Page 71 of Hard to Handle

That one word was the start of our six-month benefits-only affair. The one I walked away from with a broken heart he may or may not have known about.

So why would he say it now? Is he trying to get us back on an even footing? Or is he trying to cause a fight to push us further apart?

I’m not sure which I would be more surprised at.

“It’s not what you’re thinking”—he chuckles—“although that might be fun too, considering we’re actually being civil to one another.”

“At the moment,” I murmur. “You forgot to add that we’re being civil with each other at the moment.”

“Truth,” he says again, ignoring my comment. “Why are you here, Kincade?”

“Truth?” I murmur, knowing we need to have this conversation but afraid if I admit what he already knows then the moment will be ruined. I improvise. “Only if you tell me what’s going on with you first.”

His sigh is long and drawn out and is at odds with how relaxed and comfortable we are with each other . . . excluding how cold we are. “Is this all there is, Dekk?”

I open my mouth and then close it as I hunt for the words to appease or soothe or commiserate. But all will sound placating. Nothing will answer a question I’m not quite sure he’s getting at. “What do you mean?”

“You said it earlier. Hockey. Party. Fucking. Repeat. Is that all there is?” I want to brush away the pain I can hear, but know I don’t have the right to.

“No. It’s not. Maybe it’s what there is for you right now—what you want there to be—but there is so much more.”

“Says who?” he asks. God, he sounds lost.

“Says . . . says whoever it is you listen to, I guess.” My answer is stupid and feels inadequate at best but without knowing more, I don’t know how to help him. I don’t know how to put to rest whatever it is he’s struggling with. “Maybe you just reach a point where hockey, party, sex, repeat, isn’t enough anymore. Maybe that’s when you realize you want more.”

“Maybe I don’t deserve more.” His words fade off as my surprised laugh breaks the silence.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would you even say that?”

“You were right.”

“About?”

“Being burned out.”

My breath catches. I exhale as softly as I can so he doesn’t hear it. I know how hard this admission is. “Okay.”

“It’s . . . it’s a long story, but you were right.”

“I never needed to be right. I just needed you to know it’s okay if you are.” I squeeze his hand to reinforce my words. “If you ever want to tell the story, I’m a good listener.”

I focus on the swirl of white from our breaths above as a small part of me sags in relief inside. Not because I’m an agent trying to make a breakthrough with a client, but because I’m a woman finally being let in by a man I can’t help but care about.

Finally, a breakthrough.

“Hey?” he says after a beat.

“Mmm?”

“I appreciate the romp in the park, here . . . but uh, there are parts of my anatomy I’m fearing I’ll lose to frostbite.” His laugh is forced, but I also know this conversation has given more of himself than he’s ever given me before, so I don’t push.

I let him help me up to a standing position. We laugh and threaten more snowballs as we dust the snow off each other’s backs and admire our sloppy angels.

But it doesn’t go unnoticed to me that he doesn’t ask for my truth in return.

It only makes me wonder. What is he afraid of?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE