Page 14 of Dumping the Puck (Men of Havoc #4)

We’re an hour into the hike, and I regret every single moment of it. I didn’t think about the fact that the entire time going uphill, Wren’s ass would be squarely in my face. Taunting me.

After last night, I see how wrong I was to accept her just be attitude. I should have known better. That she would need more time to get over everything that happened, and I feel like a piece of shit that I don’t know just how far the hurt goes for her, and I need to take the time to figure that out before I let her use me.

I haven’t missed how quiet she is today either, she’s always the chatterbox and I’m the quiet one. This reversal is unnerving.

We round a corner and the view is breathtaking. Both of us pause off to the side of the trail, sipping water and taking in everything around us.

“Take a picture with me.” Her voice breaks the silence, and she walks up to me with her phone out.

She tucks herself in under my arm and I take the phone, holding it out in front of us. I need to lean down so that I can get her and the view in the photo.

She looks up at me when I still have the phone out, and I snap one more photo of the two of us looking at each other. I can see the emotion in her eyes, and I know mine reflect the same.

Pulling her down to the bench without ever breaking eye contact, we both start to speak at the same time.

“You first.” She gives me a tight smile.

“June. I know you’re upset about something from last night. And I think it’s because of me. I pushed you too far. I didn’t respect your grief from all that happened. And I should have known that you weren’t ready. That your speech about just being was all a bravado act.” I hold her hands in mine and watch as a new batch of tears springs to her eyes.

“No. It’s not your fault. You were nothing but perfect, and gave me what I was asking for. I don’t know why it all hit me last night. It isn’t even sadness for Cameron. I realized really quickly that I didn’t love him. It was settling for what I thought my next option was, not what I wanted. And that’s what the grief is for. It’s for missing out on what I really want.” She lays her head on my chest and I can feel the tears soaking through.

“What is it that you want? What will make you happy?” My heart pounds with anticipation.

The nerves that I didn’t know were simmering about how she feels are front and center right now.

She looks up again, anticipation fills me about what she’s going to say. Part of me is preparing for the hurt, the other part is filled with hope.

But she doesn’t say anything. She leans forward, gripping my face in her hands and kissing me. All the emotion that she isn’t ready to say is in this kiss.

When I have the urge to pull her onto my lap, I break off the kiss instead.

“June.” I rest my forehead on hers. “If you want what I think you want, and what I want, we can’t do this right now. It’s not time. You aren’t ready. And I want you to be one hundred percent about me. I can’t survive being the rebound. I want to be the one you choose.”

She nods silently, tears streaming down her face. I swipe at her cheek with the pad of my thumb. My heart hurts. To have to be the one to say we can’t be together, it’s like a sucker punch. But to have the future that I want with her, waiting is necessary. I’ve already waited this long, but it’s me she wants in the end. That gives me enough strength to wait longer.

“One day, June. One day it’ll fall into place and be our time.” I kiss her forehead, and stand back up, pulling her with me. “Come on. No more tears. We’re in Italy, and we’re going to enjoy the hell out of it.”

Another silent nod, but she follows me, not letting go of my hand. It’s time for me to protect her, and not cause more damage.

The hike was quiet, the tension only lifted marginally. Her hand is still laced in mine, holding tight. While I made the decision to not move on the physical aspect of our relationship, our emotional connection was always strong. We’ve been best friends since we were six and seven and now we have a new layer to us.

I need to do something to bring a smile back to her face.

As we are walking back to the hotel, I spot a little market in one of the squares with a booth of pottery. The little dishes look just like the ones that Chef had yesterday and she loved so much.

“Do you want to go find some pottery to bring home?” I point in the direction of the booth with the older lady sitting, painting a bowl.

“Ohmygosh! Yes!” She hops up and down, pulling me in the direction of the booth.

Her eyes are immediately drawn to the platters and vases with an intricate cobalt blue design dotted with lemons.

“This is so adorable! And perfect for the Amalfi Coast.” She turns a vase over in her hands, showing it to me.

“It’s perfect.”

She holds the vase out to me, and picks up the matching platter. And then a set of matching bowls. Then a set of small egg cups.

I chuckle at her enthusiasm. “You don’t even like hard boiled eggs.”

“But you do.” She places the platter in my other hand, along with the bowls.

“I inhale them. I don’t need a small little cup to hold a one bite egg.”

She holds two of the small egg cups next to her face, and turns on the sad eyes. “But look how cute they are.”

I put all of our goods down on the table near the old lady. Then I remove the egg cups from her hands, and place them back on the table. “You, nor I, need egg cups. How about a coffee mug? Or dishes to match your bowls?”

I distract her, moving her down the table as she notices what I’m pointing out to her. It works, and she abandons the egg cups.

I carry her haul over to the woman. “Quanto per tutto questo?” I ask, pulling out my wallet.

She gives a number that is much more than I was thinking, but making Wren smile is worth every penny. Handing over money, she packages up the pottery into a crate. And it’s then that I’m so thankful for the private jet home, because I have no idea how we’d make it back with crates full of pottery.

When she finishes, she looks at me, and I look at her. Me and this old woman who doesn’t speak English, and me with limited Italian. In the middle is a crate that weighs more than I can carry back to the hotel.

Out of nowhere she knocks on a window and a teenage boy emerges.

“Where you stay?” he asks me in a thick Italian accent.

“Villa Principessa,” I answer.

“Your name?”

“Kayce Bicknelle.”

“I deliver.” He places the crate on the back of his moped and takes off.

The old Nonna looks at me with a broad smile, and then toddles back to her seat to finish the painting.

I grasp Wren’s hand again and we start back on the same path as the moped back to our hotel.

“Are you happy with your purchases?”

“Yes!” I look down at the ear to ear grin on her face, and my own smile spreads. This is exactly what we needed.

We walk in silence for a bit before she speaks first. “Johnny, what do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’re kind of on a pause. But I’m a mess and I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t even have a place to live when we get back to Texas, and—”

“Hey, stop. My offer for you to stay with me wasn’t hinging on whether or not we were sleeping together. I want to help you. You have a place to stay, and it’s with me. I’ll hire movers to get your stuff from Cameron’s. You won’t have to see him. And I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, but we’re going to figure it out, together. When we’re ready.”

“Okay,” she chokes out while trying to hold back tears.

This is going to take longer than I thought to get her back to the carefree Wren I know. Cameron’s Stepford wife training has her more down than I even thought.