Page 59 of One Pucking Wish

I should leave, pull out of this driveway right now, and depart with the shred of dignity I have left, but I can’t. I’m unable to move or think or do anything but try to wrap my mind around what just happened and what it means for my future.

One without Penny in my life.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

PENNY

Ischool my features, plastering on the scowl—the widely used mask I’ve worn my whole life, and hurry toward my door. Once inside my house, I close and lock my door and fall against it. The hard wood hits my back as the tears start to fall.

Pressing a palm to my chest, I try to ease the pain of my breaking heart as tears roll down my cheeks. This is so stupid. We weren’t serious. It’s not like he was my soulmate or something, not that I believe in those. Gunner is and always has been a hotheaded hockey player. Nothing more. A three-day romp in Vancouver, a hot date in a closet at an animal shelter, and a month of dating does not a forever make. This was bound to end. I knew it. He knew it. Everyone knew it. Neither of us is relationship material. We tried, giving it a valiant go. This was always going to be the final result.

I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

A heavy fist hits my door, causing me to yelp. The wood vibrates against my back, and I step away from the door. Ugh. “Go away, Gunner. I’m done talking about it!”

The pounding continues. Bang. Bang. Bang. A relentless rhythm that I know won’t stop.

I swipe my hand across my cheeks in an attempt to dry the tears.

“Go away!” I shout.

More pounding.

With my hands on my hips, I pull a deep breath into my lungs and then slowly release it. “He can’t make anything easy,” I grumble to myself while turning the deadbolt of the door before opening it.

Before I can get a word out, he’s inside my foyer. “Gunner, don’t make this harder than it has to be. There’s nothing to talk about. We’re just not compatible. This doesn’t have to be messy.” I sigh.

“Bullshit.” He storms into the living room, leaving me standing alone in the foyer.

I close the door and follow him.

“This isn’t over,” he insists.

“Gunner…”

He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders back. Fierce emotion radiates from his body, but I can’t quite place it…maybe, anger or regret. Longing? Everything about him is throwing me off. He’s out of control but not in a threatening way. It’s different from his usual bouts with anger. He seems almost emotionally unhinged.

“You know what? Fuck you, Penelope Stellars, for making me love you and then leaving me without so much as a discussion.”

The love bomb throws me off and softens my resolve, but I know what I want in this life, and it’s not someone who punches a man in the grocery store. “I’m sorry, Gunner. I am, but I can’t be with someone?—”

He cuts me off. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. But I can’t stand by and watch a man put his hands on you. Don’t you get that?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Gunner. I don’t need protection, and I certainly don’t want that.” I wave toward the door, indicating the scene we left in the store.

“He. Touched. You.” Each word is a staccato.

“I know, and I’m fine.” I hold my palms up and shrug.

“He touched you.” This time, his words are softer and half broken. “He touched you.” His words are barely a whisper, and they’re coated in a deep pain.

He takes a seat on the sofa and leans his elbows against his knees as he cradles his face in his palms. He drags his hands through his hair, and tears begin to fall. I’ve never seen Gunner cry, and everything in me wants to go to him, but I wait.

Looking at the floor, he clears his throat. “My mom, she…uh, had a way of picking men. I mean, she always picked the worst one available. I don’t know, it was like a… sick talent. There could be a line of ten men, nine of them perfectly kind, and she’d pick the asshole. A constant stream of men came in and out of our lives when I was young and not one of them was decent. They all… uh, hit her. A lot. And believe it or not, I was this incredibly scrawny kid. I looked years younger than I was without an ounce of muscle on me. She protected me from her boyfriends by offering herself up as their punching bag. I was told to be invisible, and I was.”

“Gunner,” I say his name on an exhale, and he keeps his eyes on the floor but holds up a hand, gesturing for me to stay where I am.

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