13. Neesha #2
“That’s not what they think.” His touch jolts through me as he holds my gaze.
“They love you, Neesha. Like family . They weren’t watching us to gossip or laugh, they were watching me —making sure I was treating you right, that I was worthy of you.
” He pauses. “Mary-Ellen threatened to run me out of town if I so much as made you frown. Mrs. Nelson actually cornered me at the post office to give me a lecture about how you deserved someone who would ‘cherish you properly’—her exact words.”
I blink. “She did?”
“And Mabel and Fiona, along with a bunch of women in town, made me promise I wouldn’t break your heart, because, and I quote: ‘Neesha has been through enough, and this town protects its own.’ They weren’t meddling for fun. They were acting like family, making sure no one hurts their girl again.”
I blink back something that feels strangely like tears. I felt so lonely after Mom died, but maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought.
“They just want to see you happy again,” he continues. “And honestly? So do I.”
For a moment I just stare at him. “Why did you keep trying when you knew I didn’t like hockey players?”
“Besides the fact that you’re beautiful and completely out of my league?” He gives me a self-deprecating smile. “I’m stubborn, Neesha. I didn’t want you as my enemy—I wanted you however I could have you, even if it meant just being friends.”
When he reaches for my hand, his touch is gentle and undemanding. This is a man who bodychecks opponents into the boards for a living, yet he holds me like I’m something valuable to him. Lucian’s touch feels like a question, not a claim—like he’s asking permission just to hold my hand.
It’s the difference between being wanted and being cherished, and I never knew how much I needed the latter until now.
I pull my hand away, needing space so I can think clearly. “I should go.”
“Listen, I understand if you want nothing to do with me now. As much as that kills me, I’ll respect your decision. But I want you to know that nothing else was a lie. The way I wanted to help you, how much fun we had on our practice date, the way I…” His eyes drop to my lips and linger there.
And I know what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too.
Despite everything he’s told me tonight, I want him to kiss me. I want to close the space between us and forget about everything except how he makes me feel safe and cherished and wanted.
But I know better. He’s hurt and vulnerable and feeling guilty for lying to me.
I stand quickly. “I need to get you more frozen peas. Maybe Mrs. Nelson has some.”
He laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t believe you’d bring up my least favorite vegetable at a time like this.”
I grab my first-aid kit and head for the door. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can clear my head and forget about this man who makes me want things I promised myself I’d never want again.
“You don’t have to go so soon.” I can see by the look in his eyes that he wants me to stay.
“I really do,” I say firmly. Because if I stay, I don’t know that I’ll have willpower to stop myself from making a mistake with Lucian.
“Do you know where Henry went?” I spin around, searching for my dog, who seems to have disappeared like a magician.
When I search the house, I discover Henry curled up on Lucian’s bed, looking like it’s his new home.
My breath catches when I step inside his private room—there’s something intimately personal about being in a man’s bedroom.
The flannel pajama pants I saw him in the night I was canvasing the neighborhood hang on a hook in his closet.
There’s a gorgeous, modern, oak bedroom suite that looks three times nicer than anything I own.
His bed is not only made neatly, but also has a tasteful duvet cover in dark gray.
He takes obvious care of his sleeping space, just like he takes care of the people around him.
He’s the kind of man who pays attention to detail, who notices when you’re cold before you do, who steps in when you need a date, who listens when you don’t even realize you’re asking for something.
I try to ignore the way my heart seems to skip a beat, thinking of Lucian sleeping in this gorgeous bed alone.
Who’s going to help him in the middle of the night when he wakes up?
Who will take care of him when he’s in pain?
Something wars inside me as I try to slow my breathing. I can’t stay here. But I can’t just leave him to fend for himself, either.
“Did you find him?” he asks from the hall. When I spin around, he’s leaning against the wall, still shirtless, somehow managing to look all sorts of scrumptious. It makes my heart do things it has no business doing.
“It seems Henry has taken to your bed,” I say, scooping Henry off the duvet.
“I’m happy to share it,” he says. “I really don’t like sleeping alone.”
Heat prickles down my spine. “Well, you can borrow Henry anytime you like.” I brush past him and head for the door.
“Neesha, wait.” His voice stops me cold.
I don’t turn around. Because if I do, I might not have the strength to leave.
“Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” His voice is raw. “You looking at me like I’m him? Like I’m just another guy who’s going to hurt you?”
The pain in his voice makes me ache.
I stop, then turn back to face him. “You’re nothing like him,” I whisper.
“Then why are you running?” He moves closer, his eyes searching mine. “I know that I broke your trust. But don’t let that erase everything else between us. I don’t want to be your risk—I want to be your refuge. Let me be your safe place. Don’t let him win by making you afraid again.”
“I’m not afraid.” But I’m not even sure I believe it .
“Does that mean you won’t shut me out?” he asks. “That I might even get another chance?”
“I don’t know, Lucian." I pause. "But I do know one thing—if we continue, you have to be honest with me. About everything .”
“I promise,” he says, the relief flooding his face. “Neesha, I’ve been carrying this secret for weeks, hating myself for not telling you, worried you’d hate me too.”
“For what it’s worth,” I say. “I hate seeing you hurt more than I hate that you lied to me.”
I head out the door before I can see the effect of my words.
When I reach my place, I see him through the window, limping toward the couch, his face wincing with every step.
No matter how much I want to stop thinking of him—how much I desperately need to stop caring—I already know I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.