Chapter 23 Collette
COLLETTE
Coffee is on my desk on Monday morning. Same cup.
Same order. Same café. I stare at it, and something loosens in my chest because if the coffee is still here, then maybe we’re going to be okay.
Maybe the gala was a blip. Maybe he’s had the weekend to cool down, and we can find our way back to what we were before the gala.
The morning is normal, meetings, content planning, and Renee walks through the week’s schedule.
As we leave Renee’s office, I hear his laugh in the corridor.
That loud, easy laugh he does when Bouch says something stupid, and my chest seizes because I know what’s coming next.
He rounds the corner with Bouch and Nelly, mid-conversation, smiling, relaxed, and when he sees me, his expression doesn’t change.
Not a flicker. Not a flinch. “Hey.” He nods in my direction as he keeps walking.
That’s it, a polite nod.
Months of memes, midnight voice notes, and cereal debates.
Him sleeping in my bed, kissing me against my bedroom wall, and telling me he loves me in the bushes outside a hotel, and now all I get is a polite nod.
You did this to yourself. I know. But it still hurts, and I’m worried that the friendship we had before the gala is now nonexistent.
It gets worse as the week goes on. In front of people, he’s fine.
Normal Fish. Charming, loud, joking with the boys, performing for the cameras.
Nobody would know anything is wrong. But the second we’re alone, in a corridor, waiting for an elevator, when he’s on the ice, he becomes a stranger.
Eyes forward, jaw set, nothing. Not cold exactly, just absent.
Like I’ve been erased from his map, and he’s navigating around the space where I used to be.
I try to catch him after practice. The corridor is empty, and I call out his name.
“Fish.” He ignores me and just keeps walking. I stand in the empty corridor and press my fingers into my eyes until I see stars because I will not cry at work. I will not.
I’ve tried to give him his space because I know I hurt him, so I haven’t texted, but after he blatantly ignored me in the corridor, I decide to send him a silly meme to hopefully open the communication again between us.
It doesn’t go through. The message doesn’t deliver.
I stare at the screen and try to send another, but the same thing happens.
He’s blocked me. I put my phone face down on my desk and stare at the wall for a full minute.
He blocked me. Justin Crawford, the man who told me he loved me days ago, has blocked my number.
I can’t text him. I can’t call him. I can’t send him a meme, a voice note, a screenshot of a stupid comment, or any of the things that made up the fabric of whatever we were.
He didn’t just walk away. He locked the door behind him.
Can you blame him? No. You broke his heart, and now you’re surprised he doesn’t want to hear from you?
The rest of the week is a masterclass in pretending.
I smile at meetings, I film content, I do the mini mic interviews, but Fish isn’t volunteering for them anymore.
He does them with Billie or Marlowe, easy and charming, giving them the same energy he used to give me, and I watch from the edit suite as something hollow expands in my chest.
At night, my apartment is too quiet, no texts, no voice notes. Just me, the silence, and the ghost of a man who used to fill every corner of my life without me realizing how much space he took up until he was gone.
Jo notices, of course, she does. “You’ve been quiet this week,” she says. We’re on the sofa, she’s playing on her phone, and I’m staring at a show I couldn’t name if my life depended on it.
“Just tired. Busy week,” I lie.
She looks at me, those hazel eyes that are the same as mine and see right through the same bullshit. “You can talk to me?”
“I know,” I answer, trying to sound peppy.
“Just busy.” I force a smile that feels like cracking plaster on my face.
She doesn’t push it, but I can feel her watching me for the rest of the night.
I go to bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking about the last thing he said to me.
‘Go home, Collette. Get some sleep.’ Gentle even when I’d just destroyed him, my rejection still wet on his face.
I don’t sleep.
I do something desperate, I find Evan alone in the corridor after practice. He’s heading toward the exit, bag over his shoulder, headphones around his neck, and I step in front of him before I can talk myself out of it.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
Those dark eyes land on me, and there’s none of the warmth that’s been building between us over the last few months. He knows, of course, he knows. Fish tells him everything.
“About what?” His voice is flat as if I now annoy him.
“About Fish. He won’t talk to me. He won’t even look at me. I’ve tried and he just …” I stop because my voice is about to crack, and I will not cry in front of Artem Evanoff. “He blocked me.”
Evan stares at me for a long moment. Then he shifts his bag on his shoulder and takes a step closer. When he speaks, his voice is low and brutal.
“Because you broke him.” I flinch. “He put everything on the table for you. Everything. And you handed it back to him.”
“I know, but …”
He shakes his head.
“No but.” He cuts me off. “You don’t get but. He told you he loved you, and you said no. That’s your right. But it’s also his right to protect himself.”
“I didn’t want to lose him.”
“Too late.” His jaw tightens. “He hasn’t slept.
He’s not eating properly. He’s performing for everyone because that’s what he does, but I see him when nobody else is looking, and he is not okay.
” The guilt hits me so hard I nearly take a step back.
“He’s my best friend,” Evan continues. “You’re the first woman he’s wanted to try for.
It’s taken years for him to truly put himself out there, and now he’s right back at square one. ”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper.
“It’s not about fair.” He stares at me. “You want my advice?” I nod because I don’t trust my voice.
“Leave him alone. If you can’t give him what he wants, then let him heal.
Don’t text. Don’t try to be his friend. Don’t look at him the way you’re looking at me right now, like you’re about to fall apart, because if he sees that, it will give him hope, and hope is the cruelest thing you can give someone you’ve already said no to. ”
The words land like stones in my chest. “And if I made a mistake?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
Evan’s expression shifts. Something flickers behind those dark eyes, surprise maybe. “Did you?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because answering that question honestly would change everything, and I’m not brave enough yet.
He watches me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “Figure that out before you go near him again.” He walks past me without another word.
I stand in the corridor alone, shaking.
Vegas.
The arena is a wall of noise, eighteen thousand people in blue, the energy vibrating through the building in a way that’s different from New York.
Bigger, louder, more sparkle. I’m working rinkside with the girls, filming the warmups, getting the content.
Fish skates past me during warmups and doesn’t look at me.
He hasn’t looked at me in a long time. Not once, but I guess this is our new normal.
The game is physical from the start. The boys are locked in.
Pierre and Felix are terrifying together, Emmett is running the defense, and the team is clicking.
Fish is playing fine, but there’s an edge to him that wasn’t there before.
He’s hitting harder than he needs to. Taking risks he wouldn’t normally take.
Playing like a man with something to prove or something to punish.
The Mavericks win four-nothing. Emmett scores the fourth goal, and the bench erupts. I film it all, professional smile in place, because this is my job and I will not let a broken heart stop me from doing it well.
“We’re going out.” I appear in Jo’s hotel room doorway like a tornado in heels. I’ve already changed out of my work clothes into a tiny black dress that would give our brothers a heart attack.
“I’m tired,” she lies.
“Bullshit. It’s Vegas, Jo. The team won. Everyone’s celebrating.” I walk in without being invited and start rifling through her suitcase. “You’re not sitting in this room alone watching TV.”
“I like TV.”
I ignore her and pull out a red dress she forgot she packed. “This. Wear this.”
“Lettie …”
“Nope. Not hearing it.” I throw the dress at her. “Shower. Change. We’re meeting everyone in thirty minutes.”
“Everyone?”
“The team. The wives. The girlfriends. The whole crew.” I give her a pointed look. “Is that a problem?”
“No.”
“Great. Then stop arguing and start getting ready.” Jo disappears into the hotel bathroom.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I stare at my reflection, the dark circles under my eyes are concealed.
The redness from crying in the shower earlier is gone.
I look okay. I look like a woman who’s about to have a fun night in Vegas and is absolutely not thinking about Justin Crawford or his blue eyes or his stupid crooked grin.
“Jo!” I yell through the door. “I can hear you overthinking! Stop it!”
The club is exactly what you’d expect from Vegas.
Dark, loud, pulsing with bass that you feel in your chest. The VIP section is roped off for the team, with bottles of champagne on ice and beautiful people everywhere.
I spot Harper and Issy in a booth, and Jo makes a beeline for them. Good. She’s settled.