by Elise Faber
She’d been an adult, but it had taken time for her to come to terms with that second loss, well, the third, she supposed—if she counted the house where so many of her happy memories had been grounded—and she certainly did.
Three blows.
Her mom.
Her dad.
Her childhood.
Maybe that was why she’d grasped so tight to Caleb when he’d first strolled into her life. She’d been adrift and mourning, and he’d been so fun and alive, a total force of nature. So big that she’d been able to cling onto his wake, and some of his life had bled into her, making her feel more like herself again.
Hmm.
Things to ponder in the dark of night.
For the moment, she needed all of her concentration to focus on the conversation, on the half-broken words that were coming through the line.
“I’m good . . . in the mid . . . of Wyoming . . .”
“Yellowstone?” she asked, throat suddenly tight.
“Next up,” he said, and the static cleared enough that she heard the bit of sad wind its way into his tone, the same sad that was winding its way through her.
“Fun,” she said, interjecting happiness into her words. Probably sounded fake as hell, considering the memories slamming through her like a battering ram. “You going to go to Old Faithful?”
A pause, more road noise in the background. “First stop.”
She sucked in a breath, whispered, though he probably wouldn’t hear her, “I’m glad. She’d want you to go there.”
But the road gods had obliged, apparently, because she heard him inhale sharply.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, not wanting to cause an eruption, not when every mention of her mother previously had caused him to lash out.
She braced herself, but the eruption didn’t come.
Instead, silence greeted her.
Then a long, shaking breath.
“I’ve been a bastard since she’s been gone, haven’t I?”
Another inhale, one that burned her lungs. Or maybe that was her eyes. “This probably isn’t a conversation we should have while you’re driving that behemoth,” she said, deliberately keeping her tone neutral.
Silence.
Long and not punctuated with anything aside from the sound of the road.
And, God, how many conversations had been like this? Stilted and filled with uncomfortable quiet, her eyes drifting around whatever space she was in, hoping that she’d find a way to escape, to shove the call plumb full of pleasantries, even if it was all just pretend.
But today, she couldn’t find the words to cram into that emptiness.
She just didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.
Too much of that. She’d done far too much of that.
“I should concentrate on the road,” he said, and there was a note of something in his voice that she couldn’t deduce. Especially, when he went quiet again, when he didn’t say anything else.
“Goodbye, Dad,” she said. “Drive safe.”
They hung up, and she sucked in a breath, not having the mental headspace to deal with all the emotions the call had churned up. She just wanted to focus on work. She didn’t even want to eat now, or to see Luc. Not when he would understand what the call did to her.
“Dammit,” she whispered, trying to stuff down all of the feelings that had been drudged up.
She wanted to have something happy.
Was that too much to ask?
Turning to the window, seeing the roads and cars in the distance, she sighed and knew it wasn’t too much, knew that she deserved that happy.
But usually, what she deserved didn’t matter.
Lunch came and went, but she didn’t go see Luc.
In fact, she found she wasn’t hungry, the conversation with her dad stifling the pangs in her stomach long after they’d hung up and well into the afternoon.
She finished her work around two then began working on a couple of the projects that were approaching deadline, Todd having passed them onto her as his retirement loomed. But by the time the end of the workday came around, she still wasn’t hungry, though at least she felt like most of that rawness had been buried deep again, shoved down beneath the walls she’d erected in the wake of that triple loss.
Sighing, she rolled her shoulders, shifted to her personal email, and waded her way through that.
This evening was her turn at the library to offer pro bono help. She’d be there from six to eight, and by the look of the schedule the charity had just sent her, she was completely booked.
That was perfect.
More work to keep shoving down, to continue to mortar and brick over the past. First, with her parents. Then . . . with Caleb.
Because the next email down was from the realtor.
Everything had been funded and signed. The house was gone. The yards she’d worked on were gone. The marriage was gone.
The fantasy gone.
Maybe she should be sadder about that.
Maybe she should be wailing again, instead of just reading that email with a creeping sort of numbness.
The knock on her office door, the head that poked through had that numbness cascading away. Luc studied her for a moment then moved inside and closed the wooden panel behind him, leaning back against it. “Your dad called.”
Her fingers spasmed on the keyboard.
How did this man know every single thing about her?
She forced a smile, her tone light and filled with false joy. “I’m going to grab a quick bite before I go to the library. Want to join me?”
He was in front of her in the next instant, his hands on her cheeks. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t do that.”
Lexi swallowed, her eyes drifting up and over his shoulder. “Do what?”
“You don’t need to pretend with me,” he said. “Not today. Not ever.”
Her lips parted, a shaking exhale escaping. “Luc.”
He tugged her against his chest, wrapped those warm, strong arms around her, holding her tight for a long moment. Then when she relaxed into his hold, he released her, said softly, “Let’s go get something to eat.”
He followed her to the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, cramming their cars into the tiny parking lot behind the space.
Luckily, it was early, so it wasn’t too tight of a squeeze.
Luc took her hand, drew her around to the front of the shop, and inside. The smell of noodles and sauce made her stomach rumble.
Thank God for udon.
The warm broth, the chewy pork belly, the soft noodles, the crunch of the vegetables.
Lexi was a pasta girl, through and through, whether it was with creamy or tomato sauce or in a briny, delicious broth like at this café. They—she and Luc and Caleb—had come here often enough that the hostess/waitress knew their orders and had put it in before they even sat down.
Their legs tangled beneath the scarred top as the hostess brought glasses of water to the small table for two. “The third one?” she asked. “He’s not coming anymore?”
Lexi’s teeth clinked together, and she felt her shoulders start to creep up.
It was the first time the hostess had inquired about Caleb, and it was surprising how much of a sting such a simple question caused. She’d had plenty of people ask about Caleb, plenty of people she’d had to explain the end of her marriage to.
But not at one of her places.
Frankly, it was surprising it had taken this long for it to become an issue. Probably, because she hadn’t gone to many of her places in the last six months. She hadn’t felt much like spending time with anyone aside from herself.
Aside from Luc.
Still, it felt odd to have to explain the situation with her ex-husband. Work had been easy—gossip flowed through the organization like water, and Luc had ensured that she hadn’t needed to do an autopsy of the relationship with anyone there. Her other friends had been different. Worse because several had known about Caleb’s cheati
ng, which had instantly discounted them from her having any future relationships with them (because, seriously, what the absolute fuck? How could they keep something like that from her?) and the rest had fallen away into the background—either not as connected to her as they were to Caleb or moving on with their own lives when she hadn’t had the ability to be a good friend.
She didn’t blame them.
She just . . . this was one of their places, and it wasn’t the same and—
Luc covered her hand with his, snapping her out of the spiraling. “He’s not coming anymore.”
The hostess’s eyes drifted to her left hand (now sans ring) and then up to meet her gaze, understanding in the coffee-colored depths. But she didn’t comment further, just nodded, patted their linked hands, and turned back to the counter, saying something to the chef behind it.
Sizzling covered the sound of his reply, and Lexi watched him move, so smooth and efficient. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the food was in front of them.
“Want to talk about it?” Luc asked.
“God, no,” she muttered. She’d just managed to shove the conversation back from the forefront of her mind. “I do have good news, though,” she said, not forcing a smile. “The house paperwork went through.”
A squeeze of his fingers. “So, that’s behind you.”
She nodded. “I guess, I need to go house shopping,” she said, knowing it would definitely be a downsize. Hopefully, she’d be able to stay close to the office. Spoiled because her commute had been a max of twenty minutes, Lexi knew it would be difficult to adjust to something significantly longer.
More time for podcasts and audiobooks, she supposed, so it wouldn’t be all bad.
Luc stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “What just went through your mind?”
“I was thinking of podcasts.”
His eyes narrowed. “What sort of podcasts?”
That narrowing was warranted, mostly because the last time she’d gotten to choose what played in the car on the way to their hike, he’d been forced to listen to a podcast about love. Which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t be so bad. Except this one hadn’t been up his alley. She was a Lord of the Rings fan and had been utterly fascinated by the fan fiction turned real-life LARPing relationship. There had been some steamy online chats, lots of character interpretation and acting, and plenty of relationship drama.
She, for one (literally for one), had been riveted.
Luc, not much of a LOTR fan, hadn’t.
“Not one requiring me to pull out my elf ears,” she said, mouth tipping up at the edges. “Sad as it is to say.”
He lightly flicked the top of one of her ears. “I don’t know.” Amusement danced in his emerald eyes. “I might be able to get into it if you were wearing one of those elf girl outfits.”
Laughter boiled up within her, simmering up her throat, steaming out through her mouth . . . and nose, in a wholly undignified snort.
A tap to her nose. “You’re cute.”
“You just want to see me in see-through silks.”
“Yes.” A nod. “That I do.”
Rolling her eyes, she nonetheless was smiling. “If you’re good, I’ll wear my robes for you.”
“Why do I think that you don’t mean the type of robes that you wear in the bathroom or over your pj’s?”
It was her turn to tap his nose. “You’d be right.”
The hostess came back, setting the steaming white bowls in front of them with a smile before heading to another table and wiping down a stack of plastic-covered menus.
“So,” Luc said, picking up his chopsticks and digging in, “house hunting?”
“It’d be nice to get out of my apartment sooner rather than later.”
“Not much of a garden in your current place.”
“Exactly.” She used the wooden spoon the hostess had set on the table and tasted the broth, nearly moaning when it hit her tongue. Perfect umami. “I can’t wait to get my hands dirty.”
A trace of heat drifting across his gaze had her smirking.
She lightly swatted his hand. “Ridiculous man.” Then she picked up her chopsticks and dug in.
He slurped. She slurped.
Then he stopped slurping, met her gaze. “You could always save yourself the trouble of house hunting and just move in with me.”
It took her a minute to process the words, she was so in love with her noodles, and then when she did, she nearly choked on her monster bite, coughing and sputtering over her bowl, her eyes watering, nearly spitting out the soup.
She met Luc’s gaze, tears dripping down her cheeks.
Wordlessly, he pushed her glass of water toward her, reached across the table to dab her eyes with a napkin.
She set down her chopsticks, picked up the cup, and gulped the water down.
When she set it back on the table, empty, he covered her hand again, asked, “Do you want to pretend I didn’t say that?”
Yes!
Yes, she fucking did.
And also . . . no. No, she didn’t. She wanted—
What?
To move in with him? No, of course not. That was insanity. Except . . . was it? She’d already lived with him for a few months at the beginning of her separation. He’d been her friend for two years, her best friend for nearly that length of time. But he’d only been her lover for . . . two days?
She couldn’t move into his house.
That was . . .
Impossible.
But was it?
“Eat now,” he said, nudging her bowl toward her. “Panic later.”
“I’m not panicking.”
His brows lifted in question.
“I’m not.”
A flash of dimple. “Sure, you aren’t.”
“Luc,” she warned, even as his smile widened. Seriously, why in the fuck was the man so gorgeous? It wasn’t fair. It was distracting and tempting and too freaking dangerous and . . .
He assumed she was going to say no.
She could see that in his eyes.
And some slice of devil was prompting her to call his bluff. Just pure mischief and wanting to see him scramble, not because she was in so deep as to want to move in with the man she’d been dating for only two days, not even a week after she’d finalized her divorce.
Lie, her heart yelled.
She wanted that. Maybe it was stupid under the circumstances.
But Luc was . . .
Luc.
Still, bluff and not, want and not, teasing weaved its way through her.
Which was why she picked up her chopsticks, said simply, “Okay.”
His brows drew together, steam from his bowl flowing up in front of his face. “Okay, what? You’re going to eat?”
A shake of her head.
“No.”
More brow-drawing. More questions in his eyes.
“Okay, as in . . . I’ll move in with you,” she said as casually as she could muster, fighting a smile when shock shot through his gaze and his mouth dropped open.
His chopsticks hit the tabletop and rolled onto the ground.
“Really?”
She nodded.
He whooped, making her jump, their bowls rattling as he jumped out of his seat and rounded the table, tugging her into his arms. “Really?” he asked, pulling back to stare into her eyes. “Really, sweetheart?”
She bit her lip, nodded, hope and joy blooming inside her.
Another whoop, his arms tightening again.
Lexi threw her own arms around his shoulders, hugged him tight, shivered when he whispered, “All this time, all this fucking time, I was biding my time, trying to find the courage, to line up all the reasons to convince you to give me a chance.” Her heart squeezed, eyes filling with tears. “I thought it would take many more months, years, to persuade you to give me a shot.” His arms wound tighter. “I—” A sharp breath. “I just won’t let you down. I promise you, I won’t.”
Caleb had once said
the same thing to her.
Until this moment, she would have said she believed him.
Until this man, until her Luc made this pledge.
And she knew it would change everything.
Chapter Thirty
Luc
A naked body in his arms was the best way to wake up.
The sun hadn’t risen yet, but he’d tucked his cell under his pillow to mute the alarm for the early ass flight he had to take.
It was currently buzzing under his head.
Hating that he had to take his hands off Lexi, that he had to turn away from her in order to silence it, he nonetheless summoned the herculean strength to do so. Then decided that 5:20 in the morning was too early to think about words like herculean.
“Luc?” Lexi whispered.
He kissed her forehead. “Sleep, honey. I’m just getting up for my flight.”
A nod, her pretty face burrowing into the pillow, her lips pursed into a pout.
A pout he kissed.
She smiled, rolled to face him, eyes closed, voice sleepy. “I’m going to miss you.”
They’d barely had a week together, but now he was flying out with the team while they played on the road. He’d be going to the games, of course, but he also needed to meet with some agents to check out some players his scouts had highlighted. It would be some of the normal work that came with running a team, but with the added pressure of looking toward future seasons.
And the trade deadline.
Because they were now four and sixteen.
Horrendous.
The owners of the Breakers were breathing down his neck, and he knew that if things didn’t turn around soon, he would need to look into making some coaching changes in addition to the roster changes.
The difficulty in that was that the Breakers were a family, and firing a coach or trading a player dismantled that close connection.
Yes, it happened all the time—not the firing so much, but the roster changes.
Yes, it sucked, because the team being a family wasn’t just some bullshit he liked to spout off. He felt it, real and in his heart.