Page 37 of Wake Me Up
I relax in my seat, though I’m slightly embarrassed for assuming theworst. “Sorry,” I utter. “Yes, good point though.” I chew my lip. “I’m going to be honest with you, Tripp. My kids are kind of like my security blanket. And when it’s just you and me … I’m awkward.” Sighing, I look at him. “I know I’ve told you this, but I just want you to know I really appreciate what you did for me. I know this situation between us is insane, at best, but it really shows your character, you know … that you’d do this for a little girl.”
His expression grows somber, and a look of puzzlement flashes across his face. He’s quiet for a moment as we turn down a driveway.
“It’s no big deal, Freya.” He shrugs. “Really.”
“It’s a huge deal.” My tone is almost grouchy, though I don’t mean for it to be. “It’s marriage. A vow. A promise.” I look out the window, trying not to shake my head. “And you’re too nice because you agreed to it just so that my kid could have health insurance.”
I don’t know why it upsets me so much that Tripp doesn’t seem to understand how big of a deal it is that he married me, but it does. Perhaps it’s because he’s never been married—at least not to my knowledge.
“Have you been married before?” I blurt out, suddenly curious if this is something he just does randomly and thinks it’s not a big thing.
“Nope,” he says vacantly, only getting under my skin more, though, deep down, I know if he’d told me yes, I would have been more pissed and maybe even a little jealous.
“Well, what you did, it’s a huge deal, Tripp,” rushes from my mouth. “So, stop downplaying it, would you?”
“Aye, aye, captain,” he says, keeping his mouth in a straight line.
It’s obvious I’m not getting anywhere with this conversation, so I choose not to say anything else. And as we drive down the driveway, we’re both quiet before he pulls in front of a house. It’s hard to tell how big it is because of all of the trees and plants surrounding it, but when he parks his truck and I look around a bit, I realize … this is his house.
And his house is fucking beautiful.
On one of the large rocks, I put the basket on the blanket and stare awkwardly down at my handiwork. I did this. I, Tripp Talmage, defined as the grumpiest NHL player and the man who doesn’t smile, just married a woman so that her daughter—who I barely know—could get surgery, and then I proceeded to set up a whole picnic on the coastline in front of my house for my now wife.
My wife, who can hardly look at me, and yet I continue doing this pathetic shit for her, just to make her more comfortable because I fucking hate how sad she looks.
And what I hate most of all is that I put the sadness there just from being here right now. I’m not the man she wants, but I’m who she’s stuck with.
I know I’ll never be the love of her life; she’s already had and lost that, but whatever she’ll let me be … if it means I can be around her, I’ll do it with a fucking smile on my face.
“Wow, Tripp.” She attempts to smile, looking down at the blanket and basket. “This is beautiful.” She turns slightly and lifts her hand, pointing her finger toward the ocean. “Also, what a view you have.”
“Thanks.” I stare out at the water, something I went most of my life without even seeing before moving to Maine. “It’s grown on me a bit.”
“Grown on you, huh?” she tosses back, amused. “Don’t sound so excited.” Taking a seat on the rock, she curls her legs beside her. “How could it not grow on you? You must love listening to the boats in the bay in the morning or the sound of the water hitting the sand.” She pushes her arms back, relaxing her weight on them. “There’s just no place like Maine.” Suddenly, a shiver runs through her. “Even in the fall and winter when it’s cold, it’s so beautiful.”
It’s fifty degrees out, but there’s not much wind, making it more tolerable to be outside. Despite the semi-warm temp, her thin fleece isn’t enough to keep her from getting cold with the ocean breeze. Reaching in mybag, I grab another blanket that I got from inside the house, and on instinct, I lean forward, draping it over her shoulders. For a moment, she tenses, but when I step back, she gives me a bashful smile.
“Thank you, Tripp.” She pulls it snugly around herself. “That’s much better actually.”
“Can’t have my wife be cold.” I say the words lightheartedly, but instantly, I regret them.
She’s a fucking widow, and I need to be respectful of that. Tossing the wordwifearound isn’t doing that, but after her shoulders tense for a brief second, thankfully, she relaxes and almost giggles slightly. I have to fight off a sigh of relief.
I pull out some of the snacks from the basket, spreading them all out on the blanket. And because I wasn’t sure what she even liked, I got a pretty big variety, figuring I’d pick at least something right.
“Oh my gosh, I’m starving. This all looks so good,” she coos, reaching for the snacks and pawing through them.
She’s not bashful, like some women I’ve been on a date with—especially ones who are a lot younger than me. Freya grabs some cheese and crackers, assuredly helping herself.
Freya is unlike any of the women I’ve spent time with. She carries herself differently—with a certain type of confidence. Hell, she’s a mom. She’s had to look out for three other humans and put them first while also keeping them safe. She’s mature and refined. She might not be completely confident in her own skin when she’s with me just yet, but I don’t think she cares because impressing me isn’t her top priority. Taking care of her kids is. And for some reason, I find that so fucking attractive.
Some of the dates I’ve been on were with women who cared more about the latest clothing trends or how many likes and follows they had on social media. I might not know Freya that well, but I’d bet money that she doesn’t give a fuck about any of that, just as long as her kids have everything they need.
Within seconds, she’s grabbing another piece of cheese and a few more crackers. “Mmm …” she almost moans, making my cock twitch to life. “These crackers are so good.”
She doesn’t even know how fucking hot she is, and I think that makesher even more attractive. She’s not trying to impress me or sound sexy with her delicious moans. She’s just simply existing, and that’s it.
“How’s Avy—Aviana been doing?” I correct myself. Last time I called her Avy, I sensed it made Freya uneasy because of the way her face fell.
