Page 36 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

A second later, she heard it—a screech of tires, the unmistakable slam of a car door.

“Or buy two,” his voice echoed through both the phone and the house, the words ringing in her ears, in her bones. “Because you aren’t going alone…”

Jeannie’s breath caught as she turned toward the front door, her heartbeat a frantic, erratic rhythm.

And then, there he was.

“Where are you?” he demanded, his voice thick with emotion.

Matthieu stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling with exertion, his bright blue eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

He hung up the phone.

Jeannie swallowed hard, wringing her hands and feeling so emotionally raw, so confused, so lost right now. She didn’t want to leave him, but she would do anything and everything to protect him. She cared, despite it all; she cared about this man, her very own golden guardian angel.

The room was steeped in silence, thick and oppressive, pressing down on Jeannie like the weight of the ocean before a storm. She could feel it—this moment—slipping between her fingers, fracturing like delicate glass as she stood frozen, her heart warring with her mind.

And then his voice, raw and desperate, shattered the quiet.

“Don’teverleave me.”

Matthieu’s words weren’t a request—they were a command, a plea, a confession all rolled into one. His voice, thick with emotion, sent shivers down her spine. She forced herself to look at him, but the anguish in his brilliant eyes nearly undid her.

“You’renotleaving.”

A lump rose in her throat.

“But…” Her voice cracked. She was torn, splitting in two, unable to bear the ache in his face.

“I don’t care if he knows,” Matthieu said fiercely, his jaw clenching as his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t dare. The helplessness in his expression, the sheer vulnerability of him standing there—so raw, so open—stabbed at something deep inside her.

“Matthieu…” she whispered, her voice trembling with unshed tears. “The contract, the job, the house?—”

“I don’t care about any of that,” he cut in, his voice like gravel, rough and desperate. “Youcannotleave me, Jeannie.” His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as if he was barely holding himself together. “If you leave, then how am I supposed to fix this? Fixus? Who’s going to go for last-minute ice cream with me just so I can see that beautiful smile and hear that sweet laughter?”

Her stomach twisted, pain curling around her ribcage like an iron grip. His voice softened, turning into something fragile, something almost broken.

“You can’t leave,” he whispered, his plea barely audible now as if saying the words aloud would somehow make them true. “I want more between us, and you’re right—I should have asked more questions, should have fought harder. But if you leave, how can I fix it?”

His bright eyes burned into hers, filled with every unspoken word, every regret, every thought hidden behind them that neither was prepared to say, to put into words.

“I want to know more about you,” he admitted, stepping closer, his voice thick with desperation. “Your job, your childhood—so I know whose tires to slash and who it was that hurt you.”

Despite herself, Jeannie let out a choked, tearful chuckle, the sound barely escaping past the tightness in her throat.

Matthieu exhaled a shaky breath, and the anguish in his features only deepened.

“Who’s going to cheer for me on game night?” he murmured, his voice laced with something more than longing—something dangerously close to devastation. “Who’s going to hug me, Jeannie?”

The words broke something inside her.

She didn’t think.

She just moved.

Three steps. That’s all it took.

And then she was in his arms, his scent—salt, sweat, something so inherentlyhim—surrounding her as he crushed her against his chest. His arms clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him standing, his grip tight, desperate,possessive.

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