Chapter Nineteen
EDDIE
For the first time in years, I wake up in someone else’s bed. Someone’s very big, very comfy bed.
And that someone’s heavy arm is snug across my waist, holding me close. I feel warm and content. A little sore in some delicate areas, but that doesn’t matter. I had been well loved throughout the night.
Soft morning light slips through partially closed blinds, making me want to bury my head back into the pillow and pretend that morning isn’t here yet. I’m not ready to leave this happy bubble.
Or the steady sound of Sidney’s breathing behind me.
I lie there, staring at the wall, trying to decide what exactly I’m feeling.
I bite back a smile. Yeah, last night had been something else.
Are you overthinking? Sidney’s sleep-rough voice rumbles behind me.
I glance over my shoulder. His hair is a disaster, his eyes still heavy with sleep and jaw shadowed with stubble. He looks unfairly good for someone who’d definitely not gotten a full eight hours.
Not even a little bit, I admit.
He eases closer, pulling me into him, chest to my back, arm tightening. Good. I like waking up with you.
Same, I mutter, but my heart does a ridiculous flip.
We lie there like that for a while, just breathing, taking the other in. Every once in a while, he presses a lazy kiss to my shoulder or the spot behind my ear that makes goosebumps race down my arms.
That should be illegal, I complain weakly when I shiver.
Pretty sure it’s encouraged, he murmurs.
I twist to face him, propping myself up on an elbow. I don’t want to be a total bummer, but I have to pick up Joey in… I squint at the clock on his bedside table. Two hours.
Then we’ve got time, he says, dragging a hand down my spine.
Time for what? I ask, even though my body already knows, arching into his touch.
He grins. Another round of… He pumps his eyebrows suggestively.
I snort. Is that what we’re calling it? I try and pump my eyebrows, too, but fail.
Absolutely.
We don’t talk much after that.
***
By the time I’m showered, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and moderately presentable, my legs are a little wobbly, and my heart feels like it’s floating three inches above my body.
Stop looking at me like that, I mutter, grabbing my bag from near the couch.
Like what? he asks, entirely too innocent.
Like you’re proud of yourself.
Oh, I am definitely proud of myself.
I throw a cushion at him. He catches it, laughing.
Come on, he says, slipping his shoes on. Let’s go get your kid.
I freeze. You’re coming with me?
His smile softens. Yeah, I was going to. But only if you want me to.
Something warm and bright blooms in my chest.
Yeah, I say. That’d be nice.
He reaches for my hand, and we leave, heading down to the garage for his car.
Joey’s friend lives in a townhouse complex not far from mine. Kids are already spilling out onto the front lawn, sticks in hand, turning the sidewalk into an obstacle course.
Sidney has barely put the car in park before the front door flies open.
Joey stands there, laces of one shoe half-untied, hair sticking up, backpack slung over one shoulder.
He spots us, eyes going wide with disbelief.
When he realizes he’s showing just how cool he thinks it is that Sidney’s with me, he switches gears.
Sidney lifts a hand from the driver’s-side window. Hey, Joey.
Hey, he calls out, trying to act nonchalant.
His friend, hovering behind him, squints. Dude…is that…?
Be cool, man, Joey hisses, a little smug.
The kid makes a strangled noise. Like, the Sidney? Sidney Crane of the Toronto Nighthawks?
Last I checked, Sidney says, easy and good-humoured. Nice to meet you, man.
Within seconds, there are three more boys crowded near the door, whispering, staring, elbowing each other. I catch the mom’s eye over their heads. She looks a little shell-shocked herself at the celebrity pickup, but amused.
Sorry, I mouth. She waves it off, grinning.
Sidney handles it perfectly. A few fist bumps, a quick You guys play hockey too? and Keep having fun out there, and then he respectfully tells them we have to get going. No big ego. No look at me. Just…presence.
When he slides into the back seat, Joey can’t help himself. He laughs at his friends’ antics.
My friends are freaking out, he says under his breath. You waved. At them. They are never going to shut up about this.
Happy to help your social life, Sidney says.
Joey shoots me a look. So…you two are just, what? Hanging out today?
Yeah, I say carefully. We thought maybe the three of us could do something. If you’re up for it.
His answer is immediate. Obviously, I’m up for it.
***
We end up back at my townhouse, a grocery bag in Sidney’s hand.
You know you don’t have to buy us food every time you come over, I say as he unloads it onto my counter.
Technically, I haven’t bought you anything yet, he says. Right now, it’s just ingredients waiting to be combined into a masterpiece.
Joey leans against the island, watching. You cook?
Some, Sidney says. I taught myself some key dishes so that all my meals wouldn’t be protein shakes.
Joey’s eyes narrow. Like…actual food, or just eggs and pasta?
Sidney pulls out chicken, limes, tortillas, and a bunch of herbs. You can be the judge.
Joey looks impressed despite himself. What can I do? he asks.
Wash your hands, Sidney says immediately. Then you can help me make the marinade.
Joey obeys without complaint, which is maybe the clearest sign yet that he’s massively in awe of Sidney. He’s gone in a flash. Minutes later, he walks back in with damp hands and a clean sweatshirt. One that looks a lot like the sweater Sidney is wearing.
I watch them work together, a smile on my face the whole time. I don’t have to lift a finger, but I stay with my boys so that I can be in on the fun too. It’s so refreshing to watch Sidney explaining what each ingredient does and how it adds to the dish.
Joey makes a face at the raw chicken when asked to pick it up and move it to the cutting board for seasoning. He goes a little pale but pulls it off. I guess he’s been spoiled with frozen chicken nuggets. I don’t usually have a ton of time to cook between my weird work hours and Joey’s hockey.
They then get into a very heated discussion on spice levels and enter into a hilarious bout of negotiations. They try to drag me into the debate, but I decline and tell them I’m impartial.
The more time we spend in that tiny kitchen, the more I see a bright and dazzling future.
Sidney is so natural with Joey, so comfortable in our little space.
There’s no forced bonding or going over-the-top to impress him.
Sidney doesn’t have to use lame jokes or bribes to get Joey to spend time with him. Joey likes him.
Sure, it might have started out as celebrity idolization, but he’s grown out of that the more time they spend together. Now, he looks up to Sidney as a mentor.
I’m not going to say father figure. Definitely not going down that line of thinking.
There’s genuine interest and patience between the two of them. Sidney lets Joey help without taking over and lets him make small mistakes without sighing or snapping. He treats Joey like a capable, slightly chaotic person instead of a nuisance.
When the food is in the oven, Joey wanders off to set the table and then pulls out his controller.
Sid, you want to play? he calls. I’ll go easy on you.
Bold, Sidney says, wiping his hands and joining him in the living room.
I linger in the kitchen, listening to them tease each other over virtual goals and missed saves.
I’d built a world for us—Joey and me—out of necessity.
Tight, controlled, and contained so that no one could hurt us or use us, like my family did to me.
I’d convinced myself that was the safest way to live.
Sure, it had been a little lonely at times.
There had been moments of weakness where I prayed for someone to come help just so I could get a moment’s peace.
Yet, all in all, life had been wonderful. Full of ups and downs, but Joey and I were a team.
But watching the two of them together—Joey’s laughter louder than I’ve heard in months, Sidney’s low chuckle answering it—I begin to accept that our team is growing. We’ve added someone new who would watch our backs and save us…if we wanted saving.
As if sensing my contentment, Sidney looks over the back of the couch and smiles at me. We share a moment of silent understanding, knowing that what we’re building here is something worth working for.
Dinner ends up being incredible.
Joey devours two wraps and part of a third, announcing that Sidney is now above Mom on the list of best cooks he knows, which I pretend doesn’t offend me on a deeply personal level.
After we’ve all eaten too much, Joey leans back with a theatrical groan.
I’m so full, he says. I might die. If I die, tell my friends I scored on Sidney in NHL.
You didn’t, Sidney objects.
They don’t know that, Joey replies.
I snort into my water.
Eventually, Joey excuses himself to his room to do homework, which I translate as to text his friends about this entire day in excruciating detail.
I stand at the sink, rinsing plates, letting the warm water run over my hands. Behind me, I can hear Sidney moving around, tidying up, humming under his breath.
He comes up beside me, taking a plate from my hands.
You cooked, I protest. I can clean.
We can both clean, he says, giving my hip a playful bump.
I glance at him. His sleeves are rolled up, damp at the wrists. There are soap bubbles on his forearm and a smudge of something near his jaw.
He looks like he belongs here. In my kitchen. Surrounded by all of Joey’s and my things. His little touches evident around the space. I could imagine more of his things here too.
The realization hits so hard I have to grip the edge of the counter.
Hey, he says softly, noticing. You okay?
I nod, swallowing. Just…Yes, fine. Sorry. My mind just went somewhere…weird.
Good weird? he teases lightly, then sobers when I don’t answer right away. Talk to me.
I take a breath. Today…felt so easy. And easy is not something I’m used to.
His expression softens. Easy doesn’t mean it’s not real.
I know. My voice thickens. I just…I keep waiting for something to go wrong. For the other shoe to drop.
Maybe there is no other shoe, he says quietly. Maybe it’s just…this. Us. Figuring it out one day at a time.
I look at him, really look at him—this man who showed up for sick days and bad games and stupid teenage crises, who cooked in my kitchen and didn’t flinch at my messy edges.
Joey declared earlier that you’re his ‘favourite adult except you, Mom,’ I say.
Sidney’s eyes widen comically. He did?
Yeah.
He blinks. That might be the highest honour I’ve ever received.
A laugh breaks out of me, half cry, half joy.
Maybe this could be our life. Not perfect. Not drama-free. But…shared.
I’m not just adding a boyfriend. I’m building a family I hadn’t known I was allowed to want.
And that terrifies me almost as much as it gives me hope.