Chapter 20
Maria
Standing at the sink in Tuck’s kitchen, I glance at him. “How’s the shoulder?” I ask, my mind instantly flashing back to last night—to the heat of his skin beneath my hands, the slow, deliberate way I worked out every knot while trying very hard not to think about how much I liked touching him.
He rolls it, testing it. “Good. I worked the kinks out at morning skate. Feeling great now.”
A grin tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Funny. I thought we worked the kinks out last night.” As the words slip out I laugh at myself.
Who even am I right now? I’ve never been this…
open. This teasing. This aware of my own body, or someone else’s.
And yet, standing here with Tuck, it feels natural. Effortless.
His hand comes down in a quick swat against my ass. “Cut it out,” he mutters under his breath. “I can’t be standing here with a hard-on when your mother and Grant are about to walk in.”
Heat rushes up my neck, but I’m still smiling.
He glances at the clock. “What time are they coming again?”
I follow his gaze, then grab for my oven mitts. “Any minute now.”
Right on cue, the doorbell rings. Tuck turns toward the hallway, but I reach out, my fingers on his arm. His stills under my touch. “I really appreciate you doing this,” I say softly. “Opening up your place for Sunday dinner. You didn’t have to.”
His expression softens, a distant look on his face. There’s something there, something quieter. Lonelier. Like us being here means more to him than he’s saying.
“It’s no big deal,” he says, but his voice isn’t as casual as the words. His gaze drifts over the kitchen—the crowded counters, the food, the evidence of a full house. “Besides…” A small smile tugs at his mouth as he taps his rock hard stomach. “Homecooked meal. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Are you sure?” I press, my voice dropping. “Because we’ve kind of taken over. I don’t want you waking up one day resenting it. Resenting us.”
The thud of footsteps starts upstairs, growing louder as the boys barrel toward the front door.
Tuck glances down for a second, like he’s choosing his words carefully, then looks back at me.
“I like it,” he admits quietly. “The noise. The dinners. The chaos.” His eyes meet mine, something deeper settling there. “Everything.”
Everything.
I press my hand to his forehead and even though his words fill me with something that feels like hope—like maybe he’s not so afraid of my ready-made family anymore, maybe even wants to be a part of it—I tease, “You like the noise? Are you coming down with something?”
His lips twitch, and then he leans in, stealing a quick kiss, fast, but enough to send my heart racing all over again.
The front door swings open down the hall, and my mom’s voice fills the space. “Josh. Come give your grandma a hug. It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”
She’s not wrong. We’ve been here. Living here, practically. Between work, school, hockey, friends…life hasn’t slowed down long enough to notice how much things have shifted. How much Tuck has stepped in to help.
Mom and Grant used to be the ones I leaned on. The ones who filled in the gaps. Now it’s Tuck. And maybe…maybe I’m not imagining it. Maybe he’s starting to see us as more than temporary. More than convenient. Maybe he wants this.
Wants us.
My stomach knots at the thought, equal parts hope and trepidation. Because I can’t afford to be wrong. I won’t let someone into my boys’ lives—into our lives—if he’s not willing to stay.
A quiet voice in my head warns that I’ve already done that.
I swallow.
God… I have, haven’t I?
But this is different, right? Tuck isn’t just some guy. He’s part of their world. Their team. Their hockey family. That makes it safer. Doesn’t it? I exhale slowly, watching him laugh with my boys, with my mom, like he’s always belonged here. Or rather, we’ve always belonged here.
“Mom, in here,” I call, raising my voice over the clatter of voices as Tuck heads down the hall to greet them.
“Elena, so nice to see you,” I hear him say, his tone warm and easy as I pull the pot roast from the oven, a wave of savory heat rushing up at me. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“You say that now,” Mom replies, her voice carrying that familiar playful confidence. “But wait until you taste it.”
I smile to myself, already knowing she brought one of her pies.
“Can’t wait. It smells amazing,” Tuck says. “I guess you taught Maria everything you know in the kitchen, because she’s an amazing cook.”
My chest swells at that. Not just the compliment, but the way he says it. Like he’s proud of me. Like this—I—matter to him.
“Grant, can I get you a beer?” Tuck asks.
“You bet, son.”
There’s a solid smack—Grant’s version of affection—and I can picture the shoulder clap without even looking.
I slip off my oven mitts just as Mom steps into the kitchen.
I move straight into her arms, hugging her tight, breathing her in.
Home, comfort, familiarity. Tuck must miss this, being so far from his family.
When I pull back, her eyes linger on my face, scanning me in that way only a mother can. Slow. Knowing. A small, almost smug smile curves her lips.
I instinctively wipe at my mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Just a smile,” she says. My stomach dips. Then she leans in slightly, her voice dropping. “One I haven’t seen in a long time.”
Oh. God.
Panic flares hot and fast. Does she know? Can she tell? Gina clocked it. So did Rowyn. And my mother is basically a human lie detector when it comes to me.
This is mortifying.
“School is going really well,” I blurt, way too quickly. “That’s why I’m smiling.”
Her brows lift. “Uh-huh. Is that all?”
Abort. Abort.
“Well, no. The boys are doing great. Good grades, sports, friends…”
“Continue,” she prompts, folding her arms, fully settling in like she’s about to enjoy this.
My brain scrambles for anything—anything—safe.
“Marbles is growing fast.”
Her mouth twitches. “Right.”
Lord, just take me now.
I clear my throat. “Wine? Do you want a glass of wine?”
“I’d love one,” she says, entirely too pleased with herself.
“Grandma.” Lucas barrels into the room, arms wide, saving me.
Relief floods through me as Mom turns, instantly softening, wrapping him in a tight hug. My chest squeezes watching them—the easy love, the way my boys have settled here, surrounded by people who show up for them.
She pulls back, holding Lucas at arm’s length, tilting her head up to take him in. “Lucas, I swear you’ve grown two inches since I last saw you.”
Lucas straightens immediately, chest puffing out, shoulders back. “I put Marbles in the bedroom so you wouldn’t sneeze.”
My heart melts a little.
“Meow.”
We all freeze. Then slowly turn.
“Marbles,” Josh groans, already moving. He scoops the cat up, cradling him close. “How did you get out?” He frowns, looking over at Mom. “I’m sorry, Grandma.”
I brace instinctively, waiting for it—the sneezing, the watery eyes, the inevitable reaction. But, nothing happens. No sniffle. No flinch. Just silence.
I tilt my head, studying her. “I thought you were allergic?”
Something shifts—just for a second—before she smooths it over. And suddenly, maybe I’m not the only one with something to hide.
She turns to me, a faint pink hue brushing her cheeks, eyes wide. “I…uh…”
“Allergy pills,” Grant supplies casually. “They work wonders. But she couldn’t stay on them forever, which is why we had to rehome Marbles.”
I freeze mid-thought, and a creeping suspicion snakes through me. Something feels…off. That’s when it hits me.
Oh my God. Did they set this all up?
A scheme. A plan. A covert operation designed to shove Tuck and me together under one roof, with Mom and Grant acting as co-conspirators. No, no, that can’t be right. My mother is not devious. Never has been.
Grant, however…
Grant has been known to meddle.
Tuck steps up, breaking my train of thought. He hands Mom a glass of wine, then offers one to me. My fingers brush his just a little longer than necessary. I steal a glance at Mom over the rim of my glass, suspicious now of her motives, her sly smile, her perfectly timed allergies.
“Oh, I thought I was going to sneeze there for a second.” She dabs delicately at her nose, the picture of innocence. “But no, the medication really is working wonders.”
“Sorry, Grandma. I’ll put Marbles back in the bedroom.” Josh begins to move.
“No need, Josh,” she waves him off. “I think I’m fine now.”
I exchange a look with Tuck, and his raised eyebrow matches my suspicion perfectly. I make a mental note to have a private chat with Mom later, after the boys are asleep.
Meanwhile, Tuck pops the tops off two beers, handing one to Grant. “You ready for the game on Tuesday?” Grant asks, and as the men launch into hockey chatter, I round up the boys. “Let’s set up in the dining room,” I instruct.
Honestly, it feels a little surreal, taking over Tuck’s house like this. But with six of us for dinner, we don’t want to be crammed around his small kitchen table.
The boys scuttle off, and I gesture toward the fridge. “Mom, can you grab the butter?”
She hums, opening the fridge, and her laughter spills out. “Wow,” she says, eyes sparkling as she surveys the kitchen. “Tuck is really stocked up for a bachelor.” She shoots me a teasing glance. “How long have you been staying here?”
“Not long,” I answer smoothly, reaching for a knife to slice the butter. “We just want to make sure Marbles gets settled, and we come when Tuck’s on the road. Only temporary. We’ll take Marbles back once I get a bigger place.”
I add a generous dollop of butter to the mashed potatoes, trying to appear perfectly casual. But I’m not sure I’m pulling it off, judging by the way she’s still grinning at me.
“How did your date with Declan go?”
My hand freezes on the knife. “How…how did you know about that?”
She smirks knowingly, and I already know the answer. Nothing stays secret in this hockey family. Not about the boys, not about the house, not about Tuck…certainly not about me.