Page 19

LIAM

L ate February brings Boston's peculiar blend of winter stubbornness and early spring teasing.

One day dumping six inches of snow, the next offering sunshine warm enough to melt it into slush puddles that ambush unwary students.

And yet through the slush, I only want one thing…

To impress the scouts from Philadelphia and Chicago who are watching from the stands, while also finalizing plans for a weekend getaway with Piper during the upcoming mid-semester break.

"Sullivan!" Coach Murphy barks as I skate past. "Focus on the drill, not the bleachers!"

"Yes, Coach," I call back, dragging my attention to the ice rather than scanning for men in suits with clipboards.

But my mind keeps drifting.

To Piper. To several weeks of dating (still mostly secret, though Ryan figured it out almost immediately).

To the surprisingly effortless way she's become central to my daily life.

How a woman who organizes her bookshelf by subject AND color somehow meshes perfectly with my chaos.

I've even caught myself researching hockey opportunities near major media markets, thinking about how our careers might align after graduation.

After practice, Coach pulls me aside, his expression unreadable.

"The scouts were impressed," he says without preface. "Philadelphia's particularly interested. Chicago too."

My heart leaps. "That's great news."

"They're not the only ones. Vegas has been asking questions, and there's interest from Minnesota and Calgary."

I blink. "Calgary? As in Canada?"

"Last I checked," Coach replies dryly. "Point is, you've got options, Sullivan. Solid ones. But none of them are in Boston."

His words land with unexpected weight.

“Not Boston” means not near Piper, whose journalism aspirations would logically keep her in major east coast markets.

"Something to think about," Coach concludes, clapping my shoulder before walking away.

Ryan appears beside me as I'm unlacing my skates, dropping onto the bench with his usual lack of grace.

"You looked distracted out there," he observes. "Scouts notice that kind of thing."

"I know," I sigh, running a hand through my sweat-dampened hair. "Coach says I've got interest from Philly, Chicago, Vegas, even Calgary."

"That's amazing!" Ryan's enthusiasm dims when he sees my expression. "Isn't it?"

"It is, it's just..." I hesitate, unused to discussing anything serious with Ryan. "None of them are anywhere near where Piper would likely end up."

To my surprise, he doesn't mock me. "Have you talked to her about it?"

"Not really. We've both been avoiding the graduation conversation. But I've been thinking... what if I tried to make it work? Find a team near wherever she lands?"

"You know, most guys chase the dream and hope someone fits into it later. You’re trying to build the dream around her. That’s... kind of badass, man."

"It doesn’t feel like a sacrifice," I admit. "She’s the only part that makes the rest of it feel worth it."

He studies me for a moment, then nods. "For what it's worth, I think she feels the same. The way she looks at you during podcasts—it's disgustingly touchy-feely.”

I grin. "Speaking of the podcast, did you hear about Abigail's plan for a live episode before finals?"

"Yeah, she cornered me yesterday to secure Hockey House for the after-party." Ryan shakes his head. "That woman is terrifying. Anyway, Derek's been asking questions."

My stomach drops. "What kind of questions?"

"The 'why does my sister keep wearing hoodies that look suspiciously like my roommate's' kind," Ryan replies grimly. "And the 'why does Sullivan get weird whenever I mention Piper' kind."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Ryan stands, shouldering his gear bag. "Just a heads up—he's not an idiot. And the sister rule still stands in his mind."

I nod, mentally preparing for the inevitable confrontation with my best friend. But first, I need to talk to Piper about our future.

That evening, I let myself into Piper's apartment with the key she gave me last month "for podcast emergencies only”…though we both knew better.

Tonight, the place is empty—Abigail at her boyfriend's, Piper at a late study group—but her laptop sits open on the coffee table.

I drop onto the couch, planning to surprise her with takeout and my news about the scouts.

As I reach for my phone, the laptop screen lights up with an incoming email notification:

NEW YORK FELLOWSHIP COMMITTEE: INTERVIEW PREPARATION MATERIALS

Without thinking, I lean closer, scanning the visible preview text:

Ms. Thompson,

As you prepare for your final interview in New York on May 18th, please review the attached materials.

As one of three finalists for the Williamson Journalism Fellowship, you'll meet with the selection committee for a full-day evaluation.

Should you be selected, the fellowship begins June 15th, requiring relocation to NYC for the two-year appointment...

The words blur as blood rushes in my ears. New York. Fellowship. Finalist. Relocation.

She's been planning to move to New York.

For two years, at least.

And she never mentioned it to me.

Not once, in all our late-night conversations about dreams and futures and possibilities.

I sit back, a cold weight settling in my chest.

Now her reluctance to discuss post-graduation plans makes perfect sense.

She's had her future mapped out all along.

A future that clearly doesn't include me.

The sound of keys in the door sends me into motion.

I grab my jacket and heads towards the kitchen exit, my heart hammering a million beats a second.

"Liam?" Piper calls, clearly spotting my backpack by the couch. "Are you here?"

I step back into view, forcing a smile that threatens to crack on my face. "Hey. I was just grabbing water."

She approaches with a genuine smile that twists the knife deeper. "This is a nice surprise. I thought you had team dinner tonight?"

"Canceled," I lie. "I should actually get going though. Early practice tomorrow."

Her brow furrows. "Is everything okay? You seem...off."

"Just tired," I Press a quick kiss to her forehead while avoiding her eyes. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Liam—"

"It's fine," I nod, already halfway to the door. "Really. Congratulations on everything. You deserve it."

I'm out the door before she can respond, her confused expression burning into my memory as I retreat down the hallway.

Outside in the chilly February evening, the campus is quiet except for dedicated joggers and students hurrying between buildings, oblivious to the way my entire future is collapsing around me.

Turns out some paths, no matter how briefly intertwined, are destined to diverge.