Chapter 24

Chance

Anger coils in my stomach, a living thing, as Céline's accusations and theatrics fill the room. I can feel tension radiating up to my temples. Ginny's eyes are wide with disbelief, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

"This yelling needs to stop!" she finally yells, her voice mirroring my feelings. She shakes her head, muttering something about drama queens under her breath, but it's lost in Céline's outburst.

I close my eyes for a moment, summoning an image of Lucy. The hardest thing I ever did was watch her leave. I can still see the hurt on her face, the confusion. It's haunting me. I should have jumped in that car with her, escaped the mess that is Céline.

"Enough, Céline," I say, my voice harsh. I'm done being passive. "You need to stop."

Her tirade pauses for a heartbeat, surprise flickering across her features before she regains her composure. "Chance, how can you be so cold?" she asks, her voice rising again.

"I'm not being cold. I'm being realistic," I reply, steeling myself against the onslaught of guilt that always accompanies Céline.

Everything I value threatens to slip through my fingers. Céline will wreck it all if she gets her way. She doesn't care about me as a person or give any thought to what I might want. She wasn't the only one who had reasons to leave Montreal. She is an endless chasm of need, paralyzed by her own fears and unable to see beyond herself. She wasn't truly happy when we were together. I'm not sure she can be. But I know for sure I can't do it for her. She's only clinging to us because it's familiar, and I'm done being that for her. I won't let her take my relationship with Lucy, the life we could potentially have, my new career here. Céline has come here expecting…what? That I'll acquiesce and fall back into old habits? Not anymore.

"Céline, listen to me," I start, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "I'm going to book you a hotel room. You'll stay there tonight."

Her mouth opens, then closes, and for a brief second, I see something other than anger in her eyes. Disappointment? Maybe even fear?

"Chance, I—" she begins, but I cut her off.

"No, I need space to figure things out," I insist. Though my heart is pounding, I know this is the only way forward. "Please, Céline."

She doesn't argue further, perhaps sensing the finality in my tone, or perhaps thinking she still has a chance to convince me. She nods stiffly, arms crossed over her chest, and turns away. After a moment, she storms out of the room.

Ginny gives me a sympathetic look, but I know what she's thinking. I should have done this long ago. And she's right.

I punch the number for the Delta Hotel into my phone. "I need a room for tonight," I inform them, spelling out Céline's name. Credit card details are exchanged, and it's done. The reservation is set.

"Your room is booked," I tell her, walking into the next room as I call a taxi from the app. Her jaw tightens, the only clue to her frustration. I scrawl the Delta's address on a piece of paper and hold it out to her. She snatches it and strides past me, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

Outside, the taxi arrives, and Céline pauses at the door, her silhouette framed against the fading day. For a fleeting second, I expect to see her shoulders shake with sobs, but she's unyielding, and not a tear stains her cheek.

"Goodnight, Céline," I call, but she doesn't turn back.

The door slams shut behind her, and the cab pulls away, offering me at least a short reprieve, though I know this battle is far from over. I reach again for my phone, finding Lucy's number. We were supposed to go to dinner this evening. My thumb hovers over the call button, hesitating. What will I even say? Sorry won't cut it. But I have to reach out. She deserves that. And I need to hear her voice.

The line rings, once, twice, thrice…voicemail. There's been a lot of drama today, but still, that feels like an omen.

"Lucy," I begin after the beep, "I'm so very sorry. I hate that you had to witness that, and I'm so sorry she's here. I guess dinner is off the table this evening… I hope you're doing okay. Please get in touch when you have a chance. I… Okay, thanks. Bye."

I pocket the phone, it's weight heavy against my thigh.

I lean against the railing of the porch, staring out at the street. I think about the life I've started to build here—my job, the camaraderie with my team, the satisfaction when our efforts bear fruit. A twenty-three-minute reduction in wait times is truly a victory. Then Dr. Johns looms in my mind, the one blemish on my professional landscape. Yet even that struggle seems minor compared to this mess I have to navigate with Céline. While I once thought she would realize she belonged with me in Vancouver, I know now she doesn't. She never did. I am a means to an end for her, not a partner. She belongs back in Montreal, close to what's familiar to her, where she can get what she needs. Vancouver is my city, my life now. My future. I think again of Lucy. I desperately hope she will understand all this, that she'll give me a chance to sort through it and explain my newfound clarity.

A cool breeze whispers through the trees, and I tug my collar up against the chill. Time to go inside, to face an evening alone with my thoughts. Lucy's absence is a void, Céline's presence a ghost. And here I am, caught between what was and what could have been.

Ginny appears as I come in, her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised.

"Sorry," I murmur, the word feeble against the drama that has unfolded tonight.

"Chance," she says "you're tearing these women apart. And that's not you. It's not the man I know you to be." She steps closer, her gaze unwavering. "You need to figure out what you want and go after it. Stop this…this juggling act. It's not fair to anyone."

I nod, taking in her words like a splash of cold water. She's right. This isn't who I am,—or at least, it's not who I want to be.

"Thanks, Ginny. I'll… I'll sort it out."

She gives me a pat on the shoulder before slipping off to her room. I turn and go down to my bedroom, each step heavy with thoughts of Céline's angry departure and Lucy's withdrawal. My bed is neatly made, a stark contrast to everything within me.

Slipping between the cool sheets, I close my eyes and let the darkness envelop me. But sleep is elusive; images of Céline flicker behind my eyelids, days when love seemed unshakable, nights wrapped in passion and promises. Yet there's an emptiness to those memories now, a realization that our connection might have been shallower than we believed.

And then there's Lucy. The thought of her sends a flutter through my stomach. Her laughter rings in my mind, a sound that lights up even the dreariest days. With Lucy, everything seems brighter, lighter. I crave the way she tilts her head back when she laughs, the spark in her eyes when she's excited about something, the warmth of her hand in mine.

Céline was once my everything, but somewhere along the line, we lost the tune we used to dance to. Now, with Lucy, it feels like music has returned to my life, but the song is different, richer somehow.

I roll to my side, burying my face in the pillow. The way forward is bound to be tangled, but one thing is crystal clear. I want to be here in Vancouver, and I want to be with Lucy.

I reach for my phone, the weight of Ginny's words still heavy on my shoulders. I dial Lucy's number again, my heart hammering against my chest. When she answers, her voice instantly sooths the turmoil of my thoughts. "Lucy, I'm so sorry about Céline," I start.

"It's okay. You told me at the beginning you were trying to get over her. That process is not quite finished, I guess?"

I sigh. "I didn't ask her to come here. I didn't know she was coming. I've told her we're finished, but she's not listening. I need you to know, though, that she and I are finished. She is my past, and my future is here in Vancouver. I know that. It just may take a little time to convince her and get her to leave."

"She's still here?" Lucy's voice sounds a little shrill.

"She's staying at a hotel," I assure her. "I couldn't just kick her out on the streets."

"Okay," she says after a long silence. "Do what you need to do. I want you to have the space and time you need. And I… I think I need some space too."

Her voice cracks, then the line goes dead before I can protest. I stare at the ceiling, the dull ache behind my ribs sharpening. I need to fix things—and quickly. That's the only way I'm going to get back to moving forward.

With shaky fingers, I compose a text to Céline.

Me: Can we meet for breakfast tomorrow downtown?

She needs to understand, and I need closure. After a moment, my phone vibrates with her response.

Céline: Oui.

Me: DeDutch is across the street from your hotel. Does 9 work?

Céline: 8 is better.

Me: See you then.

I close my eyes, trying to picture what tomorrow will bring, how I'll manage to convince Céline of the truth. That we're finished, and that's what's best for both of us. It's a tangle of emotions and history, one I'd rather not delve into, but there's really no choice. My future depends on it.

Tomorrow, I decide, will be a day of hard truths and, hopefully, the first step toward a future where the only knots are the ones I tie myself, deliberately and with purpose.

I slide into the booth at the breakfast place, my gaze fixed on the door. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air. I check my watch for the third time. It's eight o'clock on the dot, eleven to Céline's body clock.

Eight twenty rolls around before she finally sweeps into the diner. Céline's entrance never changes, always grand, always late. My jaw clenches as she slides into the seat across from me, not a word of apology crossing her lips. It's typical behavior, the kind that used to be endearing but now grates on my nerves like sandpaper.

I nod, pressing my lips together to keep from saying what's on my mind. Instead, I flag down the server, eager to get this meeting underway.

"Morning, folks. What can I get ya?" the server asks with a chipper tone that does not at all match the tension at our table.

"I'll have two eggs, scrambled, with bacon and toast," I say.

Céline gives a delicate sniff, as if the very idea of food offends her. "Just black coffee for me, thank you," she tells the server with a dismissive wave.

The server scribbles on her notepad and disappears.

"Black coffee? That's it?" I catch myself. Arguing over her choice of breakfast isn't why I'm here. She is free to do as she wants. Always has been. There are bigger fish to fry.

"I never have breakfast. You know that," she says, her eyes avoiding mine as she pulls out her phone and fiddles with it.

I lean back against the vinyl seat, tapping an impatient rhythm against the Formica table. We're here to talk, yet silence has enveloped us. And as much as I crave clarity, I find myself fearing the conversation, the mess it's going to create.

"Chance?" She finally looks up at me, her expression unreadable.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"Never mind," she murmurs, turning her attention back to the phone.

Eventually, Céline fills me in on what's going on with her family and her best friend, Marie. Nothing different from when I left months ago.

The server returns with my plate of eggs and Céline's coffee. I mumble a thanks and watch as Céline wraps her hands around the steaming mug, her fingers tracing the rim.

"Is it good?" she asks, nodding toward my plate as I take a bite.

"It's fine," I respond. But the food doesn't matter.

"Fine," she echoes, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

"Yes," I affirm. I clear my throat, bracing for the questions I must ask. "What made you come out here, Céline?" My voice is calm, but it takes effort to keep it so.

She hesitates, fidgeting. "I've been waiting for you to come home," she says.

"Home…" The term feels foreign now. "Céline, I took this job because we wanted to move here together." I feel the weight of that, the choice I made to please her, not fully considering how it would impact me. Fortunately, I've been happy with the outcome. Most of it, at least. "Now, my work's here, and I'm locked in a contract for three years. But more than that, this is where I want to be. This is what's right for me ."

Frustration tightens her features, a response I'm not accustomed to invoking. Usually, I fold under her displeasure, but something's changed within me. "What does your mother say?" I prod gently, knowing the influence her family holds over her decisions.

"She thinks I should just move here," Céline admits, her gaze dropping to the table. It's a surprising revelation.

"But that's not what you want, right? It's not what you've ever wanted."

"I thought I could do it, but my friends, family…" Her voice trails off, a mixture of defiance and doubt coloring her confession.

It's clear to me that our lives are diverging, our needs anchoring us to different shores. From this vantage point, I find it amazing that we managed common ground for as long as we did. I am not that person anymore. Inadvertently, she is the one who showed me that when she left me to do this on my own.

Céline's eyes lock with mine as she reaches across the table. "Chance, please," she pleads. "Come back to Montreal with me. We can start over."

I feel my jaw tighten, a familiar ache setting in at the base of my skull. I want to be anywhere but here, caught in this tug- of-war. Why can't she just let go? "Céline, my life is here now," I say, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat. "This is where I want to be. We want different things, so it makes sense that we're in different places."

"If you loved me, you'd come back," she insists. It stings, that suggestion that love should be measured by sacrifice alone. I realize this is truly what she believes. That love is a matter of meeting her needs, without regard of what it costs anyone else.

"I will always care for you, Céline. You have been an important part of my life. But that part is over now. I need you to let go, to see that's what's best for both of us." A wash of clarity flows over me, and I can't believe this ever felt confusing to me, though I know it did. I was tangled in this just as deeply as she still is. The moment the words leave my mouth, I know it's futile. We are at an impasse, rooted in our separate ways of seeing the world.

She stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, she strides away, her figure disappearing into the sea of people outside the restaurant window on the sidewalk.

I stay put, resisting the urge that tugs at me to chase after her, to comfort her. But even if it's painful, I need her to see this truth. Perhaps it has to be painful for her to truly acknowledge it. So much of her life is about avoiding pain and discomfort… Deep down, I think I've always known Céline would never leave Montreal. I came to Vancouver, perhaps subconsciously, to let distance help with the work of untangling our lives. I certainly couldn't see how to do it—or even fully realize it needed to be done—in Montreal.

It's time to move on, to embrace the possibilities ahead. Lucy is the one who fits into my life. She's the partner I want—a true partner who considers my wellbeing as well as her own. I've confused her and hurt her, I know. With one battle fought, and, hopefully, finished today, now, it's time to make things right with her.