Page 46 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

ERIC

Am I rage remodeling?

Maybe. The energy that has propelled me for the past week might not be healthy, but at least it means I’m getting a shit ton done.

I wish my sister’s new house had some walls to knock out, because I could get after it with a sledgehammer.

I know she wants to handle some of the smaller projects on her own when she gets here, but I don’t want her to feel overwhelmed.

She’ll have enough to deal with—starting over, finding a job, and managing her life sober.

I want her to spend that time finding her footing.

It’s important that she feels at home in Skylark, the same way I do.

But home or not, I’ll fly back to Munich after I get her and Rhett settled.

So what if this town feels like home? Staying for more than just them, building something that would last in this place, was a stupid pipe dream.

Wishing and hoping are for little girls. I’m a grown fucking man who should know better.

My Tinkerbell—no, I need to stop thinking of her like that. She’s not my anything. I thought I saw something in her eyes when she thanked me for the pixie dust. It felt a hell of a lot like longing—the same thing I’m sure she sees in my eyes when I look at her.

Then her clueless family started in on all that Tank talk. As if I give a shit what she looked like as a toddler.

Except I can imagine a little girl with Taylor’s sparkling eyes toddling across the room, into my arms, and?—

Why in the holy hell am I thinking about kids? I didn’t even think I liked them.

But she changed everything. With her pure heart, that adorable awkwardness, and the way she shows up and does the thing even when she’s terrified—she changed me.

If I were going to choose a bucket list challenge, it would be believing I’m capable of being the man Taylor deserves at her side.

Not that it matters. Not after seeing Limpdick kissing her like she belongs to him. My body registered the betrayal before my brain did. All I could hear was my own heartbeat screaming no because I stupidly want her to belong to me.

But she doesn’t.

That might be a hard lesson, but I’m not a complete idiot. This dog can learn new tricks. I’ve been reminded, once again, why I don’t get my heart involved. Growing up with a mother addicted to loser men as much as alcohol should have taught me that love never ends well.

I don’t expect the knock at the door, but I figure it’s someone from the neighborhood stopping by to introduce themselves. I’ve seen enough signs and banners promoting Skylark’s reputation as one of the happiest towns in America, but they should also add friendliest to the list.

A cold front rolled into town earlier this week, the arctic air like a slap to the face every time I walk outside.

Despite the frigid temps, at least four neighbors from the houses surrounding this one have already stopped by.

It’s either friendly or nosy—I can’t quite decide which—but they all seem happy that the new owner is working on improving it inside and out .

Nobody seems bothered when I explain that my sister had a few things from her old life to tie up before she could move, and that I’m helping her in the interim.

Or maybe these people are like the families who took care of me in high school and college: they know the story doesn’t quite ring true, but are too polite to mention it, at least to my face.

Another knock sounds, and I realize I’ve been standing here, lost in my own thoughts, paint roller in my hand.

“Dude, come on. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here,” Toby hollers.

I walk across the room to open the door.

“I brought lunch,” he says, holding a brown bag that smells like heaven. “Meatball hoagies. Best in the state.”

I haven’t seen him since the night of the play.

He’s always busy balancing the fire station, work for his dad and coaching.

I’ve buried myself in work and reno, doing my level best to forget the image of Taylor with someone else’s mouth on hers.

I’ve relied on older players to drive Rhett to and from practice since I’ve been in no shape to help with the team.

Apparently, my absence hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“We need you back on the job, man. As good as you are with a hockey stick, I think your real gift might be with a saw and chisel. I checked out your millwork on the Elmwood Court kitchen reno . It’s a damn work of art, and the clients are thrilled.”

“That’s good, and I appreciate you guys giving me the opportunity, but you know I’m heading back to Munich once Jen is settled.”

My contract’s waiting. My gear is in storage. The coaching staff have been checking in on the regular. But the idea of going back to my old life? The one that doesn’t include Tinkerbell’s sweet smile. It feels strangely empty.

Toby glances around the room like he’s sizing up more than just my skill with a paint roller. “Yeah, about that. I don’t understand why you’re leaving when you’re in love with my sister. ”

The paint roller drops out of my hand, bounces off my shoe, and lands on the ancient shag carpet.

“Fuck, man,” I mutter. “That came out of left field.”

I grab the roller and turn to place it in the tray before picking up one of the rags nearby to wipe at the toe of my work boot. Mainly, I want to keep myself occupied so I can fix my face before I look at Toby.

I feel the weight of his stare, as if I’m the one on stage in the glare of the spotlight.

“No shit,” he answers, “since I told you to stay away from her.”

“It’s not what you think.”

No, it’s way more.

“If you’re going to try and tell me you and Tink are just fuck buddies, we’re going to have to decide whether I kick your ass before or after we eat lunch.”

I glance up finally. I hate those words with a passion, and they sure as hell don’t apply to Taylor and me. They make it seem like she was just a warm body in my bed instead of the woman who’s carved a space in my chest I can’t imagine filling.

“I’m not going to tell you anything, but I probably deserve the ass-kicking.”

“I’m starving. Let’s eat first,” Toby says like we’re discussing the weather, then walks into the kitchen.

The previous owner left behind a scuffed oak table, along with a few other pieces of furniture. My sister told me not to get rid of anything because she likes refurbishing stuff to make it look new again.

Toby takes the food out of the bag while I wash my hands at the sink, then splash cold water on my face. I grip the edge of the counter, trying to pull myself together.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” I tell him.

He cocks a brow. “Which part? Fucking her or?—”

“Stop talking about her like she doesn’t mean anything or you’re going to be the one getting the ass-kicking. ”

“So it’s serious?” He takes a seat at the table, one brow arched like he’s already put the pieces together. “This is a surprise from the?—”

“If you call me a manwhore again, we can skip lunch and move right to the throwing hands portion of this visit.”

He flashes a grin. “Food first,” he repeats. “These bad boys are better warm.” He places a wrapped sandwich and a bag of chips on the table as I slide into the chair across from him. “Between bites, maybe you can explain why you booked a ticket back to Germany when you’re obsessed with my sister.”

“I’m trying to be fucking respectful. We had an arrangement.

” No strings, but she wound herself around my heart anyway.

I can’t explain it without sounding like a damn cliché in one of those Hallmark movies she made me watch.

I’m sure as hell not going to mention that I liked them.

“But your sister is too smart to see a future with me. She likes that twat English teacher.”

Toby pauses with the sandwich halfway to his mouth and shakes his head. “The fuck she does.”

I don’t want to say it, but the truth is eating me alive. “I saw them kissing backstage after opening night.”

Toby narrows his eyes. “Was he kissing her, or was she kissing him?”

“Dude, I don’t know,” I answer, but a part of me does. I’ve kissed Tinkerbell often enough to know the soft, lit-from-within look she gets on her face and the way her body goes all melty. She didn’t look like she was melting with Limpdick.

“All I know,” Toby says around a mouthful of meatball, “is that at Dad’s last Sunday, she looked about as sad as a kid who just dropped their popsicle on the sidewalk on the hottest damn day of the summer.”

I don’t like the thought of Tinkerbell being sad. Not one bit.

“You’ve been just about as much of a sad sack this whole week.” Toby points a chip at me. “Even the guys on the team noticed. ”

I scrub a hand over my jaw. I can’t remember the last time I shaved. “I thought I was putting on a game face.”

“Your game face is shit, but don’t worry. I told them you had hemorrhoids.” My friend flashes a diabolical grin. “I also had to explain hemorrhoids to a couple of the young ones, but once they understood, there was a lot of sympathy for you.”

I flip him the bird. “Is that why your dad told me to pick up an inflatable donut from the office?”

“Yeah, I did that.” His smile fades. “I’m not going to literally beat your ass, but there are repercussions for messing with my sister.”

“I wasn’t trying to mess with her.” I rub two fingers over my chest like I can press the guilt and heartbreak back down where it belongs.

Because what right do I have to be butt hurt that she chose someone else when I was too much of a coward to ask her to pick me?

“But I’m still sorry. She deserves better than me, and we both know it.

You should be happy I’m leaving. You should just let me?—”

“Fuck that.” Toby shakes his head. “People change, Anderson. I gave you a lot of shit for your reputation, but you’re not that guy anymore.”

“How can you be sure?” Because I’ve spent every night this week going over all the reasons why I lost her and zero scenarios where I get her back.

“Dude. You’re so damn squeaky clean you should be in a Tide commercial. Taylor saw it before the rest of us because she’s always been a better person.”

“She’s the best person,” I murmur.

“Maybe you don’t think you’re the type of guy who deserves her, but I hope like hell you nut up and try. I like having you around. Plus, I don’t want Tink to end up with some super douche who’s gonna cry when I beat the living shit out of him at ping pong.”

“You want to be pummeled instead? ”

Toby leans back and laces his hands behind his head like he’s already won. “Bring it on, Romeo. But yeah, I want a guy who sees all the weird little pieces of her and doesn’t try to change one damn thing. Can you be that guy?”

“If she gives me a chance,” I answer solemnly, “I’ll spend every day making her feel like she just won the Stanley Cup and I’m the one handing her the damn trophy.” While I might not be the one in need of a confidence coach right now, hope glimmers in my chest.

It’s time to stop being a coward and open myself to love. It’s a risk—one that could end up with my heart crushed into a million pieces instead of just a thousand—but Tinkerbell is worth fighting for. And I’m nothing if not a competitor.

I may not know how to recite Shakespeare or discuss great works of literature, but I know how to dig in when the game’s on the line and earn every inch of ice. Like Toby said, it’s time I nut up and start fighting for the woman I love.

He gives me an approving nod. “Good enough for me. You gonna eat those chips?” He’s already reaching for the bag.

I push them over to him.

“What about the pickles?”

“Don’t touch my fucking pickles.”

He holds up his hands. “Relax, dude. Nobody’s coming for your pickles. But now that I’ve used my exceptional emotional intelligence to mentor you through your crisis with my sister, can we talk about more important things? Like our next home game.”

I laugh and massage a hand over the back of my neck, the tension slowly releasing. It’s a comfort to know not everything has to change at once.

“Let’s talk strategy,” I tell my friend. “I’m thinking we make the other team cry.”