Chapter 25
Natalie
I stare at my reflection in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back. I have dark circles under my eyes, and my skin has lost its glow. My hair is pulled into a messy bun because I can't summon the energy for anything more elaborate.
I’m dying inside. All I want to do when I’m not working is not bury myself in my duvet and shut the world away. I’m so tempted to cancel. I should text Olivia and tell her I'm not feeling well, which is the truth.
But Ivory is leaving next week, and this dinner is her goodbye, and I can't let my personal mess ruin her send-off.
So I force myself to put on a dress and apply makeup that hides the evidence of sleepless nights.
The worst part has been seeing Ethan every day.
Our sessions have become exercises in silence. He shows up, does his exercises, answers my questions with monosyllables, and then leaves. I've tried to apologize and to explain, but every time I open my mouth, he shuts me down.
“Let's just focus on the work,” he said the last time I tried to speak and then avoided meeting my eyes for the rest of the hour.
I miss him so much it's a physical ache. I miss his grumpy morning moods and his rare smiles. I miss the way he held me at night and the way he said my name like he loved me. I miss the man who flew me to Wisconsin to meet his family and told me he loved me under the stars.
That man is gone now. In his place is a cold stranger who treats me like I'm nothing more than another member of the medical staff.
I grab my purse and head out before I can talk myself into staying home.
Olivia and Theo's townhouse is warm and inviting, filled with the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Baby Maya is already asleep upstairs, and Theo is heading out as I arrive.
“Ladies,” he says with a grin, kissing Olivia on the cheek. “I'm having dinner with Ethan, try not to burn the place down.”
My heart stutters at the mention of his name, but I keep my smile in place. “Have fun.”
“We will. You too.”
The girls are already in the living room. Harper is curled up in an armchair with a glass of wine, and Ariel is perched on the arm of the sofa, scrolling through her phone. But there's a new face too.
A stunning woman with flawless skin and dark hair sits on the couch, her posture elegant even in casual clothes. She looks like she just stepped out of a magazine.
Harper notices me and jumps up. “Natalie, come meet my friend.” She gestures toward the woman, who rises. “This is Jasmine Bennett. She's a corporate lawyer. Her firm hired me to plan their annual gala last year, and we've been friends ever since. She's also the smartest person I know.”
“Harper exaggerates.” Jasmine extends her hand. “It's so nice to finally meet you. Harper talks about you all the time.”
I give her a tight smile. It’s all I can muster. “All good things, I hope.”
“The best.” Her eyes are warm. “I hear you're the miracle worker who got Ethan Ward back on the ice. That's impressive.”
The mention of his name stings, but I push through it. “Team effort, but thank you.”
Avery jumps up and pulls me into a hug before the conversation can go further. “You look amazing.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying,” she protests with a laugh.
Ivory arrives a few minutes later, and the evening officially begins. Olivia has prepared an elaborate spread of appetizers and entrees, far too much food for six women, but she waves off our protests.
“I stress-cook,” she says. “And with Maya teething, there's been a lot of stress.”
We eat and drink and laugh, and for brief moments, I almost forget the emptiness in my heart. The conversation flows from work gossip to relationship updates to plans for the upcoming season.
Then Ivory stands up and taps her glass with her fork. “I want to say something before I leave and never see any of you again.”
“You'll see us again,” Olivia says. “Seattle isn't that far.”
“Shut up and let me be dramatic,” Ivory says with a grin. “When I first met you all, I'll admit I misjudged you. I thought you were going to be a bunch of snobby WAGs who only cared about designer bags and Instagram followers.”
“I mean, we do care about those things,” Harper interjects, and we all laugh.
“Let me finish.” Ivory takes a deep breath.
“But you proved me wrong. You welcomed me into your circle without hesitation.
You invited me to brunches and girls' nights even though I was just the physical therapist. You made me feel like I belonged.” Her voice wobbles slightly.
“And a lot of that is thanks to Natalie.
She's the one who dragged me to my first cocktail night and insisted I stay even when I tried to make excuses.”
All eyes turn to me, and my cheeks heat.
Ivory raises her glass. “To the best group of women I've ever known. I'm going to miss you all so much.”
We raise our glasses and drink, and I have to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. The evening continues, but the teasing eventually turns to me.
“So,” Harper says with a smile, “how are things with a certain brooding defenseman?”
“Things are fine,” I say.
“Just fine?” Ariel says. “That's not what I heard. Word around the arena is that you two are practically inseparable.”
“Word around the arena is wrong.”
“Come on, Natalie.” Olivia leans forward. “We've all seen the way he looks at you. That man is completely gone for you.”
I take a long sip of wine to buy myself time. I don't want to ruin the evening with my problems. “It's complicated. Can we talk about something else?”
They exchange glances but mercifully let it drop. The conversation shifts to other topics, and I let myself fade into the background, laughing in the right places and contributing when necessary but mostly just trying to survive until I can go home.
Later, when the others are distracted by a heated debate, Avery corners me in the kitchen.
“Okay, spill.” She crosses her arms. “What's really going on with you and Ethan?”
I set down the plate I was rinsing and grip the edge of the sink. “It's over.”
“What do you mean, it's over?”
“I mean, we're done. He ended things.”
Avery's face falls. “Oh, Natalie. What happened?”
The whole story comes pouring out. By the time I finish, Avery's face is a mask of anger. “That idiot. Give him time. He'll come around.”
I shake my head. “Not Ethan. When he makes a decision, he sticks to it. He's convinced I betrayed him, and nothing I say will change his mind.”
“But you explained what happened. You told him the truth.”
“He doesn't care about the truth. He cares that I lied. And in his mind, that's unforgivable.” I take a deep breath to compose myself. “The worst part is having to see him every day. I'm right next door to him in our building, and he won't even look at me.”
“Have you tried to talk to him again?”
“I've tried everything, Avery. I've apologized. I've tried to explain. I've given him space. Nothing works.” I pull my hands free and wrap my arms around myself. “He's shut me out completely, and I have to accept that it's over.”
“Maybe you need to give it more time.”
“I need to accept that some things can't be fixed.” I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. “Come on. We should get back to the others before they wonder where we went.”
I float through the rest of the evening disconnected from everything around me, and when it’s time to leave, I’m desperate to be alone again.
For the next few days, I throw myself into work, staying late to review files and arriving early to prepare treatment rooms. Anything to keep busy and keep my mind off the man who broke my heart.
It works when I’m busy at work, but in the evenings, the pain returns.
I can't sleep in this apartment. Every creak in the hallway makes me wonder if it's him. Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it's a text from him. Living next door to someone who wants nothing to do with you is hell.
So on Thursday night, I do something about it.
I curl up on my couch with my laptop and start searching for apartments near the arena. Something small, affordable, and far enough from this building that I won't risk running into Ethan every time I step outside my door.
The listings are so bad that it’s disconcerting. Studios with tiny kitchens, one-bedrooms in sketchy neighborhoods, and places that cost twice what I'm paying now for half the space.
Nothing feels right.
I close the laptop with a sigh and rub my tired eyes. I'll look again tomorrow. Right now, I need to sleep.
The next morning, I drag myself to work on autopilot. The grey sky overhead matches my mood perfectly. I enter the arena through the staff entrance and immediately notice something strange.
People are smiling at me weirdly.
The receptionist at the front desk looks like she's about to burst with excitement. Two trainers I pass in the hallway exchange glances and poorly concealed grins.
“What's going on?” I ask Lane as he walks by.
“You'll see.” He winks and keeps walking.
My confusion only grows as I make my way to my office. More smiles. More whispered conversations that stop abruptly when I approach. By the time I reach my door, my heart is pounding.
I push open the door and freeze.
Every surface is covered in flowers. Roses, lilies, peonies, and tulips, arranged in vases that crowd my desk, my shelves, the windowsill, even the floor. The scent is overwhelming, filling my lungs with every breath.
I step inside with unsteady legs and search for a card. I find it tucked into a bouquet of pale pink peonies on my desk. A small white envelope with my name written on the front in handwriting I don't recognize.
I tear it open with trembling fingers. The card inside is blank. No signature. No name. Nothing to indicate who sent enough flowers to fill a florist shop.
My first thought is Ethan. My heart leaps with desperate hope. Maybe he's realized he was wrong. Maybe this is his way of apologizing.
But no. It can't be him. He can barely stand to look at me. He's made it perfectly clear that we're over. He wouldn't do something this grand. This romantic and completely out of character for a man who communicates in grunts and glares.
Which leaves Brody.
My stomach sinks. Brody must be back in Charlotte. I made it absolutely clear that there was no future for us. But this is exactly the kind of gesture he would make. Big and flashy. A grand romantic overture designed to wear down my defenses.
Except I can't ask him. I sink into my chair, surrounded by flowers, and stare at the unsigned card in my hand.
Why would someone send such extravagant flowers and not sign the card?