An emotional new second chance romance, packed with heartache, longing, and an impossible love triangle, is out this week from Claudia Burgoa, and you can read the whole first chapter right here.
Chapter One
Haydn
They say you can’t help falling in love. That it’s not a choice, not something you can control or plan for. One day, someone walks into your life, looks at you in a way no one ever has, and suddenly they’re speaking to parts of you that no one else even knew existed. And just like that, you’re done for. Not because falling in love is bad—far from it. But because everything that comes after it.
It’s the way they shift your entire world without even trying. The way their laugh stays with you long after they’ve gone quiet, the way their voice feels like home even when you don’t know where you stand. It’s waking up and realizing that every decision you make now revolves around them, like they’ve become the axis your world spins on.
And yeah, that’s beautiful. But it’s also terrifying. Because what happens when the shine fades? When the flaws come out? When the cracks in both of you start to show? What happens when you realize love isn’t a fairy tale, that it’s work, that it’s compromise, that it’s letting someone see the ugliest, most broken parts of you and hoping they’ll stay anyway?
And even if they do catch you, even if they’re everything you dreamed they’d be, there’s still the aftermath. Because love doesn’t leave you the same. It tears you apart, rearranges the pieces, and puts you back together as someone you barely recognize. Someone who suddenly can’t imagine life without them, someone whose world starts to crack at the edges just thinking about losing them.
And that, my friends, is exactly where I’m at with Ophelia Foster. My Pia. Meeting her felt like something out of a movie—one of those chance encounters that make you believe in serendipity. The kind of moment that shifts your life before you even realize it. But unlike the movies, there was no dramatic music, no instant fireworks. Just her. A girl with sharp wit and a guarded heart, looking at me like she could already see the ways I might let her down.
When she said, “I’m not interested,” I should’ve walked away. Taken the hint. Saved myself the heartbreak. But then she followed it up with, “I’m attracted to you, you’re fun, but I don’t think this will ever work.”
She gave me hope.
And let me tell you, hope is a dangerous thing. Especially when it’s wrapped up in someone like her—someone who lights up your entire world but is still holding back pieces of herself. We weren’t on the same wavelength, but we got caught up in something we couldn’t quite name—and couldn’t seem to let go of, either.
But the biggest issue? Her previous relationship.
She’d just come out of a love so big, so consuming, that it had left her hollow. Her heart wasn’t just broken—it was shattered, and every piece of her was wrapped up in the idea that she’d never be whole again.
I get it. I do. Love like that doesn’t just disappear. It leaves marks, scars that run so deep they make you question if you’ll ever be brave enough to try again. But listen—if everyone who’s ever had their heart broken decided love wasn’t worth it, this world would be full of empty people too afraid to take the risk.
So I took it for both of us. I was patient, gave her space, let her set the rules even though I hated every second of holding myself back. Because the truth is, I wasn’t just falling for her—I was falling for the possibility of us. For the life I knew we could have if she’d just let me in.
And now? Now I’m terrified. Because she’s my everything, but there’s still a part of her that’s trapped in the past, a part of her heart that I can’t touch, no matter how much of mine I give her. And if I lose her . . . if I lose this . . . I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
I’m usually good at guarding myself. It’s what I do for a living, after all. I’m a hockey goalie—one of the best in the league. My save percentage last season was a solid .932, with six shutouts. No one gets past me. Not on the ice, not in life. My net is my sanctuary, my fortress, and I’ve always been good at keeping my heart just as protected. But then she came along.
And here I am, at Ophelia’s apartment, making sure every last box is packed and ready to go. Three years. Three years of loving her with everything I have, of breaking down her walls bit by bit, of proving to her that we’re not just a moment—we’re a lifetime. And now, after all this time, she’s finally agreed to move in with me.
She said yes.
I still can’t believe it.
Her apartment is tiny, barely enough space for her camera equipment and editing desk, let alone a life we could build together. And don’t get me started on the creaky floors and drafty windows. But it’s hers. It’s the space where she’s been safe, where she’s retreated when the world feels too big, too overwhelming. So, yeah, the fact that she’s willing to leave this place and step into a new chapter with me? That means everything.
“Are you sure about this?” I’d asked her a week ago, holding my breath, afraid of what her answer might be.
She’d smiled at me then, soft and hesitant but full of something I could only hope was love. “It’s time, Haydn. We’re ready.”
Those words hit me like stopping the sharpest slap shot of my career. We’re ready.
And now, as I move around her apartment, carefully stacking boxes and wrapping her framed photographs, I can feel it. The signs that this is right. That we’re ready.
She walks in from the bedroom, her hair tied up in a messy bun, cheeks flushed from packing. There’s a smudge of dust on her jawline, and she’s hugging a box close to her chest like it’s no big deal, even though she’s been at this for hours. When she sees me standing there like a useless idiot, just staring at her, she smirks.
“You planning to help, or are you going to supervise from there?” she teases, arching a brow.
“I’ll take that to the car,” I say quickly, stepping forward. “How many more boxes?” Please let there be just one. Just one more box, and I can take her home.
“One more,” she says with a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes like I’ve been slacking this entire time. But there’s no edge to it. Just that softness I’ve come to crave from her, the way she lets her guard down when it’s just us. She sets the box down, brushing her hands against her jeans before stepping closer.
My heart stumbles, like it always does when she’s near. She doesn’t even have to try—it’s the way she moves, the way she looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world. This is it. This is what I’ve been waiting for, the moment I’ve been holding out for since the day she said “yes.”
“Are you nervous?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
“A little,” she admits, her gaze lifting to meet mine. Her eyes are clear, but there’s something underneath—something that tells me leaving this place isn’t as easy as she’s pretending it is. “Moving out and saying goodbye has never been my favorite part.”
I reach for her, pulling her gently into my arms. She comes willingly, and I press a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a second longer than I probably should.
“It’s not goodbye,” I whisper against her skin. “You’re just fifteen minutes from here. And I promise, first thing when we get home, I’ll take you to the pool.”
“The pool, huh?” she says, tilting her head to look up at me, her lips quirking in that way that drives me insane. “I’m not sure where I packed my swimsuit.”
“No suit needed, baby,” I murmur, my voice dropping just enough to make her blush.
“You only think of sex, Wes.” She smacks my chest lightly, but her laughter bubbles up, soft and unguarded.
“With a beauty like you, always.” I grin at her, watching the tension melt away, even if just for a moment.
This is it. The start of something new, something we’ve been building toward for years. I’ve waited so long to have her with me, to build a life together, and for the first time in forever, I’m not afraid of what’s next.
Because she’s here. And we’re doing this together.
Nothing can go wrong, right?
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