Page 40 of From Wink to Kink

We settle at a table overlooking the ocean, plates piled high with tropical fruit and some kind of local egg dish. The view is breathtaking – crystal clear water stretching to the horizon, palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. It's the kind of scene you see on postcards. But it’s way better here because it'sreal.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to do. Making small talk has never been my strong suit – I'm much more comfortable lost in a good book than navigating social niceties. But here goes nothing.

"So," I begin, trying to sound casual, "exactly what brings you here? I wanna hear the details, about the team and everything. Not the PR answer."

His eyebrow quirks up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "A plane, last I checked, a plane brought me here."

I level him with a look that could freeze vodka. "I'm trying to be nice here, Newcomb. Work with me."

Something in my tone must get through to him because his smirk softens. He sets down his fork, running a hand over his haphazard man bun—a nervous gesture I've never seen from him before.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, surprising me with the sincerity in his voice. "My sarcasm is force of habit. Truth is, the team thought I could use some... perspective, if you know what I mean. A chance to 'find my center' or whatever new-age BS all the kids are into these days. The alternative was potentially ending my hockey career. So you can say they lit a fire under my ass."

I nod. "Wow. Sounds hard core."

He shrugs, poking at his eggs. "It's not like they're wrong. I've been... let's say 'spiraling' for a while now. Too many nights out, too many close calls with the press. This is their not-so-polite way of saying shape up or ship out."

His vulnerability catches me off guard. This isn't the cocky, untouchable Chuck Newcomb I know. This is someone more… relatable.

"I see.”

“And what about you? How’d you end up here? And I don’t want your PR version either.”

Fair enough. "This trip... it was supposed to be my chance to do something just for me, you know?"

Chuck looks up, curiosity replacing the defensiveness in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

I hesitate, then figure I may as well go for it. "I grew up with just my dad. Well, my dad and Tyler. Mom died when I was a baby. And don't get me wrong, I adore my father, but... most of our family resources went to Tyler and his hockey dreams."

Chuck nods slowly. "And you got… a little left behind?"

I nod, shifting in my seat. I've never really talked about this with anyone before, aside from my bestie Matthew, and the last thing I want is to come off as an ungrateful complainer. "When it comes down to it, it makes sense. Tyler had a shot at something big, and he made it. I'm proud of him, I really am. He’s my best friend. He deserves all the good that comes his way. But sometimes I wonder..."

"What might have been if you'd had the same… encouragement?" he finishes.

"Yeah," I say, relieved that he gets it. "I’m not begrudging my brother. I want to make that clear.”

He nods.

“This trip is one of the first things I've done for myself in ages. And I can’t even say I really did it for myself, because Tyler footed the bill."

Chuck is quiet for a moment, then reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. The gesture is unexpected and gentle. Moisture pricks at the corners of my eyes.

"I'm sorry I messed it up for you," he says.

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. I look up, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, I'm struck by how intense they are. How have I never noticed that?

"Not your fault," I say. “My brother’s the one who got the damn dates wrong and sent me here a week early. But hey, at least I'm not bored, right?"

He laughs, a sound that does funny things to my insides. "Never a dull moment with Chuck Newcomb around. That should be my new tagline, right?" he says.

As we finish our breakfast, I study Chuck when he's not looking, something I’ve done a lot of in the last twenty-four hours. The way the sun catches his hair, the curve of his smile when he's genuinely amused, not just putting on a show. The strength in his hands as he gestures while talking about his last game, eyes lit up with passion.

Shit.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge these dangerous thoughts. This is Chuck. Hockey player extraordinaire. My brother's teammate. Definitely off-limits. Not to mention, probably not even interested in someone like me, anyway.

But then he looks at me, catching me staring, and there's something in his expression that makes my heart skip a beat.

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