Page 5

The following morning, Adam knocked on the front door of the Tuck family home. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets while he waited, then took them out, thinking it might appear disrespectful somehow. His stomach swam with nerves.

Voices sounded inside the house—muffled at first, and then someone he was pretty sure was Riley’s sister, Lindsay, calling out, “It’s Adam Sheppard.”

The knob turned, the door opened. Adam took a small step backward. The woman who opened the door stared up at him, and yes. He was sure this was Lindsay. He’d caught glimpses of her yesterday, but the last time he’d spoken to her she’d been an undergrad. She’d be in her late thirties now, but didn’t look too different than she had back then: about half a foot shorter than Adam, with a slim, toned body, and long, wavy hair the same reddish-blond color as Riley’s.

“Hi, Lindsay,” Adam said. “It’s been a while.”

She smiled. “Surprised you remember me.”

“Of course I do. I’m sorry about your dad,” Adam said. “Harvey was a great man.”

“He was. Thank you.”

“If there’s anything I can do…”

Lindsay’s eyebrows raised. “I don’t think there’s much that can be done about the situation.”

Adam’s gaze dropped to the black rubber mat under his feet. “No. I know.”

“Are you looking for my brother?”

Adam’s glanced back up. “Is he here?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Adam put his hands in his pockets again. “Sorry to bother you. And sorry for…sorry.”

He turned to leave, but stopped when Lindsay said, “You any good at drying dishes?”

Adam eagerly whipped back around at the invitation. “Sure. Yeah. I can do that.”

Lindsay stepped back from the door, and Adam followed her into the house.

“We had a gathering here last night, so now we’ve got containers we need to wash and return to people,” Lindsay said as she took Adam’s coat and found a place for it in the closet. “I know people aren’t in a hurry to get them back, but I need something to do. Seems like you might too.”

“Yeah,” Adam said gratefully. “I do.” His chest felt tight as he gazed around the front hallway of the house he’d enjoyed spending summers in nearly two decades ago. It looked the same: soft yellow walls decorated with framed family photos and watercolor paintings of boats, worn wooden floors, and an old barrel serving as a table for keys and sunglasses just inside the door.

Lindsay led him to the kitchen. “My husband, Josh, took our girls to the park, since it finally stopped raining.”

“How old?” Adam asked.

“Josh? He’s thirty-eight.”

Adam snorted.

“Sorry,” Lindsay said. “That was a tribute to Dad. The kids are eight and six. Katie is the oldest, and then Allison.”

“Fun ages.”

“Sometimes.” She opened a drawer and pulled a dish towel from it. She handed it to him and asked, “How old are yours now?”

“Lucy is sixteen, and Cole is fifteen.”

“Holy. I forgot how young you were when they were born.”

“Yeah, well. Maggie and I kind of put the cart before the horse there.”

Lindsay smiled, but it looked sad. Adam wondered what she was thinking. How much did she know?

“How is Maggie?” she asked.

“Good. Great.” He folded the towel in half, and then again. “We’re, um. We’re divorced now.”

Lindsay’s brow furrowed. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“We’re still good friends,” he said quickly, “but we’re not together anymore. She’s with someone else now.” He realized how that sounded and added, “Not that she left me for him or anything like that. There were…other reasons. But nothing she did. She’s wonderful.”

“That’s good,” Lindsay said, though she sounded like she wanted to ask a million questions. Instead, she went to the sink and began to fill it with hot water. The sink was full, and she’d started scrubbing the first plastic container before she asked, “So you’re single now?”

“I am.”

She didn’t say anything as she finished washing the container, then handed it to Adam. Finally, she said, “It’s been a while since Riley’s seen you, hasn’t it?”

Twelve fucking years.

“We sort of drifted apart, I guess.” It was both accurate and the total opposite of what had happened between them. Drifting apart sounded gentle. Adam had felt more like he’d been ripped in half. Or that he’d ripped himself in half.

“But you came anyway.”

“I did.” Why were these containers so impossible to dry? Water seemed to gather and stick to every part of them.

“When are you leaving?”

“Not sure yet.”

Lindsay handed him the lid to the container. “Riley’s going to take this the hardest. Losing Dad, I mean. We’re all devastated and shocked, but Riley… I’m going to worry about him the most.”

Adam swallowed, then nodded. Of course Riley would take it the hardest.

“He’s worked hard,” she continued, “since he retired from hockey. He was in rough shape when he first moved back here. I know you weren’t really in his life anymore by then.”

“I wanted to be,” Adam blurted. “I tried to be.”

She turned to face him. “He’s not the easiest person to help. Sometimes you need to stay on him, y’know?”

Adam held her gaze, but barely. He was so ashamed. “I wish I had.”

She nodded. “Is that why you’re here now?”

“Something like that.”

“Because I don’t really know what the deal is with you and him, but I do know that he doesn’t need anyone adding extra pain to his life right now.”

Adam wanted to argue that he’d never do that, except obviously he couldn’t promise that. Pain seemed to be all Riley and Adam had been able to give each other in the end. “I’m not here to hurt him,” he said, because that, at least, was true.

“Good.” She turned back to the sink and began washing another container.

After a moment, Adam gathered some courage and asked, “So he’s doing better, you said? Since…” Since he’d completely fallen apart, at least according to hockey gossip.

“He’s a lot better. I won’t get into it with you, because it’s not my place but, yeah. He’s better.”

Adam took the container from her and began drying it. “Glad to hear it.” Then the question that he’d been determined to hold back burst out of him. “Does he…have anyone? Living with anyone, like? Um…”

“He’s single, if that’s what you’re asking.” She ducked her head so Adam couldn’t see her face. “He doesn’t share everything with me, but no real boyfriends that I know of.”

Boyfriends. It was ridiculous that after everything, the easy acknowledgment that Riley was gay was so shocking. “That’s too bad,” Adam managed.

“Is it?” Lindsay’s tone was light, almost teasing.

Adam’s cheeks heated, and at that moment Susan Tuck entered the kitchen.

“Adam Sheppard,” she said brightly. “My god, look at you. Come here.” She embraced him in a hug, her head level with Adam’s chest.

“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Tuck,” he said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. And it’s Susan, of course. How are you these days?”

Adam was surprised by how cheerful and steady she sounded, given the circumstances. “I’m good. Retired now, so that’s different.”

“I heard. I also heard the Hall of Fame rumors already. It’s a legacy to be proud of, that’s for sure.”

“Thanks,” he said, because he was proud of his career. He may have fucked up the rest of his life, but his hockey career had been close to perfect.

“We missed seeing you here in the summers,” she said.

“I got busy with the kids and all that,” he said apologetically. Adam had loved those summers, spending days at the beach or puttering around the bay in Riley’s family’s boat. The first few years Adam had simply enjoyed being away from his own stern parents, who would have focused solely on his conditioning and on marketing opportunities. He’d been enchanted by Riley’s family, by this small town, and by Riley himself. And that fifth summer…god, if Adam could choose one part of his life to stay in forever, it would be that fifth summer in Avery River.

“You could have brought the kids,” Susan said, “but I suppose there were other reasons.”

“There were,” he agreed, and hoped she didn’t expect him to explain those reasons, because that would be impossible. What could he say? That he’d maybe accidentally broken Riley’s heart? That he was here now to try to fix it?

He knew it was unlikely that anything he could say or do would repair the damage he’d caused, and maybe Riley was years past caring about him at this point. That would make sense. Why would Riley still be carrying a torch for a man he hadn’t spoken to for twelve years? It was ridiculous.

Except Adam knew it wasn’t impossible. Adam was proof that it wasn’t impossible.

He blinked when he realized Lindsay had asked him a question. “Hm? Sorry.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Oh. You know. Better some days than others.”

“You had tendon repair surgery last year?”

“Yeah,” he said, surprised she knew about that. “Last summer. Third time, though.”

“And you’re doing your physio?” She smiled. “Sorry, professional curiosity.”

“Are you a physiotherapist? I didn’t know.”

“She sure is,” Susan said proudly. “The best in Nova Scotia.”

Lindsay shook her head, still smiling. “Hardly. But I do specialize in joint pain, especially shoulder, elbow, and knee injuries.”

“Oh,” he said. Then, “I’m getting joint replacement surgery soon. I guess it’s a real mess in there at this point.”

Lindsay huffed and turned back to the sink. “I’m going to shut my mouth now because you don’t want to hear what I think about the way you hockey idiots never let anything heal properly.”

Adam smiled. “Sounds like I just heard it.”

“And you really don’t want to get me started on hockey players and their mental health. When Riley—” She stopped abruptly. “Anyway. Ignore me. I’m exhausted.”

“Riley?” he asked, because he couldn’t help it.

“Nothing,” Lindsay said, at the same time Susan said, “Where is Riley today, anyway?”

“The shop, I think,” Lindsay said.

Susan scoffed. “He doesn’t need to do that. We’re closed for the week. People here understand that.”

“I know. But he needed something to do.”

Susan sighed. “I should bring him some of this food. He’s barely been eating.”

“I could do that,” Adam said quickly, before he could talk himself out of it. “I could bring him his lunch.”

Both women stared at him. He scratched his wrist. “I’d like to talk to him. Y’know, see him. Before I go.”

“Well,” Susan said, as she shared a glance with Lindsay, “that would be nice of you. Do you eat ham?”