Page 2 of The Home Game

“Hey,” Matty said softly, worried. “Seriously, take a deep breath or two, man.”

Closing his eyes, he dragged in a ragged breath. And then another.

He was a little younger than Matty, maybe. Not by a lot, but probably in his late twenties, with fair skin and dark curly hair. Wet, clumpy lashes were thick against his cheeks and Matty felt a pang in his chest.

God, what was this guy going through?

When he blinked his eyes open again, he looked calmer.

“Hey. So, I’m not here to look at the house,” Matty explained, holding out a hand. “I’m the homeowner. Matty—uhh, Matt Carlson.”

There wasn’t a flicker of recognition at Matty’s name but he did shake Matty’s hand. His own was warm and soft, slender, and almost delicate compared to Matty’s big meaty paws, which were covered in calluses from stickhandling and weightlifting.

Hmm, probably not a contractor then. No one who did physical labor for a living had hands like that. Matty would know. He’d worked a lot of jobs with manual labor in the offseason before he’d signed an NHL contract.

“Hey. Sorry again.” The guy sniffed, pulling away. “This is awkward. Didn’t mean to have a breakdown in your driveway.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Matty said softly. “Some days are just like that.”

Matty’d had a few after his divorce, that was for damn sure. He’d gotten drunk and cried on his tennis court late one night, in fact.

Of course, there hadn’t been anyone to see him either, so there was that.

The guy managed a weak smile.

Hmm, maybe he was the man Sharon mentioned a few days ago. She’d said her nephew urgently needed a place. Matty had agreed to let her give him a tour and try to sell the house before it officially went on the market.

This must be him. The beat-up minivan was weird but whatever.

“You’re Anthony?” Matty guessed. “Sharon’s nephew?”

“Uhh, yeah, I’m her nephew. Antonio Bianchi. I go by Antoni though.” He was still trembling a little, shoulders shuddering with strangled breaths.

Whoops, Matty should have been paying more attention when Sharon talked. He kept getting distracted by the way her forehead didn’t move at all. He’d never met someone with so much cosmetic surgery before.

Matty gave the guy a reassuring smile. “Hey, Antoni. You can call me Matty. Now, I don’t think you should be driving like this. You wanna come in for a bit and have a snack and a drink of water?”

“Oh God. That’s so nice but no, I should get going.” Antoni wiped at his face again. “I just, um, I’ll be fine. You have a great home but I think there was some mix-up about what I’m looking for. I’m a teacher. I can’t afford a house like this. Aunt Sharon must have misunderstood or something. She knew I was desperate to find a home in this neighborhood and hoping for a miracle—” He cut himself off. “But you don’t care about this. I’ll go. I should go. Yeah.”

Matty studied Antoni, worried. “No. I really don’t think you’re safe on the road like this. I don’t want you crashing. If you pull in the garage, I can get rid of Sharon. I’ll feed you something and then when you feel steady enough, you can head out, okay? It would make me feel better if you stayed for a bit. Just until you’re safe to drive.”

Antoni went still and closed his eyes. Tears still glittered on those thick dark lashes again and Matty took a moment to look him over more closely.

His dark brown hair was a little curly and he had a freshly shaved jaw. He wasn’t soft and delicate or anything, there was strength in his shoulders and his upper arms, like he worked out regularly, but he looked so vulnerable. Sort of sweet and sad.

Like someone who needed a big squishy hug.

“Yeah, okay,” Antoni rasped, looking up at Matty with red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Matty said soothingly. “I’ll put up the garage doors and you just pull into a spot, okay?”

“Sure. Yeah, that sounds good.” Antoni released a shuddering breath. “This really is so nice of you.”

His voice cracked at the end and Matty reached through the open window and patted his shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, man.”

Unfortunately, that set the guy off again and he took a few more deep, shuddering breaths.

“Sorry. Sorry. God, I’m a mess.”

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