Page 35 of Any Second Now (Fort Collins Blizzard Hockey #2)

Pucked Around and Found Out

RALEIGH

I should not be coming up with new cross-stitch ideas, but here we are.

After the Atticus video, which is at six hundred thousand views and still slowly climbing, I got messages from customers asking for hockey-themed designs.

What I also got was a ton of comments detailing what women would do to Atticus if they were sitting next to him on the couch. Also—and this is when I stopped looking—many comments questioning whether I was hot enough to be dating him.

The answer was unanimously no.

Some even wondered if I was his sister. Then the conversation in the comments switched to his actual sister, my best friend, who is dating the Blizzard team captain.

I lay my notebook down next to my open laptop and reach for my lukewarm coffee. Pucked around and found out is accurate for my current situation.

My eyes spot something brown tucked into the cushion of the table’s seating bench next to me .

“Megghen!” I reach for the gift from my chicken. It almost blended right in—I’m lucky I didn’t sit on it and get raw egg on my ass. I really need to stop letting her wander around the RV. I groan and shut my eyes, egg still in my palm.

It felt wrong to be out with Jacob last night.

His words keep spinning around my brain.

I am still in love with you.

I can wait as long as you need me to.

I’m building a life for us back home.

We can start over.

But the more time I spent with him, the more confident I became. Especially when Atticus texted me. My brain lit up in a way that it doesn’t with Jacob.

At the end of the night, I was profoundly clear with him: No more money. No more showing up. No more texts, phone calls, emails.

It’s over.

I’m emotionally rung out this morning.

My phone rings again with an incoming video call from Lucy. She’s heading back here from England soon—in my chaos I can’t remember the exact date. But I’m not ready to face her yet, so I press ignore on the call.

Because while I finally understand my feelings about Jacob and how I haven’t been clear enough with him about my boundaries, all of this affects my relationship with Atticus.

I’m in no place to be getting so emotionally involved with Lucy’s brother.

I’ve been so concerned with myself . So obsessed with living some kind of imaginary exciting life where I travel across the country in an RV and do things like kiss hot hockey players who I’ve had a secret crush on since college.

But I’m going to hurt him. I’m going to get hurt by him. Atticus is confused too. This isn’t him. Pretending to be in a relationship? Being the doting boyfriend to a pharmacist from Connecticut?

Nah, that’s not who he is.

My phone vibrates with another incoming call, like it’s emphasizing that thought.

“Mom.” If I didn’t answer, she’d keep calling. So will Lucy and January, actually.

“How’d last night go with Jacob?” Mom is quick and to the point. I know she wants me to end this lingering relationship with Jacob once and for all, even though she feels bad for him as well.

“It was painful.” I don’t want to rehash the whole night, and I don’t think she’ll push me on it. “I told him it’s over. For real.”

“Good for you. I’m sorry he figured out where you were from me, but maybe it’s for the best that you got to talk to him in person before you return to Connecticut.”

“Sure, but I didn’t need the jump scare at my door.” I stand and deposit the egg in my small refrigerator.

Mom ignores the comment and clears her throat. “Well, I sent a new spreadsheet just now. It’s been years since we started a fresh one.”

“Mom, really? I’m thirty-four years old.”

“I know. But I put a few different scenarios in there that will at least get you thinking about your future.”

I sigh and pace the RV. I’m sure she put a path that would have me running the entire region’s pharmacy departments. But at this point, I don’t even want to think about the day I have to go back to work.

Two weeks from tomorrow.

“Did I tell you I’ve been hanging out with Atticus? Lucy’s brother.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone.

“Mom?”

“Don’t do this, Raleigh. Don’t get involved with someone so fast. Again. ”

My insides twist.

“I’m not.”

“Then put that boy out of your mind.”

I scoff, thinking of Atticus Knox being referred to as a boy.

“You loved Atticus.” I don’t know what else I expected her to say. Of course she’s not supportive of me doing whatever it is I’m doing with Atticus.

“Yes, back when you were in college,” she admits. “He was sweet.”

He still is. I bet she’d love him now, too. What’s not to love? He’s handsome and charming and kind and funny and?—

“Raleigh Hayes. Pack up your stuff and get your butt back to Connecticut to restart your life. Forget Atticus Knox. Forget your ex-husband. Start over here .”

“I’m not leaving yet. The whole point in me coming to Colorado was to see Lucy, and I haven’t done that yet.”

“When does she get home?”

“Soon? Tomorrow? The next day, maybe?”

“I can’t believe you don’t know.”

I’m my mother’s worst nightmare right now. Disorganized, unmotivated, drifting through my days without a plan.

I sit and click through the updated spreadsheet she sent. Already open are a few other spreadsheets: one for my RV and the one I started for Megghen but didn’t let myself continue.

“Here’s my plan.” I go over the timing in my head real quick. “I’ll stay here another week, tops, so I can see Lucy for a few days. Then I’ll drive the Pink Palace back to Connecticut.”

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

“Mom! Take what you can get from me, okay?”

“Fine, child.”

I chuckle and we hang up a minute later.

I stare at those open spreadsheets and a visceral reaction builds inside me.

Why does my life have to be so perfect? So carefully planned?

Why not accept a little mess? Isn’t that what I’ve been doing this summer?

I pushed myself out of my comfort zone in so many ways.

With a few clicks, I delete the spreadsheets.

Half-started chicken spreadsheet: gone.

RV spreadsheet: gone.

Updated life spreadsheet from Mom: gone.

I lean away from the table and laugh. Living a life without spreadsheets? The idea is freeing. And a little scary.

Maybe I shouldn’t have deleted all the RV maintenance records, but that’s a problem for another day. Also, it’s in the trash for thirty days before it’s permanently gone.

There’s a knock and I jolt. It better not be my ex-husband.

I walk to the door of the Pink Palace like it’s my funeral procession, reaching slowly for the handle, eyeing Fred, still leaning against the wall.

But it’s not Jacob.

“Hello.” The man in front of me is young, probably late twenties, and has long, curly brown hair and dark eyes.

The guy Atticus hired to repaint the Pink Palace.

A week ago, he started showing up to work a few hours a day.

I have no idea what’s going on under the tarp he has covering my RV from the door all the way across, with a hole cute out for the window.

It’s definitely more than a simple re-paint of the peeling side of the vehicle.

“Hi. Still painting?”

“Yup. Almost done.”

“Need anything?” I’m very curious to what Atticus meant by permission to be a little creative. It seems unnecessary to be creative when my summer with the RV is almost over, but it’s hard to say no to that man.

But now I think I need to.

“No, thank you.” The artist turns and heads back to the popped trunk of his car.

I gotta go talk to Atticus. It’s a conversation I’m absolutely dreading. And ten minutes later, I’m in my SUV heading into town.

I park a few blocks from his apartment and wander around, past Rocky Gifts, the gift shop where I stopped when I first arrived in Fort Collins and asked if they had any cross-stitch in their local artist shelf, past the bookstore where Rose works and then Deep Roots, the coffee shop.

I avoid the brewery where I met up with Jacob last night.

Avoid Black Diamond, the bar I’ve been frequenting with the hockey boys.

Too soon, I’m in front of his apartment building with a dreadful truth swirling in my head.

I need to break up with him.

There’s one thing Jacob said last night that broke me: please don’t go off and marry someone else as a rebound.

I was angry, but then the words sunk in. And the fact that I’d used that exact word—rebound—with Atticus as a joke.

It feels a lot less funny now.

My phone buzzes—it’s Lucy again.

I ignore her. Again.

Me

Can you come down here?

Atticus

hey. I’ll buzz you up

Me

No, please come down

I can’t go upstairs with Atticus. I can’t be in that apartment with him again. My clothes will fly off and I might accidentally tell him I’m in love with him.

Because—dammit—I’m in love with him.

I know that now.

I knew it the moment Jacob said those dark words.

Because I know if I did tell Atticus I loved him, if we did actually get together, it wouldn’t be a rebound. But no one else would know that. Everyone would think I’m doing what I always do.

Part of me hopes he insists I come upstairs. Maybe if he just buzzes me in, I’ll head on up. Maybe if he doesn’t listen to me, then it’ll all work out.

But a few seconds later, the door opens and Atticus Knox is standing in front of me.

“Raleigh,” he says, and it feels like goodbye already. I can see it on his face. Was he already going to break up with me? Maybe I should just wait him out and make him do it. Make him break my heart instead of forcing me to do it to myself.

“I can’t do this anymore. Us.” The words are hardly audible. I cross my arms on my chest, balling up my fists and tucking them under. I can’t trust myself not to reach for him. My face heats and pin pricks tingle down my spine.

I’m doing the unthinkable.

“What do you mean, us?” Some of the color drains from his face.

For a second I wonder if me thinking there is an us was too presumptuous, but then his face gets even whiter.

No, he wasn’t going to break up with me.

This horrific job belongs to me.

“Whatever has been happening between us this summer, it needs to be over now. I need to go back to Connecticut. Soon. And I need to make a clean break.” I swallow and it’s all I can do to not choke.

“Raleigh.” He clenches his fists and shoves his hands in his pockets, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

“I thought I was over my divorce. I thought I was past my ex-husband. Ex-husbands. I’m over them , but I’m not over what happened. And I don’t think I can fully get over it while I’m with you.”

I pause, but Atticus doesn’t respond. Should I turn and walk away? But I can’t bring myself to do that. Perhaps I should explain?—

“I saw you last night.”

His words are a hockey stick to my gut, even though I’ve never felt that particular pain. It’s what I imagine it’d feel like. Awful.

“Last night?” I whisper.

He nods.

Last night when I was out with Jacob. During the time I told Atticus I was going to be home doing cross-stitch and talking to my mom and my friends.

That was the stupidest lie I’ve ever told.

“I sent him away,” I say in a shaky voice. “He’s gone now.”

A laughing couple walks past us on the sidewalk, and I glance their way, hands linked together, striding away with their aura of happiness. The fact that we’re in public is forcing me to try to hold it together.

Atticus doesn’t respond.

“I’ve been sending him money every single month since our divorce was final.” I look back at Atticus. His eyes are filled with sadness, the color a washed-out sage instead of the deep forest green I’m used to.

“For what?” His face pinches.

“To help him. Because I felt guilty for taking everything in the divorce.” I rub the back of my neck. “We email and text all the time. I’ve been enabling him for the past six months.”

Atticus presses his lips together and crosses his arms. He takes half a step back toward his building. I don’t think he even realizes he did it.

Stepped away from me.

Yes, this is what I need to do. Show him what a fucking mess I am so he doesn’t even want me anymore. Ruin it.

“Do you still love him?” Atticus asks through clenched teeth, his voice low and dangerous .

“No, I don’t. But I’m done enabling. He’s gotta figure out shit all on his own from now on.”

I’m talking so much about Jacob. I don’t want to be talking about my ex with Atticus. I hate it.

But I think this is what I need to do.

Show Atticus exactly who I am.

I can see in his face he’s confused. He’s not sure if he should be trying to convince me to stay or letting me go.

Well, the answer is to let me go.

“I have to leave.” I step away from him and into the path of a man on his cell phone. The man dodges me and doesn’t give me a second glance.

“Raleigh,” Atticus says again, a bookend to when he first appeared in his doorway.

I memorize his face. His sharp jawline and the red curls falling over his forehead, popped out from the hole in his backwards baseball cap. Big eyes with dark lashes staring at me.

Maybe he’s doing the same thing. Memorizing me.

We’re done with each other. Neither of us are going to fight it.

“Goodbye, Atticus.”

I spin around and stride away.

He doesn’t try to stop me. Doesn’t even say my name again.

Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the Pink Palace, my face sore and wet from crying, and it takes me a second to soak in what I’m seeing.

The tarp on the RV is gone, revealing what the artist has been working on for the past week. I laugh out loud through my tears and sit behind the wheel for a beat before slowly getting out of my car.

It’s not a paint job. It’s a mural.

A beautiful mountain with a still lake, a pink and orange and yellow sunset reflected in the water. And on the banks of the lake is a single white chicken that looks just like Megghen .

I slam the car door behind me and step toward the Pink Palace, which looks decidedly less old and crappy.

Atticus did this.

I bite my lip as fresh tears spring to my eyes.

“Raleigh!”

I spin in the direction of the voice, which came from the front of Elizabeth’s RV.

Then I see the tall, red-haired woman standing next to my neighbor.

Lucy.