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Shifting, I bring one leg up to the plush cushion of the couch and turn to face him. It’s inevitable, I think, how my heart melts when he mimics my movements, but I can still act normal.

“Okay, so you said something about a barbeque?” I prompt.

“Yes. The whole gang came over with my nieces and nephews. We grilled out back while the kids raised hell down in the game room.” His smile turns soft while he talks about them, while he remembers the day as if he was fully in it, fully present when it was happening. I can barely absorb his words because he just looks so at peace, and I don’t know how anyone in his position could. “They stayed the night so everyone could relax, have as many drinks as they wanted. Then we had a huge breakfast this morning before everyone went home.”

He looks so happy to have spent so much time with them, to have his three sisters, their husbands, and what I assume is a gaggle of kids invade his home for hours on end.

He’s nothing like any twenty-three-year-old I’ve ever met. I certainly was very different when I’d just graduated college.

“You love having them over,” I point out, and his sheepish smile appears again.

“I do.”

I nod, because that’s not a statement that needs any expanding on, and because, just like I don’t owe him any, he doesn’t have to explain himself to me either, even if he does make me frustratingly, endlessly curious.

It hits me then, that he must also be feeling the effects of suddenly having to be a responsible adult, not only running these massive companies or organizations, whatever, but also taking care of his brothers. Maybe he misses going out with his friends.

Well, that’s what I’m here for, right? To help him out.

There’s a dark knot in the pit of my stomach at the thought, just like there was when I saw him and Helen talk so easily, but I push it away. I have to say it. He’s done a lot for me, paying me well, accommodating every need I could possibly have.

This is the least I could do, right?

“You know, if you want to go out sometime, to dinner, or . . .” I have to swallow hard and just get this out. “Just out with . . . friends, I can go through the night routine with the boys and keep the monitor, if you want.” Why did I repeat that last part? I’m supposed to sound confident and competent in front of him, dammit.

Tucker snorts and shakes his head.

“Thank you for offering, but no.”

“No?” I ask, beyond confused. What twenty-three-year-old refuses the offer to go out partying with his friends?

He sighs heavily, but not in annoyance, at least I don’t think. Then puts his elbow on the back of the couch and rests his head on his closed fist.

“I played hockey all my life, I don’t know if you know that.”

“No,” I murmur, so lost as to where he’s going with this.

“Well, I did. In school and later in college. I was also pretty good.”

A new smile graces his lips, this one cocky, confident, and distractingly attractive.

Moving on.

“But everyone knew who I was, who my father was. When they first met me, my teammates used to think my father had bought me the spot on the team or whatever. Then they would see me play and that would always just make them hate me even more for some reason. I won games with them, sometimes for them, but it didn’t matter. I was never going to be one of them, so I don’t really have any friends to go out with.”

“That is so . . . sad.” Not the most eloquent way to put it, I know, but I can’t find any other words for it, because seriously? Not one single friend?

Tucker shrugs as if totally unbothered, but I’m pretty sure it’s a front.

“The guys from the team, they know me, and I think they like me even. But that might be because of the contrast to who Jim was as an owner more than anything I’ve ever done or said. I majored in business, of course, since that’s what Jim told me to do, and my classmates also didn’t want to get too close to me. Jim gave the Barclay name a certain reputation, and I could never shake it.”

The way he says it, with so much meaning I’m not grasping, makes me ask more.

“Reputation?”

“The world used to believe we were all bigots.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it, that’s for sure. “I mean, most of the world probably still does, but the things I’ve done with the teams, the changes to management . . .” He waves his free hand as if to encompass the room. “All of that has gained some attention from the public for being so different from what Jim did before.”

“I know Barry likes you,” I blurt before I can process the intention.