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JESS

Ingrid and her husband are why Instagram was invented, highlighting the easy, breezy carefree put together families that give the rest of us mortals agita because we need to wash our hair, put on pants without holes, and use our gym memberships. Her husband is masculine and successful. I gathered that he works in tech. They’re a powerhouse, their children are blessings, and twinkling stars float around them as they move effortlessly through life.

At least, that’s what it seems like.

While seated with Ingrid and with the rest of the family heading off to play pickleball hockey—whatever that is—Liam’s gaze meets mine in a rare moment. It’s as if he’s silently asking if I’ll be okay. I have my security whistle in my purse and am not afraid to use it. I give a subtle nod and he disappears into the dusky evening.

Ingrid turns to me, her ample belly like a beach ball between us. Then, like we’re two high school best friends, her voice lowers, and she says, “We are shocked that Liam is with someone. Do you realize that you’re the chosen one? He was untouchable.”

My eyes must be as big as the rising moon.

“Think Edward and Bella from Twilight. Tell me you know what I’m talking about.”

“I’ve read all the books and watched the movies at least twice each.” Okay, dozens of times.

“Phew. You’ll fit right in.”

“Are you saying Liam is like a vampire?” I ask.

“Depends on what kind of man glitter we’re talking about.”

Her icebreaker instantly puts me at ease and I laugh. “I’d peg him for a wolf shifter.”

She gives her head a shake. “He wasn’t always so quiet. Serious, yes, but not so?—”

“Gruff, grumpy, grouchy?”

“You know him so well. But how do you stand it?” She taps my knee. “You have a super sunny personality. It confirms the opposites attract theory.”

I have about a million questions and am not sure where to start or where the line is between being nosy and coming off like someone who might marry Liam—for convenience. True to form, we didn’t get into the details because the guy isn’t the most communicative, which apparently is a widely known fact.

Playing it safe, I say, “Which is it? The Beast, Mr. Darcy, Edward Cullen? Jacob?”

“My brother is not known as Mr. Personality, but Mr. Darcy? That’s a new one to me,” Ingrid says.

I’m thankful for the dim light on the porch because my cheeks turn pink as I tell her about #MrDarcysAbs.

She groans in a decidedly grossed-out way as only a sister could. “How about all the above?”

“Not that I look, much.”

“You, of all people, have viewing rights.” She exhales and then sinks back slightly. “Those titles are all lost on him. After everything that happened, he doesn’t let himself see anything other than hockey.”

“It’s his life.”

Ingrid frowns. “No, you and KJ are.” Her head jerks toward me. “Wait. He told you, right?”

I don’t have a chance to answer when Mrs. Ellis pops her head out the door. “We’re meeting everyone in town for pizza in about fifteen minutes. Tomorrow, we’ll have a big meal here.”

It’s safe to say there is a long list of things Liam has never told me.

When we were playing text truth or dare, he said he has secrets. Then again, there’s a lot he doesn’t know about me. But in a way, we’re even. Whereas, I know everything there is about his habits from the kind of toothpaste he uses, to his caloric requirements, to how he often loses one sock from the pair, he’s in the dark about all that when it comes to me. And his personal life is one big mystery. But if we’re going to pull off getting married, he ought to have the basics.

To her mom, Ingrid says, “I promised the kids breakfast at Grannie Bell’s in the morning.”

“The griddle on Peppertree Lane will be ready and waiting first thing.” The screen door closes behind Mrs. Ellis.

Ingrid exhales a sigh of relief. “Where was I?”

I blurt, “The thing that Liam?—”

She puffs her cheeks. “I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but he won’t. Plus, as a sister, I know no boundaries.”

I should laugh, but I sense whatever she’s going to say isn’t going to be good.

“In high school, he and a couple of friends were at a party. I guess there was some drinking going on. Not Liam. He was too hopeful for hockey back then to fool around with that stuff. Anyway, his friend, Franklin George, who he went there with, assured him he hadn’t been drinking and was good to drive. Marci Valjean—Frank’s girlfriend—and another girl named Allison Mitchum got in the back of the car because it was getting late and they had curfews.”

Seeing where this is going, my pulse comes short.

“The roads here in the winter are no joke and temps can drop rapidly. If there is any water on the surface, it can freeze fast, leading to black ice. They hit a patch. Franklin was severely injured, forfeiting his future in skates. Allison had her seatbelt on and was relatively okay. Marci didn’t make it.”

“And Liam has never forgiven himself,” I finish.

Ingrid nods. “Understandably, he was different after that but then never snapped back. The official report and investigation confirmed that Franklin was telling the truth. He hadn’t been drinking. He just lost control of the vehicle.”

“What about Liam? Was he injured?”

“Just a few stitches. He was never like Hendrix, but his personality changed. He retreated, hardly talked to us.”

I see so clearly that this is where his need to tightly control everything comes from. It breaks my heart to think he blames himself.

Later that night, it’s no surprise that I can’t sleep. For one, I’m in Liam’s childhood bedroom and it’s impossible not to be nosy. I study the framed photo of him and his high school hockey team, wondering which one is Franklin. I imagine Marci and Allison, cheering them on at games. It’s all so tragic.

I also can’t stop thinking about how I imagined that the man of few words came from one of those families that are posh and snooty, who live in the same house but don’t know each other and never eat at the same table.

But I have a strong suspicion Belinda made casseroles and they all gathered around the big farmhouse-style table, said grace, and then talked for hours, debating hockey game outcomes, fishing lures, and when chickens molt—Aunt Goldie is thinking of getting a flock.

That’s what transpired earlier at the pizza place while the kids colored on their placemats, played with dough, and then played Uno with a deck of cards Colette had in her purse when our conversation lengthened. All the while Grandma Dolly and Grannie Bell signed a blue streak.

Liam wasn’t raised by wolves or possums but by a lovely family. It’s the kind of family I always wanted.

When the glowing digital clock clicks to one a.m., I toss off the sheet and gaze out the window at the shining water beyond the sprawling backyard.

How would my life have been different if I had grown up in a place like this? Made memories with cousins instead of trying to remain unseen. It wasn’t that I was shy, more like scared if I let anyone know me, they’d reject me. Would I have come out of my shell sooner?

I know better. It somehow would’ve all fallen apart. The truth is, everyone in my life leaves. Maybe I am a witch bride as Liam said. Or at least, I unintentionally curse things. Ruin them. If he and I really were together, he wouldn’t have the bandwidth for hockey and I’d tank his career.

Nope. It’s better for me to be invisible.

The old house creaks and groans, but it doesn’t feel haunted. Not like the place I lived in for six months while in sixth grade. That place was spooky.

At my back, I feel a gust of warmth, and then a pair of big, rough hands drop onto my shoulders. I’m about to scream bloody murder when a soapy masculine scent reaches my nose and Liam’s breath tickles the loose hairs on my neck.

He whispers, “It’s just me.”

Without thinking, I press my hand onto the top of his. It’s to steady myself so I don’t pitch over with fright. Also, for a guy who spends so much time on a frozen rink, he’s surprisingly warm.

He says, “I figured you’d be awake.”

“I figured you’d want your bed. I’ll take the couch in the TV room.”

“I’ve slept on it many times, having fallen asleep watching old games.”

He twines my fingers through his and then sits down on the bed. Wearing just a T-shirt and shorts, the moonlight catches the Brookking Sound Hockey logo.

“You were hot stuff in high school,” I say before realizing that was a mistake, given what his sister told me.

He snorts. “That was a long time ago.”

Yet, he’s carried the wounds with him all these years. I wonder if it’s hard for him to be here.

“Ingrid told me.” My voice is so low, I’m afraid he didn’t hear.

Liam tugs me down to sit on his lap and wraps his arms around me. Ordinarily, at his touch, I get all swizzly inside, and I do, but not as much as normal. And not because I’m any less attracted to #MrDarcysAbs. But right now, it feels like he needs a hug and this is the closest he can come to admitting that.

I lace my arms around his neck.

Our gazes meet for a long moment. Sadness and pain fill his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I fully expect him to say no, but let the invitation hang.

Instead, he nuzzles into my neck. The brush of his eyelashes on my skin tells me he closed his eyes.

“You always smell so good,” he whispers.

“Compared to being around a bunch of sweaty athletes, I should hope so.”

“No, it’s you. I used to think this house smelled like home …” He doesn’t finish the sentence and I can’t help but wonder if he means I smell like home.

“Your family has a special place here.” I hesitate, then add, “I think I’m falling for them.”

He tips us back on the bed and then adjusts so he’s spooning me.

“I think it’s love,” I add, hoping to get a laugh when I realize that might also sound like I mean that I’ve fallen for him. That I’m in love with him.

He doesn’t reply.

Then I jolt, rolling over so I’m facing him. “Will they be upset that we’re in here together? Not that anything funny is going on.” He didn’t even acknowledge that I said I’d fallen in love with his family. “It would not fly with Grandma Dolly.”

He looks at me blankly. Thoughtfully? I can’t tell unless he’s one of those people who sleep with their eyes open. I had a foster brother once who did and it freaked me out until I realized I could tell if he was just staring or sleeping by the sound of his breath.

Liam’s is steady, but not the deep kind that comes before a snore.

Unlike him, I use my words, I say, “They think I’m KJ’s mom.”

“You may as well be.”

“Explain.”

He fiddles with a piece of my hair.

Swizzles. Incoming. My cheeks get warm and my entire body goes limp. Yeah. I could definitely be falling for him. Good thing I’m lying down. But I have to remind myself that this isn’t real. Nor are my feelings for him. Probably. Maybe a little. Like cake crumb-sized.

“Are you going to correct them or are we going to lie to your family?” I hiss.

He yawns and lifts then lowers his massive shoulder, blocking my view of the clock.

“I cannot live with lying to these people. They’re too good. Too nice. I am not a liar, Liam Ellis.”

“But what if it were the truth?” He rolls onto his back and takes my hand again.

The swizzles double.

I huff and am about to launch into all the reasons that’s not the case when I realize he promptly fell asleep. I yawn, feeling drowsy myself, then whisper, “They’re too good for me.”