Page 20

PIPER

T he first week of March brings Boston's version of spring.

It’s windy, unpredictable, with occasional bursts of warmth immediately chased by reminders of winter's lingering grip.

Much like my relationship with Liam over the past ten days.

I stare at my phone, rereading his latest text for the twentieth time:

LIAM: Can't make dinner tonight. Extra film session with Coach.

His fourth cancellation in a row.

No explanation beyond vague hockey commitments. No rescheduling suggestions.

Just increasingly distant messages from someone who, less than two weeks ago, was whispering that he was falling in love with me.

"He's ghosting you," Abigail declares, peering over my shoulder. "Which makes no sense, given how disgustingly smitten he was."

"He's not ghosting me," I argue, though uncertainty gnaws at my confidence. "He's just busy. The Brampton game is coming up, and there are scouts watching."

“Riiiiight. Because that, of course, explains the sudden personality transplant and why he practically ran out of the radio station after yesterday's recording."

She's right.

Yesterday's podcast had been painfully awkward—our usual chemistry replaced by stilted exchanges and too many long pauses. Julian had even asked if we were fighting, concerned about the shift in dynamic.

I drop my phone onto the couch with a frustrated sigh. "I don't understand what changed. Everything was great, and then suddenly..."

"Did something happen? That night he came over and left abruptly?"

I think back to that evening, replaying the moment Liam's demeanor shifted from affectionate to distant in the span of minutes. "Not that I know of. I came home from study group, he was here, and then he practically sprinted out the door."

"Men," Abigail says with the world-weary sigh of someone who's seen it all, despite having exactly one more relationship than me. "Have you tried, I don't know, asking him directly?"

"Every time I try, he deflects or has somewhere to be." I stand, grabbing my coat. "I need advice from someone who actually understands hockey players."

Wren's art studio in the Fine Arts building smells of oil paint and turpentine, the afternoon sun tumbling through high windows to illuminate her latest canvas—an abstract piece in blues and greens that somehow captures both the essence of movement and stillness.

I dawdle in the doorway, watching her as she brushes her paintbrush across a new canvas.

"Relationship trouble?" she asks without looking up from her brushwork.

I take a step in. “Is it that obvious?"

"Kellan mentioned Liam's been in a weird mood all week." She sets her brush down, wiping her hands on a cloth. "Want to talk about it?"

I sink onto a paint-splattered stool. "He's pulling away, and I don't know why. One minute we're talking about feelings, the next he's barely making eye contact."

Wren studies me with her gentle, perceptive gaze. "Have you told him about New York yet?"

My guilty silence answers for me.

"Piper," she sighs, "secrets grow like mold in relationships. The longer you leave them, the more toxic they become."

"I've tried! But the timing never seemed right, and now he won't even have a proper conversation with me."

She exhales. “Dating an athlete is no easy feat. Kellan and I almost broke up over a…little misunderstanding. He found out from someone else and assumed I didn't see him in my future."

The parallel makes my stomach twist. "What happened?”

“Like a pig-headed jock, he got jealous over me talking to another guy. Assumed more was going on.” A small smile plays at her lips.

“I’m only half-serious. No, Kellan did…misinterpret something.

Something I should have warned him about.

But…he did pull away. It’s hard for guys like them.

They put their bodies on the line every day.

Sometimes, it’s much harder to put their hearts out the same way. ”

I nod, resolve crystallizing. "I need to tell him. Tonight. No more excuses."

"Good luck," Wren offers, returning to her canvas. "For what it's worth, I've never seen Kellan's friends as invested in a relationship as they all are in you two."

That evening, I stand in my tiny kitchen, carefully arranging Liam's favorite pasta dish—the one he claims is "better than anything in the North End"—as part of my ambush reconciliation plan.

The fellowship letter sits beside two plates, finally ready to be discussed openly.

My phone buzzes with a text from Derek, of all people:

DEREK

Emergency hockey house meeting. 8PM. Be there.

I stare at the message in confusion. My pulse picks up to twice its normal rate.

Why do I need to be at a hockey meeting?

DEREK

It's about you. And Sullivan. Just be there.

My stomach tightens as the implications sink in…

Shit. Derek knows.

Somehow, he's figured out what Liam and I have been hiding for weeks. Hell, for months.

I abandon the cooling pasta and grab my coat, dread building with each step toward Hockey House.

By the time I arrive, my hands are trembling slightly, though whether from anxiety or frustration at yet another delay in talking to Liam, I'm not sure.

The living room has been transformed into what can only be described as an intervention setup.

Derek stands by the fireplace, arms crossed.

Ryan lounges in an armchair, looking unsurprised and slightly amused. Kellan sits on the couch beside Wren, who offers me an apologetic grimace.

And Liam—my Liam, who's barely looked at me in ten days—stands by the window, his handsome face devoid of all expression.

"What is this?" I demand, stopping just inside the doorway.

"That's what I'd like to know," Derek replies, anger barely contained beneath his calm facade. "How long have you and Sullivan been sneaking around behind my back?"

A ball of emotion jumps into my throat…and sticks.

Here we go.

"We weren't 'sneaking around,'" I throw back, though technically we were. "We were just?—"

"Lying?” Derek thunders. “To my face? For months?"

"We were going to tell you," Liam speaks up, voice flat. "Eventually."

Derek's laugh is bitter. "Right. Just like Piper was eventually going to tell you about her fancy New York fellowship? The one she's been planning since before you two even started whatever this is?"

The room goes utterly silent.

Liam's expression doesn’t budge, confirming my worst fear.

He knew about New York.

I swallow, the gulp going down like gasoline.

"That's why you've been avoiding me," I realize aloud, the pieces clicking into horrible place. "You found out somehow."

"Your laptop," he says quietly. "An email notification. About two weeks ago."

"And you didn't say anything?" My voice raises, taking on a slightly hysterical edge. “Why wouldn't you just talk to me?"

"Why wouldn't you tell me in the first place?" Those gorgeous hazel eyes of his turning to liquid fire. "Were you ever going to mention it? Or was I just a convenient distraction until graduation?"

“No, Liam. No, no. It wasn't like that," I take a step toward him. "I was trying to find the right time?—"

"When? After I made plans that included you? After I started looking into teams near New York?"

The confession denotes like a bomb inside my body.

God.

He'd been thinking about our future together—making plans I never knew existed…

Because I'd been too afraid to share my own.

I lick my suddenly dry lips, the words barely squeaking out.

I shake my head. “I-I’m sorry," I whisper. "I should have told you."

The devastation in his eyes is unlike anything I've ever seen—raw, unfiltered pain that transforms his usually animated face into something almost unrecognizable. His shoulders slump as he turns toward the window, pressing his forehead against the glass.

"I was looking at apartments," he says so quietly I almost miss it. "In North End. South Boston. Dorchester. Anywhere I could afford while trying out for eastern teams.”

A collective inhale from our audience makes me suddenly aware that this private heartbreak has witnesses.

Ryan stares at his shoes. Wren bites her lip. Even Derek looks uncomfortable with the depth of pain he's inadvertently exposed.

"Liam," I step toward him, hand outstretched. "Please, let me explain?—“

"Don't." He straightens, drawing himself up with visible effort. "Just... don’t."

He grabs his jacket from the couch, brushing past me without meeting my eyes. The scent of his cologne—the one I've come to associate with safety and happiness—lingers briefly as he moves toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Derek asks, confusion replacing anger. "We need to talk about?—“

"What's there to talk about?" Liam's laugh is hollow, nothing like his usual warm sound. "You were right all along. The sister rule exists for a reason.”

He pauses at the doorway, finally looking back at me. The pain in his eyes has hardened into something worse—resignation.

"Good luck in New York, Piper," he says quietly. "You'll be amazing. You always are.”

And then he's gone, the door closing with a soft click that somehow feels more devastating than if he'd slammed it.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening.

"Well," Ryan finally says, "that went worse than expected.”

"Shut up, Ryan," Derek and I say in unison, perhaps the only thing we'll agree on tonight.

I sink onto the couch, the reality of what just happened crushing down on me. I've lost him—not because he couldn't handle my plans, but because I never trusted him enough to share them.

"I didn't mean..." Derek starts, then stops. "I thought he knew.”

"He didn't," I reply dully. "Because I never told him.”

Some mistakes can't be fixed with simple words, no matter how sincerely meant.

And some secrets, once revealed, change everything.