“Is it April?” Grant is standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking around frantically.
“She had a project to work on after school, so I told her she could ride home with one of her friends. I guess they’re done early.”
“Thank fuck we’re done, too,” he starts to laugh but then schools his features again once April makes it to the front door. A few seconds later, my beautiful girl is standing in the kitchen doorway and beaming at us.
“Hey, Mom! Hi, Grant! What are you guys doing? Do you want to see my part of the project we’ve been working on?” She slings her backpack onto the kitchen table, then looks over at me. “May I have a snack, please? I’m starving!”
All I can do is smile because as much as some things change around here, others stay exactly the same. I’m also really, really glad she didn’t get home about ten minutes earlier.
“Of course, sweetheart.” I go to the fridge and start to pull out some celery and carrots, then go to the cabinet for some peanut butter.
Grant meets me there with a hot look in his eyes. I glance over at April, but she’s still focused on retrieving her project from her bag.
He leans in close to my ear so I’m the only one who will hear him. “You still have my cum on your skin while you’re being the perfect mom. God, you’re incredible.”
His words are enough to make my thighs clench as a wave of heat hits me. He’s right. I can be both things. A mom who loves her daughter and a woman who loves good sex.
I don’t think I ever fully felt this way with my ex, but Grant seems to bring it out of me without even trying. It’s a good reminder that maybe I really am where I’m supposed to be. Maybe I do deserve this kind of happiness.
Chapter 36
Grant
The arena in St. Louis is hostile territory. Every time we touch the puck, the crowd erupts in boos. Every time the other team makes a move, the cheering swells like a wave trying to drown us out.
I don’t let it affect me.
I’ve played in louder arenas with angrier crowds. At this point, the jeering is just white noise, something my brain filters out automatically. What matters is the ice in front of me, the puck, and the few inches of space around my body I need to defend.
We’re up by one with eight minutes left in the third period, which means they’re going to throw everything they have at us. I can feel the shift in their energy and the desperation creeping into their plays.
“Stay tight!” I hear Sawyer shout.
Their center picks up the puck and starts skating, building speed. Declan moves to cut him off, but the guy slips past with a quick fake-out, and suddenly it’s just him and me.
Time slows down the way it always does in these situations. I track the shooter’s stick, watching for the tell that will give awayhis shot. My body coils, ready to move in whichever direction I need to go.
He winds up. I see the angle he’s going for and drop low, kicking my right leg out hard to seal the gap between my pads.
The puck hits my pad and deflects harmlessly into the corner. The crowd groans, and it’s music to my ears while my teammates tap their sticks against the ice to show their approval.
But something is wrong.
There’s a sharp pull in my right leg, just above the knee. Not excruciating, but enough to notice. Enough to make my jaw clench as I push back to my feet.
I don’t have time to think about it, though, because the puck is already back in play, and another shot is coming at me. My instincts take over again and I make the save. Then another.
The pain in my leg comes and goes after each play, but we only have eight minutes left, and I’ve definitely put up with worse pain for longer.
Except eight minutes turns into a tied score and five minutes of overtime that feels like forever. I need to get off my leg, but there’s still a game to win. So I push the pain down and focus on the next shot.
By the time the buzzer sounds and we head to a shootout, I’m running on pure adrenaline. My whole world depends on making these saves and keeping the team alive.
Their first shooter comes in fast, but I read him perfectly. Easy save.
The second tries to go high, but I get a piece of it and deflect the puck over the net.
Two down. One to go.
