Page 7 of Puck Me at Midnight

Chapter Six

Emma

Spike has been gone for three days. The house feels different without him. It’s quieter. Like something essential is missing. It’s not the first time he’s left for road games, but this time it’s harder. Maybe because I’ve let myself get too comfortable here, too wrapped up in the rhythm of this makeshift family we’ve created.

Charlie clings to my leg as I try to make dinner, his big eyes looking up at me. “Emma, when’s Daddy Spike coming back?”

My chest tightens at the nickname that started around Christmas. I know Spike doesn’t encourage it, but he also doesn’t correct it. “Just a few more days, buddy,” I say, ruffling his hair. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

Sam, ever the big brother, chimes in from the table. “He’s playing hockey, Charlie. You know that. He’ll bring us something cool, like last time.”

I smile, grateful for Sam’s confidence. They both miss Spike and, if I’m honest, so do I.

Several hours later, the boys are in bed, and I settle onto the couch with a glass of wine, scrolling aimlessly through my phone. My finger hovers over Spike’s name in my contacts. He texted earlier a quick update about the game and asked how the boys were doing. I didn’t reply, and now I’m debating whetherit’s too late to text him back. Before I can decide, my phone buzzes.

SPIKE:How are the boys?

I smile at the screen, my heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it’s started doing whenever his name pops up.

ME:Missing you. Charlie asked when you’re coming home.

The response comes almost immediately.

SPIKE:Tell him soon. How about you? How’s it going?

My fingers hesitate over the keyboard. How do I answer that? That I’ve been thinking about him way too much? Tell him I miss him too? That the house feels empty without him? Instead, I go with something safer.

ME:We’re good. Made it through bedtime without any meltdowns. I’d call that a win.

His reply is a simple thumbs-up emoji, followed by:

SPIKE:Thanks for everything, Emma. Really.

I sit the phone down, my chest feeling tight. He doesn’t have to thank me. I’m doing my job. But it’s not just a job anymore, is it? Not when I love those little boys like they’re my own. Not when every look, every touch, every little moment with Spike feels charged with something I’m trying so hard to ignore.

Like that kiss on New Year’s Eve. God, that kiss. It shouldn’t have happened, but I’m so damn happy it did. One moment we were laughing with the boys, counting down to midnight, and the next, it was just the two of us. The boys were asleep, and the snowstorm outside made everything feel surreal. He’d leaned in—slowly, giving me time to pull away—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. When his lips touched mine, it was like the world tilted on its axis. Soft and sure, it was everything I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.

I’ve replayed that moment in my mind more times than I’d like to admit. The way his hand cupped my cheek, the way his breath hitched when I kissed him back. And the way reality came crashing down the moment we pulled apart. He’d whispered, “I’m sorry,” and walked away, leaving me standing there with my heart in my throat.

The sound of the garage door opening pulls me out of my thoughts. My heart leaps, and I almost spill the wine in my lap. We were just texting, and he didn’t say anything about being on his way home.

I’m still sitting there, staring at the door, when he walks in. He looks exhausted, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like always. But when he sees me, he smiles, and the room brightens.

“Hey,” he says, dropping the bag by the door. “Didn’t mean to surprise you. We got in earlier than expected.”

“Welcome back,” I say, trying to sound casual. “How was the trip?”

“Long,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s good to be home.”

Home. The word hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

He glances toward the hallway. “The boys asleep?”

I nod. “Yeah. Charlie asked about you all day. Sam, too.”

Spike’s smile softens. “Thanks for holding down the fort.”

“It’s my job,” I say, but the words feel hollow. It’s more than a job, and we both know it.

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