Page 19 of Shoot Your Shot

Suddenly, it pisses me off that he’s living in a home that was supposed to be ours, probably hooking up with women inmybed. The thought of that alone makes me want to scream at him. Only I can’t because the man had a fucking heart attack, and I’m pretty sure when his doctor told me I needed to help care for him, he didn’t mean I should yell at him for screwing women in my home.

“Awesome,” is all I can muster up, and even that comes out as a grumble while I quickly shift the car into drive and pull out of the parking spot.

I promised the doctor I’d take him home and be his support system. I’m a physical therapist, for fuck’s sake. Of course he’ll be in good hands with me. But how awkward is it going to be? Me staying in a home with my ex-ish-husband. Caring for him like the past year and a half hasn’t involved me missing him every single minute of each day. Part of me hates him so much for letting me go and never coming after me. And now what? I’m supposed to help him get better and then leave? And the hardest part is, I’ll have to be okay after.

I think if there is one good thing that will come out of this, it’s that maybe he’ll finally sign the divorce papers so I can close this chapter of my life. I don’t know what has taken him so long since he clearly doesn’t care about our marriage, but now that we’ll bestuck together for a few weeks … he’ll have nowhere to hide from signing the dotted line.

“Don’t talk so much, would you?” he says sarcastically, glancing over at me. “All the chatter is making my head hurt.”

“I’m not sure what I possibly have to say,” I huff out, putting my blinker on before turning out of downtown Portland. “I want to help you get back on your feet, but you know this doesn’t change anything.” I swallow. “Not like you’d want it to—that’s not what I meant. But what I’m saying is, let’s just make this … arrangement as peaceful as we can.”

“I already stood on my feet to get to your car,” he deadpans before looking around. “Which, by the way … nice ride. I see you traded the Cadillac.”

“Why would I need a giant SUV to ride around by myself?” I snap, instantly regretting it because the man just had a heart attack four days ago. “This small SUV seemed much smarter. Besides, I might make good money, but I’m not on a professional athlete’s salary, you know.”

“You still living with your parents in Vermont?”

“That’s not really any of your business,” I whisper, trying to keep the anger from my tone, though it’s really freaking hard.

I know he’s been through a lot, and he doesn’t need the stress of me being a bitch, but, God, seeing him again has pissed me off. He triggers me simply by existing in my presence. He derails any kind of peace I’ve found from working on myself and being on my own without him. Finding that peace didn’t happen overnight. It took months upon months to find. And even now, I’m a mess a lot of the time.

But every ounce of pent-up anger buried inside of me since the day I left begins to bubble. For so long, I’ve kept it all in. I think that’s probably because for months after … I was barely alive. And once I crawled far enough out of that cave toat least breathe again, I was scared that if I allowed myself to acknowledge my love for Kolt, it would kill me.

He doesn’t need to know that I actually live in Maine, too, and have for the past eight months. The truth is, I loved the state, and when I went back home to live with my parents, I realized how much I’d missed the coast. So, I started saving, and when the perfect house for me came up, I jumped on it.

It’s only about an hour from where our house was in Portland. But that hour is enough distance that I never have to worry about seeing him.

The only thing I have to worry about is seeing his name on the backs of jerseys and T-shirts anytime I go to the grocery store.

Now, that’s annoying.

Everyone loves the New England Bay Sharks’ defenseman Kolt Kolburne. He’s known for his signature grumpy attitude. He’s fierce on the ice and a bit of a wild card. But his team can always depend on him to be the ultimate protector. That’s how the rest of New England sees him.

But I know every other side of him.

The good and the bad.

“Fine, I’ll just talk to myself,” he mutters, and I snap my gaze to his for a split second.

“Sorry. What were you saying?” I pull myself from my thoughts.

“I said, you seem different.” From the corner of my eye, I can see him studying me. “Harder.”

“Divorce will do that to you,” I say, giving him a side-eye.

I hear a low, sexy chuckle.

“That might be true and all, but, uh … you’re not divorced yet, Buttercup,” he drawls, his voice dripping with smugness. “Did you forget that?”

I can’t stop my eyes from rolling. “How could I forget, Kolt? And I would be if you had signed the stupid papers,” I hiss. “It’s pretty simple really.”

Thank God we pull in front of the large gate before we can continue arguing anymore. The man just had a heart attack days ago, and I know I can’t be a complete bitch to him, even if I want to be so badly.

Me staying here is the least feasible plan I’ve ever heard of. How in the hell am I going to take care of him if I can barely stand being in this car right now?

Stopping before the gate, I roll my window down.

“What’s the code?” I sigh.

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