Page 7 of Wake Me Up (New England Bay Sharks #5)

A viana and I sing “Cool” by her favorite band, the Jonas Brothers, at the top of our lungs—just like we always do when this one comes on the radio. No matter what craziness is going on in the world, turning up the radio and singing our hearts out makes everything better.

Cane plays on his phone with his AirPods in to drown out the noise and keeps any negative comments to himself because he knows that if he’s a jerk, I’ll just sing louder.

It’s been a busy day. I didn’t have to work today at the bakery, but instead, I was stuck doing adult crap, like paying bills and confirming appointments, mainly for Aviana because a kid with epilepsy requires more appointments than your typical kid.

I’m tired, and when my car feels like I’m driving over a rumble strip when no rumble strip is to be found, I want to cry because sometimes … you just can’t mentally or emotionally handle one more thing being thrown at you. And I’m at that point right now.

Who am I kidding? I’ve been at this point for a long damn time.

Turning the music down, I notice the tire pressure gauge flashing in warning, and I cringe before slowly pulling over onto the side of the road.

Taking his AirPods off, Cane frowns. “Tire again?”

“Oh, man! And it was at the best part of the song too.” Aviana huffs, clearly as annoyed as I am.

I sigh. “Yep. Second one in two months. Love this for us.” I push the door open. “Stay here. I’m going to call Papa and see if he’s nearby.” I shake my head at myself. “I keep saying I’m going to learn to change a tire, and then I don’t.”

Of course, Cane doesn’t listen and gets out to help me. I forget sometimes that he’s not a tiny child anymore and really has had to be the man of the house since he was Ave’s age.

He leans down. “That’s a big nail, Mom.” He points.

“Yeah, and Papa isn’t answering his phone either,” I sigh, ending the call when the voicemail picks up. “Dammit. Guess I’ll have to call the towing company after all.”

I pull up the Google app and type in towing companies nearby and look at their ratings. I’m just about to hit the Call button when a dark gray truck pulls up and parks right behind my car. Vehicles pass by us, but luckily, it’s not a super-busy street.

Cane stands, and we both stare at the truck, but the window tint is too dark to see inside. When both doors open, I don’t even have to look at Cane to know his mouth is hanging open. Mine would be, too, if I wasn’t so focused on keeping it closed to not look pathetic.

“No freaking way,” he whispers, staring at the two men walking toward us. “No. Freaking. Way. Mom, no one at school is going to believe this.”

I try not to gawk, but it’s no easy task.

And the closer that Logan Sterns and Tripp Talmage get …

the harder it is to remain cool. I’ve lived in Portland, Maine, my entire life, and the only Bay Shark I’ve seen outside the arena is Smith Sawyer when he comes to the bakery weekly for his doughnuts.

Yet here I am, seeing the same guy who told my son he was a good player and made his entire life the other day.

I may be a widow who is missing her husband. And, yes, I’m still—and I always will be—faithful to my husband even though he’s gone, but none of that stops my heart from racing at the sight of these two incredibly good-looking men coming to our rescue.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I swallow sharply, trying to force my heart to calm the hell down.

It doesn’t work, especially not when Logan flashes me a dimpled smirk and Tripp looks all broody and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“So, Trippy, you likey what you see or what?” Logan mutters to me, passing me the wrench .

When I go to grab it from him, he holds on to it, giving me an annoying-as-fuck look before wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah, I saw you looking at her. It’s all good, man. She’s hot. And the way you were staring … you want some cookies with that MILF.” He finally releases the wrench, cackling at his own joke. “Get it? MILF and cookies.”

“You’re not right,” I utter before getting back to work on the tire. I’m thankful as hell that Freya isn’t standing beside us, listening to Logan’s dumb ass.

The same thing has run through my head for the past fifteen or so minutes.

What are the fucking chances? I’ve thought about this woman and her beautiful face multiple times since last week.

And, yeah, I know I’m going to hell for that because she’s married.

But married women can be hot, too, and it’s hard not to take notice.

Besides, I feel like it would make me a bigger piece of shit for not noticing a woman’s beauty simply because she’s married. So, really, I’m being a good guy.

I assumed Cash was her oldest kid, but today, she’s got a boy with her who looks even older than him.

He was excited to talk to me and Logan, but she sent him to the car and said to wait with his sister until the tire was changed.

I didn’t think he was going to listen—until she gave him this scary mom look, and suddenly, he moped away.

I tighten the tire once more before standing. And as Logan and I brush our hands off, she walks closer, looking back and forth at both of us.

“Thank you so much for doing this. I owe you. Seriously.”

I’m already a dude who doesn’t say much. Put this woman in front of me, and I just stand here like a fucking weirdo, smiling awkwardly, I’m sure, because it’s not like I practice it enough.

“Nah, it was nothing,” Logan says easily with a grin. “It had been a while since I changed a tire. Good to know I still remember how.”

My head snaps to his, and I smirk. “You barely did anything,” I say, raising a brow at him.

“I did half, for sure,” he tosses back, unfazed. “My skills were just a little … rusty. That’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” I mutter, smirking and shaking my head.

When my gaze lifts, I’m met with Freya’s soft honey-brown eyes.

She doesn’t look directly at me long before her son walks beside her again.

It’s not a super-busy road, but enough so that she told her daughter, who looks like she’s six or seven, to stay in the car.

I only caught a glimpse of her, but she looks just like her mom.

The same brown eyes and dark blonde hair that the sun has lightened in some strands.

“Do you guys think …” The kid stops, looking nervous. “Do you think I could get a picture with you?” He glances at me. “Cash got to meet you and Ryder Cambridge at the clinic, but this is different. You just changed my mom’s tire.”

“Why not?” I say, shrugging.

“Get on over here,” Logan chimes, holding his arm out.

The kid quickly passes the phone off to his mom and stands between us. She lifts the phone up, a huge smile on her face as she snaps the picture. A few seconds later, she holds it out for him.

“Thanks again,” she says appreciatively. “You saved me from having to wait for a tow truck.” She glances down at her watch. “We would have been late to get Cash. Now, we’ll be a few minutes early.”

“Practice tonight?” I say, guessing that that’s got to be where her son is.

He probably wouldn’t have it any other way either. I gathered that much just from meeting him at the clinic.

“Yep. It was actually an optional one, but he’s … well, he’s fierce, I guess you could say.” She laughs, putting her hands on her hips. “He’ll be bummed that he missed you guys though, won’t he, bud?” she asks her oldest son, and he nods.

“Yeah, he will. Makes me almost feel bad that I got a picture to show him.” He smirks. “Keyword? Almost. ”

She slaps his arm lightly and playfully before telling him to go to the car.

“Fine, fine.” Waving once more at us and flashing us a huge grin, he heads back to the car and gets inside.

“Does he play too?” I ask, jerking my chin toward the car. “Hockey?”

“He should. He’s a rugged kid,” Logan adds.

Unmistakable pain flashes in her eyes, but she quickly rebounds it with a forced smile. Something about the simple question I asked hurt her, and I feel like a fucking asshole for saying anything at all.

“He used to. He’s, uh … well, he’s taking some time off. He plays a bit of basketball, but he really likes baseball. ”

“Baseball, huh?” I say, trying to keep it light. “How does Cash feel about that?”

She chuckles. “Says he’d rather watch paint dry than go to his games.”

“I gotta agree with him there,” Logan mutters lightheartedly before holding his hand out. “We’ll let you get going so you can pick him up. Have a good night.”

She might not see the shit-eating smirk he flashes me before he heads back to my truck, but I do. He caught me staring at her, and now he’s making assumptions in his head.

His assumptions are probably correct. I think she’s hot as sin.

She stands there quietly for a few seconds before pushing her hair out of her face and giving me one last appreciative smile. “Well, thank you again.” She bobs her head up and down. “You two really saved my ass.”

“It was no problem,” I half utter, stuffing my hands into my hoodie pocket and awkwardly staring at her, not wanting her to leave, but knowing that’s fucking weird of me.

“Well, all right. Guess I’ll go pick up Cash before I’m late,” she says, wrapping her fingers around the handle on her door. “Have a great night, and hopefully, you don’t have to rescue anyone else with a flat tire for today. You’ve done your good deed.” She laughs lightly.

Before she can actually open the door, I snap open my mouth in a desperate plea to spend just a few more seconds with her, even though she’s married and I know it’s wrong.

“Hey, so … that tire should be good for now, but it would probably be a good idea to order a new one soon, so let your husband know.” I pause.

“Or maybe plug the other one. Either way.”

She gives me an uncomfortable smile and turns her body halfway toward me.

“Thanks. It’s, uh … just me and the kids, but my dad is pretty handy with stuff, so I’ll let him know.

” She looks at the spare tire on her small SUV.

“Though I should probably learn to change a damn tire someday. You know, in case I’m ever down a dark, winding road with no service or something. ”

She says something else before she pulls the door open, but I can’t hear her because all I keep thinking is the same thing.

“It’s, uh … just me and the kids.”

She doesn’t have a husband, so why is she wearing a wedding band? Only one thing makes sense. She’s divorced or separated, and she hasn’t taken it off yet. Either way, the way I see it, she’s single.

She’s single, but she hardly knows I or any other man exists, it seems.

When she climbs behind the wheel and looks back at me, waving, I hold my hand up. “See ya. Drive safe.”

After she closes her door and peels away, I watch her for a second before turning back toward my truck. I shouldn’t want to see her again because I don’t even know her. And she’s got three kids, a random wedding ring, and that’s a lot of baggage.

So, why am I suddenly the weirdo who’s hoping her tire goes flat so that I can be the one to save her again?

I have no idea, but here I am. Being that guy.