Page 43

Gabby

I honestly can’t believe I’m back in Boston.

The weight of it hits me all over again.

When Maeve called, practically begging for someone to watch Stella because the nanny bailed, I couldn’t just leave her hanging.

I love that little girl, and Maeve and Tanner have become real friends to me, but damn, this feels like a gut punch.

Walking away from everything I built with Roman.

.. God , the tears start to well up again, but I’ve cried enough over the last two weeks.

“I really appreciate you doing this for me,” Maeve says, leading me down the hallway to the room I’ll be staying in until they find a new nanny.

I follow her into the room, feeling like a stranger in my own skin.

The floral bedspread, the soft matching curtains, everything looks so.

.. normal. I set my bag down with a quiet thud.

I didn’t come with much. Hell, everything I own is still at Roman’s.

I was practically living out of a suitcase at my parents' house. And now, here I am. In a room that’s temporary, but in some strange way, it’s the most peaceful thing I’ve felt in days.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but staying at their place made me feel like I was failing at life.

Maeve’s voice brings me back. “Is it okay?” she asks, her tone soft.

I force a smile, brushing away the lump in my throat. “It’s perfect.”

But it’s not. Nothing is perfect right now.

The tears press against my eyelids as I walk toward the window, trying to push them back.

I don’t want Maeve seeing me like this. Everyone knows about what happened in Vegas.

But Maeve’s kindness has been a quiet refuge, the only thing that’s kept me from sinking deeper into this pit of despair.

I pinch my eyes shut, my back to her, then turn slowly. “Is Tanner still going to get my things from Roman’s?” The words feel like they’re choking me.

She smiles softly, but there’s a sadness in her eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

It’s not what I want.What I want is a life with Roman. A future I never thought would slip through my fingers like this. But I ran away once, with nothing but the clothes on my back, and now... now I want the things that remind me of everything I left behind. Even though they’re just things.

The work I put into those designs. The hours, the sweat, the late nights. It feels like a lifetime ago. I might as well leave it all there, with him. With the Bucks. I thought I could build something here, carve out a place for myself. But now, after Vegas, I’m not sure what my future holds.

Maeve glances at her watch, her gaze flicking around the room as if she’s searching for something, anything, to focus on other than me. Something’s off.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she answers, but the word doesn’t feel true. “I just... I was thinking about taking Stella to the rink. They’re doing skate lessons for kids.”

But why the hell is Maeve looking everywhere but at me?

“I know you just got here, and it was a long flight,” Maeve says gently, “But we’d love it if you came.”

My answer rises in my throat, automatic and firm. No. Honestly, the thought of walking into that rink feels like willingly plunging into a fire.

“It would mean a lot to Stella,” Maeve adds, her voice dipping soft. “She’s missed you.” That one sentence lands like a punch. My heart tightens, twisted in guilt and longing.

“…Okay,” I hear myself say.

Maeve’s face lights up with relief. “I’ll go get her ready.”

“I’ll just… unpack.”

My suitcase is embarrassingly small. I unzip it and mechanically begin folding and putting things away, anything to delay the whirl of emotions rising inside me.

Hopefully Tanner gathers my things from Roman’s and brings them home tonight.

Through the thin wall, I hear Maeve’s voice and the rustling of blankets.

“Guess what?” she says, her voice full of excitement. “Aunt Gaga is here to see you.”

Stella squeals. It’s a sound of such joy that it nearly knocks me off my feet.

I press a hand to my chest, trying to breathe through the sudden swell of emotion.

I’ve missed her. God, I’ve missed her so much.

Why should Stella suffer for Roman’s choices?

She’s just a little girl, too small to understand why I vanished.

Why does love always get so messy and complicated?

I step into the hallway and move to her door. The second she spots me, she barrels forward on tiny feet, arms outstretched.

“Gaga!”

I catch her and spin her up into the air, her curls flying, her laughter bubbling out like sunshine. My throat tightens. “I missed you, Stella,” I whisper.

She cups my cheeks in her little hands and presses a sloppy kiss to my lips. I laugh, tearfully, and hug her close. I don’t ever want to let go.

“Are you ready to go to the rink?” Maeve asks, tugging clothes from a drawer.

Before she finishes the question, Stella’s already wrestling out of her pajamas, half-dancing in anticipation. Twenty minutes later, snack consumed and jacket zipped, we’re piled into Maeve’s SUV, winding toward the arena. My fingers fidget in my lap as familiar street signs flash by.

As we pull into the parking lot, something catches my eye. Several things do, in fact. “Is this skate for the families of the Bucks?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

“Yes. Something like that,” Maeve says quickly, eyes avoiding mine. And before I can ask more, she’s out of the car, unbuckling Stella and grabbing the oversized bag of skates and winter gear.

I reach for the bag. “Let me.”

She hands it over with a relieved smile, hoisting Stella onto her hip. I follow her across the parking lot, until something freezes my steps. A familiar vehicle sits parked near the entrance. I know that car.

It’s my car. Well, it used to be. Roman bought it for me. Said he wanted to make my life easier. My feet root to the pavement. “Maeve… Roman’s here.”

She stops mid-stride, glancing back. Her eyes flick to the SUV. “Yeah,” she says softly.

“Why would he be here?” My voice is thin. “He doesn’t have a kid. Does… does his wife have a niece or something?”

She winces but doesn’t answer.

“I can’t go in there.” The air feels thin. My pulse is pounding in my ears. Just the idea of seeing him, of seeing him with Avery, is a vice around my chest.

Maeve hesitates, shifting Stella’s weight in her arms. “Okay,” she says, after a moment. “Just help me get Stella inside, and then you can take my car back if you want. No pressure.”

I look at the massive gear bag in my hands, then at the little girl bouncing on Maeve’s hip, eager and clueless. I can’t leave her juggling this on her own. Nor can I let Stella walk through a parking lot, not at her age.

“I’ll help you in,” I say quietly. “Then I’m gone.”

Maeve nods. We don’t say more. But as we walk toward the rink, I feel it in my bones. Something is going on.

My steps slow again and Maeve must pick up on it, because she says, “You probably won’t even see him.”

I nod. “I’ll get you in the doors, and then I’m gone.”

She nods too, biting her lip. Again. That lip’s going to be raw by the end of this.

Why is she so jittery? Is she that afraid I’ll run into Roman and spontaneously combust?

We step into the rink, the cold air immediately wrapping around me like a ghost from the past. I shift the heavy bag in my arms, ready to hand it over, but before I can, Maeve bolts.

“Maeve, wait,” I call after her, but she’s gone. Practically sprinting toward the change rooms like she’s on fire. What the hell? Do I just leave the bag here? Drop it and flee like I should’ve in the parking lot?

Then Josie appears out of nowhere, smiling like sunshine. Sweet, steady Josie. She doesn’t have kids, so what’s she doing here?

“Josie,” I say, clutching the bag like a lifeline. “Can you give this to Maeve? I really need to go.”

“Absolutely,” she chirps, and then snatches the bag with one hand while grabbing mine with the other.

Before I can protest, she’s dragging me deeper into the arena. Her grip is iron, her stride relentless.

“I… I reallyhave to go,” I manage.

“Sure you do,” she says lightly.

We round a corner, and suddenly I’m facing the glass, and I freeze. On the ice is a runway. An actual, full-on runway. Why is there a runway here at the rink?

“What’s that for?” I ask, blinking like I’m seeing things.

“Oh, that?” she says, as if I’m not staring at the most bizarre mashup of hockey and high fashion ever imagined.

I glance past her and things start falling into place like puzzle pieces snapping in.

There’s a news crewstationed at one end.

Cameras. Lighting. I scan the stands and spot several players—Rip among them—but no kids.

No toddlers running around, no scattered gloves or skates.

The benches are too clean.Too prepared .

Even worse, Roman isn’t sitting with them. He’s nowhere to be found. Something is wrong.

“Josie,” I say, more urgently this time. “What is going on? And why do I feel like it has everything to do with me?”

She grins mischievously. “Because it does.”

Before I can demand more, she throws her hands in the air like a conductor leading an orchestra. The lights dim. Music begins, deep bass, elegant strings, and I swear the air around me shifts. I stagger a little, barely staying upright as Camryn struts out onto the makeshift runway.

Wearing my newest designs.

My breath catches. I can't move. My knees are soft clay and my heart is hammering as the world slows down around me. Josie gently guides me into a front-row seat, and I collapse into it, still reeling.

Then Tate appears, marching down the ice like he owns it, dressed in the tailored gold-and-black suit I sketched and made with him in mind.

What is happening?

Then…Roman appears.