Nicklas swallows, brow furrowing. “Sort of?”
I let out a breath, one that feels like it’s been sitting in my chest for years. “It’s complicated,” I say, staring out through the windshield, though I’m not really seeing anything anymore. “But I loved Ben…and I lost. And I’m afraid?—”
The words choke off as I pull into a parking spot. The car rolls to a stop, engine idling low beneath the silence that follows. My hands are still locked around the wheel, knuckles tight, like letting go might unravel something I won’t be able to pull back together. I force my fingers to loosen, one by one, then turn to face him fully.
“So to answer your question…what I’m worried about is history repeating itself.”
Nicklas doesn’t hesitate. “You think if you get close to Maria and the boys…she might take them away from you.”
It’s not even a question. “Yeah.” The word is quiet. Honest. “Yeah, I do.”
A beat passes. Maybe two.
“I hate to break it to you, Tuck,” he says, not unkindly. “But you already are getting close.”
I shake my head, a frustrated breath pushing out of me. “I just…I’m not sure she thinks I’m the man for that, you know? For them.”
“For them,” he repeats softly, like he’s turning the words over, testing them.
“Yeah.”
He studies me for a second, then his mouth lifts—but not into a joke. “You’re the best man I know, Tuck,” he says simply. “We couldn’t have asked for a better captain. And you care about every single one of us like we’re more than just teammates. That’s something.”
My chest tightens, my heart pounding behind my ribs. “Thank you. But…” I drag a hand down my face, my mind going back to the past. “Stability. What if I can’t be there? What if I can’t be the man they need me to be?”
He nods slowly, like he gets it. Like he sees all the pieces I’m not saying out loud—the travel, the missed moments, the distance that stretches too far no matter how much you try to bridge it.
“Long distance,” I say quietly, staring ahead again. “It never works.”
The words hang there between us.
“I think she’s been around enough hockey players to know what the lifestyle is like,” Nicklas says, leaning his head back against the seat, voice easy again. “And she does have the WAGs.”
I nod slowly. He’s right. Maria isn’t naïve. She knows the travel, the long stretches apart. She knows the women who live it every day, who don’t just survive it, but thrive.
I glance out at the sidewalk, people rushing past with their heads down against the wind, coats pulled tight. “I’d better let Maria know I’m here,” I say, pushing the door open. “I don’t want her to be late.” I glance at Nicklas. “You decide on dinner.”
“Yeah,” he says, as I reach for the handle. “And I’ll help the boys cook. We don’t want a repeat of the summer salad.” He rubs his stomach dramatically. “We have a game to win tomorrow.”
That pulls a real laugh out of me, and I shove his shoulder. “I’ll believe your kitchen skills when I see them.”
“Be prepared to be amazed.”
“You want to wait here?” I ask, stepping out into the cool evening air.
“Nah, I’ll come in,” he says, rounding the hood. “Sneak a few cinnamon buns for later.”
I chuckle, the sound carried off by the wind as it whistles down the street. A paper cup skitters across the pavement, bouncing against the curb, and without even thinking, Nicklas jogs a step to catch it. He tosses it into a nearby trash can.
I pull open the café door, the warmth hitting my face?—
—and everything inside me stutters.
My gaze locks onto a lone woman sitting at a table. My legs nearly give out.
“What the fuck?” I murmur, blinking hard, sure I’m seeing things. Sure she’ll disappear if I look away and back again.
“What’s up, Chucky?”
