Chapter 21
Piper
The games are over.
That's the first thought when I wake up Tuesday morning in the cabin that's become home.
Sunlight streams through the curtains Sage forgot to close last night, and my phone shows fourteen text notifications—mostly Tessa and Patrice losing their minds over Ryder's game-winning goal.
The games are over, which means the waiting is over.
Which means today, Ryder and I can finally have the conversation we've been dancing around for weeks. The one where we figure out if what we have is real or just really good acting.
Except I already know the answer. It's been real since the snowball fight. Maybe even since the night Morris ate my side mirror and Ryder showed up as my Hockey Stick Hero and saved the day.
Sage is sprawled across the couch, snoring like a hibernating grizzly, so I make coffee as quietly as possible and pull out my phone. The community outreach job application sits in my sent folder, proof that I'm not just thinking about staying—I've already committed to it.
Now I just need to tell Ryder.
My stomach flips at the thought. Not the bad kind of flip, the kind that happens before stepping on stage or posting a video I'm proud of. The good nerves. The ones that mean what happens next matters.
I'm halfway through my second cup of coffee when Sage stumbles into the kitchen, hair sticking up at angles that defy physics.
"Is there coffee?" she croaks.
"Pods on the counter," I say, gesturing.
She grabs one for herself, a mug and collapses into the chair across from me waiting for it to brew. "You're annoyingly cheerful this morning."
"The games are over."
"And you survived my brother's emotional constipation. Congratulations."
I laugh despite myself. "He's not that bad."
"I know." Sage sets down her mug and fixes me with a look that's pure Lockwood intensity. "My brother doesn't let people in. Ever. Mom and I have been trying for years. But you? The way he looks at you is different."
"Different how?" I ask quietly.
"Like you're the only real thing in a world full of noise." She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "That's my brother being terrified because he actually cares about someone."
My throat tightens. "I know."
"Good. Then go talk to him before he does something stupid like convince himself you deserve better."
I laugh, but she's not entirely wrong. "He has work this morning."
"Then catch him at the café after. Dotty's blueberry scones are worth the wait anyway."
The Ashwood Café is packed when I arrive at ten-thirty.
Dotty's behind the counter, doling out coffee and life advice with the same enthusiasm.
Lily's handling the espresso machine with the kind of fierce concentration usually reserved for bomb defusal.
And in the corner booth—the one everyone knows is reserved for town gossip—Dotty's sister Marnie holds court with Diane, Barb, and Carol.
The unofficial source of all Ashwood Falls information.
"Piper!" Dotty calls when she spots me. "Come here, honey. I have a fresh batch of scones and approximately forty-seven questions about last night's game."
I make my way to the counter, smiling at the familiar faces. The café smells like cinnamon and coffee and community—all the things I didn't know I was missing.
"The game was incredible," I say, sliding onto a stool. "I'm pretty sure my voice is gone from screaming."
"That goal." Dotty presses a hand to her chest. "Gave me palpitations. Good palpitations, but still."
Lily slides a latte across the counter without asking—my usual order. She gives me a quick smile before turning back to the espresso machine.
"Now. When's the wedding?" Dotty asks.
"Dotty—"
"I'm just saying, June is lovely. Or winter, if you want the whole snow-covered romance thing. We haven't had a good town wedding since Patrice and Trace, and that was over a year ago. I'm experiencing withdrawal."
"We literally just won the championship last night."
"Time waits for no one, dear. Especially not for handsome firefighter hockey players with commitment issues."
Before I can respond, Marnie's voice carries from the corner booth, loud enough to silence half the café.
"Multiple teams want him," she's saying. "Preston was on the phone with his contacts all morning. They're talking serious money."
My stomach drops.
"Did you hear when he's flying out?" Diane asks.
"Thursday," Marnie says definitively. "Preston's handling all the logistics. Said Ryder needs to meet with the teams while the championship win is still fresh in their minds."
Thursday.
Two days from now.
The scone turns to sawdust in my mouth.
"Piper?" Dotty's voice seems far away. "Honey, you just went pale as a ghost. You alright?"
"Fine," I manage. "Just—I should go."
But before I can escape, the café door opens and Preston walks in, all expensive suit and practiced smile. His eyes land on me, and he changes course, heading straight for my stool.
"Piper! Perfect timing." He slides onto the stool next to me like we're old friends. "I wanted to thank you."
My hands tighten around the coffee mug. "Thank me?"
"For everything. The relationship angle, the content, the optics." He signals Lily for a coffee. "You two were great together. Really sold it. The scouts ate it up."
Sold it.
The words land like a slap.
"I'm sorry?" My voice sounds distant. Polite. The same tone I used with sponsors who wanted to 'collaborate' but really just wanted free advertising.
"The girlfriend narrative," Preston continues, oblivious.
"It worked perfectly. Showed Ryder as stable, mature, relationship-ready.
Exactly what NHL teams want. The content you two created together was gold—domestic, authentic, marketable.
" He accepts his coffee from Lily with a nod.
"The arrangement couldn't have gone better. "
Arrangement.
That word. That terrible, clinical, business-transaction word that makes everything we did—every laugh, every touch, every moment I thought was real—sound like a marketing campaign.
"Glad I could help," I say.
Preston doesn't notice. "With Ryder heading to meetings this week, we should discuss next steps. Long-distance relationship content could be huge. The Alaska girlfriend visiting the NHL boyfriend? That's a whole new angle."
"He's leaving Thursday?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
"Flying out for preliminary meetings. Nothing's set in stone yet, but between you and me?" Preston leans closer, conspiratorial. "Two more teams called this morning. Four total are interested. This is it—his shot at the big leagues, and my commission." He grins. "Win-win."
His dream.
The one that doesn't include a failing influencer he agreed to fake date for scout appeal.
"I need to go," I say, sliding off the stool.
"Think about the long-distance angle," Preston calls after me. "Could be great for both your brands!"
The cold air slaps my face. My hands shake as I pull out my phone, but not from the temperature.
Chad's voice echoes in my head. Everything with you is a performance.
Was this just another performance? Did Ryder fall for me, or fall for the idea of me? The version Preston wanted to sell to the scouts—stable, mature, relationship-ready girlfriend who made good content?
Was any of it real, or was I just the compelling narrative his agent wanted?
I'm in my car before I decide where I'm going. Not my cabin. Not yet. First, I need answers.
Ryder's truck sits in his driveway, which means he's home between shifts. The cabin looks exactly the same as it did two months ago when I arrived—straight and perfect to my crooked, weathered, mess—but everything's different now.
Or maybe nothing was ever real to begin with. Maybe he got his offers and didn't think about me once. Multiple teams interested, and he hasn't said a single word to me. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.
I knock harder than necessary.
Ryder opens the door in jeans and a thermal shirt, hair still damp from a shower, and my ribs feel too tight around my lungs. Two months ago, he was just the grumpy neighbor who saved me from a moose. Now he's the man I'm in love with.
Or thought I was in love with.
"Piper?" He blinks, surprised. "I was just about to text you. Come in, it's freezing—"
"Were you going to tell me?" The question comes out harsh. "About Thursday?"
His expression shifts. Surprise to confusion to something that might be guilt. "How did you—"
"Marnie. Loudly. At the café." I cross my arms, staying on the porch. "The entire town knows you're flying out Thursday. Multiple teams. Serious money. Preston handling all the logistics. Any of this ringing a bell? Or was I the only one who wasn't supposed to know?"
"I was going to tell you," Ryder says quickly. "Today. After you woke up. I just—"
"Just what? Waited to see if a better offer came through first?" My voice cracks despite my best efforts. "Or were you planning to text me from the airport? Maybe post about it on social media so I could find out with the rest of your fans?"
"That's not fair."
"You know what's not fair?" The words pour out, two months of uncertainty crystallizing into this single moment. "Preston congratulating me at the café. Thanking me for the arrangement. For selling it so well. For creating great content that helped your scout appeal."
Ryder's face goes pale. "Piper—"
"Was I ever more than a strategy?" My hands clench into fists. "More than the girlfriend angle Preston wanted? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like I was just another piece of your NHL playbook. The compelling narrative. The stable, mature relationship that made you marketable."
"No. God, no." He steps onto the porch, reaching for me, but I back away. "It's not like that."