Page 74 of Interference

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.

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