Page 21

Chapter twenty-one

Riley: Enough?

I turned onto Colton’s street, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel, the warmth of the coffee cup pressing against my palm.

This wasn’t planned—I’d just realized his place was on the way, and stopping made sense. Logical. Just me… checking in.

Okay, fine. Maybe a little bit of me finding an excuse.

I adjusted the bag in the passenger seat, the paper crinkling around the single cinnamon donut inside. One to share. We had never officially established that tradition, but it felt right.

My mind kept circling back to the rink—to the moment I asked him to stay. That kiss.

I could still feel it. Not just the pressure of his lips. But the way every part of me had leaned in, like the universe had suddenly decided we belonged together.

I saw it in his eye. He wasn’t just considering staying. He knew it was the right choice.

So, I was here to find out. What did the coaches say when he told them?

I pulled into a spot in front of his place, grabbing the coffee and stepping out. A solid, normal, casual girlfriend moment. No overthinking. No expectations—just checking in.

Who am I kidding? I want to know if he was still choosing me.

Then I saw his front door.

It was ajar.

My pulse ticked up. That wasn’t normal. I hesitated, stepping closer, pressing my palm against the wood and pushing it open just a little more.

“Colton?”

The mess of hockey gear kicked against the wall.

But there was something else.

Boxes.

With new writing, scribbled over old writing.

Freshly packed boxes.

The donut bag crinkled in my grip as I stared at them, my brain catching up to what my eyes were seeing.

No.

No, that wasn’t right.

Colton wasn’t—

He wouldn’t be packing.

Would he?

I walked forward without thinking, without knowing where I was going—just moving. More boxes. Right in front of me. Unavoidable, undeniable.

I wasn’t sure if my heart was racing or if everything had gone still.

Had I really let myself believe this was different? That he was different?

I moved past the couch, fingers brushing over the fabric like it might somehow make this feel less real. It didn’t. The stupid donut bag crinkled in my grip—like a reminder of how ridiculous I was. Of how I had let hope creep in where it didn’t belong.

He had said all the right things . Made all the right changes . And I let myself believe him. Too fast. Too easily.

Because this, this—was proof I had been wrong.

I let myself believe I mattered. That I was enough to keep him here. And now? The boxes said otherwise. I turned, pace slow, aimless, scanning the space as if it might offer some explanation. Some excuse.

But there wasn’t one. Just boxes. And a countdown clock I hadn’t realized was ticking.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Colton stepped into the room, another box in his arms, his posture tense—like he had been running scenarios in his head all morning but hadn’t landed on the right one yet.

Then he saw me. And froze mid-step.

The box shifted slightly in his grip, his shoulders stiffening.

“Riley.”

Just that. My name. Nothing else. The sound of it sank into the air, heavy and unfinished.

I swallowed. My fingers tightened around the crinkled donut bag. "Your door was open,” I said, but my voice barely made it past my lips.

Silence settled between us. Thick. Uncomfortable. The kind that made every heartbeat feel loud enough to hear.

Neither of us moved.

Say something.

SAY SOMETHING.

My heart hammered, waiting, willing him to fill the silence with an explanation—any explanation—that would make this make sense.

But he didn’t.

Colton just stood there, box still in his hands, like he hadn’t planned for this moment, like he wasn’t ready to say what needed to be said.

The waiting curled tight in my chest, breath caught between hope and dread, until finally—I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"You’re leaving?"

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

How could he just leave? We kissed. I chose him. I let myself believe.

And before I knew what was coming out of my mouth, I was speaking too fast, too loud “You said all the right things, made me think—for one stupid second—that maybe, this was different, that you were different. But clearly, I was wrong.”

Now I couldn’t stop. “None of this matters. We don’t matter. I don't matter."

He still hadn’t said anything.

The box shifted in his grip, fingers tightening around the edges like he suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with it.

That was all I needed to see.

Guilt.

Not hesitation, not uncertainty. Just guilt, plain and obvious, right there in the way he held himself.

He set the box down. Finally, he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze flickering between me and the boxes.

“I’m going back up to the majors. The coach just told me. I’m leaving tomorrow. He told me to pack.”

My stomach tightened. Tomorrow?

“When were you going to tell me?”

Colton exhaled, running a hand over his face, his jaw tight like he’d already replayed this conversation in his head a hundred times.

"I didn’t know how to tell you."

His voice dipped at the end.

"I thought maybe I could figure out what to say while I packed."

He looked down. His shoulders dropped.

He met my gaze, and I saw it—the hurt.

“I have spent so long believing I wasn’t good enough," he murmured, his voice rough at the edges. "That no matter how hard I tried, I’d always find a way to ruin things.”

“But with you... you made me think maybe I wasn’t that guy anymore."

His eyes locked onto mine.

"I thought you saw something in me that no one else did. I thought you believed in me." His voice was softer now, measured, not defensive, not frustrated. Worse, defeated.

"I thought this conversation would be about us figuring out how to make long-distance work." He exhaled, gaze flickering, lingering. "But it feels like this is more about saying goodbye."

His gaze dropped to the ground. When he looked up again, the fight was gone.

How did I get this so wrong?

I accused him before I even let him explain.

I didn’t ask. I didn’t listen. I just saw the boxes and decided I knew the answer.

I had spent all this time convincing myself there were only two options—he stays, or he leaves. That’s what this was, right? A choice between me and everything else.

But that was never how he saw it.

He wasn’t bolting. He wasn’t cutting ties. He wasn’t even hesitating.

He had a third option.

And I never once let myself believe it existed.

“Riley, what are you thinking?”

I couldn’t even look at him. I kept my eyes on the boxes on the ground between us.

“I just wanted to be enough.”