Page 61 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Gabrielle

I was just picking out a good, healthy bunch of cilantro for the tacos for dinner when my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.

(Maverick)

Dad’s gone. Really need to see you. Come back soon.

Dread and worry unfurled in my belly like one of those memory foam mattresses that basically explodes when you remove the plastic shrink-wrap.

I replied.

Just finishing up at the grocery store. On my way.

I just needed to grab a few tomatoes and some avocados, then I’d head to the checkout.

For a Saturday, the Town Center Grocery Store wasn’t overly busy.

So with my grocery list now completely ticked off, I made my way to the front of the store, stupidly passing the refrigerator section with all the gourmet cheeses.

And fucking hell, smoked gouda was on sale.

My shoes nearly squeaked on the floor. I stopped so fast. With a sigh, I grabbed the cheapest round and put it into my shopping basket, refusing to overthink things. It was on sale. That was how I was going to justify this impulse purchase of an item that wasn’t on my list.

I paid for my bounty at the checkout, chatting amicably with Jordana as she rang me up, even though my head was back in Maverick’s cabin. How was he doing? He said he really needed to see me, which probably meant things with his dad didn’t go well.

“Thanks, Jordana,” I said, taking my fabric shopping bags and waiting for the automatic doors to open so I could walk through, my arms loaded.

I squinted as that shiny ball of fire in the sky tried to burn my corneas, only to bump into a big wall of muscle that grunted.

“Sorry,” I murmured. “Can’t see with that sun. ”

A strong, meaty hand gripped my elbow—tight—sending alarm bells raging inside of me. I jerked away out of his grasp and turned my body and head enough to make out his face.

Kirby Roy wore a scowl like I’d just told him hockey was an inferior sport to table tennis. Even though the sky was blue and the sun was out, staring into Kirby’s eyes made the hair on the back of my neck stand up as if a storm was imminent.

“Mr. Roy,” I said, clearing my throat.

“Were you sleeping with my son when he lived with you? When he was a child ?”

Of course, right at that moment Jolene Dandy, the Island Mouth, had to walk up the steps and past us, her ears practically swiveling like a satellite as she slowed her pace to eavesdrop.

I glanced at her. “Keep moving, Jolene.”

Her coppery, brown eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped. “Gabrielle!”

“Don’t even,” I warned her, deepening my glare. “Keep moving.”

Her gasp of offense didn’t bother me at all, and luckily, she knew what was good for her and headed inside.

“I’d like an answer, Ms. Campbell,” Kirby said, his voice low, almost menacing.

I swallowed and squared my shoulders at him.

“No. I was not sleeping with your son when he lived with me. When he was a child. I had no romantic feelings for your son at all when he lived with us. No improprieties occurred in the three years your son was a minor and lived under my roof. We only began our romantic, intimate relationship this year, as consenting adults.”

He made a mocking noise in his throat. “Nice lawyer speak.”

“Well, I am a lawyer.”

That caught his attention, and his sandy-blond brows crawled up his weathered and wrinkly forehead a little. “You know he’s considering not returning to hockey?”

I frowned. “I know Maverick is recovering from a serious injury, making the most of his downtime, exploring new hobbies and relaxing for probably the first time in his life.”

“Relaxing is for the weak.”

“Opinions are like assholes. We all have one, don’t we?”

Fire ignited in his eyes, the same shade of blue with the gold flecks, as Maverick. “If he doesn’t go back, that’s on you. Waving this … hippy-dippy way of life and that stupid, woke-ass podcast bullshit in front of his face. That’s your fault.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, it is. He loved hockey just as much as the rest of us until he came here. Until you and your stupid kids distracted him. You’re jeopardizing his career.

Gonna make him choose, aren’t you? And he’s too big of a sap to do what’s right.

To do what he needs to do. He’s going to do what he thinks he should do, and that’s stay here and play house and become Daddy to your kids.

” He shook his head, glaring down at me like I was no more than a flea on a rat.

“He might not resent you right away, but he will.”

“Always nice seeing you, Kirby. Say hi to Melissa for me, hmm?” Then I tightened my grip on my bags and left him standing there at the top of the stairs with his anger and self-righteousness.

“I bet the media would have a field day if I went to them with your history. That Maverick was a minor, living with you. Nobody will believe you two kept it clean when he was under your roof back then. Maybe I’ll send an anonymous tip.”

Bile rose up my throat, coating the back of my tongue, but I refused to turn around or even change my pace. I needed to get back to the cabin and check on Maverick.

As hard as I tried to push Kirby’s words out of my mind as I drove back across the island, it wasn’t easy.

What if Maverick did decide to not return to hockey and stayed here?

We’d only just started whatever this was, and while it felt a lot less temporary than we first agreed on, it still was intended to be temporary.

He was only twenty-six. He had his whole career—his whole life—ahead of him.

We couldn’t expect him to give it all up for us. For … me.

I arrived at the cabin and parked, left my groceries in the backseat, and jumped out. I didn’t bother knocking, but just entered, finding him sitting there on the couch, eyes red, and looking absolutely wrecked.

Sliding onto the sofa beside him, he instantly collapsed against me, his head on my chest. “He’s such a prick,” he murmured, not sobbing, but with a hoarse voice and stuttered breath. “And I kicked him out. I stood up to him, and I kicked him out.”

“That’s huge. You did the right thing.” Stroking his head and holding him, I decided not to tell him about my own run-in with Kirby, or his threat to slander Maverick’s and my past relationship.

I’d absolutely hit him with a lawsuit if he did it, but the damage would already be done, and that was what I feared the most. Maybe I’d tell Maverick later, but for now, we needed to focus on how he felt about their confrontation.

“Did I though?” He lifted his head, uncertainty in his gaze. “Because even though I know my dad is wrong … he’s still my dad. And all I’ve ever wanted my entire life is his approval. And not having it … I … I don’t know how to function.”

While I couldn’t entirely relate because there wasn’t a time in my life that I didn’t fear and hate my father, I understood what it was like to want to be loved.

Because as much as I hated my dad, I still craved what all kids do, and that’s love from their parents.

But to my dad, since the moment he found out I was a girl, I was only ever a burden, another mouth to feed, and a daughter he couldn’t wait to “pawn off on a husband.”

“What do you want to do?” I asked him, cupping his face in my hands so he had to look me in the eye. “Not your dad, not the team, not anybody else. What do you want to do?”

His chin wobbled a little. “I … don’t want to go out like this. If I go out, I want it to be on my terms. Not because of an injury.”

I understood that completely. Nodding, I managed a small, sad smile. “I get that.”

He swallowed. “I have a doctor’s appointment in Seattle on Monday.”

“Okay. So, Monday. We wait to hear how things are going on Monday.”

His chest rattled a little as he exhaled and he tucked his cheek back against my breast while I held him. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for coming back. For being here with me. I lo—”

“Shhh,” I said quickly, cutting him off and stroking his hair again as panic and uncertainty whipped through me. He could probably hear my heart thudding mercilessly.

We weren’t there yet, and I wasn’t going to let him say it. Not out loud. Not to me. Because once it was said, you could never un- say it. And if he planned to return to the game, he needed a clear head without his heart—or my heart—weighing in on the equation.

Of course he didn’t want to retire yet, and certainly not because of an injury.

But that also meant, despite his conflicting feelings about the league, he wasn’t ready to leave.

So I absolutely could not give him false hope that what we had was anything more than temporary.

A painful stab in my chest at the thought of letting him go made me wince, but his eyes were closed so he didn’t see.

It was for the better. He didn’t need to see my pain. I could manage it on my own like I always did. I was a survivor of a terrible father, a horrible husband, domestic abuse, marital rape, and a corrupt religion. Compared to that, heartache would be a piece of cake.

At least that was what I was going to tell myself.

A piece of cake—filled with razor blades.

We did our best to push Maverick’s altercation with his father out of our heads for the remainder of the weekend.

He helped me make delicious pulled chicken tacos for dinner, complete with homemade tortillas.

Even the kids joined in on the food prep toward the end, dicing tomatoes and making the guacamole.

I ignored the lump at the back of my throat as emotion threatened to ruin the vibes when I stood back and watched Maverick and my kids laughing and goofing off at the kitchen island. All of them smiling, all of them happy.

We had a good life, the three of us with my cousins, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have a better one. A happier one. And I’d be a fool to pretend that adding Maverick to the mix wouldn’t make things better. He already fit in with our bunch seamlessly.