Hopeless, really.

But Ford wouldn’t let me fall.

He never let me fall.

Allie’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “So, have you seen him?”

I snap out of my daze. “Of course not. I’m sure he’s busy being the town celebrity.”

A beat of silence before she says, “Seems inevitable that one of these days, you’ll run into him.”

I swallow hard. “Not likely. The second the house sells, I’ll have no reason to come back to White Pines.”

“You sound sad.”

I force a laugh. “Not at all. I’m just tired and hungry. Thinking about grabbing some food from Charlie’s.”

“Ugh, now I want Charlie’s. Eat some wings for me.”

I hear Mark’s voice in the background.

Allie sighs dreamily. “Mark’s back. Gotta go.”

I smile. “Enjoy your night.”

She makes obnoxious kissing sounds, and I hang up with a laugh.

But as I turn back to the window, my amusement fades.

My eyes immediately find their way back to the house across the lake.

To the place where Ford might be.

To the past I swore I left behind.

Inhaling sharply, I grab my keys and head to the door.

It’s over.

You need to let go of the past.