Page 12

OLIVIA

I almost don’t go in.

The door’s half-open, the street behind me louder than it should be, and there’s this weight sitting in my chest that makes it hard to breathe. My legs move anyway.

Matt’s already here. Two coffees on the table.Same easy smile. And for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all. Like I’m still the same person I was before everything cracked open.

I’m not.

That version of me didn’t survive the grief. This one’s still learning how to live again.

"Liv," he says, standing to hug me.

“Hey, Matt.”

His arms are solid around me, familiar in a way that tugs something loose in my chest.

We sit, and the conversation picks up easily. Stories. Deployment. Ethan’s god-awful singing. His even worse cooking. We laugh more than I expect.

Then the mood shifts.

“He loved you so much,” Matt says, his voice quieter now, fingers curled around his coffee mug. “We all saw it.”

“I know.” And I did. But love didn’t save him. It didn’t stop what happened.

We talk about the last few months of Ethan’s life. How fast the condition progressed. The weight of caregiving. The nights I held him when he couldn’t speak anymore. The guilt of resenting it. The deeper guilt of missing being touched, seen. Wanting something more than grief.

“It’s okay to move on,” Matt says softly. “Doesn't mean you stopped loving him.”

I nod, but my throat is too tight to answer.

My mind drifts unwillingly to Sebastian.And like he’s been conjured by my very thoughts, he walks through the café door like a storm front, eyes sweeping the space before landing on me. And narrowing.

I give a small wave. He doesn’t return it.

His gaze drifts to Matt, and his lips twitch slightly, almost like a snarl, before he turns and walks towards the counter.

I exhale slowly, but Matt doesn’t seem to notice the shift in my posture or the tension climbing my spine. He just talks about how cool it is that I'm working with the Annihilators.

"I can get you tickets," I offer, redirecting my attention to him.

"Was hoping you'd offer." Matt grins. "But only if Kane Madden’s playing. If I came all this way, I want to see some blood on the ice."

I laugh, shaking my head. "You’re terrible."

"Just honest. The guy’s a legend." He leans back, stretching, continuing to talk about the players and the team, but his words barely register.

I keep my eyes on Matt. But I feel Sebastian. Every shift in the air when he breathes.And out of the corner of my eye, I catch him—leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Staring straight ahead.

When he crouches down to sign a kid’s jersey, and gives him one of those rare smiles, it hits like a sucker punch.

"You okay?" Matt asks. "You seem a little... distracted."

I blink, then shake my head. "Sorry. I'm just—it's been a weird couple of weeks."

"Yeah. I get that. I should probably get going anyway. I've got a job interview later. That’s actually why I’m in town."

"Really? That’s great."

He stands with a quiet shrug, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. I rise too, and he pulls me into another hug—this one tighter, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

“If you ever need anything,” he says, voice low but steady, “you call. Doesn’t matter when.”

“Thank you,” I say, hugging him back.

Matt leaves, and I stay rooted in place for a breath too long.

Across the room, Sebastian is still. But I feel him—every inch of the air between us charged like static.

My coat is heavier in my hands than it should be. I shrug it on, fingers clumsy, pulse too loud in my ears.

When I finally step toward the door, he moves too.

We reach it at the same time, our footsteps falling in sync. Without a word, he pulls the door open and steps aside, letting me walk through first. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the street like I’m not even beside him.

We walk in silence, the cold air biting at my cheeks. I can feel the tension radiating off him—hot and heavy and impossible to ignore. It’s not just discomfort. It’s anger. Searing. Focused. And for the life of me, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.

“Hey,” I say gently, trying to break the thick silence. “You okay?”

He doesn’t look at me.

"I'm fine."It’s clipped. Dismissive.

"You don’t seem fine."

"I said I’m fine."

The words hit harder than they should. Maybe because I’m already too raw.

I stop walking, force him to pause. “What is going on with you?”

He turns then. Slowly. Shoulders squared, eyes hard. Like whatever's about to come out has been sitting just beneath the surface, waiting to explode.

“You want the truth?”

“Yes,” I snap, the word pushed out on a breath. “Please.”

His jaw flexes. A muscle ticks in his cheek.

“You should stop fucking with my head.”

The words land like a slap, but it's his voice—low, rough, like gravel under pressure—that makes my stomach twist.

My mouth goes dry. “What does that even mean?”

He laughs—bitter and sharp. “Your husband. Ethan . He deserves better than you eye-fucking your colleagues across the room.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe. Can’t think. His words don’t just hurt—they cut. Emotions rise too fast, too hot. If I let them loose, they’ll wreck me. So instead, I sink. Numb. Hollow. Gone.

“That wasn’t Ethan,” I say, voice splintered and low.

He stiffens. “So you’re cheating on him with that guy? Nice, Olivia.”

I stare at him. Blink. Once. Twice. I won't cry. Won't yell. I just say quietly, “My husband died three years ago.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes—shock, maybe. Regret. But it’s too late.You can’t uncut someone after the knife’s already gone in.The silence is thick. Pressing. Heavy. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t reach for me. Just stands there, like the damage isn’t already done.

I don’t wait.

I turn and walk away.

He doesn’t follow.

And I don’t look back.

Because if I do…I’ll break.