Chapter 19
Piper
Sage Lockwood is eating cereal straight from the box on my couch.
Again.
She's been here for two days, and my cabin has officially become Lockwood Sister Headquarters.
Her duffel bag exploded across the living room sometime Thursday afternoon.
Her phone charger has claimed the outlet by my bed.
There are three different types of tea in my cabinet that definitely weren't there before.
"Your brother's place is like twenty-three feet away," I point out Saturday morning, pouring my second coffee. "You could literally throw a rock and hit it."
"Yeah, but his energy is all..." She waves her spoon in a circular motion.
"Broody hockey man who doesn't know how to process feelings.
Yours is more 'girl figuring her life out but at least she has good snacks.
'" She crunches another handful of Cheerios.
"Plus, he keeps rearranging everything I fix.
I spent an hour creating optimal feng shui and he moved the couch back the second I left. "
"The horror."
"Right?" She grins at me. "So I'm staying. Unless you have any objections?"
"If I said no, would it make any difference?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then there's more cereal in the pantry."
"I knew I liked you." She settles deeper into the couch, pulling her legs up. "So. Real talk. How long have you been in love with my brother?"
I choke on my coffee. "I'm not—we're not—it's complicated."
"That's not a denial."
"We're taking things slow. One more game, then we'll talk about what comes next."
"Babe." Sage sets down her cereal bowl with exaggerated care. "You're already in love. Both of you. The talking part is just you both being stubborn about admitting it."
My phone sits on the counter where I left it last night, Devon's text still glowing in my notifications. This could be everything. Don't walk away.
The reality show. The career I built. Life-changing money and a chance to rebuild everything I lost.
All I have to do is say yes.
Except I've been awake since five this morning, staring at that text, and every time I try to imagine myself back in front of cameras, performing Alaska instead of living it—my chest gets tight and my throat closes and every part of me screams wrong.
"You okay?" Sage asks. "You look like you're having an existential crisis."
"Just thinking about a work decision."
"The phone call from yesterday?" She tilts her head. "At the café? You came back in looking like someone had just offered you a million dollars and a root canal at the same time."
I laugh despite myself. "That's... actually pretty accurate."
"So what's the dilemma?"
"I don't know." I pick up my phone, staring at Devon's message. "It's everything I worked for. Everything I thought I wanted."
"Thought?"
"Yeah." The word comes out quieter than I expected. "Thought."
Sage is quiet for a moment, studying me with those sharp Lockwood eyes that see way too much. "Can I tell you something?"
"Okay."
She sets down her cereal and pulls her knees up to her chest. "When Mom started drinking after Dad died, Ryder and I moved to Fairbanks with my aunt after social services got involved.
Away from Ashwood Falls, away from everyone who knew us.
Ryder was fourteen, and overnight he became.
.. everything. He got a job at a grocery store, made sure I got to school, learned to forge Mom's signature on permission slips. "
She pauses, her voice going softer. "For three years, he held our entire family together with duct tape and determination. Paid bills. Made dinner. When we visited mom, he’d drag her to AA meetings when she'd let him.
And the whole time, he told himself it was temporary.
That once he made it to the NHL, once he proved himself, then he'd have earned the right to be happy. "
My ribs constrict, tight and airless. "Sage—"
"I'm telling you this because I've watched my brother spend a decade chasing a dream that was never really about hockey.
It was about proving he deserved to exist. That Dad's sacrifice meant something.
That all that pain and struggle would be worth it if he just achieved enough.
" She meets my eyes. "Don't do that to yourself.
Don't build your worth on external validation.
Don't spend your life performing happiness instead of just.. . being happy."
I look down at my phone. At Devon's text promising everything.
Everything except peace. Except authenticity. Except waking up and not immediately thinking about engagement metrics.
"Mom's been sober for years now," Sage continues.
"She's got a job she loves, she moved to Fairbanks with our aunt, helps with community outreach programs. She's stable.
Happy. And you know what freed her? Letting go of the idea that she had to earn forgiveness.
She just had to choose to be different."
"What if I choose wrong?"
"What if you choose right?" She grins. "Besides, worst case scenario, you end up living in a tiny Alaskan cabin with mediocre WiFi and a moose who has boundary issues. Could be worse."
I laugh despite myself. "Morris isn't that bad."
"I heard he ate your side mirror."
"Technically he just chewed on it."
"Piper." Sage reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Whatever you decide, make sure it's because you want it. Not because you think you should want it."
I stare at my phone for another long moment.
Then I open my messages and type:
Me: Devon, I'm turning down the reality show. But I want to pitch you something else. Call me when you have time.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
My phone rings approximately thirty seconds later.
"Are you serious?" Devon sounds genuinely shocked. "Piper, this is life-changing money."
"I know." I step out onto the porch, needing the cold air to keep me focused. "But I've been performing my entire life. Every post, every story, every carefully curated moment—it's all been for other people. For engagement metrics and brand deals and proving I'm worth paying attention to."
"And that's a bad thing?" He sounds genuinely shocked.
"When I don't even know who I am without it? Yeah. It is." My breath fogs in the morning air. "I came to Alaska to figure out who Piper Meadows is when she's not performing. And I'm not done with that yet."
Devon sighs, long and heavy. "So what's your plan? Live in a cabin and post moose photos forever?"
"Actually..." An idea that's been forming since I arrived crystallizes. "I'm pivoting. Authentic content. No more perfectly staged photoshoots or partnerships with brands I don't use. Real Alaska. Real life. Slower. Honest."
"That's a hard sell in this market."
"Maybe. But it's the only thing I can sell and still look at myself in the mirror." I pause. "I'm calling it Grizzly Girl. Alaska lifestyle content, but genuine. Teaching people how to actually survive up here instead of just looking pretty in front of mountains."
"Grizzly Girl." He tests it out. "It's... actually not terrible. Very niche, though."
"Good. I'm done trying to appeal to everyone."
"All right." His tone shifts, becomes businesslike. "Send me a proposal. Target audience, content strategy, monetization plan. If you're serious about this, let's do it right."
"I'm serious."
"Then I'm in. But Piper? This better work. Because if it doesn't, I'm saying I told you so."
"Fair enough."
I hang up and stand there for a moment, letting the enormity of what I just did settle over me. I turned down a reality show. Life-changing money. Everything I thought I wanted.
And I feel lighter than I have in months.
When I come back inside, Sage is grinning at me. "You did it, didn't you?"
"Yeah." I collapse onto the couch beside her. "I completely changed my career path. No big deal."
"I like it. Very Lockwood of you—burning everything down and hoping for the best."
"Is that a family trait?"
"Oh yeah. We're excellent at self-sabotage and terrible at choosing the safe option." She wraps her arms around herself. "But sometimes the scary choice is the right one."
"Tell that to your brother."
"I have. Multiple times. He doesn't listen." She pulls out her phone. "Want to see the text Jax just sent me? He's relentless."
"You like him."
"He's entertaining." Her phone buzzes again and she laughs. "Okay, he wants to know if I'm free for lunch. I should probably shower first."
"Probably."
She disappears into the bathroom, and I sit there with my coffee, staring at my laptop. The reality show offer is gone. In its place is a blank document titled "Grizzly Girl Proposal."
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Then I start typing.
The morning practice starts at ten. I tell myself I'm going to watch from a distance, maintain boundaries, not make this weird.
I make it approximately fifteen minutes before Preston corners me at the rink entrance.
"Piper! Perfect timing." He's holding his phone like it's a weapon. "We need to talk strategy."
"For what?"
"For when Ryder gets the NHL offer." He says it like it's a done deal. "The long-distance relationship angle could be huge for both of you. Think about it—hashtag HockeyBoyfriend, behind-the-scenes content, the emotional goodbye posts. We could monetize the entire narrative."
Nausea crawls up my throat. "Our relationship isn't content."
"Everything's content." He grins, completely missing my disgust. "That's the beauty of modern relationships. You're already doing it anyway—why not get paid?"
"Because it's not transactional. Because what Ryder and I have isn't—" I stop myself. "We're not a storyline. We're people."