Page 3 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

"Sure," I nod, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I feel. "Text me your address. I'll follow you there."

I'm rewarded with a relieved smile that transforms his whole face. His shoulders visibly relax. "Good. That's really good," he says, like he's just scored on a power play.

As I'm heading toward the showers, peeling off my under armor that's sticking to my skin like a second layer, Devan steps in front of me, materializing out of nowhere.

He's still half in his gear, chest protector bulking up his already substantial frame, cheeks flushed crimson from exertion.

Sweat beads along his hairline, and his eyes, those familiar deep brown eyes I used to get lost in are intense, focused entirely on me.

"We need to talk," he says, voice low enough that only I can hear it, the words heavy with eight years of unspoken history. "Not here. Not now. But soon." His breath smells faintly of the blue sports drink he always favored.

I stare at him, at the face that used to be my whole world. "Eight years wasn't enough time?"

His eyes darken. "That's not fair."

"Neither was you disappearing without a fucking word," I hiss, keeping my voice down. "But here we are."

"It wasn't like that," he starts, but I cut him off.

"Save it. You made your choice. I guess this is my mantra for the day or maybe this season, but I'm just here to play hockey."

I push past him, shoulder checking him harder than necessary. The hot water of the shower doesn't wash away the tension, but it helps. By the time I'm dressed and heading out, most of the guys have cleared out.

Except Devan. He's waiting by the exit, leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world.

"What part of 'not now' did I misunderstand?" I growl, pulling my bag higher on my shoulder.

"I just wanted to say. . ." he hesitates, then sighs. "Look, I know this is awkward as hell. But we're teammates now. And I've got. . .complications in my life. Important ones."

"You mean Lia? And your daughter?" The words taste bitter.

He nods, expression softening at their names. "Yeah. They're everything to me."

"Congratulations," I say flatly. "Message received."

"That's not—" He runs a hand over his face. "Fuck, Toby. This isn't how I wanted this to go."

"Don't call me that," I snap. "You lost that right."

He flinches like I've hit him, and for a second I see past the confident exterior to something raw underneath. Good. Let him hurt a little. It's only fair.

"See you at dinner," I mutter, pushing through the door before he can respond.

Outside, the Seattle air is cool on my skin. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. First day, and I'm already a mess. This was supposed to be my fresh start, my chance to finally find a team where I could put down roots.

Instead, I'm right back where I was eight years ago, orbiting Devan Scott like he's the sun and I'm just cosmic debris caught in his gravity.

As I walk to my car, my phone buzzes. A text from Jamie with his address. Then another one pops up.

Unknown: This is Lia. Hope practice went well. Chloe says hi.

There's a picture attached, the baby in a tiny Vipers onesie, her little face scrunched in what might be a smile.

Those chubby cheeks and wide, curious eyes hit me right in the chest, a sucker punch of unexpected emotion.

She's beautiful, with Lia's delicate features but something in her expression that's unmistakably Devan.

I stare at it longer than I should, thumb hovering over the screen.

I gave Lia my number yesterday when I saw her taking baby Chloe out for a walk. I told myself it was just in case of emergencies, considering I'm literally a stone's throw from her front porch. Practical, neighborly. Nothing more. At least that's what I told myself.

What I can't figure out is the living arrangement.

The family picture is right there in front of me, mother, father, child, but Devan doesn't live with them.

I've seen him coming and going, carrying overnight bags, kissing Chloe goodbye at the door.

The setup makes no sense to me, but I don't think it's my place to ask about the invisible boundaries they've drawn. Not yet, anyway.

"Complications indeed, Scott," I mutter, as I climb inside my SUV. Whatever history they have, whatever arrangement they've settled on, it's just one more reason to keep my distance. From both of them. Yeah, distance Groves. That’s your safest play.

Despite everything, I find myself smiling back at the screen. I save her number, then type a reply.

Me: Tell her I'm honored. Practice was good. Tough, but good.

Three dots appear immediately.

Lia: Team dinner tonight, right? Fair warning: Devan's bringing his infamous buffalo chicken dip. It's lethal.

I stare at the message, unsure how to respond. Is she just being friendly? Does she know about our history? Is this some kind of test?

Me: I'll consider myself warned. Thanks.

I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and start the car.

Tonight's going to be interesting, to say the least. I'm walking into the lion's den.

A team that's already tight-knit, a captain who's watching me like a hawk, and my ex who's now.

. . what? Co-parenting with the woman who makes my pulse race?

The universe really does have a sick sense of humor.