Page 24 of Single Mom’s Secret Diary (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)

Ezra

B eing back in the rink with the raucous noise of parents and fans in the stands, the scents of cold ice, sweat, and the concession stands, brings me back to my youth. The crazy energy before a game has my blood pumping with old adrenaline.

Hockey was such a big part of my childhood. Gave me grit and a purpose. Kept me out of trouble when my mom worked her second job. It got me a college scholarship and a trip to Northeastern University, where I earned my MBA and met Wyatt.

It gave me enough insight and networking to open Nguyen Candy Company. It only took three years to make enough profit that my mom got to quit both of her jobs.

It wasn’t how I thought I’d get her out of that one-bedroom apartment we’d rented my whole life, but I did get her out.

The cold makes my knee ache as I descend the bleachers, spotting Avery and her father in the front row beside the home team’s box. She smiles at me when I make my way to her, and I try not to sit too stiffly, but I’m not successful.

Avery frowns a little as I rub my knee. She places her hand over it with a silent question.

“Old injury,” I tell her, and she helps to rub it.

It’s the one that ended my dreams of going pro after college, a torn ACL during my senior year nine years ago.

Ancient history, and honestly, I’m more than happy to have what I have now because I didn’t pursue that dream.

The thought has me linking my fingers with Avery’s.

It’s not exactly the date I am waiting to take her on, but I finally get to meet her son, Charlie, and spend some time with her outside the office.

She peers sideways at me from under her lashes before I lean forward and extend my hand to her dad. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Caruso.”

He gives my hand a nice squeeze. “Dominick, please. Avery tells me you used to play.”

“I did. All through college. How long has Charlie been playing?”

“Two years,” Avery says beside me. “Been skating since he could walk, though.”

I grin. “That sounds familiar.”

The seats are filling up, and there are four teams on relay today, which means four games.

It’s tiring, but it was always a fun day for me at that age.

My mom would drop me off in the morning and pick me up in the evening with a carton of takeout from her second job at the restaurant—the one I want to take Avery to tomorrow if she’ll let me.

Charlie’s team is up first, and he waves at his mom and grandpa as he skates out to position at left wing. He bangs his stick on the ground, nodding to his teammates, ready to play.

The moment the puck hits the ice, Avery is on her feet.

Any time her son has the puck, she’s cheering for him.

She puts her entire self into it, jumping, punching the air, and screaming when he checks, steals the puck, or makes a shot.

I love how unwavering her support is no matter how well he does.

And he’s doing pretty well. Charlie has confidence on the ice and with his stick. He’s made a couple of goals and taken a few good hits. The goalie on his team is a beast—bigger than the others at his age—and he’s fast. The opposing team doesn’t seem to have a chance.

Although one of the defensemen stays on Charlie through the game, blocking eighty percent of his shots. The kid’s frustrated, and I can understand it. Avery frets beside me, so I step behind her and tug her back against me by the waist.

“He’s doing a good job. He’ll figure out how to get around number nine.”

She sighs and slumps against me.

“I like how into it you are. I never had my mom screaming her head off in the stands. Not that she wouldn’t have if she could have been there.” I snuggle her into me and simply enjoy the feeling of her in my arms before she shoots out of them to cheer on Charlie some more.

They win their game, and it’s fun to see Avery transform into the supportive mom, wild and loud and the complete opposite of her usually quiet, stony, intense self. Every part of me screams to take advantage of the change, but I don’t.

It’s not the first impression I want to make on her kid.

Breaking for a snack, I grab nachos and pretzels from the concession stand, and Dominick hands me what he calls a cruffin. It’s glazed with maple and has an apple compote filling that makes my eyes roll to the back of my head.

I almost forget that this is the man who taught Avery what she knows about food. No wonder she’s so fucking good.

Avery laughs at my face as she nibbles on her pretzel.

“What?” I ask around my second mouthful. I’m making an absolute mess, and I don’t care.

“It’s just fun to see someone else’s reaction to our test batch. I think he took my suggestions well.” The pride in her is softer when she’s teasing.

I take a giant third bite in answer, enjoying the way her head tips back as she laughs. I’ve missed that laugh.

“I take direction very well, bambina. You are the difficult one.” Dominick pats Avery’s knee and maintains his view of the ice rink.

It cracks a laugh through me, especially when he gives her a shifty side-eye.

Avery merely shrugs and takes another bite of her pretzel. “Perk of being the woman of the house.”

I will take a twice as difficult Avery if she wants to be the woman of my house. That thought spirals through me. I want a real relationship with her. Not one based on sex and fun and sneaking around the office.

I want to wake up with her in my bed, to bring her coffee and feed her breakfast, to have her sprawled across my couch to watch shows or read a book, to argue about what we’re going to order for takeout, to have her tell me to pick up my dirty socks and not leave my dishes in the sink.

My chest aches with the possibilities of making any of that true. I’ve been dreaming about her for so long, and having the reality within my grasp spreads a desperate feeling between my ribs.

I blink and find Avery examining me. “Where’d you just go?”

Shaking my head, I give her a half-hearted smile. “Nowhere important.”

She frowns at me, but a loud Mom draws her attention away. Her son is leaning over the edge of his team’s box.

Avery goes to him immediately, and even though he has his helmet on, I get a better look at him. Something familiar tugs at the back of my mind as he complains about number nine blocking him so much.

She brushes his helmet like it’s his hair and pouts down at him. It’s sweet. “What does your coach say?”

Charlie huffs. “That we’ll practice after the game, but we’re up again. And I don’t want someone else to do it to me, too.”

Her pout turns into a frown. “It’s a learning process, baby. Remember? We can’t be perfect all the time.”

He groans, head back to look up at her, but he doesn’t argue.

I sneak up beside them because I actually have experience with this. “Hey.”

Charlie looks at me, and again, I get that tinkling familiarity at the base of my skull that I can’t quite access. Is it because he’s Avery’s?

“I had that issue when I first started, too. Being smaller meant they could push me around, but there’s an advantage to it. They’re going to swing high, so duck and reach back with your stick to drag the puck with you. It’ll surprise them.”

“Like how?”

I mime it for him, ducking and pretending to scrape the stick behind me. He’s nodding when I stand up.

“How do you know my mom?”

The answer sticks to my tongue. I’m her boss. Her boyfriend. Her long-lost lover. And the longer I consider it, the more I think I could be your father . I clear my throat and say, “It’s complicated.”

“My friends say when adults say it’s complicated, that means they're dating.”

A buzzer sounds, and Charlie looks back at his mother. Avery smiles down at him. “Have fun. First and foremost. Fun.”

He sigh-groans but smiles at her. “Fine.”

And he’s being sent out on the ice.

Avery takes my hand, and we sit again. Her gaze stays glued to Charlie, but I watch her more closely. She’s closing down like she does at work. When she needs to compartmentalize.

I turn back to the game as a gong goes off in my head. And the truth sinks in. Charlie is mine. He has to be.

I vaguely track how he struggles with another big kid opposite him, but he ducks and drags and makes a shot. It doesn’t go in, but it’s a big improvement. Avery shoots to her feet and cheers. Charlie pumps his fist, and someone knocks into him, slamming him to the ice.

Then, he doesn’t get up. He hugs his arm, and Avery is pressing against the team box, shouting for them to let her see her son.

I’m behind her without thinking about it, grabbing her by the waist and speaking in her ear. “Let them look at him. They’ve got people here for exactly this. We’ll meet them in the locker room. Come on.”

Avery stiffens, but she lets me lead her back.