Chapter 10
10
COUER
Barrett stood beneath the pounding spray of the shower, unmoving, letting the scalding water run over his tense shoulders and down his rigid back. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there—minutes, maybe longer. Time felt irrelevant when his thoughts were a tangled mess, his mind a battlefield of frustration and longing. He braced a hand against the cool marble wall, bowing his head as steam curled around him, thick and suffocating.
His gut was knotted, exhaustion pressing deep into his bones. Sleeping near Irene these past two weeks had been pure torment. He’d thought he could handle it, that he could be unaffected by her presence. But after Batiste’s wedding?
That illusion had shattered.
She’d been breathtaking that night, wearing something soft and feminine that clung to her in all the right places, her hair falling in gentle waves, her laughter bright and unguarded. For one evening, she had been every impossible dream he hadn’t allowed himself to have. He wished she would dress like that all the time, embracing the beauty she seemed determined to hide. Instead, she spent her days in oversized sweatshirts and leggings, as if trying to erase herself, as if pretending there was nothing about her worth looking at.
But he was looking.
Every darn chance he got – he was definitely looking at her.
Barrett exhaled sharply, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut against the water. He groaned aloud, the sound swallowed by the rush of the shower. He needed to shut this down. He was losing his grip, spiraling in ways he couldn’t afford.
When he’d agreed to this arrangement, he’d known things would be complicated. But this ? This slow, gnawing ache in his chest, this need he had to be closer to her? He hadn’t anticipated it.
And today, of all days, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He had a flight to catch, a house to finalize, and keys to pick up. In a matter of hours, everything would change—again.
A sharp knock on the bathroom door made his head snap up, his pulse jerking.
“Yeah?”
“Barrett?” Irene’s soft voice filtered through the door, and he heard it creak open. “Are you—oh!”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You can come in. The glass is frosted, you can’t see anything. Your eyes are safe from exposure.”
“Ha ha, funny.” Her voice was dry, but he could hear the nervous edge to it. “I can just wait until?—”
“Irene, stop,” he cut in, frustration lacing his tone. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re adults, and you aren’t even interested, so quit acting like any of this bothers you. I’m behind frosted glass, and if you’ve got something to say—spill it. I’m on a timetable here.”
A pause. Then, tentatively, “That’s why I wanted to check on you.” Another beat of hesitation. “Do you want the towel warmer on?”
That caught him off guard. He blinked, then let out a chuckle. “You know what—sure. You’re gonna spoil me with all this plush stuff. I’ve never used a towel warmer before in my life, and, frankly, it’s pretty awesome.”
“I always wanted one,” she admitted, her voice softening. “When Stephen was a baby, I used to toss his towel in the dryer so he wouldn’t catch a cold.”
Barrett smiled, unseen behind the glass. “You’re a thoughtful mom.”
“Aren’t all mothers?”
“No.” The word was out before he could stop it, hanging heavy in the air between them.
Silence.
He knew she wouldn’t push—she wasn’t the type. But for some reason, for the first time in a long time, he wanted to talk—to let her in.
“My parents divorced when I was young,” he admitted after a moment. “My mom worked two jobs. Hockey took care of me more than she did. We didn’t spend a lot of time together.”
She was quiet, but not in a way that felt dismissive. When she finally spoke, her voice was even, careful. “I’m sure it wasn’t because she didn’t want to see you. It was probably because she was worried. About the money. The bills. About disappointing her only child.”
His chest tightened. “Sounds like you’re on her side.”
“Is that why you proposed?” she asked, her words gentle but pointed. Then, before he could answer, she added, “And FYI—there are no ‘sides.’ It’s not about taking one. It’s about understanding . You should probably call your mom and give her a break or?—”
“She died when I was twenty.”
The silence that followed was different this time. He could feel her reaction, even through the fogged barrier between them.
“Oh… oh, Barrett—I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” he murmured. “Because I never got the chance to make things right before she passed.”
A pause. Then, softly, “I’m sure she knows.”
He wanted to believe that. Maybe some days he did. But regret had a way of settling deep, refusing to be dislodged.
“I’d like to think so,” he admitted. “But kids can be real twerps sometimes, and let me tell you—at twenty? I thought I was invincible. And unstoppable. Including my mouth.”
Irene laughed, the sound light and unexpected.
“So nothing’s changed?” she teased.
A smirk tugged at his lips. He didn’t overthink it. Just moved.
Before she could react, he pushed open the shower door just enough to lean out, his soapy chest dripping, his face half-shaved. He met her startled gaze a second before she squeaked and slapped a hand over her eyes.
“Nope.” His grin deepened. “Nothing’s changed.”
“I’ll go.”
“You could join me.”
“Already gone,” she tossed over her shoulder, backing away so quickly she nearly fumbled with the doorknob in her haste.
Barrett chuckled, shutting the glass door again. “I’ll be out in a few,” he called, turning back to his reflection in the fogged mirror, resuming his shave. “You know, even if you saw me naked—it doesn’t change things.”
Silence.
Frowning, he rinsed his razor and waited. “Irene?”
Nothing.
His chest tightened with something uneasy. He sighed, pressing a damp palm to the marble wall. Of course, she’d left. Of course, she wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.
But then?—
Her voice. Soft. Shaky. Barely above a whisper.
“It would change everything.”
His breath stalled.
“I’ve got to get to the grocery store,” she rushed on, the words tumbling. “Be safe on your flight and text when you land.” And then—the bathroom door slammed shut.
His pulse roared in his ears.
“Irene?” He reached for the towel—only to find it missing. His eyes darted toward the warmer, plugged in across the bathroom, a full five feet from the shower.
His heart pounded.
“Wait!” he called frantically. “What would change everything?”
But this time?—
The silence was deafening.
She’d run. Again.
Barrett muttered a curse under his breath, yanking his clothes off the bed with more force than necessary. His jaw clenched, frustration a raw, pulsing thing in his chest.
Yeah.
It was going to be a very long day.
B arrett strode through the empty house, his footsteps echoing off the freshly polished floors. The place smelled of fresh paint and sawdust, an unfinished canvas waiting to become something more—a home, not just a house. Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows, casting golden pools on the hardwood, but he barely noticed. His mind was racing, a plan forming in his heart before his brain could catch up.
He slowed, his gaze sweeping over the spacious living room, the pristine walls, the promise of what could be. He could already picture Irene standing by the bay window, her arms wrapped around herself as she took in the view, her eyes wide with disbelief. And Stephen—Barrett could see him darting down the hall, the sound of his laughter silent to everyone but alive in Barrett’s mind.
The thought settled deep, making his chest tighten.
This had to be perfect.
Turning on his heel, he found the realtor still standing in the doorway, her manicured hands clasped over her clipboard. She was watching him expectantly, the faintest trace of impatience on her face.
“I need a few things changed,” he said, the words coming out before he fully realized what he was asking for. The weight of the decision settled over him, sinking into his bones, but instead of fear, it felt like resolve.
The realtor blinked.
“Mr. Coeur, we are about to sign the documents within the hour. This is just a formality.” She let out a quick, uneasy breath. “You can’t amend it now or?—”
“I can do whatever I want.” His voice was steady, unwavering. He lifted his chin, leveling her with a look that dared her to challenge him. “Nothing is final until I sign the papers—besides, I just need a few minor adjustments.”
She hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “Such as?”
Barrett turned, scanning the hallway, already imagining the changes he wanted—needed—to make. “I need three of the bedrooms painted—by Friday.”
The realtor sputtered. “Excuse me?”
“I need three of the bedrooms painted before I move in, and this has to happen, or I’m not signing the mortgage papers.” He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. This was for them. For Irene. For Stephen. For the family he hadn’t expected but somehow couldn’t live without. “And I need an electrician to come out as soon as possible. Do you have the name of someone I could call?”
The woman’s brows furrowed. “I don’t understand why we didn’t discuss any of?—”
Barrett clenched his jaw. He could feel the heat of frustration creeping up his neck, not at her, but at himself for not thinking of this sooner. He needed her to understand.
“My son is deaf,” he said, voice thick with something he didn’t quite name. “And I need those flickering fire alarms that light up installed throughout the house—one in every room. You make this happen, and I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”
Silence stretched between them. The realtor’s expression shifted, the frustration fading into something more thoughtful, more measured. She stared at him for a long moment, her lips pressing into a firm line before she spoke.
“I want season tickets,” she said, no hesitation, no pretense.
Barrett barely blinked. “Done.” He didn’t care if he had to buy them himself or pull some strings. Whatever it took.
She nodded, all business now.
“Let’s label the doors so the painters know what colors to make them. Do you have any other issues?”
“No.”
“Let me get sticky notes out of my car then.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, picturing Irene’s reaction when she found out what he’d done. Gosh, he hoped she smiled or laughed at his sudden changes he was making. It was for all of them, and he felt like a champion, putting his family first.
Ten minutes later, as Barrett climbed into an Uber, he found himself smiling for real. He was headed to the dealership, then the arena, but his heart was already home.