Chapter 1: Smitty

The sun streamed through the kitchen window, sending a warm ray of light across the keyboard. The weather had been vicious lately with dark clouds and endless snowy days. This little bit of sun felt like a good omen, and at the moment, we needed all the positive juju the universe could spare.

I pulled up the document I’d been working on for the past week and rubbed my hands together.

Why do you want to be a parent? Fair question.

The simple answer was that I loved kids and I thought I’d be a good dad. However, I had a feeling the adoption agency was looking for a more nuanced answer.

I saved that one for Bryson ’cause he was better at making things sound fancy, and moved on to the next section titled, “About You.”

What do you do for a living, and do you enjoy it?

I gave a brief rundown of my career from my time as an AHL defenseman to my current job as a high school hockey coach and health and nutrition teacher at Elmwood High.

That last one still cracked me up. I couldn’t believe the administration had picked me to guide a young generation toward healthier eating habits. If the principal had seen my pantry when I was the same age as my students, he might have reconsidered. My parents had been more concerned with making meals stretch than providing healthy choices. Pasta, pizza, and frozen burritos for the win…not a green thing on my plate.

Our kid wouldn’t have to worry about that.

Okay…back to the online questionnaire.

Do you have any hobbies? Hockey.

Do you have any special interests? Hockey.

How would you describe yourself? Hockey player.

“Hi, babe. How’s it going?”

I glanced up to see my insanely hot husband schlepping grocery bags onto the kitchen island. Bryson was a sexy-as-fuck silver fox, tall and lean with beautiful blue eyes, a light beard, and big fucking heart. And let me be clear, no one wore khakis and basic button-down shirts like my man.

I gave Bryson an appreciative once-over and whistled to make him blush. Yep, it worked every time.

“Fine,” I replied, pushing my laptop aside. “Any more bags in the car?”

“No, I brought them all in. Almost finished?” He inclined his head meaningfully as he wrestled orange juice from a bag.

I groaned. “No, there’s got to be fifty more questions to get through. I need your help. I don’t know how to describe us or our house. We’re cool and it’s big? And they want to know what characteristics we’re looking for in a kid. I mean…c’mon. How do I answer that? It would be great if he or she was smart, athletic, and talented, but isn’t it our job to help mold them?”

Bryson nodded. “It is.”

“And they ask if we want a boy or a girl. I don’t care, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“They get nosy about our religious beliefs too, how we were raised, and how we plan to discipline our child. I haven’t been to church in years, I was a latchkey kid, and for the record, I’m a fuckin’ softy. I’ll be the pushover dad, and we both know it. ‘You want a popsicle before dinner? No problem. You want to eat it on the new sofa in your wet swimsuit with the dogs? You got it.’ ”

Bryson snort-laughed. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“Don’t be so sure.” I squeezed my eyes shut briefly and sighed. “Take over, Bry. I wasn’t a good student, and I don’t want to fuck this up for us. That inspector person is coming over in three days.”

He set a calming hand on my shoulder and nuzzled my jaw. “Relax. They’re not trying to trick us. This is just due diligence. I’m sure they’ve run into a few instances where prospective parents weren’t committed or prepared to introduce a new family member into their lives.”

“That’s not us. We’re ready,” I said emphatically.

And that was true. Bryson and I had discussed having kids ad nauseam well before we were married.

Bry was eleven years older than me and had a grown son from his previous marriage. Jake was a twenty-three-year-old hockey phenom currently playing for Boston. He was also a smart young man, a doting son, and an all-around cool human. In other words, Bryson had already done the dad thing, and he’d done it exceedingly well. Starting all over again would be daunting. I got that.

But damn, I wanted this. I’d always wanted to be a dad. Once upon a time, I’d been married to a woman and I gotta admit, being parents was our main goal as a couple. We hadn’t been able to get pregnant, and it had killed the marriage. In retrospect, we’d put a dream ahead of reality, and I vowed to never repeat that mistake. Bryson and I were one thousand percent honest with each other.

We didn’t let small stuff fester and grow. This was the second marriage for both of us, and we were determined to be the best versions of ourselves we could be for each other. If that meant making a few sacrifices and learning to compromise, so be it.

For example, Bryson had a very specific organizational system for putting away groceries. He wanted milk, juice, and dairy creamers to be stored on the top shelf in the fridge. Eggs went in the egg thingy on the side compartment, veggies went in the veggie drawer—and that did not include onions…especially not sliced onions (I learned that one the hard way). And cheese had better make its way into the fuckin’ cheese drawer.

What can I say? I was not a natural when it came to organization. And organizing food? Gimme a break. Eating it, yes—organizing, no. But hey, I was a quick study. I’d learned Bryson’s quirks, respected his space, and though I occasionally challenged his reasoning, I wanted to make him happy. And I knew he felt the same about me.

Maybe that was a long-winded way of saying that we were a solid, loving couple of dudes who lived in a big-ass house in the coolest tiny town in Vermont and that we’d put serious thought into a decision we knew would change our lives forever.

Conclusion: we both wanted to start a family.

We’d discussed adoption versus surrogacy and had decided to try adoption first. There were so many kids out there in need of a good home, and it seemed like a good place to begin.

But damn, it was nerve-wracking.

I puffed out my cheeks like a chipmunk, exhaling theatrically as I returned to the never-ending list of questions.

Bryson perched on the stool next to me and looped an arm over my shoulders. “Let me help.”

I angled the screen toward him. “Please do.”

“How will parenthood change your social life?” he read.

I rolled my eyes and snickered. “Not much. I’m guessing we’d put the kiddo in one of those front-pack thingies and take him or her with us wherever we go. They’ll have built-in buddies with Vinnie and Nolan’s kids, so barbecues with friends and of course, we’ll teach ’em how to skate…like immediately, so the rink will be a second home too.”

“What if our kid doesn’t like hockey?” Bryson asked evenly.

I gave him the WTF look that question deserved. “That’s not possible.”

“It is possible. He or she might not share any of our interests. They might prefer quieter pursuits like reading, writing, drawing. They might be super sensitive, have ADHD.” He spared a glance at ABBA and Ozzie, who were lounging next to the fireplace next to our cat, Princess, adding, “Or be allergic to dogs or cats.”

“Allergies?” I grimaced. “That would suck.”

Bryson bit my shoulder playfully. “Parenting isn’t easy. It’s messy, noisy, frustrating, and worrisome. Your hair will be as gray as mine in no time, babe. On the upside…”

“Oh, you have a couple of those too?” I snarked.

“I do. Raising Jake was the single-most rewarding job I’ve ever had. To see him grow day by day and become the incredible person he is now has been a gift. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s true.”

“Hmm.” I bit the inside of my cheek and stared, unseeing, at the screen. “Kids are goofy as fuck, which is kind of a plus. But they’re always sticky, they talk with food in their mouths, and they kinda stink. It’s like insta chaos. Why do I even want that in my life?”

“I don’t know, but I think you’re going to be an amazing dad,” Bryson gushed. “Really fucking amazing.”

“Thank you. I think we make a great team. Should we be lucky enough to be parents together, our kid will know without a doubt that they’re loved and cherished.”

“That’s what we need to say on the questionnaire. Exactly that.”

I kissed him soundly. “Okay…let’s get to work.”

Chapter 2: Bryson

“You’re fluffing again.”

I dropped the pillow at the corner of the sofa, adjusting the edges till they were razor sharp. “I know, I know. I’m just…”

“Nervous?” Smitty supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” He wiped his palms on his jeans and let out a ragged breath. “We need to chill out and relax.”

“Definitely. How?”

“Tell me a dad joke.”

“I—okay…” I furrowed my brow and tried to think of one. “Uh…what do you call a sheep who can sing and dance?”

“No idea.”

“Lady Baa Baa.”

Smitty barked a laugh. “Is that new one?”

“Yep.” I chuckled at my husband’s crinkly-eyed amusement.

There was something endearing about my six-foot-five tattooed teddy bear of a man, dressed up and anxious as hell but trying not to show it for my sake. I thought I’d be cool, calm, and collected today, but I was the one who’d scrubbed the bathroom with a toothbrush and compulsively dusted the inside of the closet in the bedroom we’d decided would be the nursery.

If…this worked out. If we were chosen. If we were deemed worthy. If we—

“Hey, hey, hey. None of that.” Smitty stood and pulled me into his arms, interrupting my doomsday spiral. “Gimme another one.”

“Okay, okay…um, why couldn’t the baby score in basketball?”

“I dunno. Why?”

“He was always dribbling.”

“Wow. That’s…bad.”

I snickered as I melted against his solid chest, grateful at whatever force in the universe had brought this incredible man into my life. We’d taken turns shoring each other up over the past couple of months since we’d decided to adopt. The process was not for the faint of heart. We’d completed the online questionnaire and had done a series of interviews with the agency.

Every meeting had gone well, but there was always a fear of saying the wrong thing, or of being too honest, or too careful. It was exhausting. And we hadn’t even been formally accepted as candidates yet.

Supposedly we’d have a better idea of our status after the home inspection today. Our friend Riley had an old teammate who’d adopted a child last year and according to Riley, we were almost at the finish line.

“Beckman said the house visit is painless. They just want to be sure you’re not creepy hoarders with a dangerous snake collection and no room for a kid,” Riley had assured us at dinner last night.

“You have nothing to worry about,” his husband, Jean-Claude, had added in his melodic Quebecois accent, “as long as you put your sex toys away, oui?”

I’d sputtered indignantly, prepared to deny that Smitty and I were the proud owners of a medley of dildos and butt plugs. But Smitty beat me to it.

“Good call. Hey, babe, we gotta remember to take the suction-cup penis off the tile wall in the bathroom,” he’d commented around a bite of pasta.

“Very funny,” I’d huffed while our friends had roared with laughter.

And yes, I’d double and triple-checked that there were no silicone penises in the shower…just to be on the safe side.

I chuckled at the memory, which made me think of another joke involving a huge pickle and—

Ding dong

Smitty and I shared a wide-eyed panicky look.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Yeah, we got this.”

Okay, it started out a little rough.

We were obviously nervous and trying not to show it. We stumbled over simple words, laughed too loudly, and fidgeted like schoolboys. Thankfully, our inspector had the patience of a saint.

Sandra was a lovely middle-aged woman with dark skin, twinkling eyes, and a pleasant demeanor. She commented on our beautiful tree-lined street and our overly-friendly pets, nodded her approval of the great room, and didn’t seem to mind Smitty’s eager tour of the yard, in spite of the chill. Best of all, she agreed that the bedroom we’d chosen was suitable for a child.

She gave our bedroom a cursory glance, jotting notes on an iPad before navigating the stairs, pausing to admire the collage of family photos in the entry.

“This must be your son, the pro hockey player,” she commented, pointing at a picture of Jake and me that Smitty had taken at the lake last summer.

“Yes, that’s Jake.”

“Are you a hockey fan?” Smitty asked eagerly. I could tell he was fighting the urge to offer her tickets to a game or introduce her to a few of Elmwood’s famous NHL stars.

“I don’t know much about it. I’m more a football and baseball gal,” Sandra replied. “But I noticed Jake’s name on your application.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing? We love Jake, but that doesn’t mean we wouldn’t love another kid,” Smitty inserted, wrinkling his nose. “That probably sounded aggressive. I apologize. I’m nervous. Probably not a good look during an inspection, huh?”

Sandra smiled kindly. “This isn’t an inspection, Mr. Paluchek. It’s a home study.”

“Is there a difference? Can I ask that?” He threw his hands in the air, then raked them through his hair in frustration. “Sorry, but you know something? I can’t do the best-behavior thing. I need to be real. This is a nice house, we’re nice people, we have good jobs, great friends, and we live in an incredible community where inclusivity is never an issue. So if you’re worried about a queer couple adopting a child, don’t. We love each other, we’re dedicated to each other, and damn it, we’d make good parents.”

I grinned at my husband. “What he said.”

Sandra inclined her head, her eyes alight with humor. “Your honesty is refreshing. Now may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Would you be open to adopting a child who didn’t look quite like you?”

“Are you asking if we have anything against redheads? ’Cause no, we don’t,” Smitty joked. “It’s adoption, not a match game.”

“What if his skin was dark like mine or her hair was a different texture?”

“Who cares?” he shot back. “That was on the questionnaire. I know I answered that one.”

She nodded slightly. “You did, but you wrote, and I quote, ‘Why would that matter?’, which isn’t a complete response.”

His jaw dropped. “Oh, shit. ’Scuse my French, but of course we don’t fucking care if his or her skin is darker or lighter than ours. We don’t care if their hair is black, brown, yellow, or red…or even blue. We won’t care if they’re gay, straight, bi, pan, or trans. We are not assholes, and we—”

“Smitty, relax,” I cautioned.

“No, I can’t relax. We’re not prejudiced bigots. If we wanted a kid who looked like us, we would have taken other steps to have a child. We want to nurture, educate, offer a home and a future to a kid whose birth parents cannot or have chosen not to do so. Skin color, sexual orientation, or any other so-called concerns are not issues for us. And yes, I’m speaking for both of us, because I married the fucking coolest man on the planet. Bryson might look like a damn GQ model, but he’s the most authentic, grounded person you’ll ever meet and—”

“Thank you.” Sandra put her hand up like a stop sign. “You answered the question.”

He chewed on his lower lip. “Did I just blow it for us?”

She laughed aloud. “Not at all. To be frank, our team has already begun interviewing your families and friends, and according to a few sources, you’re a fun-loving, exuberant, passionate guy with a huge heart. I was hoping for a glimpse of that man. And my notes indicate that Bryson here is a dedicated father, a great friend, and a community leader. I think your future child will be lucky to have you both.”

We shared a look, unsure how to react.

“Does that mean we passed the test?” Smitty asked carefully.

“It’s not exactly a test. The purpose of this visit is to ascertain that your home environment is safe. Your furniture is nice, but I’m looking for smoke detectors, locks on windows, covered trash cans…that sort of thing. I’ll need copies of your marriage certificate, drivers’ licenses, and I’ll ask you to forward results from your recent physicals to my office. But that’s all normal procedure. I’m not here to judge you. I don’t expect you to be perfect. Quite the opposite. Every child deserves a stable, loving, safe home, and in my estimation, this is a wonderful environment for a prospective placement.”

“You mean kid,” Smitty clarified.

“I do.”

Smitty beamed. “I want to hug you, but that might be weird, so let me shake your hand instead.”

Sandra offered her hand with a laugh. “I like you, Mr. Paluchek. You’re going to be a great dad.”

He bowed his head sheepishly for a beat. “Thanks. So…what’s next?”

“Well, once the paperwork is filed on my end…you wait.”

“How long?”

“That I don’t know. Could be a few months, but it could be much longer. We’re a private firm as you know, and we generally move faster than a government agency. However, these things take time. I know that’s not what you want to hear. Just…be patient.”

My heart sank a little. Being patient might be the hardest part.

Chapter 3: Smitty

“Niall, did you forget how to pass out there? This isn’t a one-man show. Let’ s go, let’s go. Mellon is open!” I clutched the clipboard with more force than necessary, leaning against the boards as I glanced over at the high school senior watching practice from a nearby bench. “You should jump in there and show the boys how it’s done, MK.”

Mary-Kate chuckled. “Put me in, Coach. I’m not sure how they’d feel if I told them they all have limp sticks. Except for Denny.”

I ignored her unintentional double entendre and accompanying blush. My star forward and MK had been an item since the end of their sophomore year, and one never seemed to go anywhere without the other. They were like a matched set—Den and MK, MK and Den.

Denny was tall, dark, and broody, and Mary-Kate was tall with brown hair and a sunny disposition. He was quiet; she was a chatterbox. He was serious; she was playful. He battled anxiety; she was unfailingly even-tempered. They made a cute couple. And they were the undisputed best hockey players at Elmwood High.

Denny was heading to Colorado for college, and he’d already signed on with Jake’s high-profile agent. I had no doubts whatsoever that he’d go on to play in the NHL. MK could literally do anything she set her sights on. I looked forward to seeing what the future brought them.

Actually, I felt that way about all of my students. I liked coaching, but I’d had no idea it would be so rewarding to watch a bunch of knuckleheads mature into incredible young adults. Mentoring and nurturing teens had its challenges for sure. I saw this as my crash course in parenting and—

Oh, fuck. See, this was what I’d hoped to avoid. I didn’t want to think about kids or adoption or the fact that we’d had no news for two months. I’d been doing so well lately, too. I concentrated on coaching club hockey at the El Rink and teaching my health class at the high school. I was busy, damn it. So was Bryson.

We did our best not to dwell on it, but the silence was getting to us. Last night, Bryson had mentioned surrogacy for the first time in months, and I hadn’t argued that “our” kid was just a phone call away. I worried that wanting something so badly had jinxed our chances of getting it.

Yeah, I was a little superstitious. Sue me.

“These guys are almost done,” I commented, checking the time on my cell absently.

“No worries. I’m waiting for Uncle Vinnie. I’m going to help him teach Alec how to skate,” MK replied, waving at someone. “Oh, here they are!”

I turned, grinning at the former big bad D-man balancing a laughing tow-headed toddler on his broad shoulders. “Yo, Vinnie. I heard we got a new skater in the house.”

“You know it. Say hi to Coach Smitty, big guy.” Vinnie bent his knees so Alec could give me a fist bump.

“I already know how to skate,” Alec said, wiggling out of his dad’s arms. “Wanna watch me?”

I nodded. “For sure. Get your blades on. The juniors will be done by the time you’re laced up.”

MK pulled skates from Vinnie’s bag and motioned for Alec to follow her. “I’m going to put mine on. I’ll help you too.”

Vinnie plonked onto the bench and blew out an exhausted sigh. “My niece is a godsend. Thank fuck, ’cause I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Vinnie and his husband, Nolan, had brought home their new baby girl, Ava, a month ago, and were experiencing serious sleep deprivation on top of keeping up with an active three-year-old. I braced myself for a pang of unwanted jealousy, grateful when it didn’t hit me. I was happy for my friends, but yeah…I wanted to join their club.

“I bet. Can we do anything?” I asked, blowing my whistle to end practice.

Vinnie shot me a wary side-eyed look. “If that’s a serious offer, I would be forever in your debt if you’d take him to the park or something for an hour. MK is supposed to go shopping for a prom dress after we skate with Alec, and I would give pretty much anything for an hour of sleep. Ronnie, MK, and Nolan’s mom have been rock stars, but two kids are…a lot. I need a nap. Just one fucking hour.”

I chuckled. “You got it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we’ll walk into town, grab a cookie at the bakery, harass Ivan at the coffee shop, and visit Bry at work. Then we’ll go to the park. Alec and I are old buddies. He’ll be fine with me.”

Vinnie’s effusive appreciation was a tad over-the-top. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t know how to thank you, so…thank you.”

“No problem.”

And I meant that. It was an honor to spend an hour or so with a chatty toddler who picked dandelions and had a running commentary about everything from the wheels on the big truck parked near Rise and Grind to the blinking lights on his new sneakers.

“See? They light up.” Alec pointed at his feet and jumped. “Did you see?”

“I did! That’s cool. Do you think they make them in my size?” I asked, holding open the coffee shop door for him.

Alec giggled. “No, silly. They’re only for kids. Not babies. Ava can’t have them.”

“How do you like having a sister?”

“S’okay, but she doesn’t do anything. She just cries. Hi, JC! Hi!” Alec waved both arms over his head, an ear-to-ear smile splitting his chubby cheeks in half.

“Bonjour, Alec. Ça va?” Jean-Claude greeted him from the front of the queue in a thicker than usual accent.

Alec knit his brow as if in deep concentration. “Bon?”

“Tres bien! I see you are with the hockey coach today. Did they recruit you for their team?” JC quirked a curious brow and let the patron behind him move ahead in the line.

“No, but I know how to skate. Coach Smitty saw me, right, Coach Smitty?”

“I did. The kid’s a natural,” I agreed, stepping toward the counter.

“Hello, boys! What can I get you today, Alec?” Ivan leaned over the counter and held out his hand for a high five. “How about a hot chocolate with whipped cream?”

Alec’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, but manners had been instilled in the little guy. He glanced between JC and me, looking for an adult nod of approval. I gave him a thumbs-up and ruffled his hair, charmed at the “Yes, please” that sounded more like “Yes, pwease.” Damn it, kids were cute.

We took our drinks to a bistro table near the huge bay window. JC joined Alec and me, and when the shop was empty, Ivan pulled up a chair too. Our conversation centered around things Alec enjoyed, like dinosaurs, trucks, and horses until licking whipped cream from his hot cocoa pulled his focus away.

Alec swung his legs, unbothered by the shift in topic from triceratops to preparations for Elmwood’s annual junior hockey summer camp.

The camp attracted hockey hopefuls from across the globe and generated a ton of business for the community. Its success had a lot to do with the influx of pro players from the NHL and AHL who volunteered to spend part of their summer in a tiny town in the forests of Vermont. The program had become so popular that the entire Four Forest area had experienced a population surge we credited to positive press and the undeniable fact that this was a beautiful place to live and raise a family.

“There’s talk about building new houses in Wood Hollow, on that bluff off Belvedere,” Ivan said. “They’re pretty disorganized over there, but I think they’ll have enough votes to do it even if the citizens don’t approve.”

“Why wouldn’t they approve?” JC asked. “More people equals more enterprise and more income for everyone. Wood Hollow is a…what is the nice word to say something is sort of terrible?”

“You could just go with terrible,” I suggested.

JC rolled his eyes. “But it isn’t terrible, it’s…”

“Tired, weary, lethargic,” Ivan piped in. “Boring also works.”

“Oui, and in desperate need of a facelift.” JC rubbed his reddish beard and patted his cheeks. “Like me. I’m getting old and saggy. Not everywhere, thank goodness.”

Ivan and I snorted at the silly joke that flew five miles above the three-year-old’s head, and for the millionth time since I moved to Elmwood, I was grateful to have met a cool group of friends. JC and Ivan were close friends of Bryson’s, and I naturally gravitated toward the coaching staff at the rink, which included Ivan’s husband, Court, and JC’s husband, Riley. This was an amazing town—warm, welcoming. Like a family, but better because I actually liked the majority of them.

Alec and I said good-bye to JC and Ivan and popped into the bakery, where Crabby Annie, Denny’s grandmother, invited Alec to see the big mixer in the back and packed a few maple cookies in a bag for him to share with his dads for later.

Yeah, she wasn’t so crabby with little kids.

“Geez, Annie, you’re kind of a sweetheart,” I teased.

“Oh, hush. Don’t breathe a word of that nonsense.” Annie glowered without heat.

I called Bry before continuing to his office, but he was showing a property in Pinecrest, so Alec and I went to the park and took over the swing set and jungle gym.

A full two hours after I’d left Vinnie, I figured Alec was sufficiently exhausted enough to turn over to his parents. However, I didn’t have a car or a car seat, and Vinnie and Nolan lived on the farthest end of town—still walkable, but not ideal with a toddler, so Alec’s grandmother stopped by the park to relieve me of my duty.

Alec hugged me, wrapping sticky fingers around my neck. He thanked me, and yeah, it was more like, “Sank you” and I kinda melted. Then he jumped into his car seat, clutching his cookies as he helped his grandma with the buckles.

I waved them off in the parking lot and headed home, feeling strangely off-kilter—happy and melancholy at the same time. Was that a thing?

I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but my skin felt too tight and my mind was whirling in dark circles.

Bryson stepped behind me and kissed my neck while I stirred marinara sauce on the stove later that night. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I didn’t sound convincing to my own ears, but I didn’t know how to describe what was going on in my head. Resolution maybe? “I think I just want to be the cool uncle, ya know? Less work, less stress.”

“O-kay. Where is this coming from?”

I shrugged. “I don’t need to be a father. Maybe I’m better off sticking with the fun stuff and—”

Bryson plucked the spoon from my hand and set it on the counter before tugging me to face him. “Patience, remember?”

“It’s been months, Bry. Months. And it might be a lot longer. I think we should put this on the back burner for a while.”

He cocked his head in confusion. “Smitty…”

“It’s not healthy to always be wishing for something you can’t control, Bry. It’s a waste of time. I got this new shot at life when I met you. And I’m happy. I live in a great town, I have great friends, and I’m married to the hottest man in the world who just happens to own my fuckin’ heart. That’s more than I ever dreamed possible. I’m so damn grateful, it’s not even funny. But I might also be a little greedy. I’m changing my mind-set. If it happens, great. If not, that’s okay too.”

Bryson caressed my jaw and ran his fingers through my hair. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Once or twice.” I smiled. “But you can say it again.”

“I love you, Smitty. Getting that flat tire was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Same, babe. Same.”

I slanted my mouth over his, putting everything I had into the connection. This, right here, was all I needed.

We made out till our lips were sore and oxygen became a necessity. Then we broke the kiss and started all over again, humping and grinding and—

Bryson’s phone buzzed noisily, penetrating our bubble as it skittered across the counter.

“Ignore it,” he said.

Buzz buzz

I chuckled. “Sounds like a helicopter taking off.”

“I turned up the volume so I wouldn’t miss a call from that buyer in Pinecrest. Not important. Work will keep till tomorrow.”

Buzz buzz

“Do your thing, baby. Close that deal while I finish dinner. I’m gonna woo you with pasta and wine, then fuck you into the mattress. Sound good?”

Bryson barked a laugh as he reached for his phone. “Hello? Oh. Hi, Sandra. I—you…what? I need to put you on speaker. Say that again.”

“We found a placement for you.” Sandra’s voice bounced off our kitchen walls, clear as a bell.

But I still wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly or understood what she meant.

“Placement? I…what’s a placement again?”

“A baby, Smitty,” she clarified gently. “We found a match for you. Congratulations. You’re going to be dads.”

Chapter 4: Bryson

Our placement was a Puerto Rican teenager named Maria who’d gotten pregnant while visiting family in Miami. She didn’t know the father. He was a one-night stand she’d met at the beach with her cousin. He’d been partying with college friends, and they’d struck up a conversation. She’d danced with the handsome boy, consumed more alcohol than usual, and many hours later, she’d woken up next to him…naked. Six weeks later, she’d realized she had a problem.

Maria’s religious family hadn’t taken the news well. She was sent back to Miami once she began to show, and her American relatives had immediately initiated the adoption process.

Now here we were. A beautiful seventeen-year-old with light brown skin, brown eyes, and long dark hair was carrying a baby boy she had no desire to keep. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. She didn’t want any ties to the US. She just wanted to go home.

On paper, this was an ideal adoption scenario—minus the fact that we knew next to nothing about the father. She said he was very handsome, blond hair and green eyes. She thought he was smart because he went to college and spoke a little Spanish. He told her he’d been to Europe and Asia, and was planning to study in New Zealand in the fall. But she couldn’t remember his name. He’d never been real to her. He was a moment of fun that had gone too far.

“I am…sorry, but not sorry,” she explained in halting English in the agency’s Miami office. “It is past, not future. You see?”

Smitty nodded, his gaze locked on her hands rubbing her belly. “Yes. How are you feeling?”

“Good. I was sick at first, but now…better.” Maria smiled shyly, looking every bit a teenager.

“Do you have any other questions?” Tina, the Miami agent asked.

This was our first in-person meeting, but we’d been in touch with the agency almost daily for a month, fielding questions like grenades. We’d wanted to know every detail about this girl possible. When was her birthday? What did she like to eat? What was her favorite color? Did she have any remarkable talents or interests? How would she describe herself and her family? What were their temperaments? Their best qualities, their worst.

Any and all scraps of information were collected and gathered for future reference and insight into the tiny human in Maria’s womb.

In case you’re interested, her birthday was December fifth, and she ate relatively well but admitted to having a sweet tooth and a craving for soft pretzels dipped in cheese. She loved bright colors, music, and was good at math and sewing. Her parents were strict, religious, and set in their ways, but she loved them and she wanted to be home with her younger sisters and brothers.

Maria was young at heart and in mind and spirit. And she was in no way ready for parenthood. She looked at her pregnancy as a purgatory of sorts. She had no desire to bond with her son. She wanted the ordeal over and done. This was a blip in her history, nothing more. That should have made her seem cold or callous, but we appreciated her honesty, and we were grateful that there wasn’t a hint that she’d change her mind.

And that right there was our biggest worry.

“I just want to be sure you won’t have second thoughts,” Smitty admitted with a shrug I knew was far from nonchalant.

Maria shook her head adamantly. “I will not.”

She spoke in rapid-fire Spanish to Tina, who translated a moment later.

“Maria says, ‘I want the child to grow up in a happy home with love. I don’t want him to be considered less than because he doesn’t know his father. With you, he has two fathers. It’s better for him. I have nothing to give. You can give him everything. Will you?”

Smitty and I nodded in unison. “Yes. Everything.”

We left Miami in a daze.

For the first time since we’d begun the adoption process, it felt real.

* * *

Summer flew in the usual whirl of hockey, hockey, and…a little more hockey. Smitty coached alongside a host of celebrated professional players who’d descended on Elmwood to take part in the annual juniors’ camp, which kept him extremely busy.

He also prepared for the upcoming health class he was teaching in the fall, and finished setting up the office the principal had given him.

Smitty thought it was hysterical that administration had insisted on giving him an office. “It’s a waste of space. I’ll never use it,” he’d huffed.

“It’s a gesture. Or an acknowledgment. You might be the head coach, but you’re a popular teacher too. They don’t want you to go anywhere,” I’d surmised.

“Where would I go? Pinecrest?”

“Bite your tongue.”

And me? I volunteered at camp registration, helped organize housing for the kids, and sold a few properties. Same as any other summer.

But everything felt different.

The air of anticipation in our house was thick enough to cut with a knife. Smitty and I tried not to talk too much about it at first. We were beyond excited but also leery in case something went sideways.

We were assured that nothing had changed and that Maria was resolute in her decision, but we didn’t know her, and teenagers were notoriously fickle. What if her parents had a last-minute change of heart? What if she accidentally met the one-night-stand dad in Miami again, fell in love, and chose to keep their baby, a la the cheesiest, most tear-jerking rom-com ever? Then what? We’d be shit out of luck and back in the adoption line, hoping for another shot.

Needless to say, we didn’t share our news with friends or family until October.

Assuming everything went well, we couldn’t just show up with a newborn out of the blue. We had to prepare as if everything would go according to plan. That meant buying a crib, car seats, baby monitors, diapers, clothes, burp cloths, a baby bath.…The list was enormous, and these weren’t the kind of items you could sneak-deliver without anyone noticing. This was Elmwood, for fuck’s sake.

But our final visit to Miami in late summer spurred us into action.

Maria had invited us to go with her to an ultrasound appointment, and wow, technology had changed quite a bit in the twenty-four years since Piper had been pregnant with Jake. We could see the baby’s face in 3D, his fingers and toes, and…God, he was perfect.

Smitty had been uncharacteristically quiet during the procedure, his eyes wet with unshed tears as if he just couldn’t believe this was real.

On the flight home, I’d laced our fingers. “We should get ready now, don’t you think?”

He’d nodded and squeezed my hand. “Yeah. I think so.”

“And we should tell everyone.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to jinx it. Maybe you should do the talking.”

I smiled. “I can do that.”

We told Jake first.

“I knew it! I knew something was up. You guys have been all lovey-dovey and weird for months. Secret looks and whispers. I had a feeling it was big news, and this—wow! I’m going have a brother.” Jake might have been a powerhouse NHL up-and-comer, but he reminded me of the kid who’d been wonderstruck at the pile of presents waiting for him on Christmas morning.

His reaction had been so sweet and raw that I was suddenly excited to let everyone in on the news. We told JC and Riley, Vinnie and Nolan, Court and Ivan, Tracy, Piper, the Hendersons, Crabby Annie, our coworkers, neighbors, and pretty much anyone in town with a pulse. Once the cat was out of the bag, it went viral.

Smitty’s friend, Jimmy, was over the moon and even his mother, who wasn’t always cognitively present, seemed genuinely thrilled for us.

“A grandkid. I can’t believe it. I never thought I’d see the day,” she’d said on speakerphone. “And two guys can have a baby, right?”

“That’s right,” I’d replied, smirking at Smitty’s eye roll.

“Well, Christ, I’m happy for you two. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Ma.”

I disconnected the call and grinned at Smitty. “I think that’s everyone. How do you feel?”

He bit his bottom lip. “Nervous. What if something—”

“Don’t. Try to stay positive. We have a crib to buy.”

Actually, we didn’t.

Our friends hosted a baby shower for us at the diner the first week of November. It was a beautiful, crisp autumn afternoon, mild enough that we could get away with a few outdoor space heaters as the sun went down.

We toasted the Paluchek-Milligan baby boy with champagne and feasted on sliders, poutine, mini ramekins of JC’s gourmet mac and cheese and chicken pot pies, and ate a gorgeous cake from Henderson’s Bakery while we opened a stack of gifts so tall it took over an hour to get through them all.

Piper had insisted we register for necessities at an online baby store, so we pretty much received every single item we needed and more…much more.

The love and support from the entire community was overwhelming, but in the best way possible. I couldn’t help thinking our son would be very lucky to call Elmwood his hometown.

The last thing on our to-do list was to decorate the nursery.

We decided to keep it simple—light blue walls with khaki linen accents in the drapery, rocking chair, and bedding. Smitty and I did the painting ourselves, adding a small constellation of stars to the ceiling.

We covered the furniture we’d bought or been gifted, laid a tarp on the carpet, and turned on the radio to listen to Jake’s game while we worked…side by side, just like old times.

“You know, the baby won’t notice if it’s not perfect,” Smitty teased.

“But I will.” I painstakingly fixed the smudges from the star I’d fucked up before climbing off the stepstool to examine our work. Not too shabby. “This is coming together nicely. I think he’ll love it. I think he—hey, Smitty?”

“Mm?”

“We need a name for the baby.”

He froze with his paintbrush in midair and met my gaze. “Yeah, I just didn’t want to—”

“Jinx it,” I finished. “I know, but this is now Operation Baby Boy. Maria is due next week, and we’re flying to Miami to be there. We have everything he could possibly need and damn it, we’re ready for him. Except for the name. What do you think of Orville?”

“Gee, Orville rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?” Smitty snarked, propping his paintbrush on the tray and wiping his hands. “But that’s the popcorn guy, and we’re not naming our kid after Orville Redenbacher.”

I pursed my lips in amusement. “Good point. I’ll throw a few ideas out…see if you like any. Jackson, Matthew, Liam, Max, James, Oliver, Nicholas—”

“Nathan,” he intercepted. “It was my dad’s middle name. We don’t have to go with that one, obviously, but…he was a good man and—”

“Nathan Milligan-Paluchek or Nathan Paluchek-Milligan?”

“Either one works for me.” He plucked the brush from my fingers and pulled me into his arms.

“Is it Nathaniel or just Nathan?”

“Just Nathan.”

I grinned. “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I circled his waist and nipped his chin. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Smitty swayed us from side to side, humming softly. “Sing me a lullaby, and show me how to dance nicely…like for a kid.”

I couldn’t think of a lullaby, so I hummed a sappy Ed Sheeran song, laying my head on Smitty’s shoulder as we shuffled around the nursery under the light of the thousand stars we’d drawn for our son. We moved in unison, a little shaky, a little bashful at first, but more confident with each silly dip and turn, laughing as we stepped on each other’s toes and stumbled into the hallway.

Laughter faded, replaced by a shared look of absolute wonder.

How did we get here? How did we come so far so fast? And how did we get so lucky?

Love didn’t seem like a big enough word to describe my feelings for Smitty sometimes. I adored him, I was enchanted by him, and I yearned for him, body and soul.

But schmaltzy declarations weren’t his style…so I showed him, tangling our limbs and thrusting my tongue into his mouth. We made our way to our room and fell into bed, undressing in between searing, passionate kisses. We humped and writhed, feverishly grinding our erections as we licked and sucked.

Smitty slowed the tempo, slipping lubed fingers into my hole, stretching me and filling me with his thick cock. Then we were moving, eyes locked, hands clasped, rocking our hips at a steady pace that quickly turned urgent. His fingers dug into my wrists, his balls slapped my ass, his needy growl reverberated in my lungs. And when he came apart, spilling his seed deep inside me, he took me with him.

We lay gasping for air, staring at the ceiling. I rolled to my side after a few minutes and smiled at my lover, my husband…my everything.

Maybe love wasn’t a strong enough word, but it was still a good one.

Chapter 5: Smitty

Miami was fucking hot in the middle of November. And humid. My shirt stuck to my back in the air-conditioned hospital waiting room. I wanted to ask them to turn the AC up, but apparently, I was the only one sweating bullets. Bryson was freezing, huddled in the corner under an impressionist print of kids frolicking in the ocean, playing a word game on his cell.

I was a little jealous that he was able to distract himself, ’cause I couldn’t fucking sit still to save my life. I’d paced the tiny pastel room like a surveyor, mapping out precise measurements. It took forty steps to get from the far wall to the reception desk and a dissatisfying thirty-two steps to navigate from the wall of magazines to the window.

I’d made friends with the nursing staff, the grandparents-to-be waiting for news of their fifth grandchild, and the coffee vendor outside the cafeteria. I’d watched last night’s hockey highlights till I’d memorized the commentary and had the upcoming games lined up and ready to stream…just in case.

Maria had been in labor for ten hours already. The nurse had reported that she was at nine centimeters and that the baby could arrive at any moment. And that was an hour ago. I was worried.

There. I admitted it.

She was a petite little thing, for fuck’s sake. I hoped she was okay. I hoped her aunt and cousin were comforting her. I hoped she wasn’t in pain. I hoped she—

“Smitty Paluchek, if you pace in front of my desk one more time, I’m going to tie you to a chair,” the receptionist, a feisty Cuban woman named Vera with short black hair and red lipstick warned.

I skidded to a stop and raised my hands in surrender. “Sorry. Anything new?”

“No, honey. I know you’re anxious, but you gotta relax. You’re working harder than the mama.”

I sucked in a breath and slowly exhaled. “Right.”

Another nurse appeared out of nowhere. Jackie? Don’t quote me. “She’s pushing now. Get your husband.”

We were escorted into the maternity wing with our adoption agent, Tina, and shown to yet another waiting room. It was even smaller than the first one. Not good. I swiped my clammy palms on my shorts and sat next to Bry. I expected Tina to join us, but she continued down the hall with a quick, “Be right there.”

Time ticked by…maybe twenty minutes passed, maybe an hour.

Bryson set his hand over mine and squeezed it. I tried to think of something light and breezy to say, knowing he was just as stressed. I opened my mouth and—

“Smitty, Bryson…there’s someone I want you to meet,” Tina said, flashing a radiant smile at us. “This way.”

Oh.

Wow.

My heart beat like a drum; every step was a gong, ringing in my ears. I was vaguely aware of the doctors in pristine white coats, the soft hum of machinery, and the lemony antiseptic scent of the hospital corridor as we followed her, but I concentrated on Bryson. The brush of his shoulder grounded me like nothing else could. He was solid and real. The rest…was a dream.

Tina stopped at Room 342, where a nurse wearing a face mask held a little bundle with a shock of dark hair.

“I was told this little man belongs to you. Congratulations.”

I swallowed hard as I approached the incredibly tiny human who was partially wrapped in a white blanket with faint blue and pink stripes. His entire hand was smaller than my thumb, his nose was a tiny button, his lips were pink and plump, and his eyes were half-open as if gauging his interest in his new surroundings.

And my God, he was perfect.

Tears welled without my permission. I’d never been more in awe in my life.

“He’s so beautiful,” Bryson whispered.

“Would you like to hold him?” someone asked.

“I—” I nodded like a puppet.

The nurse motioned for us to join her in a nearby vacant room, where we washed our hands. She held the bundle between us, her eyes sparkling. “Here you go, Dad.”

I open my arms and there he was…Nathan.

Our son, our moon…our family.

Chapter 6: Bryson

There were heaps of documents to sign and legal paperwork to file before we were cleared to travel. Maria signed off parental rights, opting not to stay in contact with us or the baby. Personally, I was relieved. I wished her all the best, but I selfishly wanted our journey to be ours…mine, Smitty’s, Jake’s, and Nathan’s. Our family.

Nathan spent one night at the hospital, then joined us in the ocean-view penthouse suite of the exclusive hotel we’d rented.

And so began our foray into parenthood.

We hovered like hens, checking his breathing, changing his diapers, making his bottles, feeding, burping, rocking him to sleep. We watched hockey and FaceTimed with our friends and family too, but our number one focus was Nathan.

A week later, we brought our new baby boy home.

I’d done this years ago with Jake, but that was a long time ago. Everything was new again. That was probably because of Smitty. He was endlessly fascinated by the newborn’s every little move, his soft skin, his wild hair, his tiny fingers and toes, his curious eyes and hearty cries.

I had a feeling Nathan felt the same way.

He wrapped a surprisingly strong hand around Smitty’s forefinger and stared up at his dad in wonder, as if memorizing his face, his voice, the feel of his arms. Smitty was the epitome of safety and strength, and Nathan already seemed to realize it.

“He knows you,” I commented reverently. “He likes it when you talk to him.”

Smitty beamed at me, cradling our son in his arms. “It’s a baby thing.”

“No, it’s a dad thing. I knew you’d be the best, and you are.”

“You’re not too bad yourself. He’s a lucky kid.” Smitty caressed my jaw and pulled me close. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being my family. My heart feels too big for my chest. I never knew I had all this…love in me. It’s weird, but…so fucking good. And it’s all because of you. I love you, Bry.”

“Oh, baby…I love you, too. So much.”

Never let anyone tell you it’s late to start over. Never listen when they say you’re too old. I liked to think I was proof that good things came when you least expected them. A husband, a baby, a whole new story.

This was the beginning of our next chapter. We’d call it The Family Years.

Epilogue

Three and a half years later

Smitty

“Daddy, I can carry the stick. Let me do it!”

Nathan scrambled after me while I opened the hatch of the SUV. I sifted for one of the pee wee sticks from my equipment bag and glanced over at Bryson, unbuckling our sleeping one-year-old daughter from her car seat.

I handed the stick to Nathan and pressed a finger to my lips. “Shh. Charlotte’s sleeping. Let’s open the door for Papa, and then you and I can play outside, what do you say?”

Nathan nodded, suddenly Mr. Serious as he adjusted his Batman cape and lifted the hockey stick like a sword. “Okay, follow me.”

I held back a laugh. What our son lacked in height, he made up for in confidence.

Nathan was a mini bulldozer with boundless energy and a wicked imagination. He loved Batman, fast cars, trains, frogs, trucks, and dogs…especially ABBA and Ozzie. He loved his sister too, even though she kind of bugged him.

Charlotte messed up his block creations, babbled during Bluey, and sometimes demanded too much attention. Not that Nathan wasn’t willing to share, but he had his limits.

I chuckled, stopping to kiss Bryson and Char, absently brushing a dark curl from her forehead. “I’ll unlock the door and entertain the little guy outside for a bit. Join us when the princess is settled.”

Bryson smiled. “You got it.”

I dropped my bag in the foyer and met Nathan on the deck, bending to pick up the stick he’d already forgotten about, now that he was busy getting slobbered on by the dogs.

“Wanna play fetch with Abs and Ozzie?”

“Okay, I’ll get the balls. Stay here.” He brushed his bangs aside as he raced off to find tennis balls—one for me, one for him. “You can have one too, Daddy.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” I chucked the ball so far it hit a tree at the far end of our yard. Both dogs took off like a shot while Nathan whooped and jumped.

“Good job, Daddy. My turn.” He wrinkled his nose and pulled his arm back before throwing his ball as far as he could. It landed somewhere in the middle of the lawn—a decent effort for a pint-sized dynamo.

“High five, man. That was awesome.”

Nathan grinned, smacking his palm against mine and running off to retrieve the ball, his black cape billowing in the breeze behind him.

He was so fucking cute, it wasn’t even funny. Yeah, I know…I was his dad and not exactly an impartial judge. But hey, it was true. Nathan had dark short hair, brilliant green eyes, light olive skin, and he was born with the kind of curiosity that moved mountains.

Why are you so tall? Why do you have tattoos? What are tattoos? Can I have one? Why don’t snakes have legs? Does Batman change capes or does he only have one? Where do bubbles go?

I sat on the bottom step and pulled the maple cookie Annie had given me earlier from my shirt pocket, waiting for my son to join me.

Nathan skipped over. “Can I have a piece?”

“Sure thing.” I broke off the stem and handed it to him, amused when he plastered himself to my side.

“Thank you. I love cookies.”

“I know you do.”

Nathan nibbled the edge and chomped the rest, wiping his arm across his mouth. If I knew this kid, and trust me, I did, any second now he’d think up twenty cookie questions. Or maybe he’d want to talk about Batman or the new jersey Jake had bought him last week or—

“Do dads have dads?”

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that one.

“Of course.”

“Who’s your dad? Who’s Papa’s dad?” He held out his hand. “Can I have another piece, please?”

I broke off another piece of cookie. “Our dads aren’t here anymore. They’re…”

“In heaven?”

“Hope so,” I said with a smile. “Your grandpa would have loved you.”

Nathan grinned. “Because I look like you.”

I ruffled his hair and chuckled. My son and I looked absolutely nothing alike. Nathan and Charlotte did, though. Her parents were high school sweethearts who’d recently broken up and had zero desire to take on a newborn. Sandra had remembered us and asked if we might be ready for a second baby. We were.

A year later, our family felt almost…complete. Let’s just say we were open to having a third.

“My dad would have liked your energy. He’d probably say it would make you a great hockey player someday. If you wanted to play hockey. If you don’t…that’s okay too,” I assured him.

“More cookie?”

“No, buddy. Save some room for dinner.”

Nathan deflated theatrically on the step, then quickly straightened his spine and draped his arms around my knee. “Can I play hockey and be a space guy?”

“An astronaut? You know it.”

“What about a diver guy?” He jumped up and pretended to dive off the step, rolling on the grass. “I could swim with sharks.”

Good fucking God, I hoped not, but… “If that’s your thing, you can do it. You have lots of time to figure out what your thing is, buddy.”

“What’s your thing?”

Not so long ago, my answer would have been easy and automatic: hockey. Nowadays…well, life was different.

“Being your dad is my thing, Nath.” I snickered at his bewildered expression, as though he couldn’t imagine a dumber response. “And Charlotte’s daddy and Papa’s husband. You guys are my thing.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause you make me happy. Really, really happy.”

Nathan beamed and raced to me. I hugged him tight, closing my eyes as I breathed him in.

A door clicked open behind us.

Bryson stepped onto the deck and wrapped us in his arms.

Nathan endured the cuddle and raspberry kisses for ten seconds before wiggling away to find balls to throw the dogs. We watched him race around the yard, our ears straining for any peeps from Charlotte on the baby monitor. One of us would bring up dinner soon, who was on bath duty later tonight, or the guest list for the barbecue we were hosting next weekend.

Little things…

But these little things were invisible threads in this amazing tapestry we’d created together. This man, our children, our home, our friends, our town.

There was no thin ice here. It was whole and steady…the stuff of happily-ever-afters. I couldn’t wait to see how our story unfolded, one chapter at a time.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in the Elmwood Stories series, Hot Shot! And be sure to subscribe to my newsletter, Lane’s Letters for upcoming release news!

Excerpt from Hot Shot – August 2024

My mind was fuzzy as fuck. I couldn’t think while my guts were churning, but I was beginning to register that nothing was familiar. This wasn’t my bathroom or Grams’ or MK’s or Niall’s or…shit. Where am I?

I licked my dry lips, clutching the marble counter as I slowly…oh so slowly…stood up, squinting at my reflection.

Geez, I looked like hell’s newest arrival. My face was ghostly pale and my hair could have doubled as a bird’s nest. I washed my hands and splashed water on my cheeks, begging my stomach to cooperate so I could think.

I met my friends at the bar. It was fun and nice to see everyone. MK seemed good and—

Knock knock

“You okay in there?”

I froze.

Oh. Fuck.

“Uh, yeah. All good. Thanks,” I rasped.

“Can I come in?”

“Just a sec.” I dried my hands on the towel, yanking it off the bar and wrapping it around my waist.

I never slept naked and that was just one of the mysteries piling up. I wildly scanned the bathroom for clues, zeroing in on the unzipped leather toiletry bag at the far end of the counter. Not mine, but it belonged to a dude for sure. I snooped for a prescription bottle or something with a name, sighing at the lack of helpful evidence. There was nothing here but toothpaste, deodorant, and fancy-looking cologne that smelled like—

The cowboy.

Oh, wow. If something sexy happened between us and I couldn’t fucking remember, I was going to be seriously pissed at the universe. I examined my reflection for hickeys or bite marks or anything conclusive.

Did we fuck? No, there was no way I’d have forgotten that. And my ass didn’t hurt. Maybe I fucked him and maybe I’d been a terrible lay. Or maybe—

“Denny?”

“Hang on.”

I stole a smidge of toothpaste and finger brushed my teeth, rinsing my mouth and gargling till I felt as if I could communicate without singeing anyone’s eyebrows off.

I didn’t feel even halfway human, but I couldn’t put off the reckoning any longer.

So I opened the door and…there he was, sleep-rumpled with messy hair, a pillow crease on his stubbled cheek, sleepy eyes, and a hesitant smile. And hot as fuck.

He stepped around me to use the bathroom, leaving me to process puzzle pieces and make sense of my current situation.

His name was…Hank. Hank.

Good. And I met him at the bar. No, in the parking lot. I followed him upstairs and he gave me a water bottle, and—oh, fuck. I think I propositioned him.

Ew.

I was a lowly, gross worm. The worst of the worst.   

“How are you feeling?” Hank poured water into the coffeemaker on the dresser and fussed with the complimentary cups, glancing over at me expectantly.

“Uh, bad. Very bad,” I admitted, rubbed the back of my neck as I finally met his gaze. “I’m so so sorry. I don’t know how to apologize.”

“It’s okay.” A friendly smile crinkling his eyes at the corners. “We’ve all been there a time or two.”

“Not me. Not like that. I almost feel like I was drugged or—”

“I did not drug you,” he interrupted sharply.

I held up a hand, nodded slightly to preserve the integrity of my gray matter. “I know. I know. Unfortunately, it’s all coming back to me and I remember almost everything. I don’t think embarrassed is a strong enough word.”

Hank’s lips twitched in amusement. “You were kind of funny. Do you take sugar or cream in your coffee?”

“Just black is good.”

“Here you go.”

I thanked him for the coffee and sat on the edge of the mattress, briefly thinking it was inappropriate to sit on someone’s bed uninvited. But maybe the rules changed if you staged an unintentionally takeover. I winced at the lumpy pillow and the thin blanket strewn over the nearby sofa. He’d probably slept with his long legs flung over the armrest. Poor bastard.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’ll pay for your room and—”

Hank sat at the desk chair, scooting it to face me. “That’s not necessary.”

“I took your bed,” I scoffed, cradling the cup in my hands like a wounded bird. I didn’t know a nice way to ask, but I had to know. “I see that you slept on the sofa, but…did we do anything?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “You’re going to make me say it,” I grumbled, sipping a fortifying gulp of coffee before blurting, “Did we have sex?”