Page 25 of Wake Me Up (New England Bay Sharks #5)

O n one of the large rocks, I put the basket on the blanket and stare awkwardly down at my handiwork.

I did this. I, Tripp Talmage, defined as the grumpiest NHL player and the man who doesn’t smile, just married a woman so that her daughter—who I barely know—could get surgery, and then I proceeded to set up a whole picnic on the coastline in front of my house for my now wife.

My wife, who can hardly look at me, and yet I continue doing this pathetic shit for her, just to make her more comfortable because I fucking hate how sad she looks.

And what I hate most of all is that I put the sadness there just from being here right now. I’m not the man she wants, but I’m who she’s stuck with.

I know I’ll never be the love of her life; she’s already had and lost that, but whatever she’ll let me be … if it means I can be around her, I’ll do it with a fucking smile on my face.

“Wow, Tripp.” She attempts to smile, looking down at the blanket and basket. “This is beautiful.” She turns slightly and lifts her hand, pointing her finger toward the ocean. “Also, what a view you have.”

“Thanks.” I stare out at the water, something I went most of my life without even seeing before moving to Maine. “It’s grown on me a bit.”

“Grown on you, huh?” she tosses back, amused.

“Don’t sound so excited.” Taking a seat on the rock, she curls her legs beside her.

“How could it not grow on you? You must love listening to the boats in the bay in the morning or the sound of the water hitting the sand.” She pushes her arms back, relaxing her weight on them.

“There’s just no place like Maine.” Suddenly, a shiver runs through her.

“Even in the fall and winter when it’s cold, it’s so beautiful. ”

It’s fifty degrees out, but there’s not much wind, making it more tolerable to be outside.

Despite the semi-warm temp, her thin fleece isn’t enough to keep her from getting cold with the ocean breeze.

Reaching in my bag, I grab another blanket that I got from inside the house, and on instinct, I lean forward, draping it over her shoulders.

For a moment, she tenses, but when I step back, she gives me a bashful smile.

“Thank you, Tripp.” She pulls it snugly around herself. “That’s much better actually.”

“Can’t have my wife be cold.” I say the words lightheartedly, but instantly, I regret them.

She’s a fucking widow, and I need to be respectful of that. Tossing the word wife around isn’t doing that, but after her shoulders tense for a brief second, thankfully, she relaxes and almost giggles slightly. I have to fight off a sigh of relief.

I pull out some of the snacks from the basket, spreading them all out on the blanket. And because I wasn’t sure what she even liked, I got a pretty big variety, figuring I’d pick at least something right.

“Oh my gosh, I’m starving. This all looks so good,” she coos, reaching for the snacks and pawing through them.

She’s not bashful, like some women I’ve been on a date with—especially ones who are a lot younger than me. Freya grabs some cheese and crackers, assuredly helping herself.

Freya is unlike any of the women I’ve spent time with.

She carries herself differently—with a certain type of confidence.

Hell, she’s a mom. She’s had to look out for three other humans and put them first while also keeping them safe.

She’s mature and refined. She might not be completely confident in her own skin when she’s with me just yet, but I don’t think she cares because impressing me isn’t her top priority.

Taking care of her kids is. And for some reason, I find that so fucking attractive.

Some of the dates I’ve been on were with women who cared more about the latest clothing trends or how many likes and follows they had on social media.

I might not know Freya that well, but I’d bet money that she doesn’t give a fuck about any of that, just as long as her kids have everything they need.

Within seconds, she’s grabbing another piece of cheese and a few more crackers. “Mmm …” she almost moans, making my cock twitch to life. “These crackers are so good.”

She doesn’t even know how fucking hot she is, and I think that makes her even more attractive. She’s not trying to impress me or sound sexy with her delicious moans. She’s just simply existing, and that’s it.

“How’s Avy—Aviana been doing?” I correct myself. Last time I called her Avy, I sensed it made Freya uneasy because of the way her face fell.

Swallowing her food, she grabs a bottle of iced tea and begins to twist it open.

“She’s been good. She wanted to go to school while we wait for the surgery, and the doctor said it was okay as long as she doesn’t do anything that would trigger her epilepsy.

I’m really hoping she doesn’t have any more seizures before the surgery.

If she does, we may have to move up the surgery to sooner.

” She grimaces. “Or she might even have to stay in the hospital until the operation, and that would be … hard on the entire family.” With every second that she talks about her daughter and the surgery, the further she seems to be away from me.

I study her face, and instantly, she fidgets nervously.

“And what about you? How are you feeling about it?” I ask the question as gently as I can.

I want her to know she can open up to me about it, and I’ll listen, but I also don’t want to come off as being pushy. Freya strikes me as a very independent woman, and why wouldn’t she be? She’s spent the past five years raising her kids by herself.

At first, I think she’s about to plaster on a fake smile and tell me she’s good and that everything is A-okay. I’m sure for her kids, that’s what she always has to do because she never wants them to feel bad for her. But after a few moments of silence, her nose scrunches up, and she frowns.

“Honestly? I’m having a really hard time with it.

I understand this doctor is the best. I know this surgery is what needs to happen next.

” She wipes a tear from her eye before it makes it down her cheek.

“She’s my little baby though. My one job in this world is to protect those three, and when she’s lying on a table …

at the mercy of someone else’s hands? I feel like I’m not doing my job.

” She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and sniffles.

“Sorry. Here I am, ruining our wedding day.” She chuckles sadly. “I’m a depressing date, huh?”

I don’t know what comes over me or why I do it, but suddenly, I’m reaching up, swiping a rolling tear from her cheek with my thumb. “She’s going to be fine, Freya,” I utter .

Big, wide eyes stare at me as my thumb remains on her soft cheek. She doesn’t move back though. She just freezes like a statue.

I don’t know if it’s her husband sending me a warning message to back off his wife or just shit luck on my end, but either way, the sky opens up, and cold, heavy rain begins to fall out of nowhere, sending us both shooting up off the rock.

Quickly gathering all of our stuff, I move the blanket so that it’s not wrapped around her enough to trip her and grab her hand before tugging her upward with me. “Come on,” I yell over the sound of the falling rain, pulling her along off the beach and toward my house.

I glance back at her to find the blanket trailing behind her, her hair completely soaked and water dripping down her face. It’s cold enough that it sends a shiver right down my spine, and when I see her teeth chattering, I tell her to drop the soaked blanket and I’ll get it later.

I need to get her out of those wet, cold clothes and get her into something dry.

When we reach my front door, I decide to be a smart-ass and lift her up into my arms before carrying her over the threshold and into my house.

This marriage might not be exactly the real deal, but I’d like to at least treat her like it is—if she’ll let me.

And with someone like her and everything she’s been through, I think she could use some lighthearted shit from time to time.

I’m usually the last guy to provide that, but for this woman?

It’s all I want to do if it means she’ll smile at me.

Her body tenses a bit in my arms, but she doesn’t fight me off. She doesn’t wrap her arms around my neck or anything though, but that’s all right because getting her to actually like me is going to take time. Lucky for her, I’m a pretty patient guy.

I look down at her, my own hair dripping from the rain. “I figured we might as well have one traditional thing that starts our marriage off right.” I keep her in my arms because I’m not ready to let her go.

Slowly, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “I guess you’re right,” she whispers before looking down at her soaked clothes. “And I didn’t even know it was going to rain today.”

I don’t know if it’s just the fact that we’re alone in my house and she’s in my arms or because her clothes are clinging to her in a way that makes me want to tear them from her body.

Whatever it is has made the air in here thicker, and my heart pounds in my chest as I wish we could get even closer.

My eyes float to her lips before I can stop them, and my cock twitches, making me thankful I have her lifted up against my stomach or else she’d know just how badly she turns me on and how much I want her.

“Freya …” I rasp her name desperately, blowing my cover.

She stares up at me, and I swear I can hear her heart racing in her chest. There’s fear in her eyes, but that fear is accompanied by a dazed look too. One that tells me she might just like being this close to me.

“Yeah?” Her tone is uneasy in the air of my big, empty house.

“I’d really like to kiss you again,” I utter, my eyes dancing around her face to get a grip on how she’s feeling right now. “Can I?”

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers quickly. “Earlier … well, that was for show. There’s no one here to show off for now.”