Page 32 of Tiger Lilies and Tight Ends

He shoots me a look like I’m crazy. “I wasn’t going to just step over them. What’s in them anyway? Feels like books.”

“And you would be right. They are books.” I set my laptop off to the side as well and stand to go meet him.

“You bought three boxes’ worth of books? For what? And why does the name on the outside say Lily Keegan?” He looks back at the label and frowns.

Keegan. I didn’t even think of this when Morgan and I decided to ship the books here. Of course he’s going to ask, and now’s the perfect time to tell him. I had been trying to figure out when or how. After all, I don’t want to lie to him. Not that I’m lying since he hasn’t asked what I do, but I’m proud of these stories, and as our friendship has evolved, I do want to share this part of me with him. This is my new life, and I don’t want to feel like I have to hide this big piece of it. I want to be able to talk about it. With him.

Taking a deep breath, I push down the fear and tell him, “Keegan was my mother’s maiden name and is my middle name. Lily Keegan is my pen name, and when I sign things as LK, it just makes it easier for me to remember.”

He looks back up, and his brows draw down. “Sign things? Pen name?”

I shouldn’t be nervous about telling him. I know with every fiber of my being that Tyler would never make fun of me or make me feel awkward about this. He also wouldn’t flip the narrative and tell me that my success is related to him. I just need to get over the anonymity of it all. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished so far, and I feel like my future is so bright.

Steadying myself, I look him in the eyes. “Yes, I am an author.”

“You are?” He jerks a little as if I’ve shocked him, and he wasn’t expecting it. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Heat climbs up the back of my neck.

“Yep,” I tell him, wondering which direction this conversation will go.

He looks back down at the boxes and then across the island at me and asks, “How many books have you written?”

“Eight.”

Surprise flits across his features. “Holy shit. How did I not know about this?”

I move to sit down in one of the bar seats opposite him. Below me, the fish swim about, and for no reason other than I stare at them all day long from the couch, I love knowing they are under there. “No one knows. Well, except for Lance, Morgan, and now you.”

“Wait. I don’t understand. Dean didn’t know about this?”

“Nope.” That heat from my back climbs even more. I don’t know if I’m low-key embarrassed or ashamed that I stayed with a guy when I couldn’t even tell him what I was doing.

“He’s another reason I used a pen name,” I admit, and surprisingly, that feels good to say. I’ve kept this secret so tight for the past two-plus years, so finally talking about it with someone new feels a little freeing.

I don’t know what Tyler sees on my face, but instead of probing me to elaborate, his shock fades away, and in its place, a genuine curiosity takes over. “What are they about?”

“I write contemporary romance. In the first series are four hockey players who play on the same team. Each player has their own book, and in the second series, there are four about three brothers and one sister, and their life as cattle ranchers in Wyoming. Same setup, each character has their own story.”

“You wrote about hockey players?” he spits out, all appalled, and I can’t help but grin.

“That would be what you picked up out of all of that. And yes, hockey because I didn’t want anything to do with football or Dean saying that the only reason I am who I am was because of him.”

Silence falls over us as he thinks about this, and then the muscles in his jaw tighten as his back straightens and his shoulders draw down.

“He did that?”

“Frequently.”

He slicks his tongue over his teeth, and I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “I will never understand why you stayed with that guy for so long.”

“That makes two of us.”

But the truth is, I know why I stayed. When you fall in love with someone, they become so special and so dear. They take a piece of your heart, just like I’d like to believe I took a piece of his. Memories from another time also take hold. I clung to the memories of us the first few years when we were together, and I kept hoping and praying things would settle down or a light bulb for him would go off, and we’d get back to that place that we used to be, but we never did. And unfortunately for me, I think I figured that out at least two years too late.

“So this is your job?” he asks. “This is what you’ve been doing since you’ve been here? Writing a book?”

“Yes.”

He nods as if some pieces of a puzzle are falling into place for him, and things are becoming clearer. “You used to work for the Destroyers, right?”