Page 36 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

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I grip the phone so tightly my knuckles burn, the plastic casing creaking under the pressure of my frustration as I pace in front of the fire. Jesus Christ. The last thing I want is for Lyra to show up on my doorstep and find Indie Rhodes in my bed.

Not because I want Lyra back. Hell no. I’ve come to realize that ship didn’t just sail, it sank.

But Lyra’s not coming here for some heart-to-heart.

She’s coming because she’s lonely, or needs something.

Like a new story. I am done with her turning my life into her next goddamn headline.

But it’s not me I’m worried about. It’s Charley.

If Lyra finds her here, she’ll twist it into something ugly. Use her. Exploit her. Hurt her.

And I’ll be damned if I let that happen to my girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

Is Charley my girlfriend?

Goddamn right she is.

When she looked me in the eyes last night and said she was coming home with me, something cracked wide open inside.

I was floored. Speechless. Not because I didn’t want it, but because I’d been so afraid it was too big a leap for her.

Too much, too soon. After everything she’s been through, after all the hurt she’s had to swallow, I worried she’d flinch at anything that looked remotely like commitment.

But she didn’t. She chose me. Us.

Sure we need to talk, voicing the words about who we really are, but that will come.

Christ, I’m in so deep, and I’m not even afraid.

Leaving our bed this morning was like tearing off a piece of myself, but the phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

Of course I knew it was Lyra. I can see it so clearly now, see how relentless, and manipulative, she is.

Being with Charley has helped me take the blinder off.

So I answered, planning to end things once and for all. No more back and forth. No more games. No more being the guy who waited around like a damn stray dog, hoping she'd finally choose me. That guy is dead.

Charley buried him, with nothing but a touch, a look, and the quiet way she reaches for me in the middle of the night.

She showed me what love actually looks like.

Not headline drama, but steady hands and soft laughter.

The way she instinctively tends to my injury, even when I’m sleeping.

That’s real. Not manipulation. Not someone showing up when they’re lost and vanishing when they’ve found a better offer.

God, how could I have been so damn stupid?

But it ends now.

“Listen, I have to go,” I say, cutting Lyra off mid-whine.

“It’ll just be a short visit,” she presses, voice dipping into that sultry lilt she always used when she wanted something. “I’m in between assignments right now, and I really need you, Big Bear.”

“Don’t call me that.” The words burst out sharper than I intend, but I don’t take them back.

There’s a pause on the other end, followed by a soft gasp. Like I’ve just wounded her. Old me might have winced. Might have softened. But not anymore. I drop into the nearest chair, scrubbing a hand over my face. “It’s just not a good time, Lyra. Okay?”

“Is there someone else?” she asks, her voice cracking with a practiced sniffle. Like she’s crying. And maybe she is. But for what? Losing me, or losing control?

“No. There’s no one else.” I say it loud, probably too loud, the words echoing off the thin cottage walls. I wince. Dammit. But I have to get that point across to protect Charley. From my peripheral, I swear I see movement in the kitchen window. I turn, but Charley isn’t there. My gut tightens.

Shit.

Did I wake Charley?

Did she hear me?

And if she did…how much?

My heart pounds because for the first time in my life, I care more about what the woman inside this house thinks than the one on the phone. And I’ll be damned if I screw this up.

“Then why can’t I come visit?” Lyra asks, her voice laced with suspicion, as if she already knows the answer and is daring me to lie.

“I’m getting ready to leave,” I say, keeping my tone flat, noncommittal.

“You said that last week. And the week before. You’re still there.”

I press my fingers to my forehead and exhale. “Something came up.”

“As in a girl?”

Of course she’d go there. “Lyra, we’re over. Okay? I need to go.”

Her silence only lasts a second before it breaks into soft, strategic sobbing.

Those tears use to unhinge me, and she knows it.

I close my eyes, jaw locked tight. I want to hang up.

I should hang up. But some part of me, the part that always felt responsible for her feelings, holds me hostage for one more moment.

I push to my feet, and walk down the path toward the edge of the road, needing distance from the house, from the thought of Charley possibly hearing this. The morning sun sparkles off the water, but I’m not really seeing any of it.

“You and I both know this relationship wasn’t healthy,” I say. “I don’t think we can even be friends anymore. I think…it’s best if we stop communicating altogether.”

“How can you do this to me?” she cries, the words drenched in betrayal.

Do this to her?

I almost laugh. After everything she’s done to me? After all the ways she’s used me, ghosted me, only to come crawling back only when it served her?

But I can’t even blame her anymore. Not really. I’m the one who kept opening the door. Who kept hoping she’d be different. Who let history, habit, and a craving for what I thought we once had speak louder than self-respect.

“Why don’t you go visit your parents?” I offer, softening only slightly, because she sounds like she needs someone. But I know it can’t be me.

There’s a beat of silence before her voice turns sharp, acidic. “You know we don’t get along.”

Ah. There she is. When Lyra doesn’t get her way, the mask slips. The sweetness evaporates. I’ve never truly seen this side of her before, because with me, she never had to show it. I always gave in. But not anymore.

“I have to go,” I say firmly, then press endbefore she can twist her way in again.

I tuck the phone into my pocket, exhale, and turn back toward the cottage. My chest feels lighter, but still tight with nerves. As I step inside, I half expect to find Charley in the kitchen, arms folded, eyes narrowed. But it’s quiet.

I walk softly through the living room and peek into the bedroom. She’s still there, curled up under the covers, her hair a mess across the pillow. The tension in my shoulders eases. I let out a breath, my heart filling with all the things I feel for this woman.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, and step back outside.

I take a long sip and this time I take pleasure in the beaty before me.

The early morning buzzes with kids laughing, joggers pounding sand-packed trails, a dog barking at the waves.

Somewhere in the distance, a guitar plays a slow, soulful tune.

For a second, I think it’s Emma. But no, Emma’s not that good. Not yet.

Under Charley’s care, though…

That thought sparks something in me, and I take another gulp of coffee and head back to the cottage. I scribble a note for Charley on the kitchen counter:

Ran into town to pick up a few groceries. Want to do some stretches with you when I get back.

But the groceries aren’t the real reason I’m going. And I don’t want her knowing what is. Not yet.

I lock up behind myself, careful not to let the screen door slam. Inside, Charley sleeps soundly, her breath soft, her body curled beneath the covers, still tired from yesterday’s long, sun-soaked adventures… and the sweet, unhurried lovemaking that followed.

Lovemaking.

Jesus. If Roman ever heard me say that out loud, he’d yank my man card and frame it on his wall like a trophy.

Then again, I’ve seen Roman and Gabby together.

I married them in fact, and those two are a walking Hallmark movie, complete with the cozy gazes and sappy grins.

They’re so sweet it makes my teeth ache…

and yet, I wouldn’t change a thing about them.

They’re good together and I couldn’t be happier for him.

Thinking about it makes my chest feel full in a way I’m not used to.

Because for the first time, I can actually picture what it looks like to hang out with my friends as a couple, not the third wheel.

I envision double dates, weekend trips, nights out that don’t end in one of us alone at the bar.

I can see Roman and Gabby laughing with Charley across a table, clinking glasses, swapping stories.

It’s the kind of life I wasn’t sure I’d ever have.

I stroll past Marta’s cottage and stop, letting my eyes linger.

There’s something about this place that pulls at me.

Something solid. Right. The idea of vacationing here again next summer with Gunther and Paisley, hell, maybe even renting kayaks or letting Emma bury me in the sand, it all feels… possible.

Look at me. Making lifelong plans without even consulting Charley.

But the truth is, I wantCharley in those plans.

I just don’t know if she’s ready for the kind of step I’m about to take.

If I told her, she’d probably say it was too much.

Too fast. She’d tell me to slow down, to think it through.

She’s not with me for the fame or glory or even to get the next juicy story.

She sees me. The guy beneath the fame, the one who could be taken out with an injury.

She’s honest. Real. And right now, I won’t risk overwhelming her with something that might scare her off. But I also can’t ignore this pull.

Just then, the cottage door swings open and Marta steps onto the porch, giving me a wave. Shit. I’ve been standing here like a total creeper, staring at her house like I’m casing the joint. I lift my hand in return, nod politely, and force myself to keep walking into town.