He pushed open the kitchen door, and he was immediately greeted by chirping and purring. Bear and Moose both stood on the nearer kitchen island, tails up and backs arched as they kneaded the tile and talked over each other.

  In an instant, the tension and fatigue in Anthony melted away. While I busied myself taking off Lily’s vest, he smiled and scratched both of his boys behind their ears. “Hey, guys. Did you miss me?” More purring. More chirping. Moose walked in a circle, almost knocking Bear off the counter. For his part, Bear decided to throw himself down on his side, but he misjudged where he was in relation to the sink. Despite a valiant effort to catch himself, he tumbled into the sink, where he promptly sat down and looked around as if to say, “I meant to do that.”

  Anthony chuckled and kissed the idiot cat’s head. “I didn’t pick you for your brains, buddy. Don’t worry.”

  Bear just purred and arched his back, turning in circles in the sink as Anthony petted him.

  The cat was hilarious, but more than anything, I was relieved to see Anthony smiling again. The difference between the version of him practically dragging himself in from the garage and this—happily showering his cats with attention—was startling.

  The enthusiastic reception from his cats brightened his spirits, but it didn’t last. The cats were quickly distracted—Moose by his food bowl, Bear by Lily—and without them to hold his attention, Anthony deflated back to something closer to his earlier misery.

  Eyes closed, he rubbed the back of his neck. “God. I am exhausted.”

  I winced. “I’m sorry. It… If I’d known it would stress you out so much, I would’ve—”

  “What?” He met my gaze. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Maybe not, but can you honestly tell me today would’ve been just as tiring if I hadn’t been there?”

  He opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it and looked away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I appreciate you taking me, but I didn’t want…” I had no idea how to finish that.

  “No.” Anthony shook his head slowly, flattening his palms on the island’s tiles as if he needed something to anchor himself. Or hold himself up. “It’s… The issues were between Simon and me.”

  “But having me there didn’t help.”

  “You’re not the one who would’ve made life easier by being gone, though,” he muttered. Then he exhaled and let his head fall forward. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

  “Wrong with—what do you mean? Your ex is stressing you out. Anyone would be stressed out in your situation.”

  He didn’t gainsay me.

  As he started making us both some coffee, I thought about how he’d been progressively more miserable throughout the day. I had to wonder if Simon even noticed. He’d seemed pretty miserable himself, but I hadn’t seen Anthony antagonizing him. Simon had thrown a few subtle digs and barbs, and at least twice, I’d caught him shooting Anthony a sour look that would knock Anthony’s mood down a notch or two. I could’ve been biased—I didn’t spend much time around them together, and I’d had much more interaction with Anthony than with Simon—but a lot of the bullshit between them seemed to be moving in the same direction.

  I shifted my weight, leaning on the counter to take some weight off both my prosthetic and my left leg, which was a little sore after I’d spent a lot of time standing today. “Look, tell me if I’m out of line here, but…” I chewed my lip.

  Anthony pushed a cup of coffee toward me, and his forehead creased as he silently waited for me to go on.

  I took a deep breath. “I might be biased because I’ve only ever seen you guys when things are off, but based on what I’ve seen…” I hesitated. “Dude, Simon seems toxic as hell.”

  I braced for him to put me in my place, either lashing out in defense of Simon or himself. Maybe both.

  Instead, he deflated a little more, and he wiped a hand over his face. “I want to say he isn’t. He’s…” Anthony stared at the counter with unfocused eyes. Then he shook his head. “God, I don’t even know anymore. We were so unhappy together for so long, it’s hard to tell where the problems even started.”

  I don’t know, man, I thought. Looks pretty obvious from where I’m standing.

  But I just said, “It sucks you can’t get away from him.”

  Anthony grunted. Then he shook himself and gestured at our coffee cups. “Let me get some cream and sugar.”

  I knew a subject change when I heard it, so I let it go. Verbally, anyway. It was impossible not to keep thinking about it. As we polluted our coffee and moved into the living room to take a load off, as we hung out with Lily and the cats, my thoughts stayed squarely on Anthony and today.

  I felt bad for him. I really did. He couldn’t get away from his asshole ex, and even when he tried to hide it—especially now when he was exhausted after a long day in Simon’s presence—he was obviously miserable.

  Not all that long ago, fear and destitution had cultivated some deep, bitter cynicism. I couldn’t imagine sympathizing with anyone who had a roof over their head, no matter how fucked-up their situation was. If someone wasn’t using a piece of dirty cardboard over concrete as a mattress, then they could cry me a goddamned river over their “problems.”

  Of course I’d known life wasn’t that simple. Everyone had their crosses to bear. As one of my Army buddies had said, “Someone else having three bullet holes doesn’t make my one bullet hole hurt any less.” Homelessness had just left me angry at the world and short on sympathy for anyone. Such was life when you were cold, hungry, and sleep-deprived.

  But even when I was warm, well-fed, and well-rested, there’d always been a part of me that turned up my nose at the rich. It started with growing up lower middle class in a wealthy area. It festered as an enlisted soldier being ordered to war by officers at the behest of wealthy politicians and defense contractors. It grew into malignant rage at a society that let people sleep on sidewalks beneath buildings owned by billionaires who didn’t pay taxes. And when those billionaires had the cops move us someplace else… I mean… fuck everything, right?

  Now here I was, staying in the enormous house of a man paid literal millions of dollars to play hockey. Tonight, I’d be lying in a warm bed on thousand thread count sheets in his guest room. I was enveloped in both his wealth and… his kindness.

  Anthony didn’t have to take me in. He sure as shit didn’t have to keep me here for going on two weeks. He didn’t have to bring me along to a holiday gathering so I wouldn’t be alone, knowing full well he’d catch hell for it from the man no one knew was his ex.

  Maybe that was why it didn’t feel weird to feel this sorry for him. Yeah, he was rich as hell. Yeah, he had fancy cars and a huge house in Medina and purebred cats that probably cost more than the rent on my old apartment. Yeah, on paper, he was everything I’d resented in this unfair world that had run me through the meat grinder.

  But my God, he was also the sweetest, kindest soul I’d met in a long, long time.

  And none of his wealth or status changed the fact that he was fucking miserable right now.

  All because he was shackled to a man who treated him like shit.

  The ache in my chest was right up there with that empathetic pang for my fellow soldiers when being away from their spouses and kids got to them. It was that powerless feeling of wishing I could help someone, knowing it was out of my hands, and wondering how the fuck those who could fix it didn’t bother. It was seeing the biggest, toughest Marine cry because it was the third year in a row he’d missed his little girl’s birthday.

  No, Anthony wasn’t stuck in a warzone. He wasn’t in danger or afraid he wouldn’t survive. He wasn’t homeless or wondering where his next meal would come from. But three bullet holes on someone else didn’t make his one hurt any less, and it was plain to see that Anthony was hurting. For all he’d said he felt less than he’d expected about breaking up with Simon, he had some serious feelings about having to pretend they hadn’t broken up. He was a damn good actor, playing the happy boyfriend in front of his teammates and their families, but I’d seen that mask slip more than once.

  No amount of big houses or fancy cars or multimillion dollar hockey contracts could touch how much this was wearing him down.

  Unaware of all the places my mind was going, Anthony teased Bear with a toy, laughing softly as the big idiot threw himself around in pursuit of the colorful pompom. Anthony was still tired, still weighed down by today, but he was also adorable and sweet.

  I sipped my coffee and pretended my stomach wasn’t wound up in knots.

  You found a career that values what you do, Anthony.

  How the hell were you with a man who can’t see what you’re worth?

  Chapter 19

  Anthony

  The day had left me more wrung out than a playoff game that had gone into triple overtime. It had taken more effort than it should have to go through the motions of getting ready for bed. Even letting the boys drink from the bathroom faucet, including watching Bear get predictably confused (and wet), had only drawn a halfhearted chuckle out of me.

  But did I pass out the second I landed in my bed?

  No, I did not.

  Lying on my back, I stared up at the ceiling as the day, the past couple of weeks, and the past few years replayed through my brain like a badly edited film. I saw Simon and me sniping at each other while we grabbed soda from the car. I saw us tumbling into the bed the very first time, laughing and playful as we pulled off the suits we’d worn to and from the game. I saw us breaking up in that hotel bed. I saw us sharing an on-ice kiss to the roar of our fans.

  And interspersed between those scenes, I saw Wyatt. The long conversations about anything, everything, and nothing. The terrified, vulnerable man begging for someone to keep his beloved dog safe. The gentle, patient interactions with Monica as she faced down her fear of dogs.

  Then there was me. Tense and stressed out while Simon was home. Lonely and miserable when he was gone. Too far away and too close to him in a hotel room. Relieved to be his ex. Suffocating under the pressure of pretending to still be his boyfriend. Laughing with Wyatt. Telling him about hockey, assuring him he didn’t have to listen to me ramble, and loving his little smile and “No, go on—I want to learn how the game works.” Comfortable and right with someone else in this house that was too big for one.

  I sighed, rubbing my exhausted eyes. It shouldn’t have been easier to coexist with a houseguest—a stranger—than my own boyfriend. And now that Simon was my ex-boyfriend, the pressure should’ve been off. We should’ve been fighting less. Butting heads less. Irritating each other less.

  Yeah. That was working out.

  It was extra frustrating because I kept mentally comparing our bullshit to the way I interacted with the man sleeping downstairs right now. I barely knew Wyatt, but I liked him. I liked how I felt when I was around him. Hell, I liked who I was when I was with him. I liked talking and hanging out without the sound of eggshells cracking beneath my feet. He was easygoing. He was…

  He was a nice guy. I was pretty sure Simon had been at one time, too, and maybe he still was when it came to other people. Me? Not so much.

  My thoughts kept drifting back to Wyatt. Maybe because he was more pleasant to think about than Simon. Hell, I’d run with it.

  The night we’d met, I hadn’t thought twice about his appearance because my only concern had been getting him and his dog someplace warm.

  Then he’d come strolling into my kitchen looking like a whole new man, turning my head because he was just so different from earlier. It wasn’t attraction then, though.

  But what about that little skip in my pulse when he talked to his dog or one of my cats? What about that flutter in my chest when I wore a suit and caught him checking me out when he didn’t think I’d notice? What about that addictive calm I always felt when I was with him, whether we were talking or shopping or just watching a hockey game?

  What about those eyes… That smile…

  Except no, no, no. I wasn’t in any space to be looking at anyone else. I needed to move on from Simon. Hell, maybe that was what I was doing—locking on to the nearest good-looking man who wasn’t Simon.

  In fact, was I just attracted to him because he was so unlike Simon?

  And… God. Was that how far gone things were with Simon? Had he really become so repulsive to me that someone could turn my head just by being different from him? Fuck. That was a heavy thought.

  I didn’t think it was the whole story, either. There was a spark of attraction toward Wyatt that had nothing to do with Simon. I just wasn’t in any headspace to look too closely at that spark, never mind fan it and see what it could become.

  Especially not when I suddenly had this ball of grief and regret roiling in my chest. I hadn’t felt as much as I’d expected to when Simon had dumped me, and I still didn’t feel all the things I thought I should.

  I did have some feelings, though, and right now, they all hurt. The worst part was realizing I missed Simon, but I didn’t want him back. Today, I’d been split between wanting to cry over how far removed we were from when we’d still been in love, and wanting to tear into him for being such an insufferable asshole. There was no going back to what we’d been in the beginning, and that beginning was what I was missing. The love. The warmth. Cuddling in bed until we absolutely had to get up and head to practice. Walking into events with his hand in my elbow or mine in his, both of us smiling and proud. Skating and scrimmaging together on those early off-season mornings so we’d both be in peak condition at training camp.

  I missed all of that. I missed it so bad it physically hurt.

  But the man I’d shared all those things with was gone. He’d been gone since long before he’d moved out of this house, and he wasn’t coming back. I’d spent two of the best years of my life with him and one of the worst, and that third one didn’t make the first two any easier to let go.

  What happened to us, Simon?

  I’d asked that a million times today, and I still didn’t have an answer.

  Some movement beside me pulled me out of my thoughts. One of the cats chirped. The mattress dipped beside me, and then a soft paw tapped my arm. Despite how close I was to breaking apart, I managed a little smile as I reached out in the darkness. When I petted him, he arched his back and purred low and loud.

  Moose. Definitely Moose.

  “Hey, buddy,” I murmured.

  He bumped his big head against my face, and I managed a soft laugh as I sputtered around his fluff. He walked in some circles, then pawed at my arm again. I got the message and turned onto my side, facing him. He immediately dropped onto the mattress against my chest, his head under my chin.

  I didn’t know if he understood that I was upset—if he sensed something in me the way Lily sensed them in Wyatt—or if he just wanted cuddles right then. Either way, the affection of my normally aloof cat hit me in the feels. I had to work to swallow past the lump in my throat as I squeezed my eyes shut and petted his soft fluff. He kneaded on my arm and the pillow, and little by little, his deep, steady purring shook my foundation loose.

  In the giant bed I’d once shared with Simon, holding on to Moose like a big teddy bear, I finally let the dam break.

  I finally let myself grieve what Simon and I would never be again.

  Chapter 20

  Wyatt

  I couldn’t remember if Anthony had practice today or not, so I just made sure I was up early enough to make breakfast either way. That had become somewhat of a routine since I’d started staying here; it wasn’t much, but it was something I could actually do for him that he seemed to enjoy. He’d even picked up more cumin the other day since I was going through it quickly thanks to the way I made eggs. There was nothing I could ever do to make up for him letting me stay here, but he always seemed happy after he’d eaten my cooking.

  Well, right up until Simon showed up, but maybe we’d get lucky this morning and he’d… I don’t know, get a flat tire or some shit. I didn’t want to wish actual bad things on him, but was a hangover or an urgent need for Pepto Bismol too much to ask?

  Just give Anthony a break today. Jesus Christ.

  The eggs were almost ready when Anthony came shuffling into the kitchen. He looked like he’d had a rough night, too. I didn’t ask. I probably didn’t look much better. In fact, I knew I didn’t. My warzone demons had come to visit last night, and even with Lily’s quick intervention, nightmares still took a lot out of me. I hadn’t been at all surprised to see dark circles in my bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror.

  “Morning.” I took a couple of plates down from the cabinet. “Do you have to be at practice?”

  Anthony shook his head. “Thank God, no.” He made a beeline for the coffeemaker. “Morning skate and a game tomorrow, but Coach had mercy on us today.” He glanced at the pan and grinned. “I won’t say no to those eggs, though.”

  “Figured you wouldn’t.”

  We set up our breakfast on the kitchen island and took our seats in the barstools. As we started eating, I asked, “So what exactly do you do on a day off?”

  “As little as possible,” he said around a bite of bacon. Then he twisted around to look out the window. “I was thinking I’d take the cats out for a walk.”

  “Yeah?”

  He nodded and bit off some more bacon. “I’ve been busy as hell and the weather has been shitty, but it’s supposed to be nice today. I might as well take advantage of it and get them some fresh air.” He met my gaze, his expression a little… shy? “Do you want to come out with us?”

  “Oh. Uh. Sure! Yeah, that sounds fun!” I gestured at the cats, who were currently lounging on their perch by the window. “Can you handle both of them at the same time? Because I don’t know if I can wrangle Lily and a cat.”

  Anthony chuckled as he loaded some eggs onto his fork. “I walk them by myself all the time. Bear will get all of us tangled up in his leash, but Moose is easy, so I manage.”