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CHAPTER FOUR

AMEDEO

I was going to shit myself. Literally. My stomach had been rolling all morning, and on the way to the airport, I was seventy percent sure I’d seen Bryce in a car behind us, though that was probably my anxiety talking. I wouldn’t have put it past him to stalk me and make sure I was telling the truth though. But as far as I knew, he was leaving me alone.

He hadn’t been back to the apartment. Or if he had, he hadn’t taken any of his things. I got mine, then left Alessia with the key before getting into the rideshare and heading out for my flight. I had a single suitcase with me, my Kindle in my bag, three audiobooks loaded on my phone, and three Xanax to get me through the two layovers before I landed in Boston.

My rental car would be waiting for me there, and then it was a two-hour drive to the little vacation rental I had for ten days. My plan was to settle in, see the town a bit, and then hopefully find a way to contact Tucker without showing up on his doorstep like, Hey, I’m the guy you drunk married in Vegas. How’s a divorce sound?

Not that we needed one, but I still didn’t know if he remembered anything about that night. I was the one with all the paperwork, and since nothing had been filed, there was a good chance he hadn’t been able to track me down even if he wanted to.

Though…why would he?

If I was remembering him right, he was one of the most gorgeous men I had ever laid eyes on. He was muscular with piercing eyes and strong, calloused hands. I vaguely remembered him talking about hockey, and during my insomnia fit before the flight, I broke all etiquette protocols and looked him up.

Not that I was sure there were social etiquette rules about random strangers you got drunk and married in Vegas, but still .

I felt bad when I typed his name into a browser and learned that he’d signed with a professional hockey team a few months before he survived a violent car accident. The article on the NHL website was short and to the point. He was a junior in college who’d just signed with the Sea Dogs—the captain of his collegiate team—and in a single twist of fate, his entire career ended before it began.

There was a tiny update on his bio that stated he lived on the East Coast and was currently coaching peewee hockey after a short stint with the USA Paralympic team. The man was far better than I ever deserved, and that could not be argued.

I was nothing more than some nobody, the nerd of accounting with no life and no accomplishments to speak of. Oh, and the one time I had let loose, I’d broken every ounce of my moral code and screwed around on my ex before breaking up with him.

I slammed the laptop shut and didn’t look again. All I could really hope for was that he forgave me when I explained what happened. He might have been drunk too, but the state I’d been in at the bar, it was most definitely me who had initiated the whole dipshit, married thing.

God, I could not be trusted with myself.

Luckily, my flights were all calm, but unluckily, that meant weird, unsettling stress nightmares midflight about faceless husbands and evil exes chasing me through the streets. More than once, I’d woken up gasping, grabbing at my seat neighbor, who looked entirely disturbed.

The waves of humiliation were just never-ending.

Soon enough though, my last flight landed, and suddenly, I was in Boston. I had no real plans to stick around, but my stomach made me wish I’d booked a room there to recover for the night. I wasn’t a well-traveled man. It had been damn near exotic to visit Vegas and see the bright lights, marvel at the sea of tourists, and hear a chorus of languages I wasn’t fluent in.

I’d gotten lost several times on purpose, and for a while, I hadn’t wanted to be found. Now, here I was, putting an entire country between me and Bryce. Running away like a coward, which was probably what he was telling everyone I was doing.

In some respects, I supposed he was right. It was easier for me to find the stranger I’d made a huge mistake with than deal with whatever Bryce wanted to throw at me.

I had no regrets, but the pain of wishing I was a better man—a stronger man—nipped at my heels with every step I took.

The car rental went smoothly, and before I was really aware of the reality of the situation, I was back on a crowded freeway heading east. I was unprepared for the level of traffic, though I’d commuted to LA for the first half of my adult years, so I wasn’t quite sure why I was so taken aback.

Maybe it was the stop and go. The stillness was the hardest for me to deal with. It gave time for thinking, and thinking was the last thing I wanted to do with my free time. I endured it for twenty minutes before using the next long gridlock pause to figure out how to hook up my Bluetooth to the speaker.

Now, I could drown myself out with the calming, dulcet tones of the English narrator telling me, for the dozenth time, the beauty and tragedy of Patroclus and Achilles’ love story.

By the time the two ancient characters were discovering the forbidden taste of each other’s lips in a cave, I was passing the town line for Turenne. It was marked by an old-school-looking wooden sign with a big, bushy tree carved into the front.

It was…quaint. Kind of old-style European in a way, with tree-lined roads that were nothing like home. Even in the mountains of California, it wasn’t like this. Those were tall, thready pines that cast mottled shade.

This was something else. It was thick. Lush. I could smell water on the ground even without my windows open. This was late spring, but I could only imagine what it would be like when autumn came. Not that I’d be here. There would be no reason for me to stick around for that long.

At some point, Bryce would be dealt with, and my life would go back to the way it was. I’d head into the office without worrying about some crisis disrupting my day and threatening to get me fired. I’d relearn to cook for one, though that one wouldn’t be too hard because he’d stopped eating my cooking two years ago. But I’d figure out how to shop for one and how to stop timing my entire day around my ex.

And if I was very, very lucky, I’d stop looking over my shoulder out of fear that he was standing behind me.

Oh good, my stress nausea was back. I was desperate to be out of the car and in some kind of bed by the time the GPS told me I was reaching the little rental. I hadn’t gotten the check-in email yet, but that was fine. I needed to stop by the little grocery market and grab food so I wouldn’t have to leave the house in the next few hours.

Or maybe days, depending on my level of cowardice.

The parking lot was mostly empty, which was a relief, and the feeling of stretching my legs was amazing. It was better than sex. Well, better than the sex I’d been having. Once Bryce gave up trying to impress me, which hadn’t lasted very long, he’d either become a two-pump-and-dump or a dead fish, depending on whether he felt like topping or bottoming.

The lackluster events had all but killed my libido, and a good bar of chocolate was far more satisfying these days.

Which reminded me I definitely wanted chocolate. At some point, the reality of this was going to slam into me without hitting the brakes, and yeah. I was going to need all the comfort I could find.

It felt weird to be on solid ground, so far away from home. There was a warmth in the air I wasn’t expecting to feel, though the only thing I knew about this part of the country was that it snowed.

A lot.

Something I hadn’t seen since I was a kid.

And there was a floral scent on the breeze, and the air was strangely soft and kind. It was also quiet in ways I was unprepared for. I could hear insects and birds off in the distance, but the powerful sounds of commuter traffic were utterly absent.

It made me shiver a little as I grabbed one of the tiny carts and headed through the sliding doors. Inside was familiar, a boutique market that started with rows and rows of flower bouquets and wine in gift boxes. It opened up to the produce section, where everything was on display in wooden crates—artfully arranged to look like a country market.

It all seemed so…fresh.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the citrus, so I loaded up on pink oranges, then grabbed apples and two containers of strawberries, which would definitely end up molding before I got through them all.

But I hadn’t shopped like this in so long, and by that, I meant indulging in myself without fear of judgment. The thought made me smile even as it hurt my chest, and I rounded the meat section, skipping all that because I had no idea what kind of accommodations the rental had.

The last thing I needed was a pile of perishables with nowhere to store them and no way to cook any of it.

The pasta section was promising though. I came to a halt when I realized that most of the packages were imported straight from Italy, and I quickly took out my phone to send a message to my sister.

“Look at this,” I said into the voice text. “Nonna would be paying for our move here if she could see this aisle.”

“Please don’t film the pasta. They’re camera-shy.”

The voice scared the shit out of me so badly I dropped my phone to the ground, and it hit the tiles with a very loud crack. I couldn’t see the man behind me, but I knew we both winced.

“Oh fuck. Oh shit. I’m so fucking sorry, bro. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I bent down and swept it up as I did a half turn, and my gaze immediately caught on a thin bar of a prosthetic leg jutting out of his shorts. It…couldn’t be? Could it?

No. The man’s other leg was flesh.

“Now, Carol-Ann, she loves a camera,” the guy said, running his fingers over the socket covering his thigh. Shit, he caught me staring. I stood up so quickly my head swam. “She’s kind of a slut.”

“C-carol-Ann?” I stammered. Why did I say that? I should be apologizing for staring like a weirdo. I straightened and felt the screen with my thumb. There was a crack because of course there was. My gaze was stuck on the man though. Attractive, tall, broad, long wind-swept hair pulled back into a manbun.

A typical pretty boy. He was probably some former frat boy who lost his leg in a harrowing shark attack off the coast of Australia or something.

“Hi,” he said.

I swallowed heavily. “Um. Hello.”

“I really am sorry I scared you. Is your phone broken? I literally cannot fix it if it is. I can barely pay my bills working here.”

I blinked and then realized he was wearing a green store apron.

“It’s fine,” I rasped, my throat kind of dry. Why was I so bad at interacting with strangers? “I have insurance.”

He brightened. “Tourist? You look new. And lost.”

Clearing my throat, I pushed my basket away a few steps and followed it. “Um. Yes. Just visiting for a few days.” Ten days. Ten days to find my not-quite husband and get a not-quite divorce. My gaze went back to his leg, unable to help it. It looked a lot like the ones I’d seen at the front desk that belonged to Tucker. What were the chances?

His head tilted to the side. “See, she’s a slutty, slutty lady.” He touched his leg again, and when I flushed, he laughed. “I’m joking. I don’t care if you stare at her.”

“N-no. It’s not…I just…know a guy.”

“Me too. I know a lot of guys.” He winked. “Single?”

“M-me?”

“Mmhm.”

“Married,” I blurted. Oh my God, what was wrong with me? Why did I say that?

“Shame. Anyway, can I help you find anything?”

Shaking my head, I took another step away. Then I looked again because apparently, I was a glutton for public shame. “Why do you call it Carol-Ann?”

His grin widened. “ Poltergeist .” He said it like somehow that made any kind of sense. I frowned. “It’s this movie where?—”

“No, I know it,” I said. “I s-saw it when I was a kid. Scared the shit out of me.”

He grinned wider. “Oh my God, me too. Anyway,” he said without explaining why his leg was named after a horror movie character from the eighties. “I’m going to get back to work before I get fired because this will be my sixth job this year, and my landlord will literally murder me in my bed if I’m late on rent again. Yell for me if you need anything.”

He was gone before I could ask his name, though I supposed I could have screamed Carol-Ann, and he would have come running. He walked with a bounce in his step and a speed that outmatched mine by at least three times.

I took a breath and shook my head. In a town of a fifty thousand, there had to be more than just one amputee. And of course they didn’t all know each other. The odds of that were astronomical, and the thought was ridiculous. And probably ableist.

I didn’t want to add that to my list of flaws, so I told myself it was a coincidence and moved on.

Carol-Ann’s owner was not relevant.

At least. He wasn’t supposed to be relevant.

That all changed forty-eight hours later when I showed up at Tucker’s door and the grocery store guy answered.

* * *

“Hi again,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

I didn’t know what to do. “Uh. I’m looking for Tucker Banks?”‘

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you are. And who are you, exactly?”

I swallowed heavily. “Amedeo de Luca.”

“And you know Tucker…how?”

“We met in Vegas. And, uh. Well.” I moved my shoulders back and straightened my spine. “He and I kind of…sort of…got drunk.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He could tell I wasn’t done. “ And ?”

“And we kind of—um. Got married.”