CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

N oah

Today is one of those perfect, rare days in Boston when the sky is a crisp blue. It's a perfect day for Finn to make B-roll for his vlog, and if this were last week, we would be wandering the city together, filming as the fall breeze rustles the towering maples that dot the Charles embankment and flings leaves of burnt orange, deep crimson, and soft yellow tumbling over the pavement.

But this is today, and everything is different. I inhale the musty scent of wet bark and grass, not yet buried by winter snow. I head with Troy and Luke to the arena and try to pretend I'm calm and happy and all the things I'm not. Tourists kayak on the Charles, and we stroll alongside them until we reach the Blizzards' arena.

Finn didn't contact me again yesterday.

And that's what I wanted.

Unfortunately, today is not an optional training day; we play Colorado tonight.

The brick and glass structure has never looked so intimidating. My heart tightens, and a stone forms in my stomach.

I'm going to see Finn.

Finn who texted me yesterday, Finn who stopped texting me after I said we couldn't return.

Well, of course, he's a reasonable person. I wouldn't have fallen for him if he didn't possess some modicum of logical reasoning ability, and us not being together is definitely logical .

"Nice day," Luke says, striving for optimism.

"Uh-huh," I say faintly. "Really...pretty."

Luke gives me a sympathetic look.

"Shit," Troy says.

Luke frowns. "Dude. We're not supposed to scare him."

"I'm not scared," I say, because I don't want to admit that the prospect of seeing Finn does crazy things to my body. I can probably get through the day without fainting like a nineteenth-century, absurdly tightly corseted virgin, but I'm not certain. I also thought I wouldn't fall in the first twenty seconds of stepping onto NHL ice. Maybe I'll drop my weights when I see him or walk into a rowing machine or something.

I mean, it's doubtful, but I'm not confident I can make it through the day without something happening.

I look on the other side of the river, as if I can see his car approaching. But all I see are tourists and locals and...

My heart clinches. "Shit."

"He sees them too," Luke says.

Paparazzi stalk the front of the arena. Their cameras are pointed at me. I wonder if they've already taken pictures.

I hope my face looked appropriately bland. Because I don't want to see it plastered on magazines with articles about how Finn finally came to his senses or something.

No way.

"I don't suppose there's another entrance?" I ask faintly.

"Sometimes the only way is through," Luke says.

"I think the tourist entrance will be worse," Troy says.

"How do I—" I bite my lip, self-consciousness settling over me.

"You look good," Luke says reassuringly. "Very, um, casual. Which is an important quality in showing Finn that you don't care about him."

"Not a good quality in showing him what's missing," I say, then I tense. "Sorry, guys. You don't want to hear that."

"Nah, we just think you have crazy taste. Finn? That ugly guy?"

"Say something funny," Luke tells me suddenly.

"Way to put pressure on a heartbroken man," Troy says.

Luke chuckles.

Troy's eyes widen. "Dude."

Luke's chuckle loudens. "Ha, ha, ha."

I blink, then I start to laugh. "He, he, he."

Luke elbows Troy, then glances at the paparazzi. Troy blinks.

"Oh."

Luke elbows Troy again.

"You are both so funny," Troy says in a flat voice. "I love spending time with you guys."

I'm sure Luke is contemplating tackling Troy, even though none of us are football players.

"Okay, so you shouldn't do any commercials that involve speaking," Luke says.

Troy glares at him, then sighs, and begins his own forced laughter as we near the paparazzi.

I'm not sure that Troy's laughter is an improvement over his glaring, but hopefully it will look better in pictures.

Because the paparazzi are snapping pictures now. Shutters click, and the world explodes in yellow .

Tension sweeps through me, but I pretend everything is fine, fine, fine.

Because the only thing worse than Finn ripping my heart out in public, then letting the whole world see and comment, is making it seem I am as broken-hearted as I am.

Finn asked his lawyer how to get an annulment for us. For all the world knows, I begged him to contact his lawyer. For all the world knows, I am equally unbothered by the prospect of a life without Finn Carrington. For all the world knows, I am completely happy hanging out with my two friends Luke and Troy, and this is no story.

It's not the most mature, therapist approved action, but frankly I don't care in the least.

I don't want my face splattered over magazine stands and on the internet. I don't want fans to speculate about what happened between Finn and me, and I don't want to read that some of them think everything was fake.

Even if it was.

Because I developed real emotions all the same, but if I were to confess that to anyone, I would only get pity or laughter.

Because I should have known better.

I did know better.

I just couldn't help myself because Finn is amazing in every sense of the word.

Troy and Luke flank me, shielding me from photographers. I keep my back straight, and I try to feign nonchalance.

I'm relieved once we enter the arena, then I remember this is where I'll see Finn.

The day has only just begun, and my exhaustion has already run me down, like a porter traversing the oxygen-thin air of the Himalayas carrying a heavy backpack, conscious he'll only have to perform the same task again and again and again.

This is why people don't recommend workplace romances. This is why team management was nervous when we declared our relationship. They're older than us, and more used to seeing relationships fail.

And though I've never had a relationship that didn't fail, part of me must have thought we would be together for longer. Maybe forever.

But I at least thought we would get a year.

I was certain there would be at least that amount of time.

I think of all the kisses, Finn and I will never share, all the intimate moments, all the dinners, all the lunches, all the breakfasts, all the movies we won't watch side by side, all the times we won't catch each other's gaze first after a victory on the ice.

The future stretches before me in an empty manner, dull and dreary and dreadful.

We continue down the hallway toward the locker room, then to the training room, and I try not to see the pity on the faces of the few people we pass. The photographers are not here, thank goodness, but that means Troy and Luke are now silent. They no longer feign laughter, and the air feels heavy.

Luke pushes open the door to the training room.

Finn is inside, lifting weights. His muscles, slick with sweat, bulge in their always interesting manner.

His face is grim and stern .

Relief moves through Finn when his gaze lands on me, and for a half second, everything is as it should be. He looks at me, and he smiles, and I want to catapult into his arms so that in the next second we're kissing and undressing.

But it only takes me half a second more to remember all the reasons that would be wrong. His face freezes, then darkens.

My heart beats quickly, like a bird being chased by a fox and desperately trying to take off.

I trudge through the thick air, each molecule of oxygen laden with tension, to the elliptical machine, even though normally I'm a treadmill guy. He doesn't follow me, and when I slide my gaze to him, he is facing the wall.

This is our new normal.

The other guys shoot us curious looks, but they don't say anything to us.

They know we're broken. They'll talk about us when we're not in their presence.

I focus on exercise.

I am calm. I am a lake—and not the Northern European kind with a sea monster tucked underneath somewhere. Nothing troubles me.

My fingers grit as I say these lies in my mind, but if I think them often enough, I will believe them.

Someone clears his throat, and my stomach sinks.

"Finn, Noah. Please come with me," Coach says.

I hesitate.

"Now," Coach orders.

Finn's temple pulses, and he angles his face away from me. His back is still straight, his shoulders still square, and I realize too late that I'm staring as I follow Coach and him from the room.

I force my gaze away, because if I let my gaze fall on him again, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to look away.

I trudge after Finn, my legs suddenly wobbly, my mind light-headed. I want to fling my arms around Finn's back and hear his startled laughter, followed soon by kisses.

But if I were to do that, the only sound I would get would be a huff of distaste and a shrug of repulsion. Finn and I are over. I never should have allowed myself to imagine the impossible.

I wish I could think of some excuse that could keep me away. A sudden, desperate toothache? Remembering I forgot my great-aunt's funeral is happening right now?

But soon we're in front of Coach's office, and I missed my chance to remember I left the iron on and didn't turn off the bathtub, and I must rush back to Luke's and Troy's place to see what will destroy it first—fire or flood.

I'm going to be in a small room with Finn.