Pucked Off (Pucked #6)(95)

“Fuck. Fuck.” He rubs hard at the space between his eyes with his knuckles. “Have I ruined this? I have, haven’t I?”

“You haven’t ruined it. I need time to think, Lance. This has been intense right from the start—and I mean a decade ago. Every time you come into my life again, my world is turned upside down. I need to figure out if I can handle this level of intensity all the time.” I also need time to figure out how to find balance with this man. I want to save him from himself, and keep myself safe at the same time. But I can’t stop myself from putting my hand over his knee.

He shudders and covers my hand with his. His palm is clammy and shaking along with the rest of him. Suddenly he’s on his knees in front of me. He wraps one arm around me and buries his face in my lap. The other hand grips my wrist. He presses my palm to the back of his neck, holding it there.

“I wanna deserve you. Why can’t I find a way to deserve you?”

Paralyzed by shock, I watch this huge man fall apart for an agonizing, protracted moment. Because I told him I need time. And that’s not unreasonable, I remind myself. Not after what I’ve just seen and what he’s told me.

I run my fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles in closer, another tortured sound leaving him, like he’s dying for the affection. I consider that for a moment—how he’s gone through life prepared for the women in it to hurt him, rather than care for him.

I don’t want to be that all over again, but I have to manage all the feelings I have for and about this man. I let him stay on the floor in front of me, for as long as I can, but eventually I stroke his cheek.

He turns his head like he’s chasing the touch. He catches my hand and brings my fingers to his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I know you are.”

He lifts his head, but keeps a tight hold on my hand. “But you can’t forgive me?”

“I didn’t say that. Just give me some time to get this all sorted out.”

“That’s not a yes.”

“It’s not a no, either. I’m not going to lie and tell you this is okay, because for me it’s not. But that doesn’t mean I won’t get over it. I need time to process, okay? I have to figure out if I’m ready for something like this.”

That someone else wields such power over him scares me, especially since she’s been such a negative force in his life. I don’t think I could bear it if I let him into my heart the way I want to, only to have their pattern prove impossible for him to break. What will I do if he discards me like she seems to do to him, over and over again?





CHAPTER 23


DEPRIVATION

POPPY

In the past, I’ve always managed a breakup, or a timeout, or whatever it is I’m calling this by staying busy. So that’s exactly what I’m trying to do now. On Wednesday night I bring tea and cookies over to Mr. Goldberg’s. It’s too cold to sit outside, so we eat at his kitchen table instead.

“I haven’t seen your boyfriend lately. Everything okay there?” He dips a gingersnap into his teacup. He uses fine china because it reminds him of his wife, even though the handles are difficult for him to manage.

“They’ve had an away series. They’ll be back in a couple of days.” I don’t want to get into my relationship problems with Mr. Goldberg, mostly because I think it might make me cry.

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind asking him to bring by some of those special oat biscuits when he’s back, that would be lovely. I think they’re my new favorite.”

“I’m sorry, oat biscuits?”

“I think that’s what they are. Sometimes when you’re still at work, he stops by with cookies and snacks.”

“You’re talking about Lance?” I had no idea Lance was sweet-talking my neighbor. He hadn’t mentioned it even once.

“Unless you’ve got another redheaded boyfriend you’re hiding somewhere, Miss Poppy, that’s the one. He offered to help me get out all the Christmas decorations this year. Which is nice of him. Trudy loved Christmas.”

I remembered last year the decorations had been missing, when usually they went up right after Thanksgiving. “I can come help, too.”

He pats my hand and gives me a watery smile. “That’d be lovely, dear.”

The rest of the week passes in the same slow, achy fashion. Work, which is usually a good distraction, is dragging today. I’m half-grateful, half-worried about having tomorrow off. As much as I need a day off, the free time means my mind has endless time for wandering, and I can spend the day watching PVR hockey games, unless I make alternate plans..

Lance has been gone for the past seven days, and I’ve watched the games obsessively. He’s averaged three penalties a night, and there’s been nothing to see on the bunny sites. Tonight they’re finally playing again in Chicago. Knowing he’ll be in the city again seems to make the hurt worse.

I hate that I don’t know more about who he is beyond the confines of my house and what the media says. It’s hard to gauge how truthful he’s been with me because I only know this narrow aspect of his life.

“Poppy?” April snaps her fingers in front of my face, and I jerk.

“Huh?”

“Your next client is going to be here soon. Do you need help with the sheets?” She looks pointedly at the ball of cloth in my arms. I’ve been staring off into space for the past few minutes, it appears.