“She loves you,” Kate says immediately. “She’s kind. She’s compassionate. And yeah, she’s hurt. But she’s also the kind of person who listens. Who forgives.”
I shake my head, fear creeping in, cold and relentless. “What if she doesn’t want to talk to me again?”
Kate tilts her head, her gaze steady, unwavering.
“What if she does?”
“Jesus, I need to talk to her…show her.”
“Yes.” She waves her hand around the walls. “She showed you.”
“What…what can I do?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Chucky.”
I swallow my mind racing. I do need to figure it out, because Maria and the boys are everything to me and I can’t—won’t—lose them. I need to do something big, dramatic, to show them all just what they mean to me. That’s when it hits me.
“I think I know what I have to do.”
She pats my back. “Good to hear it, big bro.”
“I’ll need help.” I glance around. “Where did Nicklas go?” I frown and glance at Kate. “Wait, what were you doing with Nicklas?”
28
Maria
I grab a carafe of coffee and walk it over to where my boys are sitting with Nicklas. Normally he’s here with Tuck, but Tuck hasn’t been by in days. And as much as that should sting, as much as it should leave this hollow space at the table where he used to sit, I hate that part of me is relieved. Because I don’t think I could look at him right now. Not without everything inside me breaking wide open.
Not when my heart already feels like it’s been shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
Tuck has a son.
Ben.
The thought still doesn’t sit right, like it doesn’t belong in the same reality I’ve been living in. It echoes, over and over, refusing to settle. What I don’t know—what I can’t stop thinking about—is whether there’s more. A wife. A girlfriend. A whole life I was never meant to be part of.
I steady my hand as I pour Nicklas a coffee, willing it not to shake, but I can feel his eyes on me anyway. Watching. Assessing. Waiting to see if I’m going to fall apart right here in front of him. I might.
“Hey, Nicklas,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Boys, give him a minute to drink that before you interrogate him.”
“He wants us to go to the game tonight, Mom,” Lucas says, far too casually.
There’s a spark in Josh’s eyes—the one that’s just a little too knowing, a little too hopeful. I fight the urge to shake my head. He hasn’t given up on Tuck and me. Sorry, kiddo. That ship didn’t just sail—it sank.
“As long as your homework is done, you can go.”
“We can’t go,” Josh says, slumping dramatically. “We don’t have a ride.”
“What about your grandmother and Grant?” I ask. They never miss a game. Ever.
“I just called. Grant’s sick.”
“He’s sick?” I frown. “I saw him yesterday. He was fine.”
“There’s some weird twenty-four-hour thing going around,” Nicklas says, rubbing his stomach like he’s already bracing for it. “I better not get it. We need to kick some Edmonton ass tonight.”
“Language.” I point at him.
