Page 31 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Charley

A s we follow the winding path into town, the faint sounds of music and laughter drift toward us from the festival ahead.

It smells like kettle corn and everything fried.

Emma slips her small hand into mine, her palm warm and trusting.

I glance down at her, and there she is, beaming up at me with that wide, unguarded smile that could melt stone.

My chest tightens. Honestly, I thought life would look a lot different by now.

I imagined a career I was proud of, a little house with a garden out front, maybe even a dog.

A family. Laughter in the kitchen. Light in the windows.

Instead, I’m somewhere in between what I had and what I lost, trying to pretend it doesn’t ache.

I take a moment, and look where I am now, look at who I’m with and that ache subsides. Maybe the universe had other plans. And maybe, just maybe, I’m not mad about it.

Beside me, Rip brushes his knuckles against mine. That subtle touch trickles through my body and eases the last of the aches.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and unreadable.

I nod. “I’m good.” While I am good, better than good, I can’t deny that I’m terrified. Being with him feels too easy. Too right. And it makes me wonder if I could really go back to Boston with him, slip into his world like I belong there. What happens if I fall deeper?

Girl, you’ve already fallen.

But then there’s his ex. The way he still tries to fix things for her.

To earn back her love with quiet sacrifices and false starts.

He gives her everything she asks for. In return, he gets the scraps of affection he craves.

It’s a vicious cycle, one I see him stuck in.

I wish I could be the one to pull him out.

Honestly, it really sucks that love makes fools of us all.

Emma wiggles between us and grabs Rip’s hand, her joy effortless and contagious. His eyes flicker down to her, and something in his expression shifts, like he’s seeing a future he once wanted, a future that slipped out of his hand.

“Swing me,” she squeals, her voice high and delighted.

Rip laughs and checks in with me. I give and nod and he says, “Okay, on the count of three.”

We count together, and on three, we lift her into the air. Her laughter floats up like a ribbon, wrapping around my ribs, tying the broken pieces of myself back together.

“Careful now,” Betsy calls from behind. “Don’t want to pull your arm out of the socket.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but there’s affection there. She loves her grandma fiercely. Just like I do.

I glance back at Betsy, walking at a slower pace.

I’ve seen her hustle. She’s hanging back on purpose—to give us time alone with her granddaughter.

Maybe she sees the loneliness in me. Maybe that’s why she pulled me close from the start and offered me something I didn’t even know I was desperate for.

A place. A family. A home.

And now, my heart aches with the weight of knowing I’ll have to walk away from it all.

From her. From this. Because if Betsy ever found out who I really am, what the tabloids say I did, what the internet turned me into, she’d be crushed.

And I couldn’t bear to be the reason for the disappointment in her eyes.

Some goodbyes are quiet. Others are cruel.

As if on cue—mind reader that she is—Betsy points to a charming little cottage tucked just off the path. “The Conrad’s have their place up for sale,” she says casually, but there’s something there. Something she’s not saying…yet.

I stop walking and raise a hand to block the sun, squinting in the direction she’s pointing so I can get a better look at the cedar-sided beauty.

Quiet. The kind of place where sunsets are sacred and s’mores are aplenty.

A dozen brightly painted Adirondack chairs form a loose circle around a firepit, like they’re waiting for the next ghost story or singalong.

“Conrad’s?” I ask.

“They weren’t at the bonfire the other night. Their granddaughter just had a baby.” Betsy’s voice turns all warm and soft, and when I look over, she’s smiling at me, like she’s in on a secret that I know nothing about.

“They’re selling the place and moving closer to their grandkids in Texas,” she adds, her eyes practically twinkling. And then—there it is. That look. The one that means she’s got an idea I’m going to have to politely decline or die trying.

“It’s a perfect spot for newlyweds,” she says sweetly, nudging me with her elbow like I’m not already on emotional thin ice. Then she turns to Rip and narrows her eyes. “Or those about to be newlyweds.”

Rip throws his arms up. “What did I do now?”

I can’t help but laugh. “You haven’t made an honest woman out of me yet,” I tease, lifting a brow in his direction.

Betsy nods solemnly and huffs out, “Exactly.”

“Oh, Charly, Rip, please buy it,” Emma gasps, clapping her hands together like she’s just solved world peace.

“Then we could see you every summer. We’ll have bonfires, and sing songs, and go to the festival.

And Charley, I’ll make you s’mores every single night.

” She presses her hands to her chest, her eyes full of sincerity. “I promise not to burn them this time.”

My gaze shifts to Rip, who’s now looking like he might either faint or fake a hamstring injury to escape. I feel you, buddy. We’ve officially crossed a line, and there’s no safe word in place.

“It’s lovely,” I manage, scrambling for something neutral to say. “Don’t you think it’s lovely, Rip?”

He drags a hand through his hair and offers a nervous half-smile. “Yeah. Real nice. Super lovely.”

“Well, that settles it,” Betsy declares. She grabs my hand and starts pulling me off the sandy path, her eyes locked on the Conrad’s’ place like it’s already ours.

“Wait, where are we going?” Please tell me we’re not going to the Conrad’s cottage.

“We’re going to the Conrad’s’ cottage,” she announces cheerfully.

“Oh God,” I whisper, my feet stumbling to keep up. My voice rises a full octave. “Surely, we can’t just…Betsy. Don’t we need an appointment or… legal permission or… literally anything?”

“Yay!” Emma squeals, sprinting ahead of us with the enthusiasm of a child who just scored a free hot dog at the local fair.

“Come on, Rip,” Betsy calls over her shoulder. “Stop dallying!”

I glance back and find Rip frozen mid-path, jaw unhinged, looking like he just watched his future flash before his eyes, complete with singalongs, matching sweaters, and…casserole.

That thought makes me grin. I shrug and give him the most expressive play along or perish look I can manage.

Because in this town, resistance is futile. And if you say no to Betsy, I’m pretty sure the entire zip code shuns you and your descendants for seven generations.

Rip lags behind, his hands in his pockets, kicking at the dirt path as he slowly follows us. Meanwhile Betsy marches me up the stone walkway like a woman on a mission—specifically, a matchmaking, real-estate-closing mission.

Just as we reach the porch of the cedar cottage, the front door creaks open and an elderly woman steps out, squinting into the sun. “Betsy,” she calls out, arms wide.

“Marta, it’s so good to see you,” Betsy gushes, and the two women embrace like long-lost sisters at a family reunion. “How’s that grandbaby?”

“Oh, look.” Marta’s already pulling her phone from her apron.

She taps a few times, mutters something about the ‘dang cloud,’ and then proudly holds up a photo of a squishy little baby in an oversized bow.

I glance at the baby, take in the big eyes that say she already knows she’s going to become the screensaver.

“She’s beautiful,” Betsy croons, her voice softening, then promptly grabs me by the elbow to pull me closer. “This is Charley. She’s staying at Paisley and Gunther’s place.”

Before I can even say hi, Marta wraps me in a full-body hug that knocks the big sunhat clean off my head and nearly clips me in the jaw.

Then I’m suddenly cheek-to-cheek with a stranger who smells like lemon and unconditional love.

Her hug is warm and motherly, the kind of embrace that hits you in the soft places you pretend don’t ache anymore.

It makes me miss my family. But not the unconditional love that seemed to flow so freely toward my brother, while I stood just outside the circle, trying not to care.

I reach up to fix my hat, but… what’s the point?

This heat is slowly melting me into a puddle so I just yank it off and fan myself with it instead.

This heat is trying to kill me anyway. So I just yank it off and fan myself with it instead.

But then I catch Marta giving me a slow once-over, her eyes narrowing just a touch before Betsy throw a hand out.

“This is Rip,” she says, voice suddenly tight, like she’s trying to swallow so many unsaid words. “He’s… the fiancé.” I swear there’s a tiny growl in there.

Marta’s face softens. “Oh, Rip, it’s so lovely to meet you.”

He steps forward and gives a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“They’re interested in buying your place,” Betsy blurts out.

I choke on air and before I can clarify that we areabsolutely no house hunting on a random Thursday afternoon, Marta links her arm through mine and starts leading me into the house.

Rip shoots me a wide-eyed what the hell look from the walkway. He looks like he’s about to run, until Emma grabs his hand. With that Rip simply shrugs, his eyes telegraphing a message that says: I guess we’re doing this.

Okay, this will be fine, no problem. We’ll take a look, and kindly respond that it’s not our style. Easy peasy.

But then I step inside.

And everything changes.