Page 122 of Rule 1: Never Accidentally Marry Your Teammate
“Sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay,” I say hastily. “I wasn’t expecting...”
“To be hit on?” His lips spread into a wide grin, and in another life he would be appealing.
But this is this life, and my heart is with Finn.
“Honey, every gay and bisexual guy in Massachusetts is a hockey fan now, and you’re the star. You’ll have no problem moving on when you’re ready.”
I jerk my head into a nod.
“I’ll see you later.” His voice rumbles in my ear, then he sashays away.
Luke chuckles beside me. “He’s right.”
“I don’t want to date anyone,” I say.
“I get it. I don’t either,” he says, and I frown. Luke hasn’t gotten his heart broken. Maybe he wants his dates vetted like inSeeking Mr. Right.
I wait for Finn to join, but after an hour, I realize he won’t be coming.
He’s letting me have this celebration without him. I sit with his friends, in his favorite sports bar, and everything feels wrong.
God, I miss him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Finn
I thunder up the steps of my parents’ towering, intimidating townhouse. The delicate tulips and roses in my mother’s glossy black flowerboxes have been switched out for sturdy kale and purple cabbage.
It occurs to me that my mother might be lunching at one of the many perfect hotel restaurants found in this half mile with her equally immaculately put together friends.
Please be home.
I ring the doorbell.
The housekeeper ushers me into the living room. Golden light splatters through the lace curtains, and everything is immaculate. More importantly, my mother is home. More worryingly, she’s currently glaring.
My mother raises a perfectly plucked brow and sets aside herNew Yorker. “You’ve graced me with your company.”
“You sound displeased.”
Her eyebrows narrow. Oh, yeah. That’s her displeased face. “Why did I read online that you split from that perfectly sweet husband of yours?”
My face must crumple because her eyes soften, and she rises at once and sweeps me into a hug. “Oh, Finn.”
I wrap myself around her. She’s shorter than me, much more slender, but right now all the strength in the world comes from her. It certainly doesn’t come from me. And Noah, Noah is gone.
“What happened, sweetheart?” she asks.
The last time she called me sweetheart I was a teenager, and I rolled my eyes and said that was absolutely not me, not anymore. But now I don’t say anything.
I don’t know what to say.
Noah and I were together, and now we’re not. My heart aches, as if some player shot a puck straight there. But my pain won’t go away with rest and ibuprofen and the careful evaluation of my athletic trainer.
No way.
