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CHAPTER EIGHT

Marissa

I watch Dozer pull away, feeling conflicted.

I did say he could pay me back for helping out. While I tossed out him helping me at some nonspecific point in the future, dinner was never on my radar as an option. And that offer of dinner combined with the way his eyes would stray to my lips made it seem like it wasn’t just a friendly dinner invite as payback for a favor.

His offer to help hang pictures seems more … appropriate.

God, I sound like my mother.

Speaking of …

Pulling out my phone, I call my mom. It’s been a while since we talked. Though as soon as I hit the call button, I realize what time it is in Texas and grit my teeth.

“Marissa?” she answers, sounding both alarmed and sleepy. “Sweetheart? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no. I mean, yes. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to being in a different time zone than you. I didn’t mean to call so late. I just haven’t talked to you in a while, I was thinking about you, and I thought I’d call. It’s nothing important. Did I wake you up?”

“No, sweetie. I wasn’t asleep yet.” I hear grumbling, rustling, and her voice lowers to a whisper. “Hang on. Your dad’s sleeping already, though. Let me go to another room.”

I finish putting away the tools Dozer and I used, then run my hand over my project car. Her hood’s still up, waiting for me to have time to come work on her again, which I probably will tomorrow. Since I’m new in town, I don’t exactly have a full social life. So far, Dozer’s the only person I’ve spent any time with outside of work.

“How are you?” Mom asks, her voice sounding more normal. “How are you settling in?”

I sigh. I shouldn’t because I know Mom’ll zero in on that and interpret it in all kinds of ways, but I can’t hold back.

Let’s be honest, I want Mom to hear it. That’s why I called.

“I’m okay,” I answer, trying to strike the balance of honesty without being overdramatic. “A little homesick, though.”

Mom makes a sympathetic noise. “I’m not surprised. I think that’s pretty normal. And other than that time you went to California with Gabby, this is the longest you’ve been away from home.”

Nodding, I continue circling the car, letting the smooth metal under my fingertips soothe me. I’m glad I didn’t let Dad talk me out of bringing her. He insisted I wouldn’t have time with the new job, but we always make time for the things important to us. He’s the one who banged that drum my whole life. I’m not sure why he wouldn’t get it now.

The real answer, of course, is that he doesn’t think this is what should be important to me. But I’ve been working on disentangling what I want from what my dad thinks I should want for years now. I’ve mostly succeeded.

Mostly.

“Yeah,” I whisper, then clear my throat. “I know. And I expected it, too. But knowing it’ll happen intellectually is different than actually experiencing it.”

“That’s true.” We lapse into silence for a moment, then Mom lets out a giant yawn, making me feel bad all over again.

“We can talk tomorrow, Mom. You’re tired. You should go back to bed.”

“No, no.” I can imagine her waving away my comment with her brows pulled together, her hand swatting back and forth like my words are an annoying swarm of gnats, and the image makes me smile.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, sweetheart. And as much as I loved having you here for as long as I did and wish my children didn’t all need to be halfway across the country or more to follow their own paths, we both know this was the right choice.”

Sighing, I slide to the ground and sit with my back propped against my project car. “I know.”

“Have you made any friends?”

Shrugging, I think through all the people I’ve met since moving here. “Not really. My coworkers are nice, but I’m the boss. And two of my direct reports were vying for my position too, so while they’re plenty competent and respectful, they’re not friendly at all.”

“And outside of work?”

Dozer flashes through my mind, and I shake my head, as much to dislodge his image as to answer my mom, not that she can see me. “I’ve met a couple of my neighbors, but other than giving a guy a jump and helping him put in a new battery, it’s mostly just saying hello in the halls.”

“You helped him change his battery?”

Shrugging, I try to dismiss that line of questioning the same way she blew off my suggestion that she go back to bed. “Oh, yeah. I was heading out to work on my car earlier, and he needed a jump. So of course I gave him one. The guy was hopeless, though. Didn’t even know how to use jumper cables.”

“I know to you it’s like meeting someone who can’t read, but lots of people have to look up how to use jumper cables, Marissa. Heck, I’d want to double check myself before using them. It can cause a lot of damage if you do it wrong.”

“Oh, I know. Still …” I shake my head, grinning as I remember how lost he looked when I handed him the jumper cables. “Anyway. He needed a new battery. So this evening we picked one up, and I taught him how to change it.”

“You … of course you did.” Mom snickers. “That seems promising, though. Is he single?”

Another sigh escapes me, this one more frustrated than wistful, though. “I don’t know, Mom. We didn’t discuss our relationship history. I jumped his car and changed his battery. It wasn’t exactly a rom-com worthy meet-cute.”

Mom hums, though it doesn’t sound like she agrees with me. “You know, Lance helped Abby with her car when he was convincing her to give him a chance.”

“Okay, A—good for him. Clearly it worked, and I’m happy he and Abby are happy. And B—I’m not trying to convince anyone to give me a chance. I don’t need a chance. I’m not trying to date my neighbor the hockey player.”

“Hockey player?”

I drop my face into my free hand. I shouldn’t have said that. “Yeah. Hockey player. He lives in my building, and he plays hockey. That’s the sum total of everything I know about the man.”

“What about his name? Do you know his name?” The censure in her tone is unmistakeable.

“Yes, Mother. I know his name. It’s Dozer.” This is why I wasn’t going to bring him up. Even though I did actually want to talk about him. I just … all my feelings are confused. Do I want to spend more time with him? Yes. But also no. Do I want to talk about this with someone? Absolutely. Do I want to talk about him with my mom? Kind of. But as her oldest child and the only one who isn’t in a relationship, talking to her is a bit of a minefield.

“Dozer? What kind of name is Dozer ?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Okay, I’ve got you on speaker.” I hear tapping on her side. “I’m looking him up. He’s a professional hockey player?”

“Yes.” Maybe I should’ve looked him up.

“Ohhh.” Mom’s tone sounds almost sly. “He’s cute. It says here that his last name is Boggs. Dozer Boggs. Oh! No. His parents aren’t insane. They named him Benjamin. Dozer is apparently some kind of nickname. I guess in hockey it could make sense? Like bulldozer?”

“Yeah, okay. I can see that.” I’ve wondered about his name, too, but hadn’t thought to Google him.

“So you helped him change his car battery? What kind of car?”

“An older Toyota Tacoma. Nothing fancy. Just a basic mid-size pickup.”

“Really?” Mom sounds very surprised.

“Yeah.” I draw the word out slowly. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Oh, well, it’s just that I found his contract terms with the Emeralds, and it’s just surprising that a young man like that would have such a modest vehicle.”

“Maybe he has expensive tastes in other areas,” I counter, not wanting to think about what him driving a normal pickup like that might say about him if he doesn’t. I already like him more than feels safe to me. Which is why I turned down dinner.

Dinner—even if we went somewhere mid-range—feels too much like a date. And being on a date with someone like Dozer seems like opening myself up for another round of heartache. I just don’t have it in me again. Not now. Not on top of moving and a new job and homesickness.

“Maybe,” Mom says, though she sounds doubtful. “It seems like he’d make the news if he were partying or doing something illegal, though.”

“Unless he’s got a good PR team.” I sound ridiculous, but I won’t stop. I can’t. Then I’d have to admit, at least to myself, that I actually like him.

“I suppose.” Doubt drips from Mom’s voice. “He helps with charity events, though. The whole team does, of course, but he’s done extra with Make A Wish, and he seems to help out a lot with teaching hockey to kids. If his PR is to be believed, he seems like a good guy. And if you helped him, it seems like he’s not a complete jerk.”

“No,” I answer softly. “Not a complete jerk.” Our first meeting notwithstanding. He hasn’t been a jerk to me since then.

“When are you going to see him next?”

I laugh at the question. “I don’t know, Mom. We’ve seen each other around a few times. I’m sure I’ll bump into him again eventually.”

She hums. “It says here the regular season starts in a few weeks. He’ll be traveling a lot. You need to lock him down now.”

Another incredulous laugh bursts out of me. “Lock him down? What are you even talking about?”

“He’s perfect!” Mom crows. “Financially stable. He likes sports. He’s in great shape. Passionate. Driven. What more could you want in a man?”

“Oh, I dunno, Mom. One who supports me. Loves me. Wants me to succeed as much as he wants to succeed as well.”

“Okay. Why can’t that be this guy?”

I splutter, unable to come up with a real answer. “Who says he would be that guy?” I finally manage to spit out. “I barely know him. And all you know is what his news clippings say.”

“And I know he doesn’t mind letting a woman help him. You jumped his car. You taught him how to change his battery. And you said he wasn’t a jerk. Those would be prime situations for a guy who couldn’t handle you to show his true colors. You and I both know that men like … well, men who aren’t right for you wouldn’t be able to let you take the lead like that.”

Like Peter. That’s what she was going to say. Men like Peter.

Oh, sure, Peter acted like he supported me. He let me help work on cars when Dad wasn’t around. He showed me a few things I didn’t already know. But he was the one with the power. He was the one who allowed, or didn’t allow, me to help him.

With Dozer, I was the one in charge, as Mom so succinctly pointed out. The few times I tried to do that with Peter, it blew up spectacularly.

“Still,” I say. “Just because he let me show him how to change his battery doesn’t mean I want to date him.”

Mom doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then responds in a quiet voice. “It’s been years since you broke up with Peter, sweetie. I want you to be happy. And I know moving on was difficult when you were still here, and he’s still working for your father. But that’s why you left. That’s why you quit working at the shop, took the sales job, and look how far you’ve gone! I’m so proud of you and how you’ve taken control of your life and not let anyone dictate it for you. But don’t continue to let Peter dictate whether you allow yourself a relationship. Don’t let him keep controlling you so long after you ended things with him.”

Pressure forms behind my eyeballs, and I feel the tears on the verge of letting down. But I’ve cried enough over that man, that relationship, and all the parts of myself I gave up. I’m not going to do it anymore.

Scrubbing away the burgeoning tears, I sniff, but it’s a giveaway.

“Oh, Marissa,” Mom says, her voice brimming with sympathy. “You’re a wonderful daughter, and you’ve grown into such a wonderful woman. It’s okay to let other people see and appreciate that about you. I don’t care if you date this hockey player or not. But I do want you to start putting yourself out there again. You’ve spent so long focusing only on work and your project cars—and those are wonderful things! And I don’t want you to stop working on either of them. But now you’re far away and all alone. I want you to make connections. To open yourself up to people again. Even if you’re not ready for a romantic relationship, find some way to make friends, okay?”

“I will, Mom,” I promise, my voice still hoarse with unshed tears. “I will.”