Page 3

Remy

I should have called my father.

The thought hammers at the base of my skull as I huddle against the guardrail, my car tilted sadly on its blown tire just a few feet away. The sun has just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple that would be beautiful under any other circumstances. But here, on this busy stretch of highway with semis and cars whizzing past at ninety miles an hour, the approaching darkness feels threatening.

Another truck barrels past, so close to the shoulder that the blast of air lifts my hair off my shoulders and rattles my car on the stupid spare tire jack I can’t seem to position correctly. My heart jams into my throat as the vehicle’s massive rear tire momentarily drifts toward the white line.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, shrinking back against the metal barrier. A few more inches, and I’d be roadkill. Or forced to throw myself down the rocky embankment behind me.

Just how I wanted to spend my Sunday night after an exhausting weekend— choosing between certain death and likely death.

I don’t want to be contemplating any kind of death. I just want to be home in bed with the covers pulled up over my head, pretending I’m not staring down another high-stress week of work after having zero time to recharge.

I glance at my phone, but it’s still as dead as it was forty minutes ago when I texted Stone. I guess I should be glad it stayed functional long enough for me to receive his text that he was on his way, but what if that wasn’t the whole message?

What if he texted “right after my food delivery gets here in thirty minutes,” or “as soon as Barb finally decides where to poop” or something, and I’m going to be stuck here even longer than I thought? Barb is the cutest little spoiled brat in the world, but Stone’s pampered chihuahua takes a notoriously long time to decide where to leave her three precious turds.

And in Stone’s book, Barb’s well-being absolutely comes before mine.

As it should. After all, Barb is his fur baby. I’m just the fuck buddy who kind of sort of dumped him two days ago.

My vision blurs with the tears I’ve been trying to hold back since the tire blew with a heart-stopping pop that sent me fishtailing onto the shoulder.

I shouldn’t be crying. Lauders don’t cry over flat tires. We don’t cry over almost anything. Even when Mom died. Aside from those last few moments at her bedside, I never saw Dad cry a single time, not even at her funeral.

Lauders don’t whine and whimper and “woe is me.” We pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off, and push forward, refusing to let the cruel world break us.

But I’ve been pushing so hard for so long…

For nearly three years straight, I’ve worked long days at the Badger admin office—wrangling paperwork, schedules, and the behind-the-scenes business of running an NHL team—before dashing straight to my latest coaching gig, to volunteer work at local schools, or to the gym to keep myself in the kind of shape that engenders respect in other athletes.

Now, I’ve added in prepping for the biggest interview of my life while coaching my best amateur team ever. The Frosted Bushtits—allegedly named after the American Bushtit, a bird native to Oregon, but we all know that bird on the jerseys isn’t fooling anyone—could win it all this year. I really don’t want to let them down.

Usually, just thinking about the Bushtits and how much I enjoy coaching the smart, hardworking, hilarious players on my team is enough to make me smile.

But right now, I’m just too damned tired.

I’m exhausted and starting to get genuinely scared as the light continues to fade and another truck—this one a white pickup, whose driver is clearly staring at his phone—swerves dangerously close to the shoulder.

He looks up from his screen in time, but just barely, leaving me trembling.

If Stone doesn’t get here soon, I might actually die out here. On the side of the road. Just another pathetic cautionary tale that won’t stop anyone from texting and driving because people who text and drive are stupid and careless, and stupid, careless people never learn their lesson until it’s way too late.

A sob bursts from my throat before I can stop it, and the dam finally breaks.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I toss my cell into the open purse at my feet. Why have I been clinging to a dead phone anyway? Cell phones are just like people: they don’t magically come back to life, not ever, no matter how much you want them to.

I swipe at my face with the backs of my hands as another pair of headlights rounds the nearby curve. But this person is actually going the speed limit, then slower than the speed limit…

I straighten, heart beating faster, as the vehicle continues to slow as it nears my car’s flashing hazards. Then Stone’s SUV pulls onto the shoulder behind my car, and I exhale a ragged breath.

I should be relieved, comforted, but instead, for some dumb reason, the tears only come faster.

Stone jumps out, dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved Henley, looking rumpled and worried and unfairly handsome in the deepening twilight.

“Hey, there you are,” he says, jogging toward me. “Sorry, traffic was nasty getting out of the city.” As he gets close enough to see my face, his expression shifts from concern to alarm. “What’s wrong, Rem? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, trying to regain my composure, but another monster truck chooses that moment to roar past. The wind buffets us both, making me flinch and my already frazzled nerves feel like they’re being electrocuted.

“No, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just—” I break off with a sob, and to my absolute mortification, I’m suddenly crying even harder.

Not delicate tears, but full-on, ugly crying like I haven’t in years.

Stone is at my side in a heartbeat, pulling me against his chest. “Oh, babe. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s scary out here. I get it. People drive like assholes. I’m sorry it took me so long. There was an accident on the bridge, and everything was backed up for miles.”

I should pull away, wipe my eyes, and get my game face back on. But he’s so warm and snugly, and his arms feel so good.

So safe.

“I c-couldn’t get the jack in the right place,” I manage between hiccupping breaths. “It’s either broken or my car is deformed or I’m stupid. And the trucks kept getting so close, and half the people are texting and driving and?—”

“I get it. Fuck people. I hate them. All of them. Except you.” His arms tighten around me as he kisses the top of my head. “And you’re not stupid. Spare jacks are notoriously pieces of shit. But I’ve got a good one in my truck.” He pulls back to guide my hair from my face, before brushing my tears away with a smile. “Let’s get you packed up safe and sound in the Range Rover, and I’ll come back and take care of the tire, okay?”

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” I say, my voice thick from crying. “I mean, I’m in distress, obviously. But I can help you. I know how to change a tire. I’ve done it before, just…not for a long time.”

He nods. “I believe you. But you’re really upset. And seeing you upset makes me upset. And when I’m upset, I forget how to use tools. This is a me problem, is what I’m saying, not a you problem. So, I’m going to need you to sit in the car so that my easily overwhelmed man brain can function.”

My mouth twitches toward a smile, even though my throat still feels too tight.

Damn, he’s sweet.

And he knows me way too well for a man I’ve tried to hold at a distance.

“Okay, then,” I say with a sniff. “I mean, if it’s the best way for me to help.”

He winks. “It totally is. Thank you for understanding.”

“Sure thing,” I whisper, leaning against him as he puts his arm around me. He leads me back to his truck, opening the passenger’s door like the gentleman he is.

A few minutes later, I’m cozy in Stone’s ridiculously clean SUV, my butt being warmed by unseen forces beneath my leather seat. I watch through the windshield as he efficiently jacks up my car with his much bigger, more serious-looking jack. His movements are sure and practiced, the strength in his body evident in every flex of his muscles as he tightens the lug nuts to hold the spare in place.

Basically, I am ogling my former fuck buddy from the sidelines, while he solves my problems for me, and everything about this moment is making me feel more ashamed.

I’ve never enjoyed asking for help, especially from men.

Dad drilled the importance of self-reliance into me when I was practically still a fetus. He never wanted his daughter to have to depend on a man to take care of her. After Mom died when I was six, the frequency of our “life lessons,” as he called them, only intensified. He was determined that I would be able to cope with anything, all by myself , the way he was learning to do now that the woman who had fed us and snuggled us and brought gentleness and grace and whimsy into our lives was gone.

But Dad never got around to teaching either of us about gentleness or whimsy. Apparently, he decided those parts of who we used to be as a family were better off forgotten.

Just like Mom.

He only talks about her once a year, on Mother’s Day, when we used to visit her grave when we still lived in Minnesota. Now, we just pay someone from the cemetery maintenance team to put flowers in the vase built into her headstone.

The thought makes the back of my nose start to sting again, but I shut it down with a sniff and a glare. I refuse to start crying again. Especially about Mom. It’s been over twenty years since she died. I should be over the crying phase of losing her by now.

Usually, I am. Tonight just sucks.

Though, I confess it’s sucking much less now that Tyler’s here…

When he returns to the car, wiping his hands on a rag, he’s beaming like his usual, golden-retriever-in-human-form self. “All set. The spare should get you home, but you’ll want to get a new tire tomorrow. That rim’s pretty banged up, too.”

“Thank you,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it. “I really appreciate this, Stone. Seriously.”

“Anytime.” His eyes hold mine for a beat before his gaze shifts to the steering wheel. “How about I follow you home? Just to make sure you get there, okay? It would be a shame if something goes wrong with the spare, and no one’s around. And I’m headed the same direction, anyway.”

I should tell him it’s not necessary. That I’m fine now, perfectly capable of driving myself the remaining twenty miles to my apartment.

But instead, I hear myself whisper in a wobbly voice that isn’t like me, “Sure. Thanks.”

I’m really not myself tonight. At all.

The drive home passes in a blur. I’m vaguely aware of Stone’s headlights in my rearview mirror, but when I pull into my assigned spot behind my small apartment complex, my hands are still trembling on the wheel.

WTF? Pull it together, Lauder , the inner voice insists, sounding more like my father than ever.

I sit for a long moment, trying to collect myself, but the adrenaline crash is hitting hard, leaving me shaky and hollow. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve barely gotten six hours of sleep a night the past few weeks.

I’ve just been too busy for sleep.

A tap on my window startles me. It’s Stone, out of his SUV, watching me in the soft glow from the lamp above the rear entrance, concern etched on his face.

I roll down the window. “Hey.”

“You all right?” he asks.

I try to summon my usual strength, my unflappable coach persona. Instead, tears start rolling down my cheeks again.

Just…rolling. Like water.

“Shit,” I say, half laughing as I get out of the car, slamming my door behind me with a shaking arm. “I seriously don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Your nervous system is tapped out, woman. Obviously,” he says, his voice a soothing rumble as he parks a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the building. “Come on, let’s get you inside and headed for a reset. I have strategies.”

“You do?” I ask, as I dig my keys from my bag.

“I do.” Stone takes them from my hand, taking charge in a way that would normally annoy me. But right now, it’s nice to have someone punch in the code for the back entrance, manage the elevator buttons, and open both locks on my third-floor apartment.

Inside, my apartment is a sanctuary of clean minimalism—white walls, sleek furniture, everything in its place. The order is the exact opposite of how I feel right now, which is already a comfort.

“Sit,” Stone says, leading me to my couch. “I’m going to make you some tea, while you?—”

“You don’t have to?—”

“Don’t interrupt,” he says, already heading for my kitchen like he owns it. “I’m making tea, and you’re going to breathe in for a long, slow count of four, and then out for five. That should help activate your parasympathetic nervous system,” he calls out, raising his voice to be heard around the corner. “It’s a trick Stephanie taught Tank, and he taught me. Great for getting out of your head and making your body feel safe relaxing, and letting its guard down. Put a hand on your belly and watch your stomach rise and fall while you do it.”

I feel a little silly, but I place a hand on my stomach anyway. At this point, I’m not really in a position to refuse help or insist that I’m fine.

As the sound of my kettle filling with water reaches me, I begin to breathe. I’ve taken enough of Stephanie’s classes to be familiar with this exercise, but I’ve never paid much attention to the breathing parts of class. I go to hot yoga for strength and flexibility, not Zen.

But maybe I should start embracing the Zen a little more, if tonight is anything to judge by…

By the time Stone returns with funky-smelling tea, I’ve managed to stop leaking from my eye holes, but when I reach out to accept the mug, my arms still feel wobbly and weak.

“Chamomile with honey,” he says, taking a seat beside me, close but not too close. “It should help you sleep. Nothing like deep breathing and sleep for what ails you. And protein, but you’re running low. All I could find was some frozen chicken and cashews that look like they’ve been in your pantry since Christ was born.”

“Yeah, I should have bought more protein at the store on Friday. My meal planning has really fallen apart over the past few months.” I take a sip of tea, the warmth loosening some of the gripping sensation in my chest. “Thank you for this. And the breathing. I feel better already.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “Whatever’s got you so on edge?”

I sigh. “It’s not any one thing. It’s just...” I gesture vaguely with my free hand. “Everything. Work. Dad. The interview. Coaching stuff. My team has their first big game next week, and two of my best players pulled a muscle at our last practice...” I trail off, realizing I’m sharing more than I intended. I shake my head. “Anyway. Yeah. You know how it is.”

“I do. You’re the hardest working person I know,” Stone says. “But even badasses need breaks. When’s the last time you took a break, Rem? A real one.”

I take another sip of tea to avoid answering.

Because the truth is…I can’t remember.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, watching me with those blue eyes that see far too much. For such an easy-going man, Stone is always watching, and he doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ve been going non-stop for way too long. You need to make time for rest. Back off a little and?—”

“I don’t have time to back off,” I say, setting the mug down on my coffee table. “I know you’re right, but with the interview coming up and people depending on me to keep the promises I’ve made…”

“You don’t want to let them down,” he finishes for me, before adding in a gentler tone, “But you’re going to let them down anyway, babes. If you keep pushing yourself until you’re so burned out that your body gives out on you, this isn’t going to end well. I’m honestly surprised you’re not sick. I always get sick when I’m overworked, and I’ve never been half as overworked as you are right now.”

He’s right, which makes me irrationally annoyed. “I don’t need a doomsday prophecy, Stone.”

“Not prophesying,” he says, with a shrug. “I’m just worried about you.”

The sincerity in the words makes me look away. There’s a rawness to this moment, a vulnerability I didn’t plan for. I don’t do vulnerable, not if I can help it. Not with anyone, and especially not with this too-charming, too-likeable man who keeps making me feel things I don’t want to feel.

“I’m going to take a bath. I think that might help me get better sleep, too,” I say as I rise to my feet. Partly because I do think that. Partly as an excuse to put some distance between me and Stone. “You don’t have to stay. I’m okay now, I promise.”

Stone nods, but instead of heading for the door, he follows me toward the bedroom. “It’s fine, I’ve got nowhere to be. Barb’s already been taken out and fed, and I don’t like to leave a woman alone when she’s shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m not—” My protest dies on my lips as I realize my arms are still jittering at my sides. I let out a frustrated huff. “Stupid body.”

“Stop that. Your body isn’t stupid, it’s the best. I know from experience,” he says, tailing me into the bathroom. “And I have a personal investment in making sure it stays fit and healthy. Did you eat dinner tonight?”

“Yes,” I mutter, adding beneath my breath when his eyes narrow on mine, “Okay, no, but I had a late lunch. I’m fine.”

“Got it. Then I’ll order sushi for when you’re done with your bath,” he says, clucking his tongue like a disapproving old lady as he pulls his cell from his pocket. “We’ll go heavy on the fish for protein, but no fried rice, so you won’t be too loaded down before bed. Tuna or salmon sashimi?”

Again, I consider protesting, but I am a little hungry… “Salmon, please. And a California roll with extra avocado.”

“Done,” Stone says, finishing with a final tap. He slides his phone back into his pocket. “Should be here in twenty-five minutes. Just enough time to pamper you a little.” He points to the closed toilet seat. “Sit. And twist up your hair if you don’t want it getting wet.”

I sink onto the toilet, strangely obedient for once in my life, as Stone runs my bath, being sure to add the Epsom salts with lavender that I love.

He really does know me too well.

I flash briefly on the last time he ran us a bath and all the filthy things we did in the warm, fragrant water, and blush a little. This man is a filthy beast when he wants to be, and a sweetly loyal friend when I need one. I would probably be falling in love with him if I were the sort of person who had any interest in that kind of thing.

“You’re too good to me,” I murmur as he shuts the water off and gestures to the steamy tub.

“I know,” he says with an over-the-top sigh. “It’s a problem.”

“Really. I’m not kidding.”

He sobers, but his voice is still gentle, generous as he says, “I’ll decide what’s too good, Bossy. I do have boundaries, and I know how to enforce them when necessary. But right now, I just want you out of your clothes and in that water.” He lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But no funny stuff this time. I’m in nurturing friend mode. Even if you try to seduce me, your efforts will be in vain. So please, try to restrain yourself.”

I nod, fighting the urge to cry again at how good he is. How kind. There isn’t enough kindness in the world. Not by a long shot. “I’ll try. Thanks for the warning.”

“Anytime.” He turns his back as I undress, a gentlemanly gesture that’s silly considering all we’ve done together, but also kind of adorable.

When I slip into the hot water, a moan of relief escapes my parted lips. God, yes, this is what my frazzled body needed.

“Better?” Stone asks, still facing away.

“Yes. So much. You can turn around now, if you want. I’m under the lavender salt haze.”

He turns, then perches on the wide edge of the tub, his eyes remaining fixed on my face, even though the Epsom salt film conceals pretty much everything. “How about a foot rub while you soak? You know those tootsies are hurting after wearing heels all week.”

“Tootsies?” I tease, moaning again, a little softer this time as I sink lower in the tub. “Just being in the water is perfect. You don’t have to pamper me.”

“Too bad, I was born to pamper,” he says, curling his fingers in a “give ‘em here” motion. “And to spank. And to eat pussy and fuck hard, but as I was saying, tonight is not that night. Please stop trying to make this about sex when I’m being a chaste and loyal friend.”

Huffing out a soft laugh, I let him grab my ankle and pull one foot above the water without a fight. “Chaste. There’s a word you don’t hear every day.”

He shrugs as he begins to massage my arch with the pad of his thumb. “What can I say? I’m brilliant and good in bed.”

“God, that feels amazing,” I murmur, my head falling back against the side.

“I know. I have mad skills.”

“Clearly.” I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he works his way from heel to arch to toes. “I bought that vocabulary app you were talking about, by the way. You’re getting so articulate, I figured I should try to keep up.”

“You don’t have to keep up,” he says softly. “I like you just the way you are. No improvements required.”

My eyes flutter open to find him watching me with an expression that makes my chest ache. There’s nothing sexual in his gaze, just a tenderness I don’t deserve, not when I can never give him what he clearly wants.

What he deserves.

Tyler Stone is a catch and a half, and some lucky girl is going to make him a wonderful wife someday. But that girl isn’t me. I decided happily-ever-after wasn’t in my future when I was still in a training bra, and nothing I’ve experienced in the big, wide world since becoming an adult has changed my mind. That life just isn’t what I want, not even with a man as great as Stone.

“Tyler,” I start, not sure what I’m going to say next, but feeling compelled to be honest with him.

At least a little bit.

“Shhh,” he interrupts gently. “Just relax. We don’t have to talk about anything tonight. In fact, I insist we don’t. It’s getting late, and we both have an early start tomorrow.”

And like the tired coward I am, I nod and let it slide.

He’s right, we do have an early day, and I’m already going to be up past my bedtime.

By the time I step out of the tub, wrapping up in the oversized towel Stone hands me from the fresh stash in the hall closet, the sushi’s arrived. While he fetches it from the delivery service in the lobby, I change into the pajamas he must have laid out on the bed while I was drying off.

Flannel pants and my oversized college hockey t-shirt—my favorite.

And of course, he knows.

Just like he knew to order edamame, even though I didn’t ask for it, and an extra side of pickled ginger. We eat in near silence, both of us clearly starving, and by the time I finish my last sip of tea, my lids are drooping. I’m still ridiculously beat, but I’m not shaking anymore, so that’s a start.

I brush my teeth in a haze and sink gratefully onto my mattress, my body feeling both leaden and oddly floaty, a fact I find myself muttering aloud to Stone as he covers me with the blanket.

“Floaty like dizzy?” he asks, sounding concerned again.

I sigh. “No, just like I might float away. Seriously, I’ve never been so tired.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you float away.” Stone settles beside me on top of the covers, snuggling my back to his front in big spoon position, the way we often fall asleep when I’m weak enough to let him sleep over.

Like tonight…

“You can stay over if you want,” I say, already halfway unconscious. “If it feels too late to drive back.”

“I might do that,” he says. “Then text Sophie to take Barb out and feed her tomorrow morning. She won’t mind.”

The last thing I register is Stone pressing a kiss to the back of my head that I like way more than I should.

But I’m too exhausted to worry about “should” right now.

As sleep claims me, all I feel is peace and gratitude that Stone’s in my life. Even if we aren’t headed for forever.

Nothing lasts forever, not even love. I learned that very young. In some ways, that knowledge has made me a sadder person. In others, it’s made me grateful for things other people take for granted.

Things like a friend who picks up the phone when you need them and good sushi, and how much better I sleep when the man’s arms are wrapped around me.