Rebound (Seattle Steelheads #1)(33)

I suppressed a frustrated sigh. The breakup had been hard on them, and they had a right to have feelings about it.

Forcing my voice to stay calm, I said, “Exactly how long do you want me to stay single?”

I fully expected one of them to reply that they didn’t want me to stay single, and that they’d be one hundred percent onboard with me being back in one relationship in particular.

Instead, David glared harder at the TV.

“Do whatever you want, Dad,” Claire said with manufactured disinterest. “Just seems…soon.”

“It’s been a few months.”

“And you were with him for six years,” she snapped with just enough of a waver in her voice to hit me in the chest.

But I kept my expression neutral. I picked up the remote and switched off the TV. Both kids jumped, then shifted their glares to me. As evenly as I could, I said, “I know this has been rough, all right? But we all need to move on.”

“Yeah, we do,” Claire said coldly. “But do we have to move on right now?” She gestured at my phone. “Are you seeing somebody?”

I glanced down at the screen, which had gone dark. “Kind of, yes.”

“Kind of?”

“We just met.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s happening yet.”

Neither of them spoke, but they didn’t look happy at all.

“So is this going to be someone else you almost marry and then leave for no reason?” The hurt in Claire’s tone killed any attempt at being snide.

“That isn’t what happened,” I said softly. “I know it seems like I just up and left for the hell of it, but I was unhappy with Marcus. No, unhappy doesn’t cover it. I was miserable with him, and I needed to leave before things got any worse.”

For a few long, hopeful seconds, I thought I might have gotten their attention.

Then Claire exhaled and muttered, “Whatever you say, Dad.” She got up from the sofa. “I have homework.” And with that, she stalked out of the living room.

David didn’t bother with an excuse before he followed her out.

One bedroom door closed. Then the other did, slightly harder.

I finally released that frustrated sigh and rubbed the back of my neck. Okay, if I had any hope of fixing things with my kids before they graduated high school, I clearly needed to figure out exactly how to spell this out for them without hurting them any further. They were heartbroken kids, and I was the adult who didn’t have the first fucking clue how to explain that the stepfather they’d loved had only been using them. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the whole truth because I didn’t know how to say it without making things worse. I was terrified that in the name of getting them to understand, I’d hurt them deeper than Marcus or I had already. Which was really worse—your dad left a guy you both loved, or that guy was a monster all along who never loved any of us at all?

And hell, if I couldn’t find the words to talk to them about Marcus, then maybe that meant they were right. Maybe it was too soon for me to start seeing someone else, and not just for my kids.

It didn’t help that Asher was coming off a long, hellish relationship. To a lesser degree, so was I. We were both on the rebound, so it was a disaster waiting to happen anyway. Because really, how often did “just sex” stay “just sex” without feelings getting involved? Was I ready for feelings of any kind? Yeah, probably not.

Maybe this was for the best. Asher was a wreck. I was a wreck. My kids needed time to adjust to things. They deserved better than their dad bringing home someone new while they were still grieving his last partner. Especially when they didn’t even know that that partner had deliberately wreaked havoc on their emotions.

I looked down at my phone.

Yeah, they deserved better, and Asher deserved better than a letdown text. Maybe that was the way people did things these days, but I couldn’t do it. Not even after a one-time hookup. It had to be face to face or I’d feel like an asshole. Especially after everything Nathan had put him through. I needed to tell him so he saw my face and heard my tone and didn’t read between lines that weren’t there.

So, with a sigh, I texted back, I’ll see you tomorrow.





Chapter 8


Asher



“Fuck yes, Crowe!” Coach’s voice boomed through the stadium. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about.”

I laughed behind my visor as Wilson and I bumped fists and skated toward the boards. I was out of breath from the battle drills the team had been running for the last five hours. Okay, it hadn’t been that long. Just felt like it. I hadn’t missed a shot yet, which was driving Bruiser batshit as he tried to defend the goal, but it was good for my head. My concentration was back, and not a moment too soon.

As I leaned over the wall to grab my water bottle, Coach slapped my shoulder hard enough to almost throw me off balance. “Looks like you won’t have to be a healthy scratch on game night after all.”

I shot him a look.

He shrugged. “The way you’ve been playing…”

I gulped. Shit. Coach didn’t usually play the “I won’t even let you get dressed for the ice” card, but he didn’t fuck around when we were, well, fucking around.

“The fans might riot if I make you sit out,” he’d said to another player during my second season, “but they’ll thank me when you have your head out of your ass during the Cup finals.”