Page 59 of My Pucking Crush

Max

R aw memories flood my veins with venom, pulling up to my childhood home in Marine Harbor, a rural blue-collar town on Long Island. In one of my more casual suits, slate blue with a gold Crushers tie, I get out of the car.

Luca steps out a few seconds later. He’s dressed to the nines. With a dark charcoal freshly pressed suit with a black shirt, matching black tie. With those shades, he looks more like a Fed.

On the street, Luca checks the perimeter as usual. When we leave the busy stadium in Stamford there’s plenty to assess. Here, there’s just colonial homes with nice lawns under a canopy of oak trees.

I knock on my parents’ door and wait outside even though I have a key. Even though I pay for this house. The taxes, repairs, upgrades. Anything they want. The mortgage was paid off three years ago after I signed my largest renewal contract with the Crushers.

Mom answers with only a weak smile, shame rightfully all over her face. At least her expression reflects an acknowledgment that she and my father are using me. Taking advantage of me. “Maxwell. You look good.”

I bend down and kiss her cheek, smelling whiskey on her breath. You look like shit , I want to say, but don’t. I step inside with Luca on my six and catch my father in the doorway of the kitchen.

Dad folds his arms. “Who’s that with you?”

I step aside. “This is Luca, my bodyguard. He works for the team. You met him.”

My father’s eyes narrow, the memory refreshing in his head.

“Sir,” Luca addresses my father with respect. None of which he deserves. My gay bodyguard who fucking kills people has more grace than my father.

“Look at the lovely article the newspaper printed about Coach.” Mom thrusts the local Marine Harbor Gazette at me. “His photo is on the cover.”

This is a big deal for my hometown.

“He was a good man. A decent one,” my father says wryly, studying Luca.

“We’ll go to the second service tonight as a family,” she says casually.

“A family?” I choke out. “I’m thirty-six. Not ten. I just stopped by to—”

“To what?” Dad looks at my feet. “I don’t see any luggage. You’re not staying here?”

“Of course he’s staying here,” Mom says, looking at me to confirm.

“Where’s he sleeping?” Dad points to Luca with so much disrespect I want to slam him into the refrigerator.

“I’m not sleeping here ,” I say with disdain.

“This is your home,” Mom says with an astonished tone.

No shit this is my home. I fucking paid for it. But I don’t voice these irritations that only eat at me when I’m here.

“ Stamford is my home now,” I say, and my eyes stray to Luca. “And we’re staying at my beach house in East Hampton.”

“Both of you?” Dad sneers at Luca.

“ He’s my bodyguard. Where I go, he goes.”

“You don’t need a bodyguard here in Marine Harbor.” Dad sends more icy glares Luca’s way. “My colt and shotgun—”

“Stop,” I cut my father off.

I hate that he’s probably right about this small town not being a danger to my safety. A professional killer isn’t likely to try to take me out here.

My father doesn’t understand, even if I don’t need Luca to protect me, I won’t send him away. I...want him. Near me. On me.

“How’s...” Mom clears her throat. “The team?”

“The hockey team that I play for? The team that’s been winning playoff games?” My anger is showing through, and I have to calm down. I’m paying these people off to keep them quiet.

Mom gives me a rare smile. “You clenched your division?”

Luca snickers.

“Clinched,” I correct her, calming down. “Yes.”

“That’s great.” Mom attempts to touch me, but I back away. “Coach Avalon was so proud of you.”

So proud of the lie of a man I’ve been all these years. “I’m going to the afternoon service.” I turn to leave, bumping into Luca.

His face is flushed, the snarl of his lips suggesting he’s thoroughly appalled. Here I am thinking about being a family with him and look at what I’d be subjecting him to.

At the door, I swing around. “Do you need anything else? Past the allowance I send?” I wired the bond money and Jimmy never called, so he isn’t getting money for a lawyer.

So much for rah rah rah hometown spirit for a coach. My lowlife brother isn’t around.

Mom and Dad trade glances and Mom, to her credit, tilts her head to Dad to speak, not taking the fall for whatever the hell they’ll ask for now .

“Car’s on its last leg,” Dad mutters.

It’s like they don’t even try to pay for large expenses. Just assume I’ll pick up the tab for everything. Last year the house needed a new roof.

“Pick a new one out and tell me the name of the dealer.” I slide on my shades and leave.

I stomp to the car, but stop midway for Luca to catch up to me. Walking side by side feels so much better.

“You could cut the tension in there with a hunting knife,” Luca says, letting go of his breath like he’d been holding it all that time.

“Mighty appealing being with me, right?” I pull out my phone, but it falls out of my hands.

Luca picks it up and gives it to me, our fingers tangling. Every fiber screams to pull away. Keep hiding, especially here, but I can’t. I need his touch. It calms me.

“I don’t care about that.” His sexy, gravelly voice is warm honey over my raw nerves.

My neck heats and I want to kiss the mouth that says such amazing things to me. But my mother is at the door watching us. I really want to kiss him in front of her. In front of the neighbors. Everyone who whispered about me and Jake, wondering if it were true.

“Get in the car,” I growl seductively to Luca.

“Yes, sir,” he says with a smirk.