Boundaries
1455 Words
The hotel lounge buzzed with celebration after the Frosthawks’ opening playoff victory.
Players occupied nearly every corner of the spacious room, still dressed in team jackets as they replayed the night’s best moments with exaggerated stories and loud laughter. Coaches huddled around a low table covered in scouting reports for Game Two, while sponsors and executives drifted through the crowd, congratulating the team and raising glasses in celebration.
To anyone else, it looked like the perfect ending to a successful night.
To Ava…
It felt suffocating.
She slipped away from the crowd and claimed a quiet table beside the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Boston Harbor. Beyond the glass, the city shimmered beneath a blanket of lights, ferries cutting silently across the dark water while traffic crawled over distant bridges.
For a few precious moments, she simply watched the skyline.
It was easier than thinking.
Easier than remembering the way Liam had looked at her during the hospital visit.
Easier than replaying his quiet confession.
I wanted to.
She closed her eyes.
This assignment was becoming more dangerous by the hour.
Not because of the media.
Not because of the travel.
Because every hour she spent around Liam reminded her how deeply she’d loved him…
…and how little of that love had actually disappeared.
A soft vibration against the table pulled her from her thoughts.
Rachel.
Ava answered immediately.
“Please tell me you’re calling because you’ve decided someone else can write this article.”
Rachel laughed.
“Nice try.”
“I figured it was worth asking.”
“You know why I picked you.”
Ava closed her eyes.
“I wish I didn’t.”
“You’ve always been the best at finding the human story.”
The human story.
That was precisely the problem.
She knew Liam’s human story better than anyone.
Or at least…
She used to.
Rachel’s tone shifted.
“Actually, that’s not why I called.”
Ava frowned.
“Then why?”
“The hospital photos.”
A knot formed in her stomach.
“What about them?”
“They’ve been shared all over social media.”
Her heart sank.
“So?”
“So fans noticed something.”
Ava already knew.
She just didn’t want to hear it out loud.
Rachel continued.
“Nobody’s talking about the charity event.”
“Of course they aren’t.”
“They’re talking about the way Captain Hayes looked at you.”
Silence.
Ava glanced instinctively across the lounge.
Liam stood near the bar speaking with Coach Daniels and two assistant coaches.
Completely unaware she was looking at him.
Or perhaps…
Not.
Almost as if sensing her attention, he lifted his head.
Their eyes met across the crowded room.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t wave.
He simply held her gaze for one impossibly long heartbeat before returning to his conversation.
Rachel’s voice pulled her back.
“You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“The comments are ridiculous.”
“I can imagine.”
“They’re trying to figure out who you are.”
Ava rubbed her temple.
“I’d rather they didn’t.”
“You might not have a choice.”
The call ended, leaving Ava staring at her dark phone screen.
For years she’d worked to build a reputation based on professionalism.
She wanted people discussing her articles.
Not her relationship history.
Especially not one she’d spent five years trying to bury.
⸻
“Mind if I join you?”
A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
Ethan Brooks stood beside the table, two sparkling waters in hand.
She gestured toward the empty chair.
“Go ahead.”
He sat across from her, sliding one bottle toward her.
“I heard about the photo.”
“So did my editor.”
He offered an apologetic smile.
“Sports fans notice everything.”
“They notice the wrong things.”
“They usually do.”
For a while they simply watched the harbor in comfortable silence.
It was strangely refreshing.
Ethan never pushed.
Never asked questions she didn’t want to answer.
Finally, he broke the silence.
“For what it’s worth…”
She looked up.
“…I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong.”
She smiled faintly.
“Thanks.”
“I mean it.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“I’ve interviewed enough athletes to recognize when there’s history.”
Ava’s smile disappeared.
“But history doesn’t automatically mean scandal.”
She appreciated that.
More than he probably realized.
Across the lounge, Liam accepted another handshake from one of the sponsors.
Then his attention drifted.
Straight toward Ethan.
Toward Ava.
Toward the easy conversation unfolding between them.
Coach Daniels followed his line of sight before chuckling quietly.
“You’ve been distracted all evening.”
Liam took a slow sip of his drink.
“I’m listening.”
“No, you’re pretending to.”
The older man smiled knowingly.
“That reporter seems nice.”
Liam didn’t answer.
Coach Daniels continued anyway.
“I suppose he’ll make traveling with the media a little more enjoyable for her.”
Something unreadable crossed Liam’s face.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“He probably will.”
The answer sounded calm.
Too calm.
Coach Daniels had coached Liam for nearly seven years.
He recognized the signs.
The captain wasn’t angry.
He was jealous.
⸻
An hour later, the lounge became too crowded.
Too loud.
Too suffocating.
Ava excused herself and took the elevator to the rooftop terrace.
The cool night air greeted her the moment she stepped outside.
Boston stretched endlessly beneath the stars.
The harbor reflected the city lights like scattered diamonds across black water.
She wrapped her arms around herself and inhaled deeply.
Peace.
At last.
The terrace door opened behind her.
She smiled without turning around.
“I had a feeling you’d follow me.”
A quiet laugh answered her.
“I guess I’m getting predictable.”
She finally looked over her shoulder.
Liam stood several feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat.
He’d intentionally kept his distance.
Close enough to talk.
Far enough to respect her space.
Neither moved.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward anymore.
It was familiar.
Like an old song they both remembered but no longer knew how to finish.
“You’ve always come outside when things became too loud,” Liam said softly.
She looked back toward the skyline.
“And you’ve always noticed.”
“I notice more than I should.”
His honesty caught her off guard.
Again.
For several moments, neither spoke.
The wind carried the faint sound of traffic from the streets below.
“I don’t like this,” Ava admitted quietly.
“What part?”
She laughed without humor.
“How normal this feels.”
She wasn’t talking about standing on a rooftop.
She was talking about them.
Sharing coffee.
Eating dinner.
Talking without fighting.
Slipping into old habits.
“I know.”
“I spent five years convincing myself I’d moved on.”
“And?”
She smiled sadly.
“I’m starting to think I lied to myself.”
His chest tightened.
God…
How many nights had he imagined hearing those words?
Too many.
Far too many.
She finally turned to face him.
“We need boundaries.”
He nodded once.
“Tell me.”
“No more dinners.”
“Okay.”
“No more personal conversations.”
“Okay.”
“No more remembering things that make this harder.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I can’t promise that one.”
“Liam…”
“I remember because they’re part of me.”
His voice remained calm.
“I don’t choose what I remember.”
She looked away.
“Then try.”
He wanted to tell her he’d spent five years trying.
Trying to forget the sound of her laugh.
Trying to forget the way she tucked her hair behind her ear whenever she was nervous.
Trying to forget every promise they’d ever made.
He’d failed.
Every single day.
Instead, he simply nodded.
“I’ll try.”
She released a slow breath.
“Thank you.”
She started walking toward the terrace door.
Then stopped.
Without turning around, she spoke one final sentence.
“And stop looking at me like…”
Her voice trailed off.
“Like what?”
She closed her eyes.
“…like I’m still the love of your life.”
The words hung in the cold night air.
Liam didn’t answer immediately.
Because there was no answer that wouldn’t change everything.
Finally, he spoke.
His voice was quiet.
Steady.
Painfully sincere.
“I’ll try.”
It wasn’t a promise.
Because promises were things they’d once believed could last forever.
And they both knew how that story had ended.
- Writer
