Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ophelia

The entire night was a battle I couldn’t win—tossing, turning, slipping into sleep for five minutes only to wake for an hour. Insomnia usually slips away when Haydn holds me, his arms usually quiet my restless thoughts. Without him, though, sleep feels impossible. I didn’t drift off until maybe five in the morning, when exhaustion finally drowned out the endless loop of questions in my head.

Unsurprisingly, I wake up to an ache that seems to settle into every part of me. It’s a dull, throbbing pain stretching from my neck to my shoulders, down my back, making even the smallest movement feel like a challenge. It’s the kind of discomfort that lingers, flaring up to remind me that no matter how much I try to push forward, my body always pushes back.

The ceiling stares back at me, blank and unhelpful, as yesterday’s events crash into me all over again.

Keane is alive.

The thought sits heavy in my mind, impossible to ignore. He’s alive, and now, somehow, I’m the one responsible for him. The man I lost, the man I grieved—he’s back, bringing with him all the questions, guilt, and memories I spent years trying to lock away.

And then there’s Haydn.

My Haydn.

Except he isn’t anymore. He pressed pause on us. On everything we’ve built.

That word—pause—it sticks, uncomfortable and cold, like something I can’t quite shake off. Haydn doesn’t believe in half-measures. He’s all or nothing, on and off the ice. But this? This halfway place he’s left me in? It feels like I’m stuck in limbo, unsure of which way to go.

I close my eyes again, but all I can see is his face from last night. The way his hands cupped my face, the way his voice faltered as he spoke. He looked at me like I was the most important thing in the world, and yet he still said he needed space. No, correction. Haydn believes I need the space.

This is so unconventional, a move so not like him. He usually defends his zone—as he likes to call anything and anyone who is part of his trusted circle. Yet, he let go, even though every part of him seemed to be fighting not to.

And now here I am, my body aching, my thoughts unraveling, trying to piece together what comes next in a life that feels more uncertain than ever. I sit up slowly, wincing as the familiar tension pulls at my neck and shoulders. The mattress feels too big, too empty, and my heart aches as much as my body does. My hand drifts to the spot where he should be, and I feel the sting of absence settle somewhere deep in my chest.

That’s when I see it. The tray on the nightstand. A smoothie, pale green with a slice of lemon perched on the rim, sits beside a steaming mug of coffee in my favorite cup. Next to them, a folded note waits, the edges crisp and deliberate, placed with care. And then there’s the silk flower arrangement—cherry blossoms.

Their soft pink petals look almost real, as if they’ve been plucked straight from a branch, but they’ll never wilt. He always chooses flowers that last. A small, sweet reminder that he still sees me. Even now.

I reach for the note, unfolding it carefully, my eyes scanning the familiar messy scrawl.

Pia,

Morning, my love. I wish I had woken you up but you looked too tired and yet peaceful, so I chose not to. I left you breakfast, a little something so you know I’m thinking of you. I’m heading to chat with the GM and Mills Aldridge and might not be back until later today depending on how things go.

The massage therapist is ready for you whenever you’re up. Sherry will be here for your acupuncture session at noon. I had the chef’s schedule changed so he can be around whenever you need him—you heard the doctor, Keane’s diet has to be soft and balanced. Don’t be stubborn, use my people to help you help him.

Think of me.

Love,

HW

A bitter laugh escapes me, and I press the note to my chest, my vision blurring with unshed tears. Even after everything, he’s still looking after me. My mind flashes back to his words from last night—“You’ll strain yourself if no one’s looking after you.” Well, here he is. Still looking after me, even from a distance. Still being Haydn.

Though I should be drinking the smoothie, I pick up the coffee mug, wrapping my fingers around it, the heat sinking into my palms. It feels like the only warmth in the room. As I take a sip, the tension in my jaw eases just slightly, but my body is a different story. The stress from yesterday—the break-up, the flight, seeing Keane, hearing the doctor’s explanations—it’s all still sitting in my muscles, making every movement a struggle.

I set down the coffee carefully, leaning back against the headboard. My breath becomes shallow, every ache and pang of discomfort a reminder of how much my body hates me today. My chronic pain, the stress of my life, the range of my emotions going through my head—they’ve all teamed up against me. And for a moment, I let myself feel it. All of it.

I curl my arms around my knees, drawing them to my chest, and rest my head there. The memory of Keane’s face, confused and distant, flashes in my mind. Then Haydn. Haydn fucking pausing us because . . . it’s a fucking gesture so I don’t feel pressured. It’s too much.

So fucking much.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away quickly, as if dismissing it will make me stronger. But the truth is, I feel fragile, like I could shatter under the weight of all this.

I glance back at the cherry blossoms, their delicate petals catching the light. They don’t wilt. They don’t fall apart. They just . . . exist. And somehow, I have to find a way to do the same.

Later today, I’ll figure out what’s next. How to handle Keane. How to exist in this strange limbo with Haydn. But right now, I’ll let the massage therapist unknot the tension that’s stealing my breath. I’ll let Sherry’s needles find the pain and coax it out of me. I’ll drink the smoothie he made sure was there because he knows I might skip a meal or two.

It’s time to wake up and live, move forward. Because even though I feel broken, even though I don’t know how to put myself back together, I’ll find a way. I always do. And somehow, that’s enough to get me through this morning.