13. Neesha
NEESHA
A hockey player. The words echo in my head like a cruel joke. After everything I’ve been through, after all my walls and careful boundaries, I’ve somehow managed to fall for another athlete.
Earlier tonight, I was wide awake, sitting at my window with a cup of chai tea, trying to work on my business plan for the cupcake shop when I should’ve been going to bed.
The drizzly weather matched my mood—unsettled, restless, and missing the man next door who seems to disappear for a few days at a time.
When Henry started whining at the door, I grabbed his leash, slipping into my cinnamon-colored cardigan and rain boots.
The autumn air smelled like wet leaves and damp wood tonight, bringing back memories of campfires and rainy weekends with Mom.
Henry trotted down the steps, completely unbothered by the weather as I settled on Mrs. Nelson’s front porch swing.
That’s when I saw his truck coming home, the blinding headlights turning into the driveway next door.
It’s not until I got closer that I noticed the swollen lip.
He looked like he’d been in a fight, with bruises blooming on his cheek and around his eye.
And when he confessed the truth, everything suddenly clicked into place—his absences in the evenings and the muscles that aren’t from fixing up houses, but the disciplined training of an athlete.
“You’re a hockey player,” I say aloud, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. Ironically, every attempt to avoid the very thing I’d sworn off had led me right back to it.
“Yes,” he says, quietly, the pain in his voice unmistakable.
“And you didn’t think that was something I should know? Especially after I told you how I felt about hockey players?”
“I wanted to tell you—” he starts.
I cut him off with a sharp laugh. “When, exactly? After our ‘practice date’? Or were you waiting until I was completely—” I stop myself from saying it.
“Neesha, please—” He takes a step toward me, reaching for me, but I shrink away.
“No.” I step back, wrapping my arms around myself. “I can’t…I’m sorry, Lucian, I need to go.”
I turn away, Henry reluctantly following as I head back to the house. I climb up the back stairway and close the door, leaning against it as emotions wash over me, a strange mixture of betrayal, disappointment, and something else that makes me even more uncomfortable: concern .
Despite the anger boiling inside me, I can’t get the image of his battered face out of my mind.
He’s hurt—and I just walked away. Even if he is a hockey player, he deserves better.
I stand there for a long moment, torn between going back to help him and keeping my distance. Because distance is safer. Distance will make me stop caring.
He knew I drew a line in the sand when it came to hockey players. And he chose to ignore it. To pursue something with me anyway, without telling me what he really did for a living.
If I go to him now, what other walls will fall next?
Henry whines, nudging my hand with his nose instead of curling up on my bed like usual at this hour.
“What?” I ask him. “You already went outside. And we’re not going back to see Lucian. He can fix himself tonight.” I leave Henry and pace around the living room, trying to forget my injured neighbor.
Henry barks once, standing his ground by the door.
I try to ignore it, heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed, even though I know I won’t sleep.
Then I spot the first-aid kit on the shelf. Does Lucian even have bandages? Or an ice pack? He just moved to town last month. He probably hasn’t even thought about buying bandages yet.
Henry patters over to me and barks one more time.
“Fine,” I sigh. “You win.”
Five minutes later, I’m knocking on Lucian’s door, first-aid kit in one hand, a bag of frozen peas in the other, and Henry waiting to bolt inside as soon as the door opens.
“Neesha?” He doesn’t hide his shock when the door opens.
“Hey,” I say, unsure how to explain why I’m standing on his front porch with frozen peas and way too much guilt. He looks even worse under proper lighting. His left eye is swollen, his cheek is angry red, and he’s holding his side. He looks like he might pass out from the pain.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I say bluntly. “But I can’t sleep, knowing you…” I motion toward his face. “…look like you got hit by a truck. Now, sit down before you fall down.”
He obeys silently, his movements careful as he sinks onto the couch. I set the first-aid kit on the coffee table and hand him the frozen peas.
“Hold this against your eye so you will actually be able to see tomorrow.”
He winces from the cold. “I appreciate it. Even if I hate frozen peas.”
“Scoot over, I’m going to check your ribs.”
“Neesha, you don’t have to?— ”
“Shirt off,” I interrupt, my tone clinical even as my pulse quickens. I will not make this romantic. I won’t.
He gives me a look like are you serious? but complies anyway, clearly in pain as he pulls the fabric over his head.
The sight of him, bruised and vulnerable, sends an ache through me that I shove down deep.
“I can go to the doctor tomorrow,” he says. “This really isn’t necessary.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were going to take care of yourself tonight. Do you even have a first-aid kit?”
He shakes his head.
“An ice pack?” I ask.
“Okay, Little Miss Bossy, you’ve made your point. I’ll buy some this week,” he says with a smirk.
Even though his face is a mess of bruises and cuts, his smile still makes my heart flutter.
“What qualifications do you have for taking care of a beat-up hockey player?”
“Well, I took care of my mom after her gallbladder surgery.”
I lift his arm to examine his ribs, my touch as gentle as I can manage. The purple bruises blooming across his side make my stomach clench with worry.
Focus on the injuries, not on how warm his skin feels under my hands.
“What happened to your mom?” he asks quietly, looking at me.
“It was supposed to be routine,” I say, my fingers trailing gently over his skin, checking for anything out of place.
“But she developed complications from gallbladder surgery. A blood clot. She died three days later.” I press carefully along his rib cage, and he hisses through his teeth but doesn’t shrink away.
“I’d been taking care of her for weeks before the surgery, though.
She was in a lot of pain from her gallbladder and could barely get out of bed some days. ”
“I’m sorry, Neesha,” he says quietly. “That must have been terrifying.”
“It was,” I say. “But it also taught me that presence matters more than anything else. No one should have to hurt alone.”
He doesn’t say anything, just flinches when I reach the most tender part of the bruise.
“So how did this happen?” I ask, keeping my eyes on his injuries so I don’t get distracted by his blue eyes. “And if you say ‘hockey game’ again, I’m walking out the door.”
“Cheap shot from an opponent. Blindsided me into the boards.”
“Your ribs need ice too. I should’ve brought over more frozen peas, but you’re already using the only package I have. Do you have anything in your freezer?”
“A ribeye steak, maybe?”
“That’s it?”
“I’m a simple man, Neesha. And I don’t get hurt often.”
“I don’t believe it,” I say. “Every hockey player gets hurt.”
“Well, I don’t,” he says. “Not unless…I’ve hurt someone I care about.” He looks at me directly.
I should hand him back his shirt and walk out the door. I should be furious that he’s been lying to me this whole time. Part of me wonders what else he’s been hiding.
But seeing him like this, wincing every time he moves, something else wins out—something stronger than my anger.
“Anything else that hurts?” I ask, keeping my eyes on his bruises and away from that gaze that makes my resolve crumble.
“Everything,” he says flatly, attempting a weak smile.
Despite his deception and the fact that he’s exactly what I swore to avoid, I can’t hide my concern. If it were just attraction, I could ignore it. I could leave now and pretend we never met. Attraction isn’t what makes you stay in a relationship.
But I’m falling for him. Despite every wall I’ve built, every promise I made to myself after Nate, I’m falling for Lucian Lowe.
That’s the messy, inconvenient, heart-stopping truth that makes you stay even when every logical part of you screams to run.
I finally meet his gaze. “Lucian, why didn’t you tell me?”
It’s not a demand. I only want the truth.
“Because you would have looked at me exactly the way you’re looking at me now. Like I’m just another Nate who’s going to break your heart.”
Okay, maybe I didn’t want that truth.
“Well, you should have told me anyway,” I say. “I deserved to know who I was living next door to.”
“I know,” he admits. “I kept telling myself I’d find the right moment.”
“And what about me? You thought it wouldn’t matter?” I ask. “That I’d make an exception for you?”
“No,” he says quietly. “I thought if you got to know me first, you’d see that I’m not him. That not every hockey player is like Nate.”
Something in his tone makes me pause. There’s no defensiveness, just the truth.
“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out,” he says, shaking his head. “I was planning on telling you. But every time I almost did, I was afraid you’d shut me out. That you wouldn’t even give me a chance. And definitely not a date.”
It suddenly dawns on me—all the looks I got at the fall festival weren’t because I had a date. It was because they knew the secret he was keeping.
“Did everyone else know but me?” I ask.
He presses his lips together, reluctant to answer at first. “I had to tell my teammates, otherwise, I knew they’d blow my cover. Everyone else found out through Emmy or Mabel.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Great, just what I need—everyone thinking my dating life is the town’s biggest joke.” I try to stand, but he puts a hand on my arm to stop me.