Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
I pour a glass of water, more out of habit than thirst. It sits untouched on the counter, my hand wrapped too tight around the glass to lift it. My fingers are shaking. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating just beneath the surface.
Every step I take echoes too loudly in the silence she left behind. The space feels wrong. Off. Too quiet, too still. Almost like the air itself has gone stale without her in it.
Every room I pass feels empty. Like she somehow managed to take the warmth with her.
Did I push too hard?
Did I make her feel cornered?
What if I turned this into a choice when all she needed was time to figure out what she wanted?
What if last night was her way of saying goodbye?
My fingers curl around the edge of the counter, gripping it so tight my knuckles turn bone white.
I’ve never wanted something this badly.
Not the game.
Not a contract.
Not the numbers on the back of my jersey or the team logo stitched across the front.
I want Callie.
And Nora.
I want the quiet mornings, the messy evenings, the laughter from the next room. I want the routine of them in my space like they were always meant to be there.
For the first time since she walked into my life, I wonder if I let myself believe in something I was never meant to keep.
The sharp ding of the elevator breaks the stillness, and my heart kicks hard in my chest. I spin toward the door as hope surges within me.
Callie.
She came back.
She didn’t leave me.
She—
The doors slide open and Willow steps out first, her expression shifting the second she sees me. Maverick follows behind her with the kids in tow.
The hope rising within shatters, the air rushing out of me like a punch to the gut.
Willow’s gaze scans my face. “What happened?”
I swallow hard, the knot in my throat thick and unforgiving. “She’s gone.”
Maverick frowns. “You know, this whole twin telepathy thing you two have going on is creepy as fuck.”
The kids race into the penthouse, shouting Nora’s name as they search for her.
Not bothering to respond to her husband, Willow steps close and wraps her arm around my waist before resting her head on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay, River. I know it will.”
I nod, even though I don’t believe it. “Thanks.”
More than ever, I need my sister to be right.
43
Callie
After dropping Nora off at my parents’ house, I head straight to Lakeshore Sweets.
This place is the one corner of my life I built entirely on my own. The ovens. The recipes. The early mornings and long days. There’s a rhythm to baking that usually quiets the noise in my head.
Flour. Sugar. Butter.
Stir. Scoop. Bake.
It’s simple, soothing, and predictable.
But not today.
No matter how many muffins I mix or croissants I roll out, my thoughts won’t stay put. They keep drifting back to last night like a song stuck on repeat.
To River’s face as he circled the ice.
To Zane watching me from across the arena.
To the moment River’s mouth met mine in the dark.
As much as I try to shake them off and focus on the dough beneath my hands, the memories won’t stay silent.
They’re loud and tangled.
And they’re taking up way too much space in a mind that usually finds peace in precision.
Two hours later, the front door swings open with a gust of cold air that sends a shiver down my spine. Sloane breezes in, bundled up in an olive-green utility jacket over her sweatshirt, with cheeks that are flushed from the wind.
She stops short the moment she sees me behind the counter, and her eyes narrow. “Uh-oh. Is it really so bad that you’re stress baking?”
I glance up from the tray of cinnamon rolls I’m icing, and force a tight smile. “This isn’t stress baking.”
She drops her purse on the counter with a thud. “Please. I’ve been around long enough to know what you look like when you’re mentally spiraling.”
“I do run a bakery,” I remind her, gesturing to the register. “Some of this is kind of required. We already have orders to fill.”
She arches a brow. “Callie. It’s Wednesday. All the pre-orders are filled. Unless someone booked a party I don’t know about, no one needs twelve trays of cinnamon rolls before ten a.m.”
She glances around, eyeing the croissants cooling on the racks and the double batch of muffins on the prep table.
“From the looks of it, you’ve been here a while.”
“Since five,” I admit.
“That tells me everything I need to know.” She’s already shrugging out of her coat and pushing through the swinging kitchen door. “I’m texting the girls.”
“Sloane,” I groan. “That’s not—”
She waves me off, pulling out her phone like someone summoning backup to a crime scene. Her fingers fly across the screen.
Sloane: SOS at the bakery.
Lilah: OMG. What’s going on? I’m not even out of bed yet.