Page 28 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)
TWENTY-ONE
LIA
Now
T he dishes are finally done. The chicken stew, Devan's favorite, not that I'll admit I made it with him in mind, has been packed into containers and stacked neatly in the fridge.
Okay, I did make it for him. He deserves it and so much more after everything he's done for me, even after I put stipulations on our relationship.
The rich aroma still lingers in the kitchen, homey and comforting, like the man himself.
Tobias and I are finishing up, wiping down counters and loading the last bits into the dishwasher, while Devan's upstairs putting Chloe to bed.
His footsteps occasionally creak on the old hardwood above us, a gentle reminder of his presence in my home.
I can hear the faint murmur of his voice through the monitor on the counter.
He's reading her Goodnight Hockeytown in his story time voice, and I swear it makes something behind my ribs ache with a tenderness I've been fighting for too long.
He always does the voices, the gruff coach, the squeaky Zamboni driver, the announcer with perfect inflection.
Always waits until she's almost asleep before turning on the white noise machine.
I can picture him tucking her in, smoothing her wild curls away from her forehead, and pressing a kiss to her temple, like he does every night he's here, even if it's just a handful of nights a week.
The care in his ritual makes my throat tight.
Guilt curls tight in my stomach, a familiar companion these days. He should be doing this every night. He should have more than just a key. He should have more than just the guest room that isn't really a guest room anymore.
I scrub a nonexistent smudge harder than necessary, my knuckles turning white around the cloth until Tobias gently takes it from my hand, his knuckles brushing mine.
The contact sends a small shiver up my arm that I pretend not to notice.
"You okay?" he asks, his eyes searching my face with that intensity that seems to strip away my carefully constructed walls.
"Yeah," I say, automatically. Then, softer, more honest than I usually allow myself to be, "I will be."
We're quiet for a moment, the only sound the hum of the fridge and Chloe's monitor fuzzing in the background. The kitchen feels smaller somehow, with both of them in my space, not claustrophobic, but. . .full. Present in a way I've avoided for years.
"I never doubted he'd be a good father," I murmur, more to myself than Tobias, tracing a finger along the edge of my vintage countertop. "I just. . .I haven't let him be. Not fully. I've kept him in this limbo, more than a visitor but less than what he deserves to be."
Tobias doesn't rush to fill the silence.
He just leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest, watching me with that steady, thoughtful gaze that seems to understand more than I say.
His presence is solid, grounding. "He's ready to be, Lia.
Has been since day one. He loves her like breathing.
It's instinct for him. I've watched from the outside for months now, he adores his munchkin. "
"I know." I swipe a tear before it can slip free, frustrated at my own vulnerability.
My fingers tremble slightly as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I think I've been holding everything so close.
All of it, my work, Chloe, my space, gosh, even this house.
I didn't want to lose myself in all of it.
I didn't want to need anyone so much it hurt.
Not after my parents died. I almost died, but I survived, left alone.
I know I have my brother, and I would have been lost without him.
Everything fell apart in my life after all of it though.
I built this world for her, and I told myself I was doing it alone on purpose.
Like I had something to prove. I can stand on my own. "
He tilts his head, the kitchen light catching the scar near his eyebrow. "But you weren't doing it alone. Not really."
"No," I admit, the truth finally spilling out after being bottled up for so long.
"He's been here every chance he could. Every late-night fever, every doctor's appointment he could make, every milestone he wasn't on the road for.
I've still kept him at arm's length like that would protect me from.
. .I don't know, something. Disappointment.
Abandonment. Loss. Letting someone in too much.
Losing control of the life I've fought so hard to build. "
Tobias hesitates, then steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne, something woodsy and subtle. "You're scared of being taken care of. Of needing people who might leave."
I let out a bitter laugh, running my hand along the edge of the sink. "Yeah. Ridley's been trying since I was seventeen. And now there's Devan. And you." I look up at him, allowing myself to acknowledge what's been building between us these past months.
He raises his hands, palms out, giving me space even as his eyes hold mine.
"I'm not trying to take anything from you, Lia.
Neither of us are. I know you've fought hard for your independence.
Your career. Your name. Look at what you've built.
" He gestures around at my kitchen, my home, the evidence of my business upstairs.
"Your own damn design label, working with a professional hockey team, turning this house into a business and a home that's yours.
You did that. No one can take that away. "
I nod, my throat tight again, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my vintage band tee.
"But letting us support you,"—his voice drops lower, more intimate—"that's not weakness, that's partnership. That's letting people who care about you show up. And we want to show up, Lia. Both of us."
I breathe deep and look at him. Really look.
Past the guarded exterior to the man who moved in next door and somehow slipped past all my defenses.
"I know. And I want to try. I want to stop running from what we are.
From what this could be. The three of us.
I'm just not sure how to do it without feeling like I'm giving up part of myself. "
He searches my face, a vulnerability in his eyes I rarely see. "And what is this? What do you want it to be?"
I don't get to answer, because Devan chooses that moment to come downstairs, his locs tousled and eyes warm from bedtime cuddles with our daughter.
He's changed into a soft t-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders, and his sock-clad feet make almost no sound as he enters.
"She's out like a light," he says, slipping into the room, glancing between us with a curious expression. "What'd I miss?"
Tobias meets my eyes briefly, something unspoken passing between us, then crosses the kitchen to him.
Just like that, they fall into each other without hesitation.
Devan's breath hitches when Tobias cups his jaw and leans in, kissing him soft and slow, like it's the most natural thing in the world, like they've been doing this forever instead of dancing around each other for weeks.
In a sense, they've picked up where they left off, falling back into a rhythm that feels both ancient and brand new.
I can see it in the way Tobias's fingers curl against the nape of Devan's neck, in how Devan's shoulders relax under his touch.
This is their history, buried under years of silence and distance, now resurfacing like a forgotten melody suddenly remembered with perfect clarity.
Their bodies remember each other, moving with the practiced ease of two people who once knew every inch of one another, every preference, every sensitive spot.
It's mesmerizing to watch them rediscover that connection, to witness the subtle shifts in their expressions as memories flood back with each touch.
Whatever broke them apart before seems insignificant now, melting away in the warmth of this kitchen, in this moment that feels like a door opening to something we're all just beginning to understand.
It's beautiful. The way Devan's strong hands settle on Tobias's waist, the gentle tilt of their heads, the quiet exhale when they connect.
My heart catches in my throat at the ease with which they hold each other.
It's right. I can finally see the piece that's always been missing in Devan's heart and that piece is Tobias.
I know he loves me, has never stopped loving me since we first met, but Devan's heart is so big, of course it had already found a place with someone else long ago.
It doesn't scare me the way I thought it would; it only makes me feel privileged to share in the love he gives so freely, without reservation.
When they part, Devan's gaze drifts to mine, a hint of uncertainty there, a question in his warm brown eyes, until I close the distance between us. His hands find my waist, familiar and strong. I rise on my toes and kiss him, my red gloss probably leaving a mark. Familiar. Safe. Mine.
Then I turn to Tobias. He meets me halfway, his kiss different but no less right. It's a little hesitant at first, then deepening as I lean into him, my hand finding the front of his henley.
When I pull back, my voice is barely above a whisper, but I know they both hear me. "I want this. I want us. All of us. I'm tired of pretending I don't."
Devan nods, his voice rough with emotion. "Me too. God, Li-Li, I've wanted to hear you say that for so long. Now though, I want this too. All of this."