The water hit my back, hot and hard, loosening every muscle. My mind ping-ponged between my pillow and the woman in my kitchen. The way Mel looked at me when I told her I liked all of it—she knew what I meant.
I hadn’t let myself picture this kind of joy since Evie. Back when it felt solid until the work trips and the fling cracked it wide open. That loss left a fault line I’d been careful not to step on again.
But Mel had been chipping away at that fault line since the night she stumbled into my life with a twisted ankle at the rink. And this morning, standing there in loose pants, making omelets and bossing me around, something tipped over. It felt like I’d known her for more than a few months, and she never flinched at my scars any more than I did at hers.
Still, an uninvited voice reminded me that trust had blindsided me before. The thought lingered, but I shoved it down. Mel wasn’t Evie. She was different in every way. And I wanted to keep laying bricks with her, see if what we built could stand.
I shut off the water, dried off, and sat on the edge of the bed.
I wanted mornings like this, hearing Mel in the house. How would she feel about that? Ruby’s voice barged in, reminding me of how she swapped me for Vince as if I was a bad deal. My blood boiled. I wanted to pull Mel out of there. How would she feel about that? But she deserved to break out on her own, I had to trust her to kick ass on her terms, and I’d be there to celebrate every damn victory.
I slid under the sheets, leaning back into the pillows. Even with the history and hard stuff still to unpack, her sass and the way she softened for Cassy settled into me like the best kind of calm. I was hooked.
Chapter twenty-four
Mel
Sean didn’t come out of his room, and I wasn’t surprised. Even NHL coaches riding a Stanley Cup high need sleep.
Cassy and I slipped out midmorning, her backpack stuffed with snacks and drinks, Pitou, who she insisted needed “fresh air” clutched in her hand. I told her we were going on an adventure, but really, I needed space. A neutral zone, somewhere outside Sean’s house and beyond the heady afterglow of this morning.
It had been a little too perfect.
The three of us at the table, sunlight streaming in, the easy rhythm of coffee and omelets. It felt like a snapshot from someone else’s life. The kind of moment you’d frame if it weren’t so impossibly fragile. I couldn’t tell what shook me more: the thrill or the fear it might slip through my fingers. So, I needed distance from the man who brought feelings I hadn’t known I was capable of holding until last night.
We made it to the park near the ridge, all wide green space and a shaded loop of walking paths beneath sycamore and oak trees. The lawn was already alive with a kids’ soccer game, children Cassy’s age and older darting around in bright jerseys. Parents lined the edges in folding chairs, others standing with coffee cups mid-cheer.
We stopped and watched from the path. I wasn’t expecting this.
“Mel, I can run fast,” Cassy said, eyes locked on the field. “Can I play?”
“I don’t know…”
I gazed at her outfit—leggings, a long-sleeve shirt, and tennis shoes—it would do for spontaneous soccer at the park. I looked toward the field. What were the rules?
Before I could ask anyone, she handed me her backpack and Pitou without so much as a glance, eyes still glued to the match. Her mind was made up; she’d be crushed if they said no.
I stepped over to a woman who looked like she belonged in a ball cap, bottle of water in hand, the calm focus of a sideline veteran.
“It’s summer soccer camp starting this weekend,” she said when I asked. “There’s registration and all that.”
I pursed my lips, already crafting my “sorry, kiddo” speech.
The woman followed my glance to Cassy. “But it’s the beginning. I don’t think anything is set in stone yet,” she added. “When the coach steps off, you can ask him.”
Right on cue, the coach blew his whistle and waved the kids in for water. I caught his eye, stepped forward, and explained Cassy’s situation—just visiting, spotted the game, wanted in.
He glanced at her, then back at me. “If she can follow directions, she’s welcome to jump in.”
I turned back to Cassy. She bounced on her toes, radiant with hope.
“You’re in,” I said.
She gasped, beamed, and dashed toward the field faster than a comet.
I found a spot under a tree near the sideline, set down the backpack and Pitou, and sat on the grass to watch. Cassy ran after the ball, ponytail bouncing, calling out to a boy named Dion as if they were old teammates.
I exhaled. It was good being out here. The air smelled of fresh grass and sunscreen, and somewhere in the distance, Fleetwood Mac played from a portable speaker. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them.
