Chapter 28 #2
Conversation flows around me—kids, schedules, small stories from the week—and I cling to it, grateful that none of it turns toward me.
I nod when I’m supposed to. Smile when it’s expected.
But from the corner of my eye, I catch my boys.
They’re jittery. Practically vibrating with excitement.
Yes, they love hockey. They love the guys.
But tonight feels…different. Like they’re waiting for something.
The arena quiets as the players begin to take the ice, the energy shifting in an instant. And then, there he is.
Tuck.
The moment he skates out, something in my chest lurches so hard it steals my breath. And like he can feel it—like he knows—his gaze lifts.
Finds mine.
Locks.
My grip falters, the wine glass slipping just enough to make my heart jump into my throat before I tighten my hold. I drag in a shallow breath and take a quick sip, needing something—anything—to quiet the rush of emotions inside me. That’s when I feel it.
Kate.
Watching me.
I turn, caught, my pulse spiking again. I have to say something. I can’t just sit here pretending—
“Kate, I… I…”
Her hand settles over mine, stopping me before I can unravel completely.
“Look,” she says gently. The puck drops. The game begins. And just like that, everything else falls away. The sharp crack of sticks, the rush of skates carving across the ice—it pulls us all in, the box going quiet as we watch. I follow the play, back and forth, trying to focus.
Ash to Penn.
Penn across to Nicklas.
Nicklas to Tuck.
He takes the puck and drives down the ice like a man possessed, fast and controlled and utterly relentless.
“My God,” Gina breathes beside me, nudging my arm. “Tuck is on fire tonight.”
I nod, because I can’t trust myself to speak.
“It's like he’s got a bee in his bonnet,” Kate says, leaning forward, her tone light, teasing. She glances at me with a small grin. “Something our grandmother used to say. Mom says it now, and well…apparently so do I.”
A soft laugh escapes her, and I manage a faint smile in return. There was a time—such a short time ago—that I thought I might get to hear those sayings firsthand. That I might sit in a kitchen somewhere with his family, learning the rhythm of them, becoming part of it.
Becoming his.
My thoughts shift when Tuck shoots and scores, and the arena explodes. We’re all on our feet in an instant, the sound crashing over us, loud and wild and electric. His teammates swarm him, pounding his helmet, shouting—
But Tuck…he looks up, right at the box. Right at me. My breath catches so hard it almost hurts. God…maybe he doesn’t want me here. Maybe this—me sitting in his space, in his world—is the last thing he needs.
“You must be his good luck charm,” Brighton teases, bumping my shoulder lightly. “Last time you were here, he scored twice.”
“Just like Kate is Nicklas’s charm,” Gina adds. “Final goal last time. Assist tonight. He’s definitely showing off.”
I force a smile, but inside, everything feels too tight. Too loud. Too close to the surface. Because if I’m his good luck charm…why did he let me go?
The game pushes on, the energy building, tension climbing with every passing minute. By the time the third period winds down, it’s still one to nothing. Then the power play hits. Nicklas moves like lightning, the puck snapping between sticks. Kate leans forward beside me, barely breathing—
Crack.
Goal.
The horn blares and we’re up again, cheering, clapping, the box alive with excitement. Nicklas looks up, straight at Kate, and grins. She beams back. Even as warmth blooms in my chest for them, something else curls tighter around my heart.
Because that’s what I thought I had.
The game ends in a rush of sound and celebration, voices rising, people gathering coats, already talking about post-game plans.
“Boys, grab your coats,” I say, reaching for mine. But they don’t move. They’re frozen, eyes locked on the ice.
“Lucas?” I follow his gaze and my heart stops. Tuck stands at center ice. Alone. Waiting. The noise in the box fades, replaced by something else entirely. Silence.
I turn slowly, and my stomach drops. Everyone is looking at me. Every single one of them.
“What’s going on?” I whisper, panic threading through my voice. Kate’s hand slips around my arm, and she guides me toward the door.
“Kate—”
“Do you love him, Maria?” she asks softly.
The question hits me in the center of my chest. Tears surge, fast, everything I’ve been holding back since the moment I walked into this arena breaking free.
“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”
She nods, like that’s all she needed. “Then listen to him.”
“Listen to…” I blink, confused. “Kate, what are you talking about—”
But it’s too late. I’m moving. Out of the box. Down the stairs. Onto the ice. The arena shifts around me, people who were halfway out stopping, turning back, settling into their seats. A hush falls, spreading outward until it feels like the entire world is holding its breath.
And there he is.
Waiting for me.
“Kate,” I call, but when I turn, she’s already gone, leaving me here. With Tuck. I glance up once more, finding my boys pressed against the glass, eyes wide, watching.
Waiting.
“Maria,” Tuck says, his voice quiet.
“Tuck…what are you doing?” My voice shakes, my hands trembling at my sides. “What is this?”
“I figured,” he says, taking a step closer. “This was the only way you’d actually listen to me.”
A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. “I think you said everything you needed to say the night you asked us to leave.”
His head shakes immediately, like he can’t let that stand. “No,” he says, and now there’s something in his eyes—something raw. “No, I didn’t.” And then I see it. The exhaustion. The weight he’s carrying. “I’m sorry.”
The words hit me square in the chest. I swallow hard, my throat burning. “Tuck…” Tears spill over, uncontrolled now. “You have a son,” I choke out. “A whole child you never told me about. I don’t even know who you are.”
“I know,” he says, voice rough. “I’m sorry for that.
I should have told you. I wanted to tell you.
” He drags a hand through his hair, frustration flickering.
“But you need to understand something first. I don’t have a secret family.
There’s no wife. No girlfriend. No one waiting for me back in Nova Scotia.
” His gaze locks on mine. “I would never cheat on you. Not ever.”
“Tuck…” My voice is quieter now. “We were never a couple.”
“Yes, we were.”
The certainty in his voice steals the air from my lungs.
Were.
The word twists inside me.
“If you believed that,” I whisper, my chest tightening. “Then why didn’t you tell me about Ben? I thought we were more. I thought we had—”
“A future?” he finishes gently.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
He steps closer, close enough now that I can see every flicker of emotion in his eyes. “The pictures,” he says quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “That was your way of showing me my house could be a home…with you. With the boys. Even Marbles.”
I nod. “I…remember when I won the pool game and I said I’d think on what I wanted?” He nods. “The pictures, they were to show you what I wanted for winning.”
He gives a slow nod, his eyes locked on mine. “A home and a family…with me,” he murmurs his words breaking apart as he says them. Before I can respond, he gestures toward the Jumbotron. I turn and my breath catches.
Images flash across the screen. My boys when they were little. Toothless grins, scraped knees, birthday candles. Then me, awkward school photos, teenage smiles, pieces of a life I’d almost forgotten. And then…Tuck. Young, determined, on the ice.
Tears blur my vision as the images shift and frames appear next.
Empty ones.
My heart stutters.
“I want to fill them,” he says softly behind me. “Together.”
“Tuck…” I whisper, turning back to him. “I want that too.”
He exhales like the words knock something loose inside him. “Ben wasn’t my biological son,” he begins, his voice quieter now, more fragile. “But he was my son in every way that mattered.”
I frown slightly, tilting my head. “Tuck…”
“I lived with his mom. We built something…or I thought we did. But she didn’t like the travel.
The distance. The uncertainty.” His jaw tightens.
“So one day, she left. Took him with her. She told me I failed them,” he continues.
“That showing up sometimes wasn’t enough.
That I’d ruin him if I kept coming in and out of his life.
” His voice cracks. “She said that there was no coming back from that.”
“Ruin him?” I echo, but the confusion fades quickly, replaced with something deeper—understanding. Everything about him suddenly makes sense. The fear. The distance. The way he held back…even when he didn’t want to.
“Tuck,” I murmur, reaching for him, my hand settling against his arm. “I’m so sorry. That must have destroyed you.”
“It did.”