Chapter 29
NOAH
On Saturday morning, I sit at my kitchen table with coffee and Sam’s job offer, trying to convince myself that project-based work at a nonprofit is a step forward and not just settling for scraps.
My laptop pings with notification of an incoming email.
I swallow groan. Probably another rejection, more reason for me to accept the job at Play It Forward.
I see the email sitting in my inbox.
It’s from Danny.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I click to open it.
Noah, I know you don’t want to hear from me.
I know I said things I shouldn’t have said.
But I need to talk to you. Really talk. Not yell.
Not fight. Just talk. If you’re willing, meet me tomorrow.
2 PM. The coffee shop where we first met for the Alex situation.
If you don’t show up, I’ll understand. But I’m asking you to give me a chance to fix this. Please.
I read it three times.
Danny wants to talk.
He told me we were done and to stay away from him. He walked away from me without looking back.
Now he wants to meet.
I should say no. I should tell him it’s too late, we said too much, we’re too broken to fix.
But all I can think about is the look on his face when I told him the relationship had ended. The hurt in his voice when he said you chose everyone except me.
He was right. I did.
I stare at the text for ten minutes before responding.
I’ll be there.
The reply comes immediately.
Thank you.
That’s it. Just two words.
But they feel like more.
The rest of Saturday drags. I try to work on Sam’s contract, review the project scope, focus on something productive.
But all I can think about is tomorrow. What Danny wants to say. What I need to say. Whether we can actually fix this or if we’re just prolonging the inevitable.
By evening, I’m second-guessing everything.
My phone rings. It’s my father.
“Hey, Dad.”
“How are you doing?”
“Fine. Why?”
“Because you sound like you’re about to crawl out of your skin.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I talked to Masterson last night.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“He showed up at the arena late. He said he needed to see the ice. We talked.”
“About what?”
“About you. About what happened. About the fact that you’re both miserable and too stubborn to fix it.” He pauses. “I told him I never gave you an ultimatum. That ending the relationship was your choice. Not mine.”
“Dad—”
“I also told him I regret not being clearer with you. That I should have told you your happiness matters more than my career. That I love you no matter what.” His voice softens. “I was so focused on the consequences that I forgot to tell you what really mattered.”
I drum my fingers on the tabletop.
“I figured Masterson reached out to you,” Dad says. “He asked me if he should. I told him yes.”
“You told him that?”
“I told him not to waste time on pride or fear. That if he loves you, he should fight for you. Same thing I’m telling you now.
” He pauses. “Whatever happened between you two…the mistakes, the hurt, all of it…it doesn’t change the fact that you love each other.
And love like that doesn’t come around often.
So don’t throw it away because you’re scared or because you think it’s too late.
It’s never too late if both people are willing to try. ”
“What if we can’t fix it?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried. But Noah? I think you can. I think you’re both just waiting for permission to admit you were wrong and want another chance.”
“I don’t know if I can trust him not to give up again.”
“You mean you don’t know if you can trust yourself not to give up again.”
Shit. He’s right.
I’m not afraid Danny will give up. I’m afraid I will. Again.
“Go to see him tomorrow,” Dad says. “Talk to him. Really talk. Not about who was right or wrong. About whether you want to try again. Whether you’re willing to do the work. Whether what you have is worth fighting for.”
“What if it’s not?”
“Then you walk away. But I don’t think that’s what you want.”
He hangs up.
I sit there staring at my phone, at Danny’s text, at the invitation to try again.
My father’s right. I’m scared. Not of Danny. Of myself.
Of making the same mistakes. Of giving up when things get hard. Of choosing control over courage.
But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the only way to prove I won’t do it again is to show up and try.
Sunday afternoon, I drive to the coffee shop. It’s the same place where I met Alex all those weeks ago. Where this whole mess started spiraling.
I guess it’s poetic justice that we try to fix things here.
I’m ten minutes early and order a coffee I don’t drink. I drop into a chair at a corner table where I can see the door.
At one fifty-eight, Danny walks in.
He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Dark circles stain the skin under his eyes, his hair is messy, and he wears a baseball cap pulled low like he’s trying not to be recognized.
Our eyes meet.
For a second, I think he might turn around and leave.
But he doesn’t. He walks to the counter, orders something, then comes to sit across from me.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
We sit in silence for a moment. The weight of everything that’s happened sitting between us is like a third person at the table.
“Thanks for coming,” Danny finally says.
“You asked me to.”
“I know. But I wasn’t sure you would.” He wraps his hands around his cup. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say. Spent all night rehearsing. But now that you’re here, I don’t know where to start.”
“Start with why you wanted to meet.”
He takes a breath. “Because I fucked up. At Play It Forward. The things I said. I was angry and hurt and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.”
“I said things I regret too.”
“I know. But I need to say this.” He looks at me. “You were right. About the Alex interview. I shouldn’t have talked to him. I thought I was defending us and setting the record straight. But all I did was give him ammunition to twist everything. And that got you fired. I know that. I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t just the interview. It was everything. The videos, the relationship, all of it.” I shrug. “I’d probably have been fired anyway.”
“Maybe. But I made it worse. And I need you to know I regret that.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Your turn,” he says.
“For what?”
“To tell me what you regret.”
I’m quiet for a moment, gathering the words I’ve been rehearsing since yesterday.
“I regret ending the relationship without talking to you first. Releasing that statement like it was a done deal when we should have discussed it together. You were right. I tried to control everything. The narrative, the outcome, the damage. I was so focused on protecting everyone that I forgot we were supposed to be a team.” I look at him.
“And I regret giving up. You told me I was too scared to fight for us, and you were right. When things got hard, I bailed. I chose the safe option, the one where I didn’t have to risk failing or making things worse. And I’m sorry.”
Danny looks at me. “I talked to your dad.”
“I know. He told me.”
“He said he never gave you an ultimatum. Never told you to end it.”
“He didn’t. I made that choice and convinced myself it was the only way to protect everyone. But really, I was just scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of failing. Of not being able to fix things. Of making the wrong choice and losing everything anyway.” I lean back. “Turns out I lost everything by trying to prevent it. So that worked out great.”
Danny almost smiles. “We’re both idiots.”
“Yeah. We are.”
“So where does that leave us?”
I look at him. At the exhaustion in his eyes. The hope underneath it.
“I don’t know. Where do you want it to leave us?”
“I want...” He stops, starts again. “I want to try again. If you’re willing. I want to do it differently this time. No hiding. No secrets. No pretending we’re something we’re not.”
“You mean go public?”
“Maybe not right away because of everything going on. But yeah. No more hiding.” He looks at me. “I’m tired of being scared of what people think. I’m tired of choosing my career or your career or anyone’s opinion over what I actually want. And what I want is you.”
My chest tightens. “Danny—”
“I know it’s complicated. I know there are still consequences. You’re out of a job. I’m suspended. Your dad’s reputation is damaged. The team’s falling apart. But I also know that walking away doesn’t fix any of that. It just means we’re both miserable and alone on top of everything else.”
“What if we try again and it doesn’t work? What if we hurt each other worse?”
“Then at least we’ll know we tried. At least we won’t spend the rest of our lives wondering what if.
” He reaches across the table but doesn’t touch me.
He just puts his hand there. As an invitation.
“I love you, Noah. I never stopped. Even when I was angry. Even when I told you to stay away. I love you. And I think you love me too.”
“I do.” The words come out before I can stop them. “I never stopped loving you. Even when I was trying to convince myself I could move on. Even when I was angry about the interview. I love you.”
“Then let’s try again. For real this time.”
I look at his hand on the table. At the choice in front of me.
I reach across the table and lace my fingers with his.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Let’s try again.” I squeeze his hand. “But we do it differently. We talk. We don’t make decisions without each other. We don’t run when things get hard. And we figure out how to go public in a way that doesn’t destroy what’s left of our careers.”
“Agreed.” He smiles. Actually smiles. “So what happens now?”
“Now we figure it out. One step at a time.”
“Starting with?”
“Starting with you finishing your suspension. Getting back on the ice. Helping the team make the playoffs.”
“And you?”
“I’m taking the contract work with Play It Forward. Sam offered me a position. Project-based. It’s not what I had before, but it’s something. And it matters.”
“That’s good. Really good.”
We sit there, hands linked across the table, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.
“I missed you,” Danny says quietly.
“I missed you too.”
“Can I take you to dinner? Somewhere quiet where we won’t get photographed?” he asks.
“You mean like we’re hiding?”
“I mean like we’re easing back into this. We can go public when we’re ready. But right now, I just want to have dinner with you without worrying about cameras or commentary.” He shakes his head. “I’ve had enough of that shit.”
“Okay. Dinner sounds great.”
We leave the coffee shop together. Not touching in public, not yet, but walking side by side, and it feels good. Actually, it feels amazing.
In the parking lot, Danny stops by his truck.
“Thank you for showing up today,” he says.
“Thank you for asking me to.”
“I was scared you’d say no.”
“I was scared too. But my dad reminded me that being scared isn’t a good reason not to try.”
“Your dad’s pretty smart.”
“Don’t tell him that. His ego’s already big enough.” I lean against his truck. “We’re going to have to talk to him. To Marshall. To your teammates. Figure out how to navigate this without making everything worse.”
“I know. But not today. Today let’s just... be.”
“Be?”
“Together. Without the weight of everything else in the world hanging over. Just us.”
I reach for his hand and hold it properly this time.
“Okay. Just us.”
He kisses me. Right there in the parking lot where anyone could see.
It’s not smart. Not careful. Not controlled.
But it’s real.
And maybe that’s what matters.
“I’m sorry I gave up,” I say quietly when we break apart.
“I’m sorry I made it worse.”
“We both made mistakes.”
“Yeah. But we’re fixing them.”
He’s right. We are.
It’s not perfect. There are still consequences to deal with. Still conversations to have. Still risks we’re taking.
But we’re trying.
And maybe that’s all we need.
Later that night, when Danny’s asleep beside me in my bed, I lie awake thinking about everything that’s happened.
The videos. The statement. The resignation. The fight. The reconciliation.
All of it led here. To this moment. To choosing courage over control.
To fighting for what matters instead of giving up when things get hard.
My phone’s on the nightstand. I pick it up and shoot off a text to my father.
Thank you. For talking to Danny. For pushing me to try.
His response comes a minute later.
You don’t need to thank me. Just be happy. That’s all I want.
I put the phone down and watch Danny sleeping beside me.
I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know how we navigate going public or dealing with the team or rebuilding our careers.
But I know we’ll figure it out.