“That reminds me. I owe you for their hamburgers. That was nice of you to take them. You didn’t have to do that. When Lucas called, I thought he was with Mom.” Am I rambling again? God, why am I rambling?
Oh, you know girl.
He snorts out a laugh. “I know what it’s like to be a teenage boy and hungry all the time.” I reach for my purse but he stops me, his hand closing over mine. “It’s okay, Maria. I can buy the kids some food.”
I don’t pull away. Instead, I let his hand hold mine, let his warmth linger on my skin. “Come by the café tomorrow, we’ll work something out.” He takes a fast breath and this time, I’m the one saying things that sound sexual. “I mean, a meal.”
“I know what you meant.” A beat and then, “We both know…”
As his words fall off, my mind races. What exactly is it we both know? Oh, just that we can’t ever be more. That we have this crazy heat between us. That the sex was so good, and this man is still so tempting, I can’t, under any circumstances, be alone with him again.
“Mom, I’m going to Trey’s place to game,” Josh calls out before the door opens and closes with a thud.
And just like that…we’re all alone.
Heat blooms, and his eyes focus on my mouth as he inches closer. The room closes in on me, my body about to give in until one working brain cell kicks in, warning me that this is a very bad idea.
“Tuck?”
“Yeah.” The huskiness in his voice nearly undoes me. My hands shake and my body quivers, wanting his touch again, but no, I can’t do that.
“Heard you were ugly.”
3
Tuck
Heard you were ugly.
I shake my head at my kitchen sink, those words still running around in my brain. Jesus, they’ve been on replay since I left Maria’s place this afternoon. Sure, those words were twisted and misconstrued by the time they reached Maria’s ears, and who she heard it from I’ll never know. What I do know, however, is that I’m glad she said them and doused the room in cold water.
Sort of.
No. No. No.
You needed that cold water, dude.
Because the truth is, I was two seconds from ignoring every rational thought, from pressing my lips to hers, sliding her back against the counter, and losing myself in her sweetness.
What is it about us and kitchens anyway?
Is it the closeness, the heat, the smell of baked goods and something homey in the air that makes everything else disappear? I make a mental note to never, ever step foot in a kitchen with her around again.
What the hell was I thinking? Getting involved with Maria the first time was a mistake—no matter how much I’m drawn to her. I knew better than to have a casual hook-up because deep inside, I suspected one kiss, one touch and I’d want more. Knew I’d want the chaos and laughter in her home, the boys and the noise, the way she makes any room she’s in feel like home.
But I can’t be the guy she needs. Not now. Not ever. She has two teenagers and they have to come first for her. And after what she went through with her ex—after the secret baby she discovered, the betrayal, the heartbreak—she can’t afford to let anyone close who isn’t rock-solid, reliable, permanent.
And I…I can’t do that.
I know what it’s like to lose someone you love because life moves faster than your heart can catch up. Before the NHL, back in Nova Scotia, I was in love with Suzanna and her two-year-old son, Ben. That little boy meant everything to me, and I treated him like my own. I loved him. Raced home to him at the end of the day. But then, I made it to the NHL, and that’s when everything changed. She didn’t want to move to Boston—couldn’t leave her work, or her support system behind. Didn’t want to be alone when I was on the road, even though I explained she’d have the other WAGs. Then I pivoted, understanding and supporting her need to be around her friends and family. I was sure long-distance could work. I believed it could. I was wrong.
I flew back to Nova Scotia one weekend, hurried home to our shared house buzzing from winning our away game, expecting smiles, hugs, normalcy. Instead, I walked in to see her packing. Ben came running to me, arms wide, eyes full of love. I picked him up and before I even realized what was happening, she tore him from my arms, told me how badly I’d failed him and if I kept it up, I’d ruin him for good.
That cry. Jesus that cry. The way he sobbed—because even at two years old he understood the world he knew was collapsing—still haunts me. I wanted to scream, to beg, to fight for her, and Ben, but all I could do was break down and cry alongside him.
To this day, I can’t forgive myself for hurting him like that, for failing him. For not being the man he needed. Honestly, kids don’t get over something like that. It stays with them, ruins them.
And that’s why I can’t.
