Chapter 17 #2
"He's a runner. When things get good, when things get real, he finds a reason to blow it up.
" She holds my gaze. "Dad's death made it worse.
He thinks he doesn't deserve to be happy.
That he has to sacrifice everything to be worthy of this town or Dad's memory or whatever impossible standard he's set for himself. "
My coffee cup is suddenly very interesting. "I don't think he'd run from—"
"He already has the perfect excuse," Sage interrupts.
"The NHL. If he gets drafted, he can tell himself he's doing the noble thing by leaving.
That he's chasing his dreams, honoring Dad's legacy.
And if he doesn't get drafted?" She shakes her head.
"He'll convince himself you deserve someone better.
Someone who isn't broken by grief or stuck in a small town fighting fires.
" Her jaw sets. "Don't let him. Call him on his bullshit.
Make him stay and fight for what he actually wants instead of what he thinks he should want. "
"What if what he wants isn't me?"
"Piper." The way she says it makes me feel like I'm missing something obvious. "My brother hasn't looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Not ever. He watches you like you're the only person in the room. Like you hung the moon and the stars and maybe invented oxygen while you were at it."
My face burns. I look down at my pancakes, pushing blueberries around with my fork.
"It is. And you look at him the same way." She releases my hand and picks up her fork again. "Whatever you two have, don't let him sabotage it. He will try. It's what Lockwoods do when we're scared."
The warning settles into my chest alongside all the things Ryder and I haven't said yet. The "two more games" promise. The agreement to wait. The professional boundaries we're both clinging to while our feelings get messier by the day.
My phone buzzes against the table. Loud enough that Sage glances at it.
Devon. My former brand manager who ghosted me after the Chad disaster.
I flip the phone face-down, but Sage is already watching me with raised eyebrows.
"I should take this," I say, standing up. "Give me two minutes?"
"Take your time. I'm going to get more pie."
I step outside into the cold afternoon air. My breath fogs in front of me as I answer. "Devon."
"Piper! God, it's good to hear your voice." Devon sounds manic, the way he always did when he had big news. "I know I've been MIA. I'm sorry. Things got complicated after the breakup went viral, but I've been working on something huge."
Right. Complicated. That's what we're calling it when he ghosted me after my career tanked.
"What do you want, Devon?"
"Huge huge. A network wants to develop a reality show around your Alaska rebrand—think Pioneer Woman meets The Kardashians. Beautiful Alaskan scenery, your lifestyle content, the whole redemption arc from influencer to... whatever you're doing now."
The coffee I just drank turns sour in my stomach. "A reality show."
"The money is insane. Like, change your life money. But we'd need to start meetings in Anchorage next week. Lock down the concept, scout locations, build the team."
"Next week?"
"I know it's fast, but the network is serious.
This could be your comeback, Piper. Your chance to take control of the narrative.
" He pauses. "You've been posting from some tiny town, right?
Ashwood Falls? That could be perfect. Small-town charm, rugged Alaska, your fresh start.
We could build the whole show around it. "
I look back through the café window. Sage is laughing at something Dotty said, her head tipped back. Her brother has that same ease. This whole town does—somehow it's become home in the space of three weeks.
"I need to think about it."
"Don't think too long. The network wants an answer by Monday." Devon softens his voice. "This is your shot, Piper. Don't let it slip away."
He hangs up, and I stand there on Main Street with my phone in my hand. The cold bites through my sweater, but I don't move.
A reality show. The career I built. The life I thought I wanted.
All I have to do is say yes.
When I slide back into the booth, Sage has demolished her pie and is scrolling through her phone. The café has gotten quieter, just the low murmur of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
"Yeah. Just a work thing." I pick up my fork, but my appetite has vanished.
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Fair." She flips her phone around to show me a photo. "Want to see baby Ryder instead? Because he was an objectively adorable child and I have receipts."
The photo is of a tiny Ryder, maybe three years old, wearing a plastic fire helmet that's too big for his head and a serious expression. He's standing next to a man who has to be their father—same eyes, same jawline, same way of holding himself like he's ready to take on the world.
"That's your dad?"
"Yeah." Sage's smile turns soft. "Ryder wanted to be just like him. Followed him around the station, learned every piece of equipment, memorized every safety protocol." She swipes to another photo. "This is from his first hockey game."
Ryder looks about six, gap-toothed and grinning in skates that are clearly too big, holding a stick almost as tall as he is.
"He made Dad come to every single game," Sage continues. "Even the six AM practices. Dad would show up in his uniform between shifts, stand at the glass, and Ryder would skate harder than anyone else on the ice."
"He wanted to make him proud."
"He did. Dad was so proud of him." She locks her phone, her expression thoughtful. "That's why this whole thing with the NHL is so hard for Ryder. He thinks he has to choose between honoring Dad's memory and living his own life. Like he can't have both."
"What do you think he should do?"
"I think he should stop punishing himself and choose what makes him happy." She looks at me directly. "And I think you might be the first person who makes him want to do that."
My phone sits heavy in my pocket. I can feel the weight of Devon's offer pressing against my thigh, insistent as a bruise.
"Sage," I say carefully. "What would you do if you had to choose between the life you built and the life you stumbled into?"
She tilts her head, considering. "Is the life you built making you happy?"
"It did. Once."
"And the life you stumbled into?"
Ryder's laugh echoing in the cabin. Morning coffee that tastes better when he makes it.
Conversations with Dotty who remembers my order.
Patrice's bluntness and Tessa's warmth. A town that's embraced me without asking for performance or perfection.
A man who sees me—actually sees me—and somehow that's more terrifying than anything I've faced.
"It scares me," I admit.
"Good." Sage grins. "The best things usually do."
My phone buzzes again. A text from Devon with a photo attachment: a mockup of a show poster featuring a professional shot of me from six months ago, overlaid with text: Piper's Alaska: A Fresh Start.
Below it:
Devon: This could be everything. Don't walk away.
I look at the baby photo of Ryder in his too-big fire helmet on Sage's phone, then down at Devon's text promising everything I worked for.
My thumb hovers over the reply button.
Sage is already pulling up another photo, laughing about the time Ryder got his head stuck in the porch railing, and somewhere in the background Dotty is refilling our coffee without asking, and this ordinary moment feels like something I could lose if I'm not careful.
I slide my phone face-down on the table.
"Show me more," I tell Sage.