He's quiet for a moment, and when he looks at me again, the mask has slipped. Enough for me to see the exhaustion underneath.
Those bright blue eyes that usually sparkle with mischief are dimmed now, shadowed in a way that makes my chest ache. I notice the fading bruise along his jaw, the yellow-green remnants around his eye, and something protective flares in me that I immediately try to shove down.
"They won't clear me to play." He swallows hard. "They've given me two more weeks, minimum. Which means I'm..." He gestures vaguely, rolling his eyes. "Benched. Side-lined…whatever.Basically, until I can pick up a hockey stick again, I'm useless."
Useless.
I remember sitting beside his hospital bed three weeks ago, watching him sleep while machines beeped and nurses bustled around him.
We'd been getting closer, closer in a way I haven't been with another man foryears.Since my husband left me and I chose Morgan as the love of my life.
But sitting there, watching Colt, I told myselfthis is why you can't do this again.
Not because he wasn't worth it.
But because I'd gone home that night to find Morgan in front of the TV, homework untouched, dinner unmade, hair unbrushed because Mommy was too busy worrying about a man who wasn't her responsibility.
And that's when it hit me.
I can't do everything.
I can barely domost things.
And adding Colt Lane to the equation feels like asking for heartbreak I don't have the bandwidth to survive.
"Colt… You're not useless. You're healing. What happened to you…" I shake my head, remembering the phone call and rushing to the hospital with Quinn. "You need to give it time. That's all they're asking you."
He runs a hand through his perfect hair, and I have to stop myself from doing it for him.
"Yeah, well. Healing feels a lot like standing still. And I've never been very good at standing still. Just ask my parents."
Before I can question what he means by that, the bell chimes again.
Delaney Evans sweeps into Butter Batch, designer heels clicking against my vintage tile, tablet tucked under one arm. Her blonde hair is flawless as usual, her ice-blue eyes looking around the bakery with that gorgeous intelligence and confidence that makes her so good at her job.
"Mr. Lane! There you are." She points at Colt. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"Shit.Busted."Colt groans, winking at me. "Can I at least get my muffin first?"
I move to the display case and find the biggest blueberry muffin for him as Delaney storms to stand in front of him.
"This isn't about muffins, Lane." Delaney's gaze flicks to me, then back to Colt. "Samuel said you left the stadium looking like someone kicked your puppy. Want to tell me what happened?"
"Willa won't clear me," he says like it's a physical pain. "Two more weeks."
Delaney's expression doesn't change, but she gains a bright spark in her eyes. She looks at Colt. Then at me. Then back at Colt.
And a slow smile spreads across her face.
"Interesting," she murmurs, tapping a finger to her chin.
"What's interesting?" Colt's eyes narrow. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I'm not looking at you like anything." She's definitely looking at him likesomething. "I'm just… thinking."
"About what?"
Delaney's smile widens. "Come by my office this afternoon. Say, three o'clock?" She glances at me, and there's something in her expression I don't like. "I have an idea. Something youbothmight enjoy."
