Page 96 of Under Pressure

Without eavesdropping, I open the right side of the fridge and start sorting through the groceries inside.

“Have you ever had cowboy meatballs before?”

I look over my shoulder, finding her standing behind me with her eyes narrowed inside the fridge.

“No. I haven’t had a whole lot of anything that doesn’t come from a box in my life.” I brush my hair off my forehead. “Beck wants me to remind you of G code.”

“Of course he did.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Want to give them a try? It’s a Rourke family recipe, and I know for a fact my son has all of the ingredients here. He used to guilt me and his grandmother into making them for him every time he went out to her ranch, and he always keeps the supplies on hand now just in case.”

“I can’t imagine Beck on a ranch.” I rub my forearm as a stark image of Beck in a pair of cowboy boots and Wrangler jeans floods my thoughts. “Are they spicy?”

“Oh, he loved going. We haven’t been out for a couple of years, though. As for the meatballs, they’re usually a bit spicy. Thoughts?” She watches my face tighten up and then winks. “I can make it work without the chiles. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Thank you. A high spice tolerance must run in your family.”

Backing up a step, I let her in front of me so she can rifle through the fridge. She’s so small that the fridge looks massive in comparison. It’s hard to believeshebirthed Beck. From the photos I’ve seen and the spotty memories, her husband is a huge guy, which I guess helps a bit.

“I’ve never put much thought into it, but I suppose you’re right. I’ve always been a bit heavy-handed with my seasonings, and when nobody complained, I just kept going until they did. Turns out that both my husband and son made an agreement back when Beck was ten that they’d never complain about anything I cooked for them. I’m sure you can imagine how that turned out for them from time to time.”

With a pound of ground beef in her arms, along with a bunchof other random items, she spins and stalks to the other side of the island. I roll my lips when her attention shifts to the pantry I’ve become quite familiar with lately, already prepped to help grab whatever she needs.

“They choked down a few meals, I’m guessing?”

She barks a laugh and takes the lead before I can. With a tug, she has the pantry open and is grabbing at items. “Oh, more than a few. Maybe that’s when they stopped being spice sensitive. I’ve burned their taste buds too badly for them to feel it anymore.”

“I grew up on noodle cups and Hamburger Helper, so mine are completely intact.”

My throat tightens as I move past her and quickly grab the things she’s collected in her hands. She doesn’t try to stop me, and I appreciate it. I take a fleeting glance at the ever-growing collection of peppermint tea boxes and organic honey jars and force my stomach to stop fluttering before I fly away.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart, because I’ve got one big head full of recipes to share. Come help me, and for the love of God, please confirm that the collection of honey taking up that entire shelf is for you, because he’s highly allergic to it.”

I sputter a laugh that isn’t really a laugh more than an awkward choking noise and whip my head in her direction. “He’s what?”

“The last time he touched the stuff, he swelled up so badly he spent a night in the hospital because they couldn’t get it to go down.”

So why in thefuckhas he been making me tea with it every single day?

The butterflies drop dead as I roughly drop the load of ingredients on the counter. “I hope you don’t take offense when I say that I’m going to yell at him the minute he gets home.”

“Not at all. Actually, I encourage it. That boy has always had the biggest heart, and he loves to give me a heart attack from time to time because of it. I’ve always said that he needs a strongwoman to keep him in check. He lets his heart lead him, and while I don’t think that’s a bad thing, it can be a dangerous one. Sometimes, he could use his head a bit more.”

Heat lashes up my spine. “Oh, we’re not together.”

“No?” she asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Not like that. He’s—I’m—” I tap my thigh anxiously. “Beck’s a nice guy. I’m only staying here until he gets back. My place should be done by then.”

Serena’s eyes twinkle as she nods nonchalantly and slides in beside me with a silver mixing bowl. “He called me after the first time he went to your café.”

“Oh?”

She hums, reaching for the beef. “Like I said, Beck lets his heart lead. That’s one of the things the media doesn’t see. When they write their little articles and giggle amongst themselves, thinking that they’ve wrangled him into a scandal, they miss who he truly is. Yes, my son likes to go out sometimes, but he has a good head on his shoulders. The best, if I’m allowed to brag.”

I stay still, holding the edge of the island while she dumps the beef into the bowl and shifts to wash her hands in the sink. The soap Beck came home with after hearing me complain about the original stuff drying out my hands and reeking like socks smells like fresh lemons as she lathers it in her palms.

“Maybe I’m overstepping by telling you all of this, and if I am, I give you permission to scold me and kick me out, but Beckett is far, far more than the media and Havoc fans have painted him out to be. He jokes and tries to pretend that he doesn’t get hurt when he hears the rumours sparked about him. It’s always been easier for him to flash a cocky smile to hide his vulnerability, and that’s the image that was picked up when he entered the league.

“Ever since he told me that he wanted to play professional sports when he grew up, I worried that this world would chew him up and spit him out. I did everything in my power to createa loving household so he could see that vulnerability and thoughtfulness were okay, and that love was not a weakness that could be used against him. Sure, he might be teased about the depth of his emotions by those who didn’t feel similarly, but it was the one thing I wanted to succeed with as a parent. If I could just teach him how to be respectful and love without limitations, then he’d thrive. He wouldn’t fall victim to the reputation that seems to grow like mould in a sport’s locker room.”