Page 9

Nine

West

“Get it!”

Grunting, practically straining something as I kick out my leg (hello, groin muscles), I manage to get my foot beneath the ball and chip it back over to Quinn.

“Yes!” he shouts, running forward a few steps and catching it on his chest, allowing it to roll down to his feet.

The kid is a good soccer player.

His touches are controlled and natural, and he’s a fuck of a lot better at kicking the ball around than I am.

Hence the groin straining.

He flicks it back to me and I’m a lot less natural, but I manage to corral it and pass it back—something I accomplish only two more times before Belle pokes her head out into the back yard, face softening when she catches sight of us, and calls, “Dinner will be ready in ten! Time to wash up, honey.”

She’s talking to Quinn.

But she’s also talking to me.

And I can’t lie, I fucking love that—the honey , the soft expression on her face as she calls that, the similarly soft one she wore when she shooed Quinn outside to “touch grass” and didn’t comment when I joined him.

She just smiled.

Same as she had when she came into the house this afternoon with a grocery bag (though Quinn had actually carried it in for her) and grinned at me before I could protest, saying, “Chicken pot pie for dinner tonight!”

My favorite.

Years ago, she was the one who made it for me the first time.

Today I know it means she’s trying. She’s settling. She’s giving us the time I asked for.

And I fucking love that too.

“You play soccer for a team?” I ask as Quinn scoops up the ball and we move to the back door she left propped open.

“Nah,” Quinn says. “Soccer’s fun, but I think I’d rather learn how to play hockey like you.”

I freeze.

And I’m not the only one.

Belle’s at the mouth of the hall, and she spins and glances back at me, eyes wide. I can already read what’s in her mind—soccer is cheap, just a ball, some shin guards, and cleats. But hockey has a big buy-in—the equipment alone, but also adding the league fees, on-ice training, off- ice training, travel…it’s a giant hurdle.

But if this kid—this gracious, polite, good-hearted, hard-working kid who’s smart and respectful and loves his mom—wants to try hockey, this kid is going to fucking try hockey.

“First step of playing hockey is learning how to skate,” I tell him.

His face falls. “I’ve never been.”

“Well, the good news is the team is having a family skate next weekend, wanna give it a try?”

His eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s on Saturday and the whole team will be there.”

He’s practically vibrating with excitement as he turns to Belle. “Is that okay, Mom? Could I try out skating?”

A blip of quiet, resignation sliding through her features.

But then her face goes soft again and she nods. “Yeah, baby.”

He spins back to me. “Then that would be awesome, West. Thank you so much.”

See? Polite.

“Are you going to learn to skate too, Mom?”

My lips curve and I answer for her. “Your mom’s a great skater—or she was back in high school.”

His eyes go wide. “Really?”

I nod.

“Whoa, Mom.”

“Upping my cool factor,” she says lightly, moving close and ruffling Quinn’s hair. “But don’t get your hopes up. I’m sure I’m out of practice.” She’s grinning as she jerks her head toward the bathroom. “Let’s wash up first and worry about strapping blades to our feet later, ’kay?”

“Okay!”

He takes off for the bathroom, shutting the door, and I barely have the chance to take a step before she’s snagging my arm and dragging me into the kitchen. “Baby?—”

She spins to face me. “You don’t have to do this.”

I exhale, cup her cheeks, practically willing her to understand this once and for all. “Why don’t you understand that I know that, baby? That all I’ve offered, all I’m continuing to offer is because I like you, I like Quinn, and I want to do it.”

“You shouldn’t,” she whispers.

“Share the wealth?” I ask, sweeping a hand around the space. “If you haven’t seen, I have plenty, so having you guys here isn’t a hit on my bank account. And I like that my house isn’t empty when I’m gone, that you guys are here when I am. As far as I figure, you’re the reason I have all this, so you get to share in it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If you hadn’t broken up with me,” I remind her. “I wouldn’t have kept going, baby. I would have eventually come home, lived a small life, given up on my dreams. You gave me the freedom to go and the drive to keep playing.”

“No, I hurt you.”

I stroke my thumb over her cheek. “I don’t care.”

“West—”

“I don’t care.” I settle my forehead against hers. “You and Quinn are both here now and you need to shut up and deal because you’re stuck with me.”

She sighs. “I hate that it feels the other way around.”

“No comments on me telling you to shut up?”

Her eyes close for a minute before opening again. “West,” she murmurs, “you’re being deliberately obtuse.”

I touch my mouth to hers. “Are you not cooking me my favorite meal?” I ask against her lips. “My stomach won’t ever let you go.”

She laughs.

I’m glad because I know that my heart won’t let her go either. But I keep that thought in my head. Because all of this has already been hard enough for her to accept.

“Better, baby,” I say softly. “Just stay the course, give us this time, keep moving forward.”

She exhales. “You make this all sound so easy.”

“Isn’t it?”

Her brows drag together.

“Hasn’t it been easy?” I press. “Hasn’t it felt easy and natural and exactly the same as before?” Minus the sex and cuddling and kissing.

Well, maybe not minus the last.

Because her expression is so befuddled that I can’t resist bending, pressing my mouth to hers again, longer this time.

And that’s exactly like before.

And also so much better.

She immediately melts against me, her body coming flush to mine, her lips parting, her tongue stroking across mine?—

“Why are you kissing my mom?”

We both still.

Then Belle tears her mouth from mine. It’s swollen and reddened and slick—beyond tempting.

But I table my need and turn to face Quinn.

“I like your mom,” I tell him. “When grown-ups like each other, sometimes they kiss.”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “But does this mean you guys are boyfriend and girlfriend yet?”

Yet .

God, the kid is smart.

“I’d like that,” I tell him. “But I’m still working on convincing your mom to want me as her boyfriend.”

Belle gasps, nails pressing into my chest.

I smother my smother, ignore her angry eyes. “If she agrees, I’ll let you know, okay?”

His gaze goes from mine to his mom, whose cheeks flush bright pink.

Then he shrugs again.

“’Kay.” A beat. “Is dinner ready?”

It comes as no surprise that Quinn’s natural athleticism carries over onto the ice.

After a few shaky laps, he found his stride and is currently flying around the rink with a group of Eagles kids, all acting like tiny maniacs.

Grinning, I step off the rink and make my way to Belle.

She’s sipping hot chocolate from a paper cup, her nose adorably pink from the cold.

“Thank you for this,” she whispers as I sit next to her and swipe the cup, stealing a sip.

“Baby?” I ask.

Her eyes are on Quinn as I press the cup back into her hand, but I wait for them to drift to mine. “Yeah?” she murmurs when she’s finally gazing at me again and I don’t immediately speak.

I touch her cheek. “Stop saying thank you for everything.”

Warmth in those eyes. Then she exhales softly and leans against my shoulder, the contact sending a bolt of heat through me. I’ve snuck a few kisses over the last week, but not nearly enough to soothe the constant need churning through my insides.

Even having her this close makes my nerves stand on edge, my fingers tingle with the need to touch her, my cock twitch and threaten to get hard.

I shove that down.

Mostly because she’s talking. “I’m here.”

I frown. Talking but making no sense.

She settles her free hand on my thigh, something that does nothing to soothe that raw, aching need shooting through me.

“Do you get it?”

I shake my head.

“I’m here. Quinn is out there. I’m not going to stop saying thank you?—”

I open my mouth, but she cuts me off.

“But I’m also not going anywhere.”

She leans in, brushes her lips across my jaw. “Because I’m giving us time.”

My heart skips a beat, hope surging through me.

God, I love this woman. I don’t think I ever stopped, even for that brief period of time when I hated her, I still loved her.

“Bella bee,” I murmur.

Her mouth curves. “I’ve always loved it when you called me that.”

“I know.” I tilt her head up, leaning closer, my mouth brushing ever so lightly over hers. Then again.

And again.

And—

“Mom!” Quinn shouts. “Stop kissing West and get out here!”

Everyone on the ice seems to freeze, and I don’t miss that my teammates King, Rome, and Cam—all recently matched up with women of their own—look at each other and grin.

Same as I don’t miss that Hudson, one of the newer guys on the team, same as me, looks at his skates, a muscle jumping in his thigh.

He’s been a surly fuck of late, especially since the team hired a new head coach.

But I don’t have time to focus on my grumpy teammate—or the way his eyes linger on Diana, said head coach who’s crouched near the bench, head tossed back as she laughs at something a little kid says.

I don’t have time because Belle is tossing the empty hot cocoa cup into the trash and jumping to her feet, her free hand wrapping around mine.

“Less kissing,” she teases. “More skating.”