by Kate Meader
“I was down at the Empty Net. Surprised you weren’t there.”
Dante’s grin was wry. “I try to keep the business and personal separate, except when I obviously don’t. But yeah, I don’t usually drink with them.”
Gunnar had drained his beer back at the bar, then left his raucous team mates arguing over whether a hot dog was a sandwich (three guesses as to Kershaw’s views on the topic). He should have been fine with the mindless trash talk and nonsense of a boys’ night out, but he’d felt disconnected from it all. Floating above, unable to engage. He needed to talk to someone who knew him on more than a surface level and wouldn’t judge.
“I took a chance you might be lonely and need company.”
“Instead of enjoying a little peace before my life turns upside down with the baby?” Dante sipped his wine. “Sure, I don’t need a quiet night in.”
Gunnar could feel his smile crumbling around the edges. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Dante held up a hand. “Amico, I jest. I’m very pleased you’re here. Let’s eat.”
They did, an amazing meal of pasta—thick noodles Gunnar didn’t know the name of—and a meaty tomato sauce he’d happily eat every day for the rest of time. They chatted about the team, the rebuild, their chances next season, and after dinner, took their glasses of wine out to the patio overlooking a perfectly-landscaped backyard.
“You work on this?”
“Cade does. I used to get someone in but he likes to mow grass and trim hedges and plant stuff.”
Gunnar appreciated that. He’d always been a fan of yard work. “What’s your plan when the baby comes along? A nanny?”
Dante looked at a point beyond the trees at the end of the yard. A smile curved his lips.
“I’ll be staying home. We haven’t made any official announcement yet because we don’t want to jinx the birth. But if all goes well, I’ll give up my job.”
Gunnar shook his head in disbelief. “But you love being GM. You used to talk of nothing else.”
“I love Cade more. We can’t both travel the way we do and still be there for a family. I’m not the first spouse to give up a job and my husband is a star defenseman who earns more money than I do. It makes sense. Harper thinks I could still be GM and not travel to games but that’s a pipe dream. Even she realizes she couldn’t do it without Remy being a stay-at-home dad. Besides, if Cade were traded I’d be out of a job anyway.”
Kelly was a pediatrician who had never enjoyed the sword of trade hanging over their heads. Gunnar’s career had been with LA until the accident, so they were never tested that way. Of course, she was a good doctor and would have had no problem getting a job wherever they went. But UCLA wasn’t really her first choice for med school or residency. She’d made that sacrifice for him.
“Enough about me.” Dante put his glass down on a side table. “How are you doing? Really.”
“Really? I like being busy. I like playing. To be honest, that’s the only reason I took on the summer camp gig, because it fills my time. I don’t have to think too hard, or that was the plan.” He took a breath. “It’s turned complicated.”
“The summer hockey camp gig has turned complicated?”
Because of her, Sadie Yates. But he didn’t want to talk about her or the fizzing energy between them. So tangible. So wrong. He turned his mind to a safer topic: Angel.
“I’ve been texting with someone and tomorrow I’m meeting her for the first time.” He didn’t explain how they’d crossed paths.
“That’s … interesting.”
“She’s—”
“You’re sure it’s a she?”
“I am. She’s easy to talk to. There’s something there, an affinity. I’m not sure what I’m doing.”
Dante smiled. “Doesn’t sound so complicated after all.”
“I’m not interested in a relationship.”
“Maybe she’s not either. Doesn’t mean you can’t both indulge in an attraction.”
Gunnar stared at his friend. “I haven’t been with anyone since Kelly. I don’t know if I even want to do that with anyone.”
“Ah. No sex forever, then.”
“It’s not that simple.” He’d had a couple of short-term flings before his wife but once he’d met her that was it for him. “I’m not really built for casual.”
Dante’s eyes warmed with understanding. “Lots of guys who go through tragedy react in ways that might be considered self-destructive. Booze, drugs, sex. What did you do?”
“What did I do? When my wife and—” He cut off, the mere notion of expressing it aloud too painful.
Dante pressed gently. “Did you go to counseling?”
Did communing with nature count? “I moved away so I wouldn’t have to inflict my moods on anyone. My brother and his family. My friends.” He’d never been the most social, but everyone wanted to help and he knew if he was around people and all their well-meaning notions, he’d say things he might regret. So he went dark. Worked at the cabin. Kept busy. Drank a lot.
“Sounds like you cut yourself off so you could maintain everything at status quo. You wouldn’t need to have a hard conversation with your brother. You wouldn’t need to talk it out with a therapist or friends. That’s okay. You found a way to cope. But now you’re back in the real world and the status quo is only going to get you so far.” He put his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You might not like the next thing I say.”
“Okay.” But this was why he’d turned up, wasn’t it?
Dante interlaced his fingers. “This attraction—this affinity—you feel for this woman you’ve been texting, I’m guessing you feel guilty about it? Like you’re betraying Kelly.”
Of course he did. “I don’t want to be attracted to anyone who’s not my wife.”
Sadie Yates and her damned storybook eyes. That barbed hook of a smile. Attraction was impossible to reconcile with this crushing guilt that he was enjoying a conversation with a stranger and now, lusting after another woman he barely knew when Kelly and his beautiful kids couldn’t enjoy anything at all.
“Sounds like you’re finding your way back to the messy dramarama of sex and relationships.”
“Don’t want that,” Gunnar gritted out, wishing he’d not said yes to this meet up with Angel tomorrow. He should cancel, especially now he was in this strange mood.
“You don’t want it, yet here we are. Being interested in someone who’s not your wife is perfectly natural, Gunnar. Hell, I know all about being attracted to the wrong person. But the wrongness here isn’t so much about the person as about your guilt that you’re attracted to any person who’s not Kelly. I’m not going to tell you it’s just sex, because that first time since your last time is never just anything. You might not want to be attracted to this person but you are. So what are you going to do about it?”
“I was kind of hoping to hear a good argument for ‘nothing.’”
Dante picked up his wine glass. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s not like you’re going to run into this woman in your usual circles. Sounds like any interaction would have to be purposeful.”
Gunnar rubbed his mouth. “Yeah, no accidental falls on my penis.”
“Hey, who’s accidentally falling on Gunnar’s penis?” Cade strode out to the patio, placed his arms around Dante’s neck, and kissed the top of his head. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”
Dante’s smile was almost one of relief at seeing his SO in one piece. Gunnar remembered that feeling, the way his body tensed when he didn’t have Kelly in his immediate sightline and how it relaxed when he knew she and the kids were back in the shelter of his arms. For the last three years, he’d held his body as taut as a bowstring. He couldn’t imagine ever feeling at ease again.
That was one more reason why the notion of sex with someone new was so difficult. Letting go like that required a level of surrender he wasn’t sure he had in him to give. Trust in another person to see you at your most vulnerable and not take adv
antage.
Dante looked up at Cade. “You want wine? Grab a glass.”
Gunnar stood. “I should get going.”
“No, stay, Double-O,” Cade said with that Texas drawl. “I’ll let you guys get back to it, though we did miss you after you left tonight. Theo assumed you were sick of him.”
“I won’t say I’m not.”
Cade chuckled. “The kid needs a lot of attention. You know how he is.”
“Yeah, I guess a million plus Instagram followers, a woman who puts up with his antics, and brothers who adore the ground he skates on isn’t enough.” Jesus, bitter much? This was why he shouldn’t be around people. He turned to Dante. “Thanks for the meal and the wine. Sorry we didn’t do it sooner.”
“Any time, amico.”
They accompanied him to the door, and Gunnar could tell from their sly looks at each other that they weren’t all that sorry to see him go.
“I’m going to walk home, clear my head. I’ll pick up my car tomorrow.”
“You can stay the night if you want,” Cade said. “We have a guest room.”
“I’m good.” His apartment was only ten minutes away. “You two enjoy your alone time before the baby cramps your style.”
Dante walked him to end of the drive. “About what we were discussing before. It’s okay to have feelings, and that includes lust. Lust, or the indulgence of it, is often a great gateway drug to other feelings.”
Indulgence. That was a curious word, and strangely apt. That’s what it felt like. A luxury he didn’t deserve.
“I’m happy to stop at lust. Not sure I should even go any further than that.” Fantasizing about someone might be enough.
Sadie Yates and the way she filled that dress. Her soft hand on his arm ripping his hormones from a deep, numbing slumber.
“Sure, but if you do act on it, don’t be surprised if it takes you to places you haven’t visited in a while.”
“Okay, thanks, Doc.”
He saluted his friend and headed off into the night.
16
One troublemaking cloud scudded across the summer sky, trying to ruin an otherwise perfect day. A little like the bad feeling Sadie had about this whole enterprise.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Which? The dress or the date?”
Sadie should not have FaceTimed with Peyton, whose fashion claws were out. It was also obnoxious to be chatting so ostentatiously with someone on your phone in public, but she needed the boost before she headed into the coffee shop for her meet-up with LonelyHeart.
“What’s wrong with this dress?” She’d worn another of her designs, an A-line pink and black satin frock with a boat neck that showed off her collar bones and a hint of shoulder. Along with her smile, Sadie’s shoulders were one of her better features.
“Nothing! Just kidding. Very appropriate for a date.”
“Not a date.” Sadie peeked in the coffee shop window. Would she recognize him? She felt in her bones that she would. He’d be sensitive, maybe dressed in a suit and glasses. Yes, definitely glasses. “He’s just a friend.” Though that sounded strange on her lips. They’d never really defined what they were to each other.
“Sounds like the plot of a book. The story you’ll tell your grandchildren.”
“This isn’t a date,” she growled. “It’s a friendly meet to put a face to the texts.”
“Uh, right.”
“Less of the dismissive tone, young lady. I get plenty of that during the hockey camp drop-off.”
Fantastic. Now, all she could think of was Gunnar telling her off, assuming the worst about her. So she’d locked Cooper in a hot car—she hadn’t left him there! So her sister was spreading rumors about Sadie’s Cruella tendencies. Untrue, but it obviously spoke to a breakdown in communications on the homestead. Thankfully she’d not seen him this morning and Jenny was handling the pick up, so yay.
“Why aren’t you going in?”
“Because I’m five minutes early. And I’m reserving the right to bail if I feel hinky about this.”
Peyton smirked. “This whole business is hinky.”
“As always, it’s been a pleasure.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m trying to help. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Oh, wait, I think I see him.”
There he was. Sort of nerdy, hand-wringing, wearer of Buddy Holly glasses, a little bit lost. And early. She’d missed him at first because he must have been in the bathroom, probably throwing up with nerves. Her heart panged for him.
“What’s he like?”
“Exactly as I imagined him. I’m going in.”
Sadie’s imagination must be on the fritz. This was not the guy.
Three minutes in, she’d figured it out, but by then Buddy Holly had already bought her a coffee. She really needed a coffee, or something stronger, so she didn’t speak up immediately because this was the kind of day she was having.
Buddy Holly smiled at her tentatively. “You’re a really good listener.”
Yep, she was, but then the man was a talker. He had already regaled her with his views on coffee shops—so cozy and neutral, whatever that meant—though he found the coffee expensive. Possibly a subtle hint that she now owed him? He’d also unloaded on the weather (too warm) and the ice water (too cold). All because she’d sat beside him with a breathless, “Hi there!”
She’d practiced it in the car, looking into her cell phone and trying a number of different greetings to project normal. Texting was so much easier. People claimed that nuance was lost in e-communications but Sadie did not agree. There were so many ways you could spin a conversation in text: the perfectly-chosen word, the need to say it succinctly and not over-explain, a well-appointed emoji, a nicely-apt gif.
Now her “hi there!” to whoever the hell this was had locked her into an interminably boring conversation about umbrellas.
“The British call them brollies,” said Buddy Holly. The strains of Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue wormed in her ear.
“Do they?” Her eyes did double duty: ensuring BH felt acknowledged while checking the door for incoming customers.
“The British have a better word for everything.”
“Actually the Germans do.”
BH looked doubtful.
“Like schattenpaarker, which means wimp, but really refers to someone who parks in the shade. Isn’t that perfect?”
“I suppose.”
“Or backpfeifengesicht, which means a face that literally deserves to be punched.”
BH looked alarmed. Time to call this.
“Listen, I’m sorry for being weird, but actually I came in here to meet someone—a particular someone—and I thought you were him. Kind of like a blind date. That’s why I sat down.”
“I bought you a coffee.”
Fair enough. “So you did. Let me give you money for that.” She took a five dollar bill from her purse and placed it on the counter. “You seemed excited to see me so I thought we were on the same wavelength, as in both expecting each other. My mistake.” Sadie stood and reached for another, final apology. “Again, I’m sorry I messed up.”
“Is this your usual MO? Sit beside unsuspecting men and get free coffee? Then leave when the situation is no longer to your liking? When you’ve gotten what you want?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Yes, you’ve figured out how I’ve managed to remain caffeinated all these years without opening my wallet. I hit on lonely men in coffee shops and pretend I know them.”
“I object to the characterization of me being lonely.” He added air quotes as if lonely was some strange, invented word that could never, ever apply in this situation. “Probably the only way someone would be interested in you.”
Hoo boy. That escalated quickly. She’d given this man five minutes of her time, five dollars from her purse, and far too many words of comfort. “Like I said, my apologies.”
“Sure, bitch.” He turned away, dismissing her with more than words.
Shock roo
ted her to the spot while she searched for a suitable response. Was he one of those incels who hated women? Had his mother not breastfed him? Gearing up to give him a piece of her mind, she made the cardinal error of looking around.
Others were listening in. She caught the embarrassed gaze of the barista, who lowered her eyes, not willing to get involved in what looked like a domestic situation. After all, she had been happily listening to him wittering on about umbrellas less than five minutes before. A woman sitting at a table further along the window stared, then looked away. Thanks, sisterhood.
The moment to react and defend herself had slipped away now that the world was watching. When push came to shove, she was merely a schattenpaarker.
Humiliated, she turned and slapped right into a wall of warm steel. Looking up—and this required significant neck strain—she met deep blue eyes, a crop of dark blond hair, a full beard, and soft-looking lips. A strikingly handsome and familiar face, and a complete backpfeifengesicht.
“Sorry I’m late, honey,” Gunnar said. “Traffic was killer.”
“Traffic?” Honey?
He glanced over her shoulder, his eyes darkening to pin pricks. “Was this guy bothering you?”
“Uh, no. I made a mistake and bothered him.” A generous interpretation, but she wanted to escape this situation with as much as grace as possible.
Good luck with that. Gunnar stood between her and the door, and given that he’d stepped in to alleviate her embarrassment—rather unexpected, that—she really couldn’t leave without him.
She would play along for a few. “Maybe we could sit over here?”
Gunnar was still staring over her shoulder at her date mistake.
“So. Let’s move.” She placed a hand on his chest—mercy, so solid—and gave an unsubtle push.
He took a step back and stood aside to let her lead. Acutely aware of him following her, she took a seat on the other side of the coffee shop.
“Listen, thanks for stepping in there. It was my fau—”
“Sure, just a sec.” He left her mid-sentence and headed back the way they’d come.
