Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I let out a slow breath. “Honestly, I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m sorry I confused you two.”
Luna frowns. “You kinda did, Dad,” she murmurs, her lower lip quivering.
I’ve made everything worse by not coming clean.
I reach for my little girl, pulling her close. “I’m sorry, honey. I care deeply for Sabrina. I just…”
But the words don’t come. Because for the first time, I don’t know what comes next.
Nowhere in the dating handbook did it occur to me that my kids would see marriage as the next logical step.
Suddenly, I can’t shake the fear that maybe—maybe I was never the next step for her at all.
And if she doesn’t see a future here…what the hell am I even doing?
45
FULL SKATER MODE
Tyler
When I have a bad game, I’m itching to hit the ice again. To prove myself. Do it all over. Show the team and myself that I can play and play well.
Later that evening, I’m crawling out of my skin. I’m antsy and aching as I clean up, as I read to the kids, as I make sure they brush their teeth, then tuck them in.
Because as I do all this—these daily chores, these wonderful daily chores—they’re my reminder.
This is my life.
These two people.
The second they’re asleep, I pad downstairs and knock on Sabrina’s door. But all I hear is a faint meow. No shuffling of feet. No I’ll be right there. Just a plaintive little cry from a kitten.
Guilt and frustration climb my throat as I open the door to the garage, already dreading what I’ll find.
My heart sinks when I spot her side empty, her little orange car gone.
She left.
Because she’s not on duty tonight.
Because I stupidly, foolishly assumed she’d want to hang out with the kids and me.
This is her job though. And I need to treat her with some fucking respect. I can’t take advantage of whatever this was.
I can’t take advantage of her. I trudge upstairs and open a text.
Tyler: Hey. Let me know when you’re home so we can talk.
A few minutes later, a reply arrives.
Sabrina: Of course.
No exclamation points. No warmth. Well, it’s not like I deserve them.
I settle onto the couch and put on a rerun of Tacoma FD, one of the funniest shows I’ve ever seen.
It’s funny all right.
But I don’t laugh.
When the garage finally opens again, I sit up straight, like a dog waiting for its owner.
Do I go downstairs right away? Or do I give her time?
Ah, fuck it. It’s late.
I count to sixty, then head down. Best to deal with things stat.
I knock. She opens the door a smidge, and I still can’t get a read on her.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course,” she says, opening the door all the way. And that’s when I spot Olive, curled up in her arms. A tiny, purring calico shield.
Or maybe not. Maybe this isn’t a shield at all. Maybe this is just business as usual for her as she plays with a kitten.
Which only bolsters my resolve.
“How was your…night?” I ask.
That isn’t awkward at all.
“Fine. I went to see Trevyn,” she says. “We grabbed some dinner.”
I wince. Right. Because she didn’t want to eat with us.
Because she didn’t feel welcome, you dumbass.
But they’re one and the same, aren’t they? Two sides of the same coin.
“Cool,” I say, scratching my jaw, needing to do this. For both of us. But especially for her. “Listen, Sabrina—”
“My father stopped by today.”
It’s like I just walked into a wall. “What the—? He did? How did he—?”
“He wanted that report. The one he texted about. I resent it,” she says, quiet. Like she’s testing something. But I don’t know what. I can’t read her.
“That’s all?” I ask, and I can’t hide the anger in my voice.
She sighs, her lips trembling the slightest bit. “He said…some things.”
I growl. That man. “Like what?”
“Just…” She closes her eyes for a second, then opens them. “That he should have asked me to get him VIP tickets to the game, since…he saw us. Kissing goodbye. He…made assumptions. That it had been going on for a while. That it had happened before the wedding even.”
I see red. “That asshole. That flaming fucking asshole,” I say, ready to rip him to pieces.
Her eyes shine, and it hits me like a punch to the ribs. He’s why she cried earlier.
And I’m adding to her stress. With the kids, with the presentation, with the pressure. She’s barely free of that asshole ex, and now her gaslighting father has shown up again, and the last thing—the very last thing—she needs is pressure from a guy like me.
I breathe out hard, letting go of my anger. Anger I have no right to feel.
“I’m sorry, Sabrina,” I say, lifting a hand, reaching out to hold her, pull her close, and comfort her. “I’m sorry he said that.”
But she just strokes the cat’s head, nodding. Like she’s saying she’s okay.