Chapter 33

The silence in the car is disturbed by my phone ringing.

I start to reach to decline it on the screen, but Rory stills my hand. "It's your mom," she says softly, those green eyes unfathomable. "You should always take a call from your mom."

Except when I'd dropped a bomb on a woman I've grown to care about.

After she'd been confronted by one of the psychos my mom had set me up with…and that woman, who'd made a single blind date a nightmare that wouldn't quit, had a mother who my mother was—for some reason—friends with.

What the actual fuck?

Hell, maybe I did need to talk to her.

To tear into her.

I jab my finger at the screen, snap, "Hello?"

"King?"

"Yeah, Mom," I mutter. "You called me, remember? Yes, it's King."

There's a long pause. "Is this a bad time?"

"I've just seen Stacy again." A beat. "And Cathy."

Now the quiet grows.

"Did you know that Stacy is Rory's stepsister?" I grip the steering wheel, navigate us onto the freeway that'll lead back to my place. "And that Cathy's her stepmom?"

Rory inhales sharply, eyes clenching closed.

I reach over, take her hand.

"What did you say?" my mom asks.

I take a breath, struggling for calm because this isn't her fault. Not really. She's misguided and pushy but…who the fuck could have predicted the world is this small? "Your friend, Cathy's daughter, Stacy." I pause for a second, make sure she's picked up all of that. "She hasn't just lost her mind, she's also a total bitch. She practically assaulted Rory in the middle of Molly's when she saw the engagement ring."

"She's Rory's stepsister?"

Something about my mom's tone…well, it has me freezing, my anger and frustration fading away.

Concern rippling up instead.

"What?" I press.

Silence again. Then, "Is Rory there with you?"

A breath from the woman next to me. "Yes, Stella. I'm here."

Silence. Then a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry that happened, sweetheart," she says. "Cathy"—a breath—"well, she didn't have very nice things to say about her stepdaughter and"—regret filling the car—"clearly she's mistaken because you're wonderful Rory, and I think…I think it's likely that Cathy's not the friend I hoped she was."

"You think?" I mutter then promptly feel like a dick.

Because my mom sucks in a sharp breath that rattles through the speakers.

Because my mom lost her best friend not long ago and…she hasn't fully recovered.

Hence, all of us putting up with her matchmaking.

"I'm sorry," I tell her.

"No, I am," she says.

"Mom—"

Rory squeezes my hand. "Stella, it's okay," she murmurs. "My childhood was messy and…well, it's too much to get into at the moment. Suffice to say, I don't have a relationship with Stacy, Cathy, or Dessie, and I haven't for a few years now."

It's not okay.

None of this is okay.

I can't protect her from this shit. I can't make it so the bad stuff didn't happen.

I can't?—

You're not your father.

I can't make it okay.

And Christ. That burns through me.

But I shove the voice down, focus on what's important. "It's not okay."

"King," Rory murmurs, squeezing my hand. "I'm fine."

"I—" My mom exhales, the sound rattling through the speaker. "King is right. It's not okay."

"I don't mean you, Mom," I begin. "I mean, I'm over the matchmaking for sure, but"—I look at Rory—"it's not okay for them to treat you like shit."

She nods, but I see the battle in her eyes.

It's hard to hear that.

To accept it.

Because those inner demons are assholes.

"King's right." Another breath. "Look, I…it sounds like you both need a moment, and I think it's better that we discuss this in person." Her voice gentles. "I was calling to confirm my visit and flight times since Dad's team is playing on Thanksgiving Day. I wanted to take some food requests and see if you needed help planning the wedding and…" She pauses. "But I understand if you'd both like some space right now."

A visit from my mother.

I can't think of anything I want less right about now.

But then she keeps talking.

"I-I know I owe you an explanation, honey. About a lot of things. And?—"

Her voice cracks.

Dammit.

Rory's fingers tighten in mine. "Stella," she says gently. "This isn't your fault. It's a crappy misunderstanding and?—"

"I should go," my mom says. "I'll check in with you both in a couple of days and?—"

I slide to a stop at a signal and glance at Rory, and with that single look, I know we're both in consensus. "Come for Thanksgiving, Mom," I say softly. "We can talk about it over apple pie."

"I—"

"Please," Rory murmurs, concern in her eyes as they cling to mine. "Your trip was cut short last time. I'd love to spend more time with you. Really." Teeth pressing into her bottom lip before her chin comes up and she nods once, as though she's made a decision. "And if you stay through the weekend, you can go to the gala with us."

"I shouldn't," my mom murmurs. "I've already overstepped and you're a young couple, you need privacy."

"Mom," I say gently, nodding back at Rory. "Fly out. And stay for the gala." A beat because I know she's going to put us off. "Please?"

Her next breath is shaky. "I don't have a dress."

"So we'll go shopping," Rory says gently. "I need to pick up some accessories for mine anyway."

"I—"

"I'll book you a ticket, Mom," I tell her. "You just get on the plane."

A long silence as I half expect her to disconnect the call.

But then she just sighs again, says, "Okay."

And then she disconnects.

I push the button to open the garage door, pull inside, park, and look over at Rory.

Her expression is gentle. "I'm okay."

Okay.

I fucking hate that she's okay.

I want her to be great, to be perfect.

Which is why I turn the engine back on, reverse right the fuck out of the garage, and?—

See about making sure she knows she's exactly that.

To her credit, it takes Rory a solid five minutes to ask, "Um, want to clue me in to what the hell you're doing?"

"Prickle princess coming out?"

"Cactus Queen who will spike your ass is out and ready to play." She pretends to jab at me with her finger.

I grin. "Well, her Royal Spikiness can just wait to find out."

She snorts, but there's something careful about the way she settles her hand back into her lap that I don't love.

Hell, who am I kidding?

I fucking hate it.

The distance. That she's cautious to touch me. That she's worried about what my reaction might be.

Considering her stepsister's shit fit that's not a surprise.

Considering her asshole of a fiancée, also not a surprise.

Considering all she'd lost…newsflash, it's still not a surprise.

But I hate that her actions are carefully calculated—that she clearly spends a lot of mental energy trying to make sure that she's not stepping outside of some irrational boundary one of the assholes in her life drew up.

I hate that she can't just relax and be herself with me, especially when I've been more open with her than any other person.

I've seen glimpses of it—the real her.

But I want it one hundred percent of the time.

Because…I want her.

And I'm fucking terrified I won't be the man she needs?—

Fuck that.

The thought tears through me so fiercely that I almost miss the turnoff.

You're not your dad.

No, I'm not.

You're not enough.

Maybe not, but I'm not going to leave this woman out there, exposed and vulnerable to the world. Not when…

She's mine.

May the hockey gods help me.

But. She. Is. Mine.

The thought burns like acid through my veins. It's terrifying and intoxicating. It makes me want to pull this car over, get out, and scream up at the sky.

I want to break shit, break it until all the memories are in pieces so small I can't remember them.

Because…she's mine.

Not for a little while.

Forever.

I pause, wait for lightning to strike me down for just thinking that.

And when it doesn't, I breathe…and then I reach over the console and pick up her hand, lace our fingers together, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, just beneath the huge-ass diamond ring I'd bought her.

Fake.

But not.

It's not fucking fake.