Skating back to you

I learned early that love wasn’t something you got to keep. It was something you borrowed—like a dress that didn’t quite fit, beautiful for a moment, but never really yours. The first time I met Mason Hayes, I was ten years old and sitting on the back steps of St. Mary’s Home for Girls, trying to stitch together a torn sleeve with thread I’d stolen from the craft room. I remember the sunlight that day—too bright, too warm for the kind of loneliness that sat in my chest like a permanent ache. “You’re doing that wrong.” I didn’t look up. “Then don’t watch,” I muttered, biting the thread and pulling it tight. The seam puckered—ugly, crooked, nothing like the perfect dresses I saw in magazines. A pair of sneakers appeared in my line of sight. Clean. White. Definitely not from here. “You’re supposed to stitch from the inside, so you don’t see it.” I froze. Slowly, I lifted my head. And there he was. Mason Hayes. Golden hair falling into his eyes, a grin like he already knew he was going to be trouble, and the kind of confidence that didn’t belong anywhere near a place like this. “Who are you?” I asked. “Someone who knows how to sew better than you,” he said, dropping beside me like we’d always sat together. I narrowed my eyes. “Then fix it.” He laughed—actually laughed—like I wasn’t some charity case kid with second-hand clothes and too many walls. “Bossy,” he said, taking the sleeve from my hands anyway. “I like that.” I watched him work. His fingers were clumsy at first, but careful. Focused. Like he actually cared. “Why are you here?” I asked after a while. “My mom’s inside,” he said. “She donates stuff. Clothes, mostly.” That tracked. St. Mary’s survived with people like that—people who dropped things off and left before the sadness could stick to them. “You don’t look like you belong here,” he added. Neither did he. “Neither do you.” He smirked. “Touché.” There was a pause. Then— “My name’s Mason.” I hesitated. Names were dangerous. Names meant people stayed. And people never stayed. But something about him… “Piper.” “Piper,” he repeated, like he was testing how it felt. “That’s cool.” I shrugged, pretending I didn’t care. But I did. God, I did. That was the first mistake I ever made. Mason didn’t disappear like the others. He came back. At first, it was once a week. Then twice. Then it was like he’d always been there. We sat on those steps for years—talking, arguing, laughing. He told me about school, about hockey, about how he was going to be famous one day. “I’m going pro,” he said when we were fourteen, sprawled out on the grass behind the building. “Sure, you are,” I teased, sketching dress designs in my worn notebook. “I am,” he insisted. “And when I do, I’m going to buy you a whole studio.” I snorted. “I don’t need you to buy me anything.” “Not need,” he said, softer now. “Want.” I didn’t look at him. Because if I did, he’d see too much. “You’re going to be a designer,” he added. “A big one.” “You don’t know that.” “I do.” I finally glanced up. He was watching me like it was already true. Like I wasn’t just a girl with no parents, no money, and no real shot. “You’re the most talented person I know, Pipes.” Pipes. He was the only one who called me that. It did something to me every time. Something dangerous. By the time we hit high school, everything had changed. Not between us. Never between us. But the world around us started noticing Mason Hayes. Tall. Athletic. That stupid, perfect smile. The girls noticed. A lot of girls. And at the center of all of it— Reese Carter. Blonde. Beautiful. Rich. Everything I wasn’t. “You really hang out with her?” I overheard Reese say once, her voice dripping with something sharp and cruel. I was standing just around the corner, frozen. Mason laughed lightly. “Yeah. Why?” “She’s from that orphan place, right?” My chest tightened. “So?” “So… doesn’t that bother you?” There was a pause. The kind that stretches too long. The kind that makes your heart start breaking before the answer even comes. Then Mason said, “No.” Simple. Firm. And for a second, hope flared in my chest. But Reese just smiled. “Oh, it will.” It started small. Whispers. Looks. Comments are just loud enough for me to hear. “Charity case.” “Second-hand girl.” “Do you think she even owns anything new?” I pretended it didn’t matter. I pretended I was stronger than that. But every time Mason walked into a room with Reese hanging off his arm, something inside me cracked a little more. He never said they were together. But he never said they weren’t. And I never asked. Because I was too afraid of the answer. The night everything broke was the night of the winter formal. I wasn’t supposed to go. Girls like me don’t belong at dances like that. But Mason showed up at St. Mary’s with a suit and that same stupid grin. “Get dressed,” he said. “I don’t have anything to wear.” “Yes, you do.” He held up a dress. Simple. Elegant. Blue. Beautiful. “I saw it and thought of you.” My heart stuttered. “Mason…” “Just come with me, Pipes.” I should’ve said no. I should’ve protected myself. But I didn’t. Because it was him. And I would’ve followed him anywhere. For one night, I got to pretend. That I wasn’t the girl from the orphanage. That I wasn’t invisible. That I wasn’t— “Wow,” Mason said when I walked out. His eyes dragged over me, slow and stunned. “You look… wow.” I smiled, shy and stupid and so completely gone for him. “You clean up okay yourself.” He laughed, offering me his arm. “Ready?” I slipped my hand into his. “Always.” That was lie number two. The moment we walked in, everything shifted. Eyes turned. Whispers started. But Mason stayed right beside me. And for a while, it felt like maybe… Maybe I was enough. Until Reese appeared. “Hey, Mason,” she said, sliding up to him like she belonged there—like she belonged to him. Her eyes flicked at me. Sharp. Assessing. Dismissive. “Didn’t know this was a… charity event.” I stiffened. Mason frowned. “Reese—” “It’s fine,” I cut in quickly, forcing a smile. “I was just leaving.” “Piper, no—” But I was already stepping back. Already running. Because I knew. I knew I didn’t belong there. I never had. I didn’t see Mason for four years after that night. Not until that day did everything change again. Not until the moment I walked into that café, covered in fabric samples and stress and dreams, I was still chasing— And collided straight into him. Older. Stronger. Famous. And looking at me like I was still the only girl in the room. “Pipes?” he breathed. And just like that— I was ten years old again. Sitting on those steps. Falling for him all over again.