Page 8 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

What I don't say: I watched him through my kitchen window, enjoying his muscles flexing under his t-shirt as he worked, competent hands making quick work of the repair.

I don't say how he'd declined my offer of payment, how he'd just smiled, that careful, measured smile that never quite reaches his eyes and said, "Neighbors should look out for each other," like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I definitely don't mention how I've been looking out for him too, in my own way.

How I've noticed he keeps late hours, the light in his bedroom window often on until 2 AM, a beacon in the darkness.

How sometimes I catch glimpses of him pacing, like he's wrestling with ghosts that won't let him rest. How he's so gentle with Chloe when we cross paths.

"Mmm-hmm." Alexis gives me a look that says she sees right through my bullshit, her writer's eyes missing nothing. "And I suppose it's just neighborly concern that has you checking him out every five minutes? Purely professional interest in how those jeans fit him?"

I choke on my soda, the carbonation burning my throat. "I am not."

"You are. But don't worry. When you're not looking at him, he's looking at you. "

My cheeks burn, heat flooding my face. "Stop it. You're imagining things."

“Maybe it’s just me,” Alexis says, lowering her voice, thoughtful now. “But have you noticed the way Tobias and Devan keep circling each other? I don’t know, it just feels like there’s a charge between the two to them that I can’t put my finger on.”

I freeze, glass halfway to my lips, ice clinking against the sides. So I’m not the only one who noticed, not the only one who caught those loaded glances, the careful way they orbit each other without ever quite connecting.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie, because acknowledging it makes it real, gives substance to the suspicions I’ve been harboring.

Alexis studies me for a beat, softer now. “Hey, maybe I’m reading too much into it. It’s just what I’ve seen today. I know things between you and Devan hasn’t been easy to navigate. I just want to make sure you’re okay in all this.”

I set my glass down harder than I intend, liquid sloshing over the rim and onto the pristine countertop. “I need to check on Chloe.”

It’s a weak excuse, transparent as cellophane.

My daughter is perfectly happy playing with her uncle, squealing with delight as he makes ridiculous faces at her.

I need space to think, room to breathe. The complexity of whatever’s happening feels suffocating in this crowded room, too many eyes, too many possibilities.

I head toward the kitchen, needing a moment to collect myself, to process the implications of Alexis’s words.

I don't expect to find Devan there, braced against the counter with his head bowed, knuckles white around the edge of the granite, tension radiating from him in almost visible waves.

He doesn't hear me at first, and I have a moment to really look at him. To see the vulnerability written in every line of his body, the weight pressing down on those broad shoulders. To witness the burden he carries when he thinks no one's watching, the mask momentarily set aside.

"Dev?"

His head snaps up, and for a split second, I see it all, raw emotion, unguarded and exposed before he blinks it away, replacing it with that easy smile he wears. A shield against the world.

"Hey, beautiful." His voice is warm honey, no trace of whatever storm I just glimpsed, the transition so smooth I might have imagined the pain I saw. "You need something? Chloe okay?"

I cross the kitchen to him, drawn by some invisible thread that's always existed between us, a connection that neither time nor distance has managed to sever.

"She's great. Having the time of her life with her uncle.

" I stop just short of touching him, though my fingers itch to reach out. "I'm more worried about you."

"Me? I'm good. It's a great party. Ridley always knows how to throw one." He gestures vaguely toward the room, the movement too casual, too rehearsed.

"Bullshit." The word falls from my lips before I can stop it, sharp and direct.

He raises an eyebrow, surprised at my directness, at the challenge in my voice. We don't usually do this, push past the careful boundaries we've established. The co-parent dance we've perfected, a choreography of polite distance and shared responsibilities.

"Li-Li?—"

"Don't 'Li-Li' me." I cross my arms, planting my feet. "What's going on with you and Tobias? And don't tell me nothing, because I have eyes."

The change is instant. A shutter closing behind his eyes, his posture stiffening like he's been struck. The warmth in his expression cooling several degrees.

"Nothing. He's a new teammate." He turns away, grabbing a beer he doesn't need from the fridge, a transparent attempt to busy his hands. "We're getting to know each other. That's all."

"You already know each other."

It's a guess, but I'm certain, bone-deep sure. The moment it leaves my mouth, I know I'm right. The way Devan's shoulders tense, the slight pause in his movements confirms it more clearly than any admission.

"It was a long time ago." He still won't look at me, focusing intently on twisting off the bottle cap, though his hands aren't quite steady.

"College?" Another shot in the dark, piecing together fragments of conversations we've had over the years.

He exhales slowly, finally meeting my eyes, resignation settling over his features. "Yeah. We were. . .close."

The word carries weight, implications I can hear in the spaces between what he's saying. Close. The kind of close that leaves scars when it ends, the kind that reshapes who you are.

My stomach does a complicated flip, a mixture of jealousy and curiosity and something else I can't quite name. "How close?"

Devan stares at me for a long moment, like he's measuring how much truth to give me, weighing the risk against the relief of honesty. "We were together. For almost three years."

"Together," I repeat, letting the word sink in, testing its shape in my mouth. "Like. . .?"

"Like we were in love. Or I thought we were." He says it plainly, no embellishment. Just fact, simple and devastating. "At least, I was. Completely."

The revelation shouldn't surprise me as much as it does.

I've always known Devan dated men before me.

He's been open about being bisexual since I met him, never hiding that part of himself.

Hearing him say he loved Tobias. This man who now lives next door to me, who watches me through windows and fixes my porch swing, sends a jolt through me that's almost physical.

"What happened?" I ask, because I need to know. Need to understand the tension crackling between them like live electricity, the history that binds them together even as they try to stay apart.

Devan runs a hand over his face, suddenly looking tired, the weight of memory pressing down on him. "Life. Fear. I wasn't ready to be out in hockey. He wanted more than I could give, more than I was brave enough to offer." His laugh is hollow, empty of humor. "Sound familiar?"

The parallel hits too close to home, a mirror reflecting my own behavior. Me, keeping Devan at arm's length despite the love I feel. Him, accepting whatever scraps of intimacy I'm willing to offer, never demanding more.

"Dev—"

"Don't." He shakes his head, cutting me off before I can form the apology rising in my throat. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. It's just ironic, that's all. Maybe it's my penance. . .what I deserve for how I treated him."

Before I can respond, argue that he deserves happiness, not punishment, Tobias appears across the counter. He halts mid step when he sees us, the intimate tableau we present. His eyes flick between us, sensing the tension, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

"Sorry," he says, already backing up, hands raised slightly. "I was just looking for?—"

"It's fine." Devan straightens, game face back on, professional mask firmly in place. "I was heading back over anyway. Coach wants to talk strategy for tomorrow's practice."

He brushes past Tobias, their shoulders almost touching , and I see it, the way they both flinch, like even that near contact is too much to bear, too charged with memory and feeling.

Then I'm alone with Tobias, the air thick with unspoken questions, the ghost of Devan's confession hovering between us.

"I should go too," I say, but my feet don't move, rooted to the spot by curiosity and something deeper, more primitive.

Tobias studies me with those hazel eyes that seem to see too much, that penetrate the armor I wear so carefully. "You know, don't you? About us."

I nod slowly, no point in pretending. "Some of it. Enough."

"And that bothers you?" It's not accusatory, he sounds genuinely curious, his head tilted slightly as he watches me.

"I don't know yet." It's the most honest answer I can give, the truth laid bare. "Does it bother you? That he and I. . .that we have Chloe?"

A smile tugs at his lips, gentle and surprisingly warm, transforming his usually serious face. "No. She's amazing. Full of life. And you're. . ." He trails off, shaking his head like he can't quite find the right word, like language is insufficient.

"I'm what?" I challenge, suddenly needing to know, a strange urgency propelling the question.

"You're exactly what I'd expect him to fall for." His gaze is steady, unflinching, seeing through me in a way that's both terrifying and exhilarating. "Strong. Fierce. Completely yourself. Unapologetic. Beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with convention."

Heat crawls up my neck, spreading across my cheeks. "You don't know me. Not really."

"I'm learning." He steps closer, not invading my space but definitely sharing it, his presence solid and real. "I'd like to know more. If you'd let me."

My heart hammers against my ribs, a rhythm I don't recognize, too fast and too erratic to be normal. This isn't just attraction, it's something more complicated, threads connecting us through Devan, through proximity, through whatever this pull is between us that defies simple explanation.

"This is. . ." I gesture vaguely between us, struggling to articulate the complexity, " . . .messy. Complicated. Probably a terrible idea."

Tobias laughs, the sound unexpectedly rich, genuine amusement lighting his features. "Life usually is." He looks behind him, to where Devan disappeared, something like longing flickering across his face. "The best things often are."

I think about Devan, about Chloe, about the family we're piecing together day by day, imperfect but ours. I think about Tobias and his quiet presence next door, the way he watches us like he's trying to solve a puzzle, like we're a mystery he's determined to unravel.

Maybe we are a puzzle, one with pieces scattered across separate lives that somehow fit together in ways we haven't discovered yet.

"I should get back," I say. I need to process all of this, the revelations that have shifted my understanding of both men. "Chloe will be getting tired soon. She gets cranky if she's up past eight."

Tobias nods, stepping aside to clear my path. "For what it's worth," he says as I pass him, his voice low and intimate, "I think you're braver than either of us."

I pause, looking back at him, caught by the unexpected statement. "What makes you say that?"

"You're still here. Still trying." His smile is sad but genuine, touched with a wisdom born of regret. "Some of us ran away from what scared us. You're facing it head-on."

The words follow me as I rejoin the party, as I gather Chloe from my brother, as I catch Devan's eye across the room and see the question there, the uncertainty.

I don't have answers yet, don't know how to navigate this unexpected terrain.

Maybe there's room for both of them in this messy, complicated heart of mine. Maybe I've been trying to fit my feelings into boxes too small to contain them, trying to follow rules that were never meant for the way love actually works.

Maybe I don't need to complicate things and look at this from every angle, analyze it to death like I do with my designs.

Maybe I need to let myself just feel for once and not worry about every step, every potential misstep.

Devan shows up for me every day, steady and constant despite my walls.

Maybe Tobias will as well, in his own way, with his quiet intensity and careful observations.

Maybe, just maybe, the bravest thing isn't choosing between them but admitting I might not have to.