Juniper POV
Tristan has been pulling away for days.
It wasn’t dramatic. Tristan didn’t slam doors or raise his voice. He just… disappeared in small, careful pieces. Mornings that used to start with him tugging me into his lap at the kitchen island while we burned breakfast had turned into quick cups of coffee and excuses about extra practice. The late-night talks on the couch where his fingers would play with my hair until I fell asleep against his chest had become short goodnights at the guest room door, his eyes already somewhere else.
I told myself it was the playoffs, the pressure. Of course he was pulling back to focus. That was what I kept repeating to myself every time I felt the cold space he left behind.
But it still hurts.
I’d wake up reaching for him and find the other side
