Homebound

6. Not “Yes”

6

NOT “YES”

WYATT

G oddamn, I need to chug a gallon of water looking at her like this. It’s taking a massive effort not to let my gaze drop to her cleavage, but I can do it. I’m strong.

“How long?” Dakota demands, shooting me the mother of all glares. I try not to shrivel up.

She’s standing in her purple lace bra, clearly not caring that she’s topless. Purple. At least her favorite color is still the same.

She always used to say it was the color of Texas bluebonnets—not quite blue and not quite purple. Somewhere smack dab in the middle.

I’ve seen Dakota in a bikini, underwear, even naked once, on accident, and it never fails to make my mouth go dry. For a split second, I can’t think of a thing to say. But I can’t look at her now. The only time I let myself think about her body is when I’m lonely at night.

I hitch Vi’s giraffe diaper bag up on my shoulder, mostly to give myself something to do. “How long what?” I ask, trying to clear the gravel in my throat.

“How long are you planning on staying here?” she states flatly.

There’s no emotion, no fire in her voice, and I know for a fact this woman can light someone up with her words. It’s one of my favorite things about her—that fire. It pushed me to be better, do more, impress her.

She leans against the door frame, pressing her shoulder over our height marks etched into the wood. Wyatt & Dakota 2006 . I hope she’s not trying to cover up our memories.

“I’ll head back at the end of August for preseason training,” I say. “So just for the off-season. Maybe a couple of months? I want to help out with the farm. Make sure things are still running smoothly.”

“That long, huh?” She huffs. A piece of brown hair goes flying up into the summer heat.

Okay, two months is not that long.

“Please? We’ll stay out of your way,” I beg, scratching Luna-Tuna behind her ear as she shoves her face right in my crotch.

This dog.

She’s the best.

Not because her face is in my crotch, to be clear.

“Why can’t you stay with your moms at the main house?” she asks.

“They’re renovating the upstairs this summer, so there’s sawdust and nails everywhere. I don’t want Vi around that, and plus, they don’t have any extra bedrooms downstairs. You’ve got an extra room here, so it’d be perfect for the two of us.”

Her gaze lingers on my daughter before settling back on me. I want to believe her lips twitch in a smile as she looks at my girl, but I can’t tell. She shifts her focus, and it feels like she’s scrutinizing the dark circles under my eyes, but if she’s thinking about shooting me down, she doesn’t show it on her face, thankfully.

I can’t handle any more awe-filled yet pitiful looks like the ones I get from women in the grocery store fruit aisle. You’d think I was performing open-heart surgery on an airplane with the way women look at me pushing my daughter in the cart.

I’m just being a fuckin’ dad, grocery shopping with my kid. No need for a round of applause, ladies.

All she does is brush a curl off her forehead before flicking a hand to the rustic living room. “By all means, have at it. Technically, this is your parents’ barn, so if you need a place to stay, you don’t need to ask for my permission. The room’s all yours.”

My brows soar. “Really? You’re not going to fight me on this?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course not. I’m not going to be rude and deny you and your daughter a place to stay. Plus, I don’t have the energy to fight you, Patterson. I’ve got to focus on training this summer for the Granite Falls rodeo at the end of August. I’ll be traveling most weeks to rodeos around the state, so stay wherever you want. I don’t really give a shit.”

Her words are sharp, but I can still hear the slight wobble of hurt in her voice, and all that does is fuel my determination to make things right.

I know I fucked up. I’m man enough to admit that, but I had a good reason. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

She shrugs, but it’s stiff. “Positive. Room’s yours.”

She grabs one of my duffle bags from the porch, spins on her heel, and struts inside without another word. That was nice of her. She’s always been an acts-of-service type of woman. She spent one winter building an entire irrigation system for the flower farm all to surprise us that summer.

“Thanks for grabbing my bag,” I say.

She doesn’t respond, so with a heavy sigh and Vienna chewing on my hair, I follow her inside the rustic barn.

Not much has changed.

The walls are still cedar. The furniture is still leather. There’s still that stone fireplace we never lit because it would be insane to light a fire in the middle of a Texas summer. Ugh. I’m sweating just thinking about that.

It’s all the same, but the open floor plan seems… emptier.

That’s when I realize all the random estate sale items Dakota and I collected over the years are gone. The old-school vinyls. That broken rooster clock. The cowboy frame that used to have a picture of us stuffing fresh strawberries into each other’s mouths at Sweeter Berry Farm.

It seems like she threw out all our memories, which I guess is good. I’ll look at the positives. We have extra space now, especially since the person I hired to babyproof the barn is coming tomorrow. The highchair can go on the granite island, and I can set up Vi’s play mat in the living room. She’s not walking yet, which is a sore spot for me, but we’ll make this work.

We always do.

I glance around the open floor plan living room, searching for any remnants of our memories. “You got rid of that old dart board we found at that estate sale in Sisterdale?”

Dakota doesn’t bother turning around to look at me, but now that we’re in the light, I’m cataloging every scar, bruise, and wound on her bare skin.

She’s so damn strong.

“I didn’t have anyone to shoot darts with,” she says with a shrug. “So I gave it to my friend, Lana. She likes getting high and throwing darts. Not the best combination, but who am I to judge?”

I chuckle. “Remember when we found that old bong at an estate sale and—”

“No,” she interjects in a hard voice. “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

She casts a glance over her bare shoulder, and there’s nothing but indifference in her gaze. “We’re not reminiscing.”

Her bedroom door opens, and I grimace when the paramedic from the rodeo walks out in nothing but a pair of American flag boxers. I’m all for a little Fourth of July pride if we’re at a parade, but I already don’t like him. “Hey, Kodie. You still coming in here, Killer? ”

She bites her bottom lip, smirking at him in a way she never did at me. “Yeah, sugar. I’ll be right in.”

Jealousy rips through me again, but I’m so used to feeling that with Dakota that it barely bothers me anymore. I think I’m desensitized to the emotion.

“Who are you?” the guy asks me, dark brows coming together. “Wait, I know you. Weren’t you at the rodeo earlier?”

“Yeah, I’m—”

“He’s no one,” Dakota interrupts, and I wince.

That stings most of all because I used to be the guy she’d stay up all night on the phone with.

The paramedic looks between us, waiting for more. “Oh. Well, uh, good to meet you, man.”

He holds out a hand, but I’d rather change Vi’s diapers for eternity than make polite conversation with Dakota’s one-night stand, so I give him a stiff smile, gently rocking my girl.

I really need to wrap this up and get her tucked into bed soon. She’s a champ for hanging in there all day without a nap. Did I pack her favorite blanket? I think it’s in the backseat. Yeah, I shoved it in there right before we left.

Dakota struts over to the fridge, jerks open the stainless steel door, and stares at the contents for a while before releasing a heavy sigh.

“Actually, he’s not no one,” she corrects, closing the fridge. “This is Wyatt Patterson. He’s a right winger for the Nashville Guardians, and that’s his daughter, Vienna. His parents own the barn, and he’s got to move his stuff in tonight, so you best be leaving.”

“What? You’re seriously kicking me out?” His mouth drops, and so does mine. I can’t believe she’s sending him away.

Hell yeah.

“I seriously am,” she states.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he complains. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

What a prick. I’ve been waiting for her for over a decade, so get in line.

She picks up her T-shirt from the leather armchair and pulls it over her head. Thank hell.

“Nope. I’m not,” she says. “Door’s that way.”

The guy huffs and puffs as he puts on his clothes but doesn’t say anything. All he does is shoot her a glare before he slams the front door on his way out.

Vienna lets out a screeching wail at the noise. “Dada!”

Shoot. It’s her I’m-tired-gurgle-cry.

I bounce her gently, trying to soothe her sobs until she quiets. We road-tripped straight from Nashville with my parents, and she’s taking this transition like a tiny boss. Frankly, I’m shocked my girl hasn’t thrown a tantrum sooner.

I coo in her ear. “Hey, it’s okay, baby. Daddy’s got you. I’ve always got you.”

Dakota watches us with a concerned pinch in her brows. “How’ve you been holding up? Being a single parent looks like hell on earth.”

I smile down at my snotty little girl. “It’s not easy, that’s for sure, but she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The good days make all the bad ones worth it, and I’m lucky I’ve got my parents to help out.”

Balancing the life of a hockey player with being a single dad has been a grind, but I have two strong women in my life to help raise my daughter. Though, I wish I had a teammate to hang in there with me through all the gritty parts of parenthood. It’s been hard to find a woman who wants to stick it out with me through the shit-soaked onesie explosions.

Fuck, those were gross.

Her eyes narrow on my tipped-up lips. “You’re still so positive, aren’t you? Always looking at the bright side.”

“I mean, yeah? I’d rather focus on the good parts of life than the bad parts. ”

I’m a pretty simple man because I’ve got a lot to be grateful for—amazing parents, a job that’s my passion, a beautiful little girl, great friends. Not much gets to me anymore. If the people in my life are happy, then I’m happy.

She snorts a scoff. “Yeah, but the bad parts hit so much harder. It’s the shitty things that always stay with you.”

“Only if you let them,” I say.

“Of course I let them. That’s what keeps me going. I need to prove everyone wrong.”

She’s a cynic through and through, always chasing her dreams, but I’ve never minded her cloudy demeanor. It stems from an innate sense of ambition, which always made me better.

Growing up, watching her chase a dream made me want to go after mine, just to get on her level. My parents never pushed me in one direction or another. They wanted me to figure things out on my own, but seeing Dakota’s drive sharpened me. Every summer, I’d come back a little stronger, wanting to impress her.

In all honesty, part of me always wanted to be a little more like her. Ambitious. Determined. Focused. She’s what got me strong enough to play in the NHL.

Dakota’s eyes shift to Vienna snoozing on my shoulder, but all she does is stare at my girl while I search her face for a hint of her underlying emotions.

I find nothing.

Eventually, she whispers, “She looks just like you.”

Pride swells deep in my heart. That shouldn’t matter, but it does. With her wild golden curls that I’m constantly untangling and those bright green eyes, there’s no doubt she’s mine. “Yeah, you think so? She’s pretty darn cute, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, I do.” She swallows, slow and thick, before she clears her throat. “Your room’s down the hall on the right, but I’m sure you remember.”

I glance down the hallway and stiffen when I spot what’s sitting on the wooden cupboard. Right there, I see it—that cowboy frame with us shoving strawberries into each other’s mouths.

“You kept the strawberry photo?” I ask.

She pauses. “Yeah, Patterson. I kept it.”

I wait for her to add something, but she doesn’t. Spinning around, she heads to her bedroom with Tuna hobbling behind her, but before she can shut the door, I stop her.

“Dakota?”

She stiffens, and I’ve already noticed she does that every time I say her name.

“What?”

I swallow a lump. “I heard you called off your engagement, and I’m sorry about you and Boone. Must’ve been a tough decision.”

She gives a blasé shrug, but she’s picking at her cuticles like she always does when she’s nervous. “Not really. We were never a good fit, and I see that now… Night, sugar.”

She closes her bedroom door, treating me like all the other men in her life.

Sugar.

I hate that nickname, but I don’t hate it nearly as much as having to watch Boone Bowman get down on one knee in front of her family and her looking so damn ecstatic that I had to chug three bottles of cheap champagne to put a smile on my face. I had the world’s deadliest headache the next day and vowed never to drink champagne again.

The sugary death trap.

After one last two-step dance where I lied and said I was happy for her, not dying inside, she dropped my hand, and I booked a ticket back to Nashville. After that, I cut off all communication because I needed to get over her.

What was I going to do? Fight for her? No. She thought she loved him, and I wanted her to be happy, even if it meant I’d never be.

That day three years ago changed the course of my life. All because she uttered that one crushing word to Boone Bowman— yes .