Page 62 of Your Pucking Mom

“Oh yeah?” I couldn’t help but bite back.

“But I didn’t invite her here. In fact, that’s why you found me passed out. I’d been debating whether I wanted to wake you up.”

I swallowed hard, unable to tear my eyes away from his. His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension, as I grappled with the palpable energy between us.

“Wait.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why were you out and awake at three in the morning, anyway?”

“Oh. I was checking on Austin.”

“Coach has you waking up to check on him?”

“No. I don’t want him to get in trouble with everyone, so I’m going down to his room every few hours. I figured when I came back up I’d be up in a few hours, anyway.”

“No.” He huffed out a laugh. “Absolutely not. Isn’t Hart eighteen?”

I nodded. “Yeah?”

He cracked his neck, then leaned toward me and pulled the chair, with me in it, closer to him.

“I say this with the utmost respect, but he’s in bed, Sunshine. He isn’t going anywhere, and I don’t think it’s necessary to go check on him in a few hours.”

He was right; I was being overprotective. But he didn’t understand that life had forced me into this role, and I didn’t know how to be any different. I stayed silent, looking down as I crossed my legs, propped myself up on the chair, and wrapped my arms around my waist.

“Don’t do that.” Ledger grabbed the arms of the chair again and pulled it as close to the bed as it could get.

“Do what?” I asked.

“Close yourself off.” I stayed quiet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I know you’re a good mom. I know this has to be hard on you to take off work and your own life?—”

“It’s nothing to do with that.”

He ran a hand through his beard. He kept looking at me as if the answer he was searching for would somehow magically appear.

“I’m sorry about the airplane. I was an asshole. Fuck.” He flopped back on the bed.

“It’s not that either,” I whispered. I stared at the carpet and counted the squares in the design.

“It was just, something you said reminded me of what my mom would say to me.” I inhaled. “It’s just…I’m sorry.”

The carpet squares formed a complex tapestry of intertwining patterns, their hues merging and entwining effortlessly. Each square transitioned into the next, weaving together to create a captivating display of shapes and lines that adorned the floor in a graceful and intricate arrangement.

“Auburn.” His voice was low in his throat.

I kept my eyes on the floor and continued to count.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.

The look on my mother’s face when she had accompanied me to the doctor was seared into my memory, thinking my swollen stomach was just bloating, only to hear the doctor reveal I was already twenty-three weeks pregnant. The disgust in her eyes as she had branded me a whore for actions I never sought nor deserved was something I’d never forget.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

When I had informed my mother about enrolling Austin in hockey lessons at the rink where I was working, her expression spoke volumes. She made it clear I’d be responsible for covering the costs, emphasizing she was already providing us with a place to live. When I finally told her about Austin getting into the NHL, she told me I needed to thank her because it was all her doing.

“Fuck.” I lifted my hand to my face as wetness fell to the carpet; tears were pouring out of me.

When his rough, calloused finger touched my chin, I let him guide my gaze up to meet his.

“Talk to me, Sunshine.”

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