Chapter 28
Maria
I grab a carafe of coffee and walk it over to where my boys are sitting with Nicklas.
Normally he’s here with Tuck, but Tuck hasn’t been by in days.
And as much as that should sting, as much as it should leave this hollow space at the table where he used to sit, I hate that part of me is relieved.
Because I don’t think I could look at him right now.
Not without everything inside me breaking wide open.
Not when my heart already feels like it’s been shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
Tuck has a son.
Ben.
The thought still doesn’t sit right, like it doesn’t belong in the same reality I’ve been living in. It echoes, over and over, refusing to settle. What I don’t know—what I can’t stop thinking about—is whether there’s more. A wife. A girlfriend. A whole life I was never meant to be part of.
I steady my hand as I pour Nicklas a coffee, willing it not to shake, but I can feel his eyes on me anyway. Watching. Assessing. Waiting to see if I’m going to fall apart right here in front of him. I might.
“Hey, Nicklas,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Boys, give him a minute to drink that before you interrogate him.”
“He wants us to go to the game tonight, Mom,” Lucas says, far too casually.
There’s a spark in Josh’s eyes—the one that’s just a little too knowing, a little too hopeful. I fight the urge to shake my head. He hasn’t given up on Tuck and me. Sorry, kiddo. That ship didn’t just sail—it sank.
“As long as your homework is done, you can go.”
“We can’t go,” Josh says, slumping dramatically. “We don’t have a ride.”
“What about your grandmother and Grant?” I ask. They never miss a game. Ever.
“I just called. Grant’s sick.”
“He’s sick?” I frown. “I saw him yesterday. He was fine.”
“There’s some weird twenty-four-hour thing going around,” Nicklas says, rubbing his stomach like he’s already bracing for it. “I better not get it. We need to kick some Edmonton ass tonight.”
“Language.” I point at him.
“Sorry, Mom,” he shoots back, grinning, and the boys laugh.
Laughter. God, I miss the sound. They were so confused the night Tuck asked us to leave.
I told them what I could—that he needed time with his sister, that Marbles was okay, that they’d see him soon.
And because they’re kids, because they’re resilient in ways I wish I still was, they accepted it. They bounced back.
But now…now I have this creeping, unmistakable feeling that they’re not just bouncing—they’re planning something.
“Maybe I should call Grant. Check on him,” I say, grasping for something—anything—that lets me avoid what this is really about.
“Grandma said he’s sleeping,” Lucas says quickly. Too quickly. “Will you take us, Mom? We really want to go. And you liked the box last time.”
I did. Because Tuck was there. Because everything felt easy. Because I didn’t know the truth.
My stomach knots so tight it almost hurts, and I turn to Nicklas, done pretending. “If this is some kind of set-up to get Tuck and me back together—”
“Back together?” Josh blurts, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about, Mom? You said you’re just friends. He only asked us to leave because he wanted time with Aunt Kate.”
Aunt Kate.
The words land like a punch.
God.
This is my fault.
All of it.
I built this version of the truth for them, and now I’m trapped inside it. Because I can’t tell my son that it was more. That it mattered. That it still matters. Not when he’s looking at me like everything is fine. Because if everything is fine…why wouldn’t I go to the game?
It’s Wednesday. I can’t hide behind school. And lately, I’ve already been disappearing on them—retreating to my room at night, pretending I’m just tired when really I’m trying to piece myself back together.
Maybe they need this, need me to take them.
Josh leans forward, his voice softer now, hopeful in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Please, Mom. We really want to go.”
I swipe my hand down the front of my apron, smoothing out wrinkles that aren’t really there. “Fine. We can go.”
I’ll sit in the box, smile, make conversation with the women I’ve grown close to. If they ask, I’ll shrug it off like it’s nothing. Like it was nothing. I’ll tell them Tuck and I have moved on. Maybe I’ll even toss out something about reaching out to Declan again.
Which is a complete lie.
At this point, I’m seriously considering a life of solitude. Me, a good book, and absolutely no men with secrets.
Nicklas takes a slow sip of his coffee, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Great. See you guys in the box tonight. Now go—homework. Like your mom said.”
The boys laugh, chairs scraping loudly as they jump up. A second later, they’re thundering up the stairs, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the picture frames.
Silence settles in behind them. I let it stretch for a beat, then another, my eyes still on the staircase before I turn back to Nicklas to find him watching me. I stare back.
“What?” he finally asks.
My pulse ticks up. I shouldn’t ask. I know I shouldn’t ask. Whatever answer I get isn’t going to make this better. But the question has been sitting there, festering. Waiting.
“How long have you known about Ben?”
Nicklas shrugs, too casual. “Not long. Couple weeks. He mentioned it.”
A couple weeks.
The words echo, hollow.
A couple of weeks ago, I was in Tuck’s bed. In his space. In his life in a way that felt…real. And he said nothing. Not a word. So either I didn’t matter enough to be trusted with something that big…
Or he was hiding it.
And somehow, I’m not sure which one hurts more.
Don’t ask.
Don’t ask.
Don’t—
“Do you know if he has—”
The bell over the door jingles, cutting me off. I step back instinctively, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
“Hi, Jaxon,” I say, pasting on a smile that feels tight.
“Hey, Maria.” He gives me an easy nod. “You coming to the game tonight?”
“Yes. Taking the boys. Grant’s not feeling well, apparently.”
“Yeah, I heard there’s some twenty-four-hour thing going around.”
And just like that, the tiny flicker of suspicion I’d been holding onto settles. Because if this was some elaborate set-up—if the boys and Grant were scheming—Jaxon wouldn’t be part of it. He wouldn’t casually back up the flu like that.
Which means…
This is real.
All of it.
No grand plan. No hidden push to get me back to Tuck. Just me, walking straight into something I’m not ready for.
“How’s Rowyn?” I ask, grasping for something safe.
“She’s good. You should stop by. She’d love to see you.”
“I will,” I say automatically.
I won’t.
Because the truth is, without Tuck, I’m not sure I belong in their world anymore.
I fill Jaxon’s coffee, hands moving on autopilot, and step away before he can say anything else.
Before I have to pretend any harder. Customers come and go, voices blending into a low hum.
I lean into the rhythm of it—orders, coffee, change—anything to keep my mind from drifting back to tonight.
To him.
But no matter how hard I try, it’s there. Sitting just beneath the surface.
Waiting.
And when the last customer leaves and the café finally empties, the quiet feels heavier than before. I flip the sign on the door to closed, the click loud in the stillness.
For a second, I just stand there, my hand resting against the glass. And then I let out a slow breath. Because in a few hours I’m going to see Tuck. And I have no idea how I’m supposed to survive that.
I head upstairs and throw together a quick dinner, moving on autopilot. Plates, forks, reminders to eat something green—it all feels distant, like I’m watching myself go through the motions instead of actually living them.
Afterward, I take a shower, letting the hot water beat down on me longer than necessary, hoping it might wash away the tight knot in my chest. It doesn’t. By the time I’m dressed—layers of warm clothes I can hide inside—the boys are already at the door, bouncing on their heels. Waiting.
“Mom,” Lucas whines, like I’m the one holding things up.
“Coming,” I answer, forcing a smile as I grab my keys.
The drive to the rink feels longer than usual. I turn the radio up, letting the noise fill the car, trying to drown out the steady drum of my pulse and the one thought I can’t seem to shake:
You’re going to see him.
We finally find a parking spot, and before I’ve even cut the engine, the boys are out of the car, racing ahead. I take my time. Each step feels heavier than the last, like if I walk slowly enough, maybe I can delay the inevitable.
“Come on, Mom!” Josh calls, turning back, waving me forward.
“I’m coming,” I say, even though every part of me wants to turn around and go home.
I follow them inside, through the familiar halls, up to the box. And the second I step in, I feel it. Eyes. Voices. Life moving forward like nothing has changed.
“Maria,” Gina calls and I force myself to walk toward her.
That’s when I see Kate.
My steps falter, just slightly, but enough that I feel it all the way down to my bones. My throat tightens, heat creeping up the back of my neck.
She was there. She knows. Every word. Every moment. Does she hate me for hurting him?
Does she know how much he hurt me?
“Kate,” I manage. “I thought you’d left.”
“I decided to stay an extra day,” she says easily, like nothing in the world is complicated. “Wanted to catch one more game.” She taps the seat beside her. “Come sit.”
I lower myself into the chair, hyperaware of everything—where to put my hands, how to breathe, how to exist in a space that suddenly feels too small.
“I’ll grab you a wine,” Brighton says, already moving.
And for a split second, my mind spirals—
Kate told them. They all know. This is pity wine.
But no.
That’s not who they’ve ever been. They’ve always been kind. Welcoming. Easy. Even when I didn’t quite feel like I belonged. Brighton returns, placing the glass in my hand, and I murmur a thank you, wrapping my fingers around the stem like it’s something solid to hold onto.