Chapter 23
Harper
“How many times are you going to watch that?” Ariel asks, refilling my wine glass for the third time.
“Shush. One more time.” I clutch the remote, my eyes fixed on her laptop screen where Cole's press conference plays on repeat.
“Harper Hayes is a professional event planner who has done excellent work for our organization,” Cole says into the microphones, his expression completely neutral. “The photo in question was taken at a charity auction where we were discussing work-related matters.”
Work-related matters. Like, I'm some vendor he occasionally has to deal with.
“Are you saying there's no romantic relationship?” the reporter presses.
“I'm saying Harper is a consummate professional who has exceeded all expectations in her work with the Renegades. Any suggestion that she received preferential treatment is baseless.”
I pause the video, staring at Cole's face frozen on the screen. His careful non-answers, his refusal to acknowledge what we have, feels like rejection. Sure, he had said that he would try to turn the focus back to hockey, but hell, I didn’t imagine that entailed dismissing me like someone he barely knew.
“He's protecting the team,” I say, my voice hollow. “Just like Brett warned me he would.”
Ariel sits beside me on her couch, her expression concerned. “Maybe he was trying to protect you, too.”
“By denying I exist?” I laugh bitterly. “By making me sound like some random contractor he barely knows? Now, in addition to looking unprofessional, I look like a slut. “
I think about all those nights in his arms, the way he looked at me like I was his whole world. The man who told me he loved me, who wanted to show me off to everyone. Where was that man during the press conference?
Brett's words echo in my head. Don't say I didn't warn you when he chooses hockey over you.
“I need another drink,” I mutter, reaching for the bottle.
“Maybe you should slow down,” Ariel suggests gently.
“Why? So I can feel this more clearly?” I pour myself another generous glass. “My career is falling apart, the man I love just threw me under the bus on national television, and my brother was right about everything.”
Ariel reaches for her own glass, which is nearly empty. “You know what? You're right. Let's get properly drunk and talk about what disasters we are.”
“Now you're speaking my language.” I top off her glass with the remainder of the bottle. “Tell me about Miles. How's he adjusting to living in his mother’s house?” It feels good to talk about someone else’s troubles.
“Slowly and painfully.” Ariel takes a large gulp of wine. “Do you know what he said to me yesterday? He asked if I could cover his half of the utilities because his freelance check is late. Again.”
“Miles will never grow up.”
“I’m tired of supporting a grown man who thinks ambition is a dirty word.” She kicks her feet up on the coffee table. “You know what the worst part is? I actually thought I could fix him. Like my love would magically make him want to be successful.”
“We're both idiots,” I say, clinking my glass against hers. “I fell for a man who's married to his hockey stick, and you fell for a man who's allergic to employment.”
“At least Cole has a job,” Ariel points out. “A very good job that he's probably going to choose over you.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” I take another drink, feeling the wine make everything slightly fuzzy around the edges. “You know what I keep thinking about? All those nights he held me and told me I was extraordinary. Made me believe I was special.”
“You are special.”
“Not special enough, apparently.” I close the laptop, unable to watch Cole's face anymore. “Not special enough to risk his precious reputation for.”
Ariel curls up in the corner of the couch, her designer blouse slightly wrinkled. “Want to know something pathetic? I actually googled 'how to make a lazy boyfriend motivated'.”
I snort with laughter. “What did the internet say?”
“That you can't change people. That if someone doesn't want to better themselves, nothing you do will make them.” She sighs deeply. “But then Miles brought me coffee in bed one morning and I thought, maybe he's changing. Maybe he just needs more time.”
“Hope is a bitch,” I mutter.
“The biggest bitch.” Ariel stands up unsteadily and walks to her kitchen. “I have another bottle of wine. We're going to need it.”
“Are we having a pity party?”
“We're having a reality party. Time to face facts about our terrible taste in men.”
She returns with a bottle of expensive red wine and a corkscrew. “You want to know the really pathetic part about Miles? I've started leaving job listings on his laptop. Like, literally opening browser tabs to employment websites.”
“That's not pathetic, that's hopeful.”
“It's pathetic when he closes them without looking and asks me what's for dinner.” Ariel struggles with the corkscrew, her movements slightly clumsy from the alcohol. “God, I'm such a cliché. Successful career woman falls for unemployed musician and thinks she can change him.”
“I'm a bigger cliché. Successful businesswoman falls for client and ruins her reputation.”
“At least Cole loves you back. Miles loves my bank account more than me.”
The cork pops free, and Ariel pours generous glasses for both of us.
“Does Cole love me back, though?” I ask, accepting the wine. “Because today it felt like he loved his hockey career more.”
“What did he say when you confronted him?”
“I haven't confronted him. I've been hiding here, drinking your wine and watching him deny our relationship on repeat.”
“Harper, you are many things, but a coward isn't one of them.”
“I am tonight.” I take a sip of the new wine. “I'm scared, Ariel.”
“I know you’re not ready to hear this, but maybe he really did want to protect you, and he just went about it wrong. And if not, then at least you'll know. And then you can move on with your fabulous life and find someone who isn't afraid to love you publicly.”
We drink in contemplative silence for a while, both lost in our thoughts about the men who've disappointed us.
“You know what pisses me off most?” I say eventually. “I actually thought we were building something real. Something worth fighting for.”
“ Maybe he's just scared.”
“Scared of what? His teammates finding out he's human? His fans discovering he has feelings?”
“Scared of losing you.” Ariel's voice is softer now, the wine making her philosophical. “Men do stupid things when they're scared. They protect the wrong things.”
“Like their images instead of their relationships.”
“Like their pride instead of their hearts.”
By the time we finish the second bottle, we're both thoroughly drunk and thoroughly depressed about our romantic prospects.
“We should start a club,” Ariel says, her words slightly slurred. “Women Who Fall for Emotionally Unavailable Men.”
“The membership would be huge.”
“Meetings every Friday night. Wine provided.”
“And tissues. Lots of tissues.”
I lean my head back against the couch cushions, the room spinning slightly. “I love him, Ariel. Despite everything, I still love him.”
“I know, honey. That's what makes this so hard.”
“What am I going to do?”
“Tonight? Nothing. You're going to sleep in my guest room and let yourself feel heartbroken.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Tomorrow? You're going to decide if Cole Maddox is worth fighting for.”
We drink in silence for a while, the press conference playing on a loop in my head. By the time I stumble into Ariel's guest room, my head is spinning and my heart feels like it's been put through a blender.
The next morning, I wake up with a pounding headache and a resolve that cuts through the pain. I'm done hiding. I'm done letting other people control my narrative. I’m not going to suck up to Cole when he already showed me who he is.
I call the moving company while Ariel makes coffee, scheduling them to meet me at Cole's apartment. I time it perfectly. He should be at practice by then.
Yeah, I’m still a bit of a coward.
But when I walk into his apartment, keys shaking in my hand, he's there. Pacing the living room like a caged animal, still in his workout clothes.
We stare at each other across the space, and I can see the sleepless night written all over his face.
“What's going on, Harper?” His voice is rough, desperate.
My head throbs from too much wine, but the pain sharpens my anger. “You stayed silent,” I accuse. “You protected your image and threw me to the wolves.”
“That's not what I was doing,” Cole says in a resigned tone as if he’s already tired of fighting for us, when he hasn’t even started.
I cross my arms, needing the barrier between us. “Work-related matters, Cole? Really? That's how you describe our relationship?”
“I was trying to protect you. If I confirmed our relationship, it would have made things worse.”
“For who? For you?” My voice rises. “Because it sure as hell didn't protect me. I lost three more clients yesterday, by the way. But I guess that doesn't matter as long as the precious Renegades' image stays intact.”
Cole steps toward me, his hands outstretched. “Harper, please. Let me explain my strategy.”
“Strategy?” I laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet apartment. “This isn't a hockey game, Cole. This is my life.”
“It's my life too.”
“No, it's not.” The words tear out of me. “Your life is exactly the same as it was three days ago. You're still the captain, still the star player, still untouchable. Meanwhile, I'm watching everything I've worked for crumble because I had the audacity to fall in love with you.”
“That's not fair.”
“Fair?” I'm shouting now, all the hurt and frustration of the past few days pouring out.
“You want to talk about fair? You get to stand behind a podium and control the narrative. You get to decide how much of our relationship to acknowledge. You get to protect your precious hockey career while mine burns to the ground.”
“I was trying to help.”
“I need to fix this on my own,” I say firmly. “I don't need your help.”
“Why won't you let me help you?” Frustration bleeds into his voice. “We're supposed to be a team.”
“Because you don't understand!” The words explode out of me.
“You've never had to prove yourself the way I have.
You've never had your success questioned, never had to wonder if people think you slept your way to the top.
You have privilege I'll never have, and you used it yesterday to save yourself.”
Cole's face goes pale. “That's not what happened. I thought not confirming it would be better. It was a mistake, Harper. Just let me fix this. Please.”
I scoff. “A mistake? From where I'm standing, you chose hockey over me. And you chose it easily. Just like Brett said you would.”
“Your brother doesn't know what he's talking about.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. “Hockey is your girlfriend, Cole. Your mistress. There's no room for anyone else, and I was stupid to think there could be.”
“Harper, please.”
But I'm already walking toward the guest room, my decision made. “The movers will be here in an hour. I'll be out of your way soon.”
“This isn't over,” he calls after me.
I pause in the doorway, not turning around. “Yes, it is.”
In the guest room, I throw my belongings into suitcases with shaking hands. Each item feels like evidence of how foolish I've been. The Renegades t-shirt he gave me, the book I was reading in his bed, the expensive face cream he bought for me.
I was so stupid to think this could work. To think I could have both love and success, that I could build something real with Cole Maddox.
When the movers arrive, Cole tries one more time. “Harper, don't do this. We can figure it out together.”
I look at him standing in his designer apartment, still in his team-issued workout gear, and I see the gulf between us clearly for the first time. This man lives for hockey, while I live for Hayes & Company Events.
“Some things can't be figured out, Cole. Some things are just impossible.”
I walk out of his apartment and don't look back, even though every instinct in my body screams at me to turn around.
I choose this. I choose to protect what's left of my career, my independence, my sense of self.