I stare at Piper, sure I didn’t hear her right. Because she couldn’t have just said what I thought she said. It’s impossible.

“Come with me. Just try, Adam. We can meet in Paris after my internship finishes and then head back home. What do you have to lose?” Her voice is getting louder and more urgent, and I look around, checking to see if we’re drawing any attention. The last thing I need is to end up starring on YouTube as the couple fighting at her brother’s engagement party.

Breaking up at her brother’s engagement party.

Except we can’t really break up, because we’re not really together.

Just keep telling yourself that, Skippy. Say it as many times as you want. Doesn’t make it true.

Everyone’s eyes—and phones—seem to be on the happy couple, something that Ben is going to absolutely fucking hate when it’s playing on network television tomorrow. Nobody is paying any attention to us, so I grab Piper’s hand and tug her out into the hallway. The doors close and the happy noise from the party fades, leaving us staring at each other.

She looks beautiful, her hair in sleek waves down her back and her lips shining with some kind of gloss that tastes like berry-flavored dreams. Her deep-blue dress makes her eyes darker than usual, especially since right now they’re wide open and wild, like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.

That makes two of us.

Fuck. I’m already exhausted after a day of watching riders practice in the half-pipe. Gabe and I checked out every single competitor, making copious notes about what we’re going talk about when the event starts. The half-pipe is the crown jewel of Olympic snowboarding, the event that draws the biggest audience by far, and Gabe really wanted to be prepared.

Then we interviewed them all, which was fine except that everybody apart from Ben gave me the “when will we see you out there again?” question that I still can’t answer. I know the correct response, hell—the only possible response—is never, but I can’t make myself say it. Maybe I’m still too chickenshit to admit the reality of my situation. Maybe I can’t stand the idea of seeing my own disappointment echoed over and over on their faces—of having to repeat “it’s okay though…” again and again when it isn’t fucking okay at all. So the words die someplace in my throat, choking me up until all I can do is smile and shrug, which seems to satisfy whoever I’m talking to but leaves a sour feeling of failure in my gut.

I thought I was making some progress after finishing up the slopestyle competition and finally facing up to the pipe, so flailing around out there today was a kick in the teeth. All I want to do is crawl into bed, sleep, and hope like hell I dream of summer. I am in no fucking shape to be discussing this with Piper, but I guess I don’t have a choice.

“I can’t go with you, Piper, and I can’t live in Colorado. That was never part of…whatever this is.” I wave my hand between us and her eyes narrow.

“Whatever this is?” she repeats.

Fuck.

“That came out wrong.” I pause and give myself a second to think. Because this is one conversation I don’t want to fuck up. I can’t. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then what did you mean, Adam? Because I think this, what we have right here, is pretty damn spectacular.”

I grab her hand, trying to make a connection. “I think so too. You know I do.”

She curls her fingers around mine and squeezes. “You’re it for me, Adam. I love you. You know that. And you’ve been kicking ass here. You faced up to winter and told it to fuck right off, so why can’t you come with me?”

I close my eyes, willing my thoughts to slow down, to stop racing around my head like a herd of cats that just spotted a field full of fat-ass mice.

“I can’t talk about this here,” I say. We’re alone for now, but anyone could come bursting out that door, including her parents. Or even worse, Ben and Nat. The last thing I want to do is destroy their loved-up engagement party. They’ve earned this happiness and finding me and Piper fighting in the hallway will ruin what should be one of the best nights of their lives.

I keep her hand in mine, and we walk quickly to the elevators, leaving the muffled shouts and cheers from the party behind. When the doors close, I lean back, wishing I could slide down the wall and put my head between my legs. Instead, I hit the button for the lobby.

“I need some air,” I explain when Piper raises her eyebrows in question. I also don’t want to take this conversation back to our room, because I don’t see how it can possibly end well and hearing the door of the place we’ve been so happy slam behind me will hurt too much.

We speed-walk through the lobby and burst out into the night. The streets are jammed with people looking to party and it’s snowing. Naturally. Because snow is the cherry on top of the shit sundae of this conversation.

I walk around the corner of the building into a little brick alley, looking for a place to be still.

“Are you okay?” Piper’s voice is quiet, and when I look up at her, she’s shivering. I should never have dragged her out here in a sleeveless dress.

“You’ll freeze out here. Go back to the room. I’ll be right up.”

She shakes her head and hugs herself. “I’ll wait.”

I lean against the wall and run through all my stress responses: breathe in three, breathe out five. Relax my muscles one by one. Picture a happy place.

Nope. Still not that one, because now all I can see is Piper’s bed, and that’s even worse than imagining a powder day.

“Adam?”

Her breath is puffing out in little clouds and she’s shivering so hard I can hear her teeth clicking together, but I’m sweating through my shirt.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’ve been wanting to say something for a while and I guess the whole proposal thing got to me. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

Her voice is miserable and I want to bang my stupid head against this wall until I knock myself out, because she deserves a guy who can have simple conversations about the future without having some kind of panic attack.

She deserves a guy who can give her a future, period.

I hold my arms out and she stumbles over and leans in, touching my chest but keeping her arms glued to her sides, not relaxing into my embrace. Something rips inside of me, because this is it. The last time I touch her is going to be a shitty, awkward hug in a rank alley, and that’s so fucking sad it makes me want to cry.

“I can’t go with you,” I whisper into her hair. “The only thing getting me through this is knowing I’ll be out of here soon. I’m trying, Piper, I swear, but this is killing me.”

She sobs, and I squeeze her tighter.

“You’ve seemed so happy, though,” she says. “I thought you were getting better. Was all of that a lie?”

“No!” I let her go and gently push her back, just enough that I can look into her eyes. “Every minute I spent with you has been amazing. Never doubt that. None of it was a lie. When I was with you, I was happy. But the other stuff has been tough.”

I feel like a fucking idiot, because I’m an adult. What kind of adult is scared of a season? Of snow? I’ve got the girl of my dreams standing in front of me asking me to be with her, and I can’t say yes. It’s pathetic.

“We don’t ever have to go to the mountains,” she says. “Mom and Dad will visit us in Denver. You can take pictures and do your own thing. You wouldn’t have to be a part of the snowboarding scene, and when I’m done with school, we can go live anywhere you want, as long as my mom’s okay. She’ll be ten years cancer-free by then, and that’s a huge milestone.”

I want to scream, because everything she’s saying makes perfect sense and I want that future so badly I can taste it, but I still can’t say yes.

“When I’m with you, I’m so happy, Piper. Even here, when I’m surrounded by the world I lost. But everything else about this makes my skin itch. It’s like I’m stuck underwater and my lungs are burning and I know I need to breathe, but the surface is too far away. I can’t explain it, but I just feel wrong here, and it’s only getting worse. I think I’m getting ahead of it, but then something happens and I get dragged down again, and I’m tired, Piper. I’m so fucking tired.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone who snowboards.”

I snort. “It’s Colorado, Piper. Everyone we know rides. The only way I could avoid snowboarding talk would be to shut myself in our apartment and never speak to anyone. It wouldn’t work.”

“You’ve been taking pictures, though. You told me you could see the beauty in winter again. Maybe if you keep trying, you’ll get over it. I’ve been researching therapy techniques for people with PTSD and I think…”

“I might never get over it, Piper.” She flinches at my harsh tone but I keep going. “I can’t even admit to myself or anyone else that it’s really over. Do you know how messed up that is? That I crave the thing that will kill me?”

“But if you try…”

“I have tried! I get that it’s hard to understand. Fuck, I barely understand it myself. And maybe you can’t understand, because you’ve never had anything mean as much to you as riding meant to me. It wasn’t just something I loved doing, or something I was good at. It was everything. It was my entire identity, and now it’s gone.”

She wiggles out of my arms and takes a step back.

“Oh, I understand snowboarding was everything to you, Adam. Believe me, I’m not likely to fucking forget about that.” The bitterness in her voice surprises me, though it probably shouldn’t.

“The thing is,” she continues, “it’s still your entire identity, isn’t it? We crashed and burned before because you chose snowboarding, and you’re still choosing it. It’s still defining you.”

“I love you, Piper, but that is not fucking fair, and you know it. I know the story about Japan has been that I picked snowboarding and the whole thing was my fault, but I thought we established that you also played a part. You apologized in Breck, remember?”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s not like I’m a regular, happy-go-lucky guy who woke up one day and decided to be a negative dick. I don’t think you understand that what I’m feeling isn’t a conscious choice. I can’t just decide not to be sad about this anymore. It’s a hell of a lot deeper than that.”

She blinks back tears. “I know, but can you honestly say that you’ve even tried to accept it? To face the fact that you’re different now? Because you’re still amazing, Adam. You always have been. You don’t need snowboarding for that and if you could only see…”

Tears are dripping down her face now, and I reach up to wipe them away.

“I wish I could see what you see.” My voice is hoarse, my throat tight with holding back my own tears. “But I can’t. The only times I get close to accepting what I’ve lost is when I’m far away from it. I try and picture a new life, a new future, but it’s all blurry. The only thing that’s in focus is you, but that’s not real life, it’s a dream. I wish I could be stronger for you, Piper, but I’m broken. I’m sorry.”

All of a sudden, I’m shivering uncontrollably. All the heat is gone and I’m freezing, my shirt clammy and cold with sweat. I’m cold from the inside out, because I know what happens next. I’ve known since we made our idiotic agreement to be together until the end of the Olympics.

Piper walks away.

“You’re not broken,” she says quietly. “You’re perfect.”

“If I were perfect, we’d be back at the room fucking and planning our trip to Europe and where we want to live in Denver. I’m a disaster.”

We stare at each other, shadows and color playing across our faces as the neon lights of the surrounding restaurants at the end of the alley blink on and off. I’m waiting for her to turn and leave, but instead, she does something even worse.

“I’ll give up school,” she says. “If you can’t come with me, then I’ll come with you. I don’t even know if I’m going to get in anyway.”

God, I’m a selfish asshole, because the first thing I feel when she says that is a flash of pure joy so powerful that I actually sway on my feet. I have to lean back against the wall for a second to get my balance. I want to grin, and whoop, and hold her tight and take her back inside and bury myself in her.

But I can’t.

“No,” I grit out. “I won’t let you do that.”

“You won’t let me?”

“No, I won’t. You’re not fucking up your future because of me. You’ve worked too hard and I’m…not worth it.”

“You’re worth everything!” she says fiercely. “There are other schools, Adam. There won’t be another you.”

“And what about your mom? You can’t leave her, Piper. You know you won’t be happy if you’re not nearby.”

“I’ll figure something out,” she says. “Just give me a little more time, okay? I should never have said anything, not until I had a plan.”

“Jesus, Piper. Stop, okay? Just stop. You think you’re trying to fix things, but what you’re really doing is trying to control them. To control me. You want a perfect plan to create a perfect world and if something can’t fit in—if it can’t be fixed—then you throw it out. Just like Japan.”

She rubs her hands over her arms, desperately trying to keep warm, and she looks so lost that it breaks my heart all over again.

“You never meant it, did you? About ending this after the Olympics?”

“No.” Her voice is a sad wisp of a sound, so quiet it almost gets buried in the falling snow. “I said it because I wanted you to stay”

“Oh, Piper.”

I close my eyes, steeling myself for what I have to do. Because it’s going to blow a huge fucking hole in my chest that I’ll never be able to fill.

But I have to do it. I can’t let her give up her dreams to follow me around, hoping that I’ll get my shit together. Because she might think I’m perfect now, but what will she think in three years? In five? When she’s ready to stop living out of a backpack and I’m still too broken to even visit my parents in New Hampshire for Christmas?

She’ll regret giving up school, she’ll hate me, and then she’ll leave anyway.

“I love you,” I tell her, “but this has to end. Goodbye.”

Then I take her hand for the last time and walk her into the lobby. I press the button for the elevator and wait for it to come, staring at the floor because I know I’ll break if I can see her eyes. The doors open with a ding, and I squeeze her freezing hand, drop a kiss on her icy hair, and let her go.