Ian couldn’t blame Christensen for that. Lucy’s husband, Frankie Hartigan, was the size of a small redwood tree with hands as big as baseball gloves. Hockey players never backed away from brawling, but taking on Hartigan wouldn’t be a fight, it would be suicide—especially when it came to even maybe sorta having hurt Lucy. The man did not fuck around when it came to the woman he loved.

“All right, now that we’re on the same page, I look forward to reading all the wonderful coverage on The Biscuit,” Lucy said, her tone leaving no doubt that she didn’t give a single solitary fuck if they agreed with her or not. This wasn’t a her-way-or-the-highway. There was only Lucy’s way. “Until then, I’m going to nap. The baby woke us up five times last night. If that kid ever learns to sleep through the night, I will never complain about anything ever again. Now, don’t kill each other while I sleep. This shirt is one of the few I have without baby spit-up stains on it, and I don’t want any blood splatter to ruin it.”

There were rumors that Lucy had a softer side—and he’d even seen it at her wedding when she was around her friends and family—but outside of that one time, he’d never witnessed it again. She was always in his top five scariest people he’d ever met in real life, and he played on the same line as Zach Blackburn, formerly the most hated man in Harbor City. Translation, Lucy was a take-no-shit badass.

Kind of like the other woman in the SUV.

He glanced over at Shelby. Her eyes were closed and her breathing steady, as if she’d followed Lucy’s lead and had fallen asleep immediately, but he wasn’t buying it. There was tension around those soft, way-too-kissable lips of hers that gave her away.

Fine. He could take a hint delivered with a two-by-four.

Out of habit, he opened his mouth to start shooting the shit with Christensen; then he realized what he was doing and closed it with enough force to make his teeth hurt. The two of them had spent every road trip debating which was the best Star Wars movie, busting chops about whomever the other was dating, and basically yammering about whatever popped into their heads nonstop until the plane landed or the bus arrived at the hotel. All of that was gone.

Good riddance.

Oh, he’d play nice with Shelby, who wanted to pretend that what had happened at the cabin hadn’t actually happened. He’d fake being able to tolerate Christensen, who’d spent years lying about who he really was straight to Ian’s face. However, that’s all it would be. None of it would mean a damn thing.

He was better off without either of them.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine