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CHAPTER SEVEN

TUCKER

“Cook me a fancy dinner tonight?”

Boden stared at me over the rink wall, using his sticks to shift the front of his sled back and forth. “I’m sorry. Do I look like a personal chef to you? Are you confused about the uniform, or…”

I leaned over the wall with my whole body and made grabby hands at him. “Pleeeeease.”

“Make your own fucking dinner, Tucker.”

His eyes narrowed as I fell back into my sled and then used the edge of my stick to throw the door open. With a hard push, I slid out onto the ice and wobbled a bit before I was able to steady myself.

“Why do you want me to cook you dinner?”

I dug the spikes of my sticks into the ice and propelled myself ahead. But he was a better skater than me. Or, well, he was faster. He’d been in a sled since he was two years old and had enough opposable-thumb motor function to hold the hockey sticks.

“Nothing. Never mind!” I called.

He chased me down and slammed me into the boards, all the breath rushing from my lungs.

“Ugh. Fuck you,” I gasped.

He dropped his stick in his lap and used his glove to pin me. He might have looked young and small, but there was a fire in his eyes that always gave away both his age and his strength. “Tucker. Why am I cooking you a fancy dinner?”

I perked up. “Um. Well….I may have invited Amedeo over to eat, and I don’t want to give my future ex-husband food poisoning, so I volunteered your services. Also, you can’t stay. You have to make us food and then leave right after.”

I got an elbow in the chest for that one. Luckily, he hit my pads, so there would only be a small bruise. Boden’s glare told me he wasn’t happy with me, but I could tell he also wasn’t going to say no.

I rushed after him, matching his pace as he skated his warm-up laps. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Why are you doing this? You know this whole situation is fucked. But you’re inviting him over to eat? This was supposed to be handled at your little brunch thing.” Boden looked like he wanted to strangle me.

“Yeah.” I skidded to a halt and waited for him to lap the net before coming back to snow me in the face. In all honesty, I needed the refreshing spray of ice. “But see, the thing is, his life is kind of shitty. I figure I could at least be nice to him while we sort this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. I was going to tell you after practice that there’s not a chance in hell anything about your marriage thing is legal. I had Coop look into it.”

I wrinkled my nose. Cooper, the newest guy on our team, was a legal secretary, and his day job was so fucking dry and boring it made me want to throw myself into the sun. But he did know helpful people. Like lawyers. “I know he’s not my actual husband, Boden. I’m not losing it.”

His expression fell, and he reached up, scratching his beard with the edge of his glove. “I’m not saying you are. I just don’t want you to get more in over your head than you already are.”

That hurt, but only because it was true. I hated that I needed my friends to protect me from myself, but I’d been in a low-key spiral for a while, and it was too easy to throw me off.

“What’s up, my darlings.” Ford appeared, sliding into Boden, who barely moved. “What are we talking about?”

“Nothing,” Boden said at the same time as I said, “Amedeo’s coming over for dinner tonight, and Boden thinks I’m making bad choices.”

Boden glared at me as Ford sighed.

“Can we focus? New coach incoming.”

Boden straightened, his eyes now narrow and cold. “Fuck this guy.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have a plan yet,” Ford reminded him. “And maybe we should be, like, super compliant. Throw him off his game when we start really fucking with him for real.”

Boden nodded, his jaw tense as the doors opened and the rest of the guys appeared. It always took a while for everyone to get situated in their sleds, but most of them were wheelchair users, so the new guy stuck out.

He was very tall, broad, with short black hair, a beard that would shiver the timbers of any pirate who swung his way, and eyes that looked kind. He probably had at least a decade on us with the way the sides of his forehead were wrinkled, and he had the faintest glimmer of silver sprinkled in his hair.

Life was about to suck for him because I knew Boden wasn’t going to let this go. He was going to take this guy down with our help or not. But I did notice that Boden was staring at him a little more intensely than I expected. Like there was something I didn’t know.

“Come on, Cap,” Ford said, nudging Boden with the front of his sled. “Show this man who’s boss.”

Boden looked dangerous and happy about it. He gave a toothy grin, then snapped his sticks together. “New coach on the ice! Let’s give him a warm-as-fuck Wolves welcome!”

* * *

I was aching all over, and there was crusty blood under my nose by the time practice was over. I’d taken a puck to the face because my game was off. Boden was pissed about it, but sue me, I was distracted.

Every time I blinked, I saw Amedeo’s face, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. Something about him made me feel…hell, there wasn’t really a word for it. Safe was a good start, but that wasn’t entirely right.

It was almost like I knew him, which was wild since I only had a few foggy memories from our drunken night together. But obviously, something about this guy had struck my fancy enough to agree to be his husband, even if it was fake Elvis blessing our union.

So maybe I didn’t need to wham-bam-thank you-ma’am his whole thing. Maybe I could take my time with him and get to know him. Even if I never saw him again, the memories I got to keep this time might be worth it.

“I need to stop by the store,” Boden said as I climbed into the passenger seat. “We haven’t been shopping in a while.”

I fell back against the seat and groaned. “I wanted to shower before he gets there.”

“So shower. I’m not going to talk to him if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I did not believe him, but he was right about the groceries thing. This morning when I tried to grab a protein milk, all that was left in the fridge was leftover fried rice from so long ago it was probably growing little sentient colonies of mold, and metaphorical tumbleweeds.

If Boden was going to feed us tonight, we had to make the stop.

“Send me a list when we get into the parking lot. I’ll be faster than you.” I was in my wheelchair, my thighs too sore to deal with my prosthetics, but he only had his walker, and he refused to use a motorized cart out of both pride and spite.

He looked irritated but agreed with a stiff nod, and I let myself drift until we made it to the shop. As I assembled my chair, I felt my phone buzz, and I grabbed it out of my jeans and stuck it in my shirt pocket so I didn’t have to do that awkward little butt-wiggle in front of strangers to get it.

“I’ll be five minutes.”

“Take longer and get the right stuff,” he demanded.

I groaned again but nodded and hurried into the store, grabbing a cart and setting it on my lap before heading for produce. The list was for poutine because he always went full Canadian whenever there was a first-time guest. But of course, he was also making a mountain of steamed broccoli and roasted chicken because the man just couldn’t let me fucking live with my cheese and carbs. Protein and fiber , I could hear him say in my head.

I tossed the broccoli into the basket, then went for the cheese section, where they kept the good cheese curds. Meat was next, and I was able to snag a chicken breast off the top of a pile without having to strain my sore back, and then I hit the frozen aisle for the fries.

I snuck in a box of brownie mix and some eggs, then headed for self-checkout and zoomed through. Just as I was swiping my card, my phone began to buzz again. It was a call, and my heart leapt into my throat when I realized it was Amedeo.

“Hey,” I said, my voice raspy with nerves. Fuck, was he canceling?

“I have a flat tire.” His own voice was shaking. “I’m s-so sorry. It’s a rental, and they can’t get anyone out to fix it until t-tomorrow.”

Did he stammer that much when we’d met? It was weirdly adorable.

“Okay. You wanna do another night?” Damn it, why did I ask that! I wanted to see him. “Or do you want us to come pick you up?”

“I can get an Uber if it’s okay that I’m a little later than we planned?”

Oh, he sounded sweet. “Yes. I want to see you tonight. I don’t care what time it is. We got out of practice late anyway. Boden has a vendetta against our new coach, and he was fucking around to throw him off his game. Not that you asked. I’m going to shut up. Can you send me your address so I can send the car?”

He laughed softly, and my arms broke out in goose bumps. “You don’t need to do that for me.”

“Yes, I do. I invited you. Stop arguing and send it to me.”

He sighed, but I swore I could hear a smile in it. “Alright, thank you. I’m sorry for being an inconvenience.”

He said it like he believed it—like too many people told him he was one, and I wanted to pull him close and wrap around him so no one could hurt him. But that might have been a bit much, considering I had just seen his face for the first time. Or well, had just seen it without a ton of booze to make me forget.

“You’re good. See you soon.” I hung up before my mouth betrayed me any more, grabbing my bags and heading for the exit.

The parking lot was dark enough that it was hard to navigate, but I could see Boden’s silhouette against his car. He was hanging out the side with the door open.

“Change of plans,” I said as I rolled up to the trunk and waited for him to pop it open.

“Don’t tell me?—”

“He has a flat tire and needs a ride.”

“You told him that would be my job, I’m assuming?”

I looked at him. “Well, I figured volunteering you was the best choice?—”

“I’m not an Uber. And I have a whole dinner to cook.”

“—but I decided to pay for his ride instead,” I finished with a smirk. “Oh, and also? I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

He was right, of course. I didn’t. “Will you order it on your phone? I’ll Venmo you the cost later.” I wheeled around to my door and lifted my body into the seat before quickly tearing apart my chair and throwing it into the back.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take care of it. Sit down, and don’t make any other bad decisions for the rest of the night.”

“Dick.”

I was close enough now to see his grin. God, he really was such a dick. Too bad I loved him with all my heart.

* * *

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to do a quick panic shower—scrub the balls, a quick once-over on my hair, the end of my legs so they didn’t smell like butt cheese from being in the thick gel socks all day, and then a quick swipe of the pits before drying off and getting dressed—or a very long, very thorough shower that included the butt crack all the way to the insides of my ears so I looked as nice as possible when I saw Amedeo again. Though why I cared was still beyond me.

I rarely got this twisted up over dudes I found attractive, and I was surrounded by hockey players most weeks.

So why him? Why this little round-cheeked, dimpled nerd who probably worked in an office or something?

By the time I decided—the quick panic shower—I’d already been sitting under the spray for fifteen minutes, staring at the back of the shampoo bottle that I couldn’t read. I soaped up, rinsed off, then hopped into my wheelchair with a hand towel over my dick…

And came to an abrupt halt in the dark hallway, in front of a shadow I didn’t recognize, which only meant one thing.

“S-sorry. Sorry.” Oh, that voice. “Oh my God, I was just looking for the bathroom.”

I slapped a hand over my crotch to steady the towel. “Uh. When did you get here?”

“Five minutes ago?” he said very quietly. “Your friend let me in.”

Wonderful. I had to be red as a goddamn fire truck. “I’m gonna, uh?—”

“Yeah, no. Of course. You need to get dressed. May I use the bathroom, or?—”

“Go nuts.”

Go nuts ? Get it the fuck together, Tucker. Don’t make him regret coming over.

I grabbed my wheels and gave a single hard push, gliding through my bedroom door, which I quickly shut with my elbow, then dropped my face into my hands and did a long, silent scream into my palms.

Jesus, I needed to get it together and get out there before he had time to realize what a disaster I was.

Unfortunately, being that I was missing two limbs and one eye, getting dressed was never a quick affair. Most of my clothes I didn’t need to really look at. I knew what everything was by a single touch, so I found my favorite Henley and the jeans that made my ass look great.

But then there was the whole chafe cream, prosthetic liners, the gel socks, and then wriggling into jeans, which did require some hopping and stomach sucking. By the time I was done, my hair was half-dry and all over the place, so I threw on my glasses and went to work with a little gel to make it look at least halfway orderly.

Turning left to right, I leaned in close to the mirror to get the best look at myself. Not half-bad. I was used to the scars, so I didn’t notice them much, and Amedeo really hadn’t been fixated on them, which was a nice change.

An entire twenty-five minutes later, I was ready. My heart felt like it was beating in my throat, but I stepped out of the room and had just made it to the living room when I remembered I was wearing my glasses. I hated them. They were thick and lopsided, ugly and thick-framed. I preferred my contact, which didn’t give me the best corrected vision with all the scarring, but it looked better.

Then I turned and saw Amedeo very clearly for the first time in…probably ever. And fuck. He really was cute as a goddamn button.

“Hey,” he said with a tiny grin. He was sitting on the left side of the couch with his hands pressed together in between his knees, his shoulders hunched. “Uh, your friend said you’d be out soon. He said he was going to bed and not to bother him unless someone’s?—”

“Broken or bleeding.” I walked over and sat opposite him. “Don’t let the adorable French Canadian accent fool you. He’s a total asshole.”

Amedeo pinked. “I thought he was nice.”

“He’d better be real fuckin’ good to you,” I said. “All the guys are on warning.”

He let out a nervous laugh, which was, of course, also adorable. “That’s…sweet of you. Why are you being so nice?”

“As opposed to what?”

He shrugged. “I figured you’d be pissed off that I got you drunk and married you.”

Both my brews flew up. “ Is that what happened?”

“Well…I mean.” He stopped and bit his lip. “I think the shots were both of our ideas, but I was the one going through something.” He trailed off with another shrug.

“I think it’s safe to say we both fucked up that night. And can I just say again I’m really, really sorry for messing up your relationship.”

At that, he winced and looked down at his lap. Shit, that was a tender nerve. “No. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m the one who cheated.”

I should dislike him immediately. I had absolutely no tolerance for cheaters. But something told me if anyone deserved it, it was Amedeo’s ex. His voice shook whenever he talked about him, like he was afraid. It made me want to rip the guy’s dick off and show it to him.

“I’d had a really bad day, and he wasn’t being very kind while I was on that trip,” Amedeo said, his voice barely audible. I moved a cushion over to hear him better, and he didn’t flinch away, which I considered a win. “There’s no excuse for what I did, but I will say that it was over a long time ago. I just feel bad that I didn’t have the courage to end it when I should have.”

I had no idea what to say to that. I’d never really been in a functional relationship before, so I did what I do best. I changed the subject.

“Do you have a nickname?”

He blinked up at me, brows furrowed. “A…nickname?”

“Some of the guys on my team call me Fucker—because it rhymes with Tucker. My hockey nickname is technically Banksie because?—”

“Banks,” he finished for me, wearing a tiny grin. He was starting to relax again. Mission accomplished.

“Yeah. It feels weird to call you Amedeo all the time. I never call anyone by their full name unless I’m really pissed, and I am not angry at you.”

His ears flushed. “Uh, my sister calls me Deo.”

“Deo. I can make that work. Is it cool if I use it?”

He looked startled. “Well. Yes.” His shoulders hunched again. “I’m not used to people asking.”

“Sounds like you know some seriously shitty people. Anyway, did Bodie say anything about dinner?”

Amedeo shook his head. “No. But he did make me taste this sauce he was making, and it was really nice.”

Clapping my hands together, I stood up, then offered him one to feel like I was being a gentleman or some shit. He took it, his grip gentle and delicate. I wanted to kiss him, which no. Absolutely fucking not. That was off the table.

“Come on, we can explore together. And if it sucks, we can go get burritos, and you can blame him instead of me.”

Amedeo laughed softly. “Thanks for tonight. I think I needed this.”

I squeezed his hand gently before letting go. “Don’t tell the guys I said this, but me too. Like you would not believe.”