Page 29 of Hearts on the Mend

“Sure, Cassie.” I hold her stare, then my voice cracks when I force out, “Friends.”

Between her exhaustion and my apathy, tension blooms between us. I can see it move across her face and watch her remember things neither of us is supposed to be thinking about right now. Her eyes widen, then her teeth draw in her bottom lip. She nibbles for a moment, like she’s working out what to say next. Instead, she sighs this tiny, wrecked sound, then turns and sprints upstairs.

I stand there with a putty knife in my hand like an idiot.

The pipes rattle before I hear the water run.

But the ghost of her lingers, the memory of her lush lips between my teeth, that same sigh with my hand wrapped around her neck as she rode me in that hotel room.

I go back to fixing the wall, quiet so Ruby doesn’t wake up.

“Your friend is the woman you escorted out of Markey’s last year?”

Jack has his elbows on the table, riveted. Ethan smugly crosses his arms across his chest.

“Don’t,” I warn them.

This only makes Jack laugh, and I’m surprised when Ethan joins in.

My younger brothers and I have never really been close. They shared hockey, and now Merritt Point, and both are madly in love with their girls. Jack left the NHL for a quieter life, and Ethan has been in and out of restaurants, studying, hoping to open his own soon. Nana swears he’ll be famous for his scallops.

I never felt the same tie to home as them. Never fell in love with the summer, hate the miserable winters. And everything is too small. It was never enough.

“And this… friend has⁠—”

“Cassie,” I snap. I shift over the uncomfortable wooden booth, peeking toward the door. I said one beer tonight, and I meant it.

“Okay.” Jack holds his hands up, a lopsided grin on his annoyingly smug and handsome face. “Cassie has a six-year-old.”

“Yes, Ruby.”

“Dad volunteered you for this?” Ethan’s phone buzzes, and he shoots off a text with a dumb grin on his face.

“It was his idea. I said no originally.”

“What changed?” Ethan asks, setting his phone down.

“Her pipes froze.” I shove my hand toward Jack’s face. “No jokes.”

“Not saying a word.”

“Izzy’s taught you well,” I quip.

“My wife is amazing and does the unthinkable all the time.”

“Like marry your sorry ass?” Ethan teases, sending an elbow into his chest.

“We were in Vegas. Besides, I knew she was it. Why the hell would I waste time pretending otherwise?”

Last summer, I hiked out of the Mission Mountains after spending two weeks fighting back a fire that burned almost eight thousand acres, started by some dipshit, when I got a text from Jack wearing a tux. He was accepting an award for some NHL thing after his retirement, Izzy holding out her hand with a giant rock on her finger. Thought they were engaged. Apparently, after a few margaritas, she thought getting married by Elvis would be terribly romantic.

“You’ll see soon enough, Ethan.” Jack flags down the waitress, asking for another.

I wave them off, taking the last draining sip of mine so I can head out.

“Fuck, the wedding. I wish we could elope, but Sloane knows what she wants.”

“And you’ll give her whatever she wants, right?” Jack teases.