Wait for Me Past the Blue Line

After my mother’s funeral, I went back to the arena to finish my final handover.

In three days, I would leave this city for good.

I had already resigned from the arena. The new equipment assistant had arrived that morning, and I was supposed to finish the handover, work through Sebastian Ferraro’s final championship game, and leave for New Zealand the next night.

The city was hosting the final round of the North American All-Star Invitational, and the entire building felt electric. Reporters crowded the entrances, fans filled the halls in Ferraro jerseys, and every television replayed highlights of Sebastian skating across the ice like the city belonged to him.

He had become exactly what he promised me he would become.

A hockey star. A Ferraro heir. A man the entire country knew by name.

People said he had turned his back on the Ferraro crime family to stay in professional hockey. People also said this would be his final tournament before marrying Camilla Moretti and returning to the family business for good.

I kept my head down as I walked out of HR with my resignation file in one hand and the handover checklist in the other.

All I had to do was get through these last three days without seeing him.

No explanations. No old wounds. No foolish hope.

Sebastian Ferraro had already become someone else’s future, and I had no right to drag him back into the past just because my mother had finally decided to regret it.

I told myself I could leave quietly.

I told myself he did not need to know the truth anymore.

Posters of him covered the arena. His name flashed across the screens. Fans stood beneath his photos, laughing, taking pictures, wearing his jersey like he belonged to all of them.

Then I saw one older photo near the end of the display.

Sebastian at seventeen.

He stood on the ice with his helmet tucked under one arm, smiling like he was still waiting for someone in the stands.

My steps slowed.

For a second, I was back in the old rink, hearing him say, “When I cross the blue line, you’d better be watching.”

I had promised him I would.

But I never showed up.

The lights above me blurred. The voices in the corridor stretched thin and distant.

I reached for the wall, but my hand missed.

The next thing I knew, I was staring at fluorescent lights above a narrow medical bed.

The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and athletic tape.

“You’re awake.”

The voice froze me before I even turned my head.

Sebastian stood near the doorway with his practice jacket hanging over one arm. He looked older than the boy I remembered, broader through the shoulders and sharper around the eyes, but the sight of him still knocked the air out of my lungs.

“How are you here?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“You collapsed outside the hallway,” he replied calmly. “Medical checked your emergency contact. It was still my number.”

My breath caught.

I had forgotten.

Thirteen years ago, Sebastian had been the first person I wanted called if anything ever happened to me.

Now he was the last person who should have been here.

“Your emergency contact.” His voice stayed even. “Take my name off it.”

Only then did I notice the lipstick stain near his collar, bright red and fresh enough to sting.

I lowered my eyes immediately.

“Okay.”

Silence settled heavily between us. I wanted to explain everything, to tell him I had never meant to disappear without an answer, but the words refused to come out.

Sebastian looked at me for a moment longer.

“The past is over, Clara,” he said. “I’m getting married soon. I don’t want misunderstandings.”

The words landed harder than they should have. I forced myself to smile anyway and took the phone back.

“Understood.”

Then he walked away.

I remained sitting on the edge of the bed long after the door closed.

Only after he left did my mother’s last words return to me.

My mother had waited until she was dying to tell me why she destroyed my relationship with Sebastian Ferraro.

First, his mother hated her. Second, his mother stole the man she loved first. Third, Sebastian reminded her too much of him.

For years, I believed Sebastian had stopped fighting for me because I mattered less than his pride.

Then my mother lay in a hospital bed with regret clouding her eyes and told me the truth thirteen years too late.

“If you ever see him again,” she had whispered weakly, “don’t lose him this time. I was wrong, Clara.”

I had sat beside her bed without answering, because the cruel part was that I had never stopped losing him.

And now, after thirteen years, I had finally seen him again.

Only to learn that I had arrived too late.

Outside in the hallway, voices drifted carelessly through the thin walls.

“Ferraro’s father wanted him back in the family years ago.”

“Apparently he stayed in hockey because of Camilla.”

“I heard this whole tournament was pushed into this city because of the Ferraro family.”

“After this season he’s done. Marriage, family business, everything.”

I closed my eyes slowly.

Whatever Sebastian and I once were had ended a long time ago, and this time I would not ruin his life again.