Chapter Three

I pull up in my driveway just in time for Allison to get home. I look up at my beautiful cottage I fell in love with. It was the first thing that was ever just mine. It was my reward, my sanity. It’s nothing extravagant, but it’s mine. Four little steps lead up to my wraparound porch where a hammock hangs. Around the corner leads into the back where I spend many nights falling into the love stories on my Kindle. I also have two white wooden Klondike chairs that I put for the kids to hang out in. I have beautiful tulip beds that are placed just under the railing. I know they don’t last long, but they are my favorite flowers, and I have always loved them.

When I look up, I see one of my reasons for living, my princess, running up the driveway with her lopsided pigtails.

“Moooommmmyyy! Moooooommmmmmyyy, I missed you, and Matthew didn’t make me pancakes. He said I wasn’t awolled to make my own, but then I told him he’s not the boss of me. Is he the boss of me, Mommy?” she asks all in one breath, cocking her head sideways.

I stick my nose in her neck and inhale my happiness. “Well, he isn’t the boss of you when I’m here, but since I have to work in the morning, he will be the one in charge. How about we make pancakes for supper? We can call it brupper.”

She smiles like I just gave her the keys to a magic kingdom. “We call it brupper. We have pancakes. Momma, can I pour it in the mixing bowl?”

I’m just about to answer her when my phone signals a text message. I shift her to my hip, kissing her nose while I look down and see an unknown number. It doesn’t take me long to know who it’s from.

What time is your highness arriving tomorrow?

I’m sorry. You have the wrong number! Are you typing from your throne? And who gave you my number? It’s unlisted.

Calm down. I’m not stalking you, and your phone number is at the bottom of the emails you sent me. So are you still showing up at 2:59?

Okay, I’ll make an exception for you since you’re a princess and all. I’ll be there at 2:55. That is the earliest I will get there. If that isn’t good enough, dress at home!

Princess, trust me, there is nothing female about me.

What the fucking fuck is happening here? Is he fucking flirting with me after basically being the biggest asshole of all time?

Okay, so 2:55 it is. See you then, Stone.

I put away my phone, turning my focus back to one of the most important things. My girl.

“So did you want chocolate chips on those pancakes or are we doing Mickey Mouse ones?”

She giggles and squeals, and in that moment no matter how much I want James to suffer for breaking my heart, he gave me the best thing ever.

The rest of the week goes by without incident. Well, if you count me ignoring him when he talks and him still being condescending, then it’s just like before.

I really can’t wait for this weekend to come. The kids are leaving tonight for their week with their father and his concubine. I don’t think the bitterness will leave, ever. I also don’t think I will ever get used to sharing the kids. The house just dies when they aren’t here.

I skate off the ice and head to take off my skates, slipping my feet into flip flops. When I’m finally finished, I check my messages. One is from James. Gross. I wonder if he ever washes his hands after sex. One is from Meghan. Hmmm, which one to click first? Meghan it is!

Hey, we are getting together here tonight. I can’t find a sitter, so it’s better for everyone to come over. Starts at around 7-ish. I’ll be making my famous martinis. Should I make up the guest room?

YES YES AND FUCK YES. Double that recipe. I need to clear my head.

Hmmm. You need to have sex with a certain hockey player, just don’t pull the goalie.

How the hell did you even land yourself a hockey husband?

Meghan and her husband, Tom, have been married for two years. He was my first NHL star client recovering from a broken leg. He came in there falling in love with the town, the people, and most of all Meghan. It also helped that she got pregnant right away. Not that it was a mistake by any means. It just upped their plans. She then surprised him even more by giving him twin girls named Greysen and Harper. So he hung up his professional skates and decided to stick around. He now helps me train the high school kids and brings in most of the big names. I wonder if he knows Cooper. Ugh, dude, get a hobby. Forget him.

My next text is James.

I will be picking the kids up at the regular time, if that is okay? I also don’t know if I can make it to Matthew’s hockey game on Sunday since Tiffany’s family will be down visiting. Do you think you can take both Allison and Matthew till Monday?

You fucking piece of shit sorry excuse for a fucking male.

You know that you have been missing quite a few games lately, and I’m just going to point out that Matthew is not really back to the kid he was before the divorce. I thought you would make more of an effort.

My blood is boiling. I can’t believe him. Matthew barely acknowledges his dad. Why he doesn’t want to mend that relationship is beyond me.

Parker, I really don’t have the energy to argue with you. I had no idea about these plans, and they can’t be changed. I have been trying to deal with Matthew, it’s just a rough patch.

He doesn’t have energy. Maybe the energizer bunny is finally slowing down. Hmm, maybe someone is listening to my prayers.

A rough patch. It’s been two years. The longer you continue this, the harder it will take to get it back. Don’t you see that he’s 15? He needs his father. Just have the kids ready by 10:00.

I don’t even bother waiting for a response because Cooper sits on the stool in front of the counter and clears his throat. I can’t deal with this bullshit right now.

“I thought you would have had my stuff done already?”

“You mean your shake that takes a whole three seconds to make? What I find funny is that you take longer to undress than to dress.”

“You thinking about me undressing, baby?”

I slam his glass on the counter.

“Don’t fucking call me baby.” I turn around to storm upstairs, muttering asshole under my breath.

The rest of the week goes by much the same, except with the little dabs from Cooper here and there. Little dabs toward me. The workouts kicked his ass, pushed him, but instead of giving me lip like he normally did, he would smirk at me or wink at me. At times it made my stomach flutter. But, then at times, I wanted to take his hockey stick and jab his eyes out. It was always a fifty-fifty by how things were going to happen.