CHAPTER 12 The Future We Choose #3
The game went to overtime.
Of course.
Noah nearly scored.
Mason blocked him.
Mason nearly scored.
Noah stole the puck.
Finally, twelve minutes into overtime, Portland scored.
Not Mason.
A rookie defenseman.
The arena went silent.
Portland erupted.
Mason skated onto the ice.
His team surrounded him.
I watched Noah stand near center.
Devastated.
Then Mason broke away from the celebration.
He skated toward him.
The cameras followed.
Noah looked up.
Mason held out his hand.
Noah stared.
Then took it.
Mason pulled him into a brief hug.
The arena applauded.
My mother started crying.
My father pretended he wasn’t.
I definitely was not.
Later, Noah found me beneath the arena.
“You’re smiling.”
“You played well.”
“We lost.”
“You still played well.”
He sighed.
Then looked past me.
Mason was coming down the corridor.
Noah’s expression became resigned.
“Here comes your problem.”
“My boyfriend.”
“Problem.”
Mason reached us.
“Bennett.”
“Cole.”
“Good game.”
Noah looked almost suspicious.
“You too.”
Mason extended his hand.
Noah took it.
Then Noah looked at me.
“Dinner Sunday.”
I smiled.
“Sure.”
He looked at Mason.
“You too.”
Mason froze.
I froze.
“What?” Mason asked.
“You heard me.”
“Are you dying?”
“No.”
“Brain injury?”
“Unfortunately not.”
Noah rolled his eyes.
“My mother has been asking when you’re coming.”
Mason’s face changed.
“Your mother?”
“She remembers you.”
Silence.
This mattered.
More than Noah probably understood.
Mason nodded.
“Okay.”
Noah started walking away.
Then turned.
“And Cole?”
“Yes?”
“Bring wine.”
Mason smiled.
“Thought you didn’t drink during season.”
“It’s for Mom.”
“Sure.”
Noah flipped him off.
Mason laughed.
I watched my brother disappear.
Then Mason turned toward me.
“Your family likes me.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
“Sunday dinner.”
“Probation.”
“Still counts.”
He kissed me.
I pushed him away lightly.
“Public.”
“Everyone already knows.”
That was true.
We were no longer a scandal.
Not really.
The headlines eventually stopped calling me Noah Bennett’s sister.
Sometimes they even used my name first.
My photography business grew.
Not because Mason promoted it.
I refused to let him.
Because the attention brought people to my work, and the work kept them there.
Mason learned to cook more than pasta.
Barely.
Noah stopped checking whether I was with him every time I missed a call.
Mostly.
Derek came to Seattle occasionally.
He and Mason were rebuilding their relationship too.
Slowly.
Messily.
Honestly.
And Lily?
Lily remained.
Not as guilt.
Not as the reason Mason hated himself.
As his sister.
There was a photograph of her in his Portland living room now.
Not hidden in the bedroom.
Beside it was a photograph from our private rink.
Two pairs of skates touching.
Mine and his.
One evening almost a year after the storm that started everything, I stood in front of those photographs while Mason cooked dinner.
Or attempted to.
Something smelled suspicious.
“Mason?”
“Yes?”
“Is the kitchen supposed to be smoking?”
Pause.
“Define smoking.”
I laughed and walked toward him.
He stood in front of the stove holding a pan.
“Move.”
“I have this.”
“You absolutely do not.”
He looked offended.
“I play professional hockey.”
“That qualification continues to be useless in kitchens.”
I turned off the burner.
Mason wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.
“You’re very critical.”
“You nearly burned down your apartment.”
“Our apartment?”
I froze.
Slowly, I turned.
Mason smiled.
“You said your apartment.”
“I said your apartment.”
“Sounded like our.”
“Selective hearing.”
“Emma.”
I looked around.
My camera bag sat beside the couch.
Half my clothes already occupied his closet.
My toothbrush had been here for months.
There were framed photographs I had taken on the walls.
I spent more nights here than in Seattle lately.
Maybe the word wasn’t as frightening as it once would have been.
“Our apartment,” I said.
Mason became very still.
Then he smiled.
That smile.
The one that started everything.
Slow.
Dangerous.
Still capable of ruining my judgment.
“I like that.”
“I assumed.”
He kissed me.
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
Outside, Portland rain tapped softly against the windows.
No snowstorm.
No stranded car.
No emergency lodge.
Just home.
When we separated, Mason looked toward Lily’s photograph.
Then back at me.
“She was right.”
“About what?”
“I almost ruined it.”
I touched his face.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
He kissed my palm.
“I stayed.”
My chest tightened.
“Yes.”
“You stayed too.”
“I did.”
He smiled.
“So technically, we’re both terrible at following instructions.”
“Which instructions?”
“Your brother’s.”
I laughed.
Stay away from Cole.
The first rule.
The easiest promise.
The one I had broken almost immediately.
I looked at the man in front of me.
My brother’s greatest rival.
My worst idea.
My safest place.
“No regrets?” he asked.
I smiled.
“Ask me after dinner.”
“That’s cruel.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I always do.”
This time, the words didn’t sound sad.
They sounded true.
Mason kissed me again.
And when I closed my eyes, I thought about the night I had promised my brother I would stay away from him.
I had believed falling for Mason Cole would destroy something.
My relationship with Noah.
My reputation.
Maybe even my heart.
Instead, loving Mason had forced all of us to uncover the things we had spent years hiding.
Grief.
Guilt.
Truth.
Forgiveness.
It had taught my brother how to let go.
It had taught Mason how to stay.
And it had taught me that sometimes the person everyone warns you against isn’t the danger.
Sometimes the real danger is living your entire life according to someone else’s fear.
Mason pulled back.
“What are you thinking?”
I smiled.
“That Noah was wrong.”
“About?”
“You.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Obviously.”
I laughed.
“There’s the ego.”
“Missed it?”
“Never.”
He kissed my forehead.
I looked toward Lily’s photograph one final time.
Go live.
Mason had.
So had I.
And maybe that was the closest thing any of us would ever get to rewriting the past.
Not changing what happened.
Not forgetting the people we lost.
Just refusing to let yesterday decide every tomorrow.
Mason took my hand.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Dinner.”
“The burned one?”
“I ordered pizza.”
I stared.
“When?”
“While you were insulting me.”
I laughed.
“Smart man.”
“Elite decision-making.”
“Debatable.”
He pulled me toward the living room.
Outside, the city moved beneath the rain.
Inside, Mason’s fingers stayed intertwined with mine.
No hiding.
No running.
No promises we couldn’t keep.
Just one we could.
Stay.
And this time, we both did.
# THE END