My Ex's Rival Has My Heart

I knew Mason was going to break up with me the second he stopped touching me. He always touched me. A hand on my knee under restaurant tables. His fingers brushing mine when we walked. His arm around my shoulders whenever someone recognized him. Even when we were annoyed with each other, he always found some excuse to touch me, like letting go for too long might make me disappear. Tonight he sat across from me with both hands flat against the table. Like I was a stranger I stared at him, waiting for him to say something that would explain the strange look on his face. “You’ve been quiet all night.” Mason looked down at his untouched steak. “I have something to tell you.” My stomach tightened. “Are you okay?” He laughed once, but there was nothing funny about it. “That’s exactly the problem, Avery.” I frowned. “What is?” He finally looked at me. “I don’t think I’m happy anymore.” For a second I didn’t understand the words. Maybe because we’d been together for six years. Maybe because we’d spent the entire afternoon arguing about where to put the dining table in the new house we’d just rented. Or maybe because I had spent the last month photographing engagement rings. Not for a client. For myself. I had been saving pictures of rings on my phone, pretending I was only curious about the designs. Mason had caught me doing it twice and smiled that lazy smile of his. Soon, he’d said. I’d believed him. “You’ve had a bad week,” I said softly. “The season starts next month. You’re stressed.” “It’s not hockey.” “Then what is it?” He leaned back. “You.” My fingers went cold. “What about me?” “I don’t know how else to say this.” “Try.” Mason sighed. “I think we’ve grown apart.” I almost laughed. We had grown apart? We had moved three cities together. I had followed him through college hockey, minor league hockey, his first professional contract and the year he finally became a household name. I’d been there when he tore his shoulder. I’d sat in hospital waiting rooms. I’d slept on airport floors because his playoff schedule changed at the last minute. I’d photographed every important moment of his career. His first professional goal. His first playoff win. The night he signed his first major contract. I had been behind the camera for all of it, even when I was exhausted, even when I wanted to go home. And now he was telling me we’d grown apart. “You didn’t mention that when we signed the lease.” His jaw tightened. “I wasn’t sure then.” “But you were sure enough to ask me to move in.” “I know.” “And you were sure enough to tell my parents we’re getting married.” He looked away. That was when I knew. There was someone else. I swallowed. “Is there another woman?” His silence answered before he did. My chest squeezed. “Who?” “Avery…” “Who?” He rubbed his forehead. “Clara.” The name landed strangely. Clara Bell. The daughter of one of his biggest sponsors. I’d met her twice. Once at a charity dinner where she laughed at everything he said and touched his arm more than once. Then at a team event where she asked me, very politely, how long it took to get used to the travel. She was beautiful. Tall. Blonde. Always perfectly dressed. The kind of woman who looked like she belonged in every room she walked into. I looked back at Mason, his expression had changed. Not guilty. Relieved. That hurt more. “So that’s it?” “I didn’t plan for this to happen.” “Did you sleep with her?” He didn’t answer. I nodded slowly. “Right.” My fingers curled beneath the table. “How long?” “Avery.” “How long, Mason?” He rubbed his jaw. “It’s been a few months.” The restaurant suddenly felt too warm. A few months. I stared at him. “A few months?” “It wasn’t supposed to become serious.” I almost smiled. “That’s what you’re going with?” “I’m trying to be honest.” “You cheated on me for months.” “I know.” “And you’re calling that honesty?” His voice hardened. “I said I was sorry.” “You didn’t say you were sorry. You said you weren’t happy.” Silence. I looked at him for a long moment. “Did you love her?” He didn’t answer immediately. That was enough. I pushed my chair back. Mason looked around as if suddenly worried people were watching us. Maybe they were. He was Mason Reed. People watched him everywhere. They watched when he walked into restaurants. They watched when he stepped onto the ice. They watched when he scored. Apparently they were watching me now too. “You’re embarrassing yourself,” he muttered. I stared at him. “I’m embarrassing myself?” “Keep your voice down.” “My boyfriend of six years just told me he cheated on me with another woman.” “Ex-boyfriend.” The correction hit harder than it should have. I sat back down. “Wow.” Mason exhaled. “Avery, I never meant to hurt you.” “Then why are you doing such a good job?” His face hardened. “I can’t keep pretending everything is okay because you’ve built your entire life around me.” I stared at him. “What does that mean?” “It means you don’t have your own life.” The words were cruel because some part of me knew they were true. “You quit your photography job.” “You asked me to.” “I never forced you.” I felt my eyes burn. “You wanted me there.” “I did.” “So what’s changed?” He looked away. “Everything.” I stared at him. “You stopped traveling with your friends. You changed the way you dressed.” I looked down at my black dress. He’d bought it. “You stopped taking photographs.” My throat tightened. “I’ve been busy.” “You’ve been waiting for me.” I couldn’t speak. Because that one landed too close to the truth. I had been waiting. Waiting for the next contract. The next season. The next city. The next time Mason would finally have enough free time for us to talk about marriage. I’d kept telling myself that once hockey settled down, we’d have a real life. Apparently he’d been building another one. Mason reached into his jacket and placed something on the table. Our house keys. I stared at them. “I’m moving into Clara’s place.” My stomach dropped. “You already moved?” He nodded. “When?” “Last week.” I blinked. Last week. While I had been unpacking boxes in the house we’d chosen together, he’d been moving into another woman’s apartment. I pushed the keys toward him. “You’re disgusting.” “Avery.” “No. Don’t.” He lowered his voice. “I was going to tell you.” “When?” He said nothing. “After you married her?” “I’m not marrying her.” “Yet.” His jaw tightened. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” I stared at him. That sentence almost made me laugh. Six years. Six years of my life. And apparently I was the one making things difficult. “So when you asked me to come here tonight…” “I wanted to tell you before you found out from someone else.” I looked around the restaurant. Suddenly I noticed everything. The candle between us. The untouched wine. The flowers on the table. The expensive meal I hadn’t touched. The couple sitting near the window, laughing quietly. I had thought Mason was taking me somewhere nice because he was going to surprise me. Maybe he was finally going to propose. Maybe tonight was the night. I felt stupid. God, I felt so stupid. I stood. “I’m leaving.” Mason stood too. “Avery.” “What?” “You can’t just walk out.” I stared at him. “Why not?” “Because we need to talk about the house.” I laughed. There it was. Not us. Not the six years. The house. I walked away. I made it three steps before he called my name. I turned. For one stupid second I hoped he’d changed his mind. That he’d come after me. That he’d say he was sorry. That he’d tell me Clara meant nothing. Instead he said, “Please don’t make a scene.” Something inside me went completely still. I smiled. Not because I was happy. Because if I didn’t smile, I was going to cry in front of him. “Don’t worry, Mason.” I walked out. The cold air hit my face. I stood outside the restaurant, staring at the traffic while tears blurred the streetlights. My phone buzzed. A message from Olivia. How’s dinner? Did he finally propose? I stared at it. My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I couldn’t type. So I put my phone away. A black SUV pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. Mason was inside. For a second I watched it disappear down the street. I stood there long after he left, staring at nothing, the cold seeping into my bones. Then my phone buzzed one more time. A message from Mason. I’ll have someone collect your things tomorrow. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I read it twice. Then I tried to delete his number. My hands were shaking too badly.