Page 11

TEN

WRENLY

He’s kissing me.

Not just a little brush of the lips but a real kiss. I can’t believe this is happening. When he breaks the kiss, I internally scream because I want more. Then I feel Ryan wiggle on my knee, and I realize that I’m still holding him. So, more is definitely out of the question—at least right now.

I watch as he stands and then walks back to his seat, sits down, and picks up his fork before his gaze meets mine. He smirks, his eyes dancing as he looks into my no doubt glazed ones.

“Eat your food, Wrenly. And let that guilt fucking dissipate. There’s no place for it here.”

He’s being far kinder to me than I deserve, but I don’t voice that, mainly because I don’t think he would want me to. Instead, I pick up my own fork and try to start eating again. Dipping my fork into the baked potato, I spear a piece and bring it to my lips.

It’s amazing, just like everything he’s cooked. He reminds me a lot of my dad. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I can’t help but compare the two, at least in little things like this meal of meat, potatoes, and veggies. My dad always cooks this way when he’s in charge.

So I decide to start asking him questions. The only way I’m going to get to know him is if I ask questions. We’ve somewhat discussed Ryan. He knows we live with my dad and that he helped us out a lot, but I know virtually nothing about him other than what I’ve read on the hockey team bio page.

“Tell me something about yourself, about your family.”

He lifts his head, his gaze finding mine again, and smiles. “My mom married my stepdad when I was three. He had a daughter who was about Ryan’s age. I started playing hockey when I was eight. My stepdad put me in football, soccer, and baseball. None of it was for me. But when I put those skates on, I knew I was home.”

Watching him talk about hockey is mesmerizing. He absolutely loves the sport. Down to his bones, he loves it. The look on his face is blissful serenity. I don’t think I have a passion for anything like that, or ever have, except maybe for Ryan. I do have a passion for my son—a deep love.

“Wow, you’ve been playing that long?” I ask.

Eli hums, nodding his head. “I don’t have allergies to any food. I don’t know if that means anything for Ryan, if that shit is genetic or whatever. But I don’t. There’s nothing major medical history-wise in my family that I know about. I had a grandfather who died from liver disease, but he was a bad alcoholic.”

My lips twitch into a smirk. “Okay,” I say softly.

“My mom and stepdad would really like to meet you. I talked to them, and they said they could wait until you’re ready for that, but I also know that my mother is losing her fucking mind. My sister, too, I’m sure.”

My eyes widen. I can’t imagine what they must think of me. Instead of asking—because I’m not sure that I want that answer—I shift the conversation slightly. If we keep talking about his family, I’m going to get seriously sick with guilt and probably throw up.

“Where are you from?” I ask.

I watch his eyes light up. “North Dakota,” he says. “What about you?”

Arching a brow, I press my lips together, trying to figure out what he’s asking me for sure because he already knows that I’m from Texas. But thankfully, I don’t have to clarify. He continues.

“Where’s your mom?”

I could lie to him. I could tell him she died or something, which honest to fuck sounds better than the truth. Which is that my mother ran off when I was five and never looked back. I don’t know the real reason, but I never saw her again.

Telling Eli the truth is hard. I’ve never talked about my mother much. Even my dad and I didn’t really discuss her often. And now we don’t talk about her at all—it’s as if she never existed.

I’ve cried my tears about her. I’ve mourned what could have been more times than I would like to admit, and I’ve made promises to myself that I will never, not ever in a million years, be like her.

“My mom walked out when I was five. I never saw her again.”

I wait for the look of pity, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, he shifts in his seat. His eyes find mine, and my breath is stolen from my body. Because not only does he not look at me with pity in his gaze, but instead, he looks at me with understanding.

“My dad walked away, too. Never looked back. My stepdad raised me and gave my mom everything.”

We have more in common than I thought. “I’m sorry,” I say.

He clears his throat, his gaze focused on mine. “So you can maybe understand why I don’t want to be him. In any way.”

“I can,” I exhale.

Eli’s eyes don’t shift from mine. He is staring at me in a way that I can’t even attempt to describe. I don’t try. Instead, I stare at him and wait for him to say something else. I know that he has something swimming around in his mind.

“Move back here—with me.”

ELI

I blurted that shit out, probably at the wrong fucking moment. I watch as Wrenly stares at me, her eyes wide as she presses her lips together. I don’t know what the fuck I said, but I do know that I meant it.

Every fucking word.

“Do what?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Move in with me. You and Ryan.”

I repeat my words, and I’m still not sure why they have come out. Maybe out of desperation, maybe out of panic.

It doesn’t matter.

I said what I said, and I fucking meant it.

I want Wrenly and Ryan with me. I don’t think I can just let them go back to Texas. I can’t watch them walk away from me, not knowing what could be. But at the same time, I can’t help but wonder if she would really stay.

Is she going to run off the way her mom and my dad did?

We stare at one another in silence, Wrenly no doubt letting my words sink in. Instead of pushing her for a response, I start to clean up dinner. Ryan is babbling in her lap, wiggling around, completely finished with the whole idea of dinner and ready to do something else.

Wrenly stays in a daze until Ryan breaks free from her grasp and slides down her leg to the floor. I watch as he begins to toddle around. My house isn’t babyproof, although I doubt there is much sitting around he could really get into. And if he broke something, I wouldn’t give a shit.

“Let me clean up. You did all that cooking.”

“I couldn’t,” I mutter.

She looks up at me from her chair, her gaze searching mine, still not having responded to my demand to have them come and live here, but then she gives me a smile. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

“Go spend some time with him. You made this amazing dinner for us and everything.”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with a baby who can’t have a conversation with me. I don’t really spend much time playing with or getting to know Luke’s baby. I’ve held her a few times and went to her first birthday party, but past that, I haven’t interacted with her much.

Leaving Wrenly to do the dishes, at her insistence, I make my way into the living room, where Ryan is standing at the coffee table, slapping his palm against the top and giggling. It’s cute as fuck.

I watch him walk around the room, or at least try. He falls down a few times, and each time he does, I make a move to go to him, but he just stands up and starts again. He doesn’t pull anything off any shelves, he doesn’t open any doors, he just moves as if he’s observing the place around him, then he turns to face me.

We stare at one another for a long moment in silence. Then he moves toward me. He’s got a look of pure determination on his face as he moves. Then he reaches the side of the sofa and climbs onto the cushion before he crawls over to me.

He makes his way into my lap. Wordlessly, without making so much as even a peep, he rests his head against my chest and lets out a heavy sigh. I wrap my arms around him, and for the first time in my life, I feel something warm fill me. I don’t know what it is, but my chest almost aches as my heart squeezes.

He’s mine.

And I’m never leaving him—and he’s never leaving me.