Page 37 of My Pucking Enemy (The Milwaukee Frost #4)

Luca

“Hey.”

I knock on the door to Sloane’s room cautiously, and when she looks up at me, it’s with a glare so molten I’m surprised she doesn’t turn me to ash on the spot. For a second, we hang in the standoff, me at the door, and her not inviting me in, until I let out a breath and cross the threshold.

Sloane has been put on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy, which shouldn’t be more than a week, now, if the baby comes by her due date.

But Callum said she’s been losing her mind.

My sister is not the kind of person who likes to be still, and I can only imagine how she felt this morning when she read the news.

I take a seat in the armchair next to her bed, staring straight ahead at the TV on the opposite wall that’s playing a re-run from our last playoff game. We barely squeaked by.

That seems to be the theme.

I’m still reeling from that meeting in Coach’s office. Wren’s admission to feeding the other teams information.

Though, she never actually admitted that she did.

She just gathered her things and left quietly.

Is that enough of a confession, or was that for some other reason?

Maybe she realized she didn’t want to actually be with me, and saw getting fired from the team as an easier break-up method for the strange relationship we’ve been carrying on with.

“Luca.”

I startle, coming out of my thoughts and looking over at my sister, who stares back at me with eyebrows drawn so low it’s almost cartoonish. She’s pissed.

“Sloane,” I start, clearing my throat, trying to figure out how to move forward. Cal was right—I should have told Sloane before she found out about it, and now it’s too late. I can practically hear my best friend pacing in the kitchen, worried about his wife.

“I should have told you—”

“O-oh,” Sloane laughs sarcastically, the sound cutting through the room.

When I look over at her, she’s tilting her head condescendingly, frowning at me with an expression that could rival our mother’s.

“Which part, Luca? The part about you and Mandy getting a divorce in the first place? Or the part where it was never real? The part where your entire family—and all your friends and teammates—flew out to Vegas to celebrate a relationship that didn’t exist—? ”

“—it existed, Sloane—”

She rolls on, like I’ve said nothing. “Or the part where you’re not really dating Wren either? And Mom and Dad had her over for Christmas, and now we have pictures with two women who mean nothing to you!”

“Sloane.”

She stops, breathing hard, as she pushes her hair from her face.

For a second, I wonder if I should go. Getting this worked up can’t be good for her or the baby.

But if I leave, she’ll probably just call and leave me a dozen threatening voicemails—like she has already—and saying it to my face might be more cathartic.

“I’m not like you,” I say finally, even though I want to address the point about Wren and me not being real.

But how can I? She left today without a word, without a fight.

Maybe it’s because she was actually betraying the Frost, or maybe because she’s done with me.

Either way, I have no room to argue that the thing going on between Wren and me is the realest relationship.

“The thing with Mandy—it was supposed to be easier for everyone,” I say.

Sloane laughs and it comes out watery. I grab a box of tissues from the nightstand and hand it to her.

She glares at it, and me, before taking it and settling it in her lap.

“Luca, do you realize how much of a shit sister I thought I was? I hated Mandy. Couldn’t understand why the two of you would be together.

But I tried because I love you, and I wanted to support you.

And all of that for what? This isn’t just about you.

It wasn’t just a fake marriage between you and that woman—you forced the rest of us to be complicit.

Mom and Dad with a fake daughter-in-law. And what if you’d had kids?”

Her voice rises to an ear-splitting pitch, and for the first time, I can see the logic in how that might have been bad. Cal’s insistence that he take a year off from the Frost—no matter how foolish—comes from a place of pure love for Sloane.

Would I have done that for Mandy?

Would our children have grown up without a good example of what love looks like?

Sloane and I were lucky to see our parents devoted to, and disgustingly handsy with, one another. Always touching, always together. They modeled love for us so often and so well that Sloane went after hers, chasing Cal even with the risk that it would ruin our relationship with one another.

And I went the other direction. Scared of the constant work my parents put into loving one another. Afraid of the sacrifices I might be asked to make.

“It’s been nothing but lies from you,” Sloane whispers, and it snaps me back to the present. Anger rises up in me, quick and hot, and I know I should leave before I say something I regret. I know I shouldn’t push this thing.

But it’s like I can’t stop myself.

“Well, maybe it runs in the family.”

Sloane crosses her arms. “That’s not fair. I’ve apologized to you for that.”

“Okay.” I shrug my shoulders, knowing I’m being callous. Our parents didn’t raise us like this—didn’t raise me like this. But the hurt inside me is building too high for me to keep fighting it. I say in a completely flat, disingenuous voice, “I’m sorry then.”

The room goes cold. Sloane stares at me like she doesn’t know me.

Maybe she doesn’t.

“Hey, did you guys—” Cal appears at the door, as though summoned by the discomfort, and he looks between the two of us swallowing, opening his mouth to say more, but I don’t hear him. I don’t care. I push past him into the hallway, and out the front door.

***

I’ve never been the sit-at-the-bar-and-wallow kind of man, but here I am. Sitting at the bar. Wallowing.

We have our next game against the Bruins tomorrow. Luckily, it’s here in Milwaukee, so I won’t have to get on another plane until at least the end of the week.

“Hey.”

When I hear the voice of the person sliding onto the stool next to me, I almost don’t believe it. But when I turn my head and look, there she is.

“Mandy.” My voice is dry, brittle, unfeeling. I wonder if she can tell, or if she would ever care. “Where’s your pop star?”

She orders a whiskey on the rocks and nods, flashing me a smile. Everything about Mandy is softer now—her hair more honey than platinum, and falling in gentle waves around her shoulders. When we were together, she almost always had it straight, and would fuss in the mirror for hours.

Now, her makeup is minimal, some blush and mascara. It’s like looking at a different person.

To my surprise, rather than quipping back, she says, “Okay. Maybe I deserved that.” I raise an eyebrow at her, and she goes on, “I mean, I didn’t have to go off and date the most visible person in the world after we split.”

“Is that what you would call it? A split?”

“I do care about you, Luca,” Mandy says, her voice soft. “I just—well, I realized I wanted to live an authentic life.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I look to the ceiling for a moment, nodding, knowing I can’t argue with that. How could I?

“I care about you, too,” I murmur. “And I’m sorry I put you in the position to feel like you couldn’t be yourself. With Christie. Or anyone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you my parents and all of society?”

We laugh together for a second, finding some of the spark that made me want to enter into the contract with her in the first place. When she’s opening up, Mandy is fun. Under other circumstances, maybe she and I could be friends.

“I never cheated on you,” Mandy says, quietly. “But Christie and I—we met at one of those parties she came to. With Cal. And it just—we became friends. Then, more than that. Maybe I cheated on you a little. Emotionally. But I’m saying that outside the divorce proceedings.”

I wave a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, it’s not like we were in love.”

“But you’re in love with Wren.”

Mandy says her name so casually, almost like we’ve all been friends for a long time. When I glance over at my ex-wife, she’s smiling.

“I…”

“It’s so obvious,” she laughs, clinking the large cube of ice in her glass. “The first time I saw a picture of you two, I knew it was the real thing. And I was happy for you—for both of us. I was happy that we could get what we wanted.”

I look away from her. Deep down, I know that this thing can’t be Wren. That it can’t be her talking to the other teams, and it can’t be her who leaked the information about me and Mandy.

But who else would it be? Who else would want to hurt me, to ruin my reputation like that?

“Cheers,” Mandy says, lifting her glass to mine and drawing me out of my thoughts, “to finding real love.”

When I clink my glass against hers, the sound is a little empty to my ears.