Page 22 of Ice Me Out

“You were by yourself?” he asked in disbelief.

“Most of the time, yes. Family tried stepping in, but I was old enough to say no, so they left it alone. It was lonely at times, sure, but I remember him coming home every time he lost big and crying about how he lost his true love, and I was the only thing he had left.” I wiped away a stray tear on my dinner napkin. “He’d gotten better at one point, and things were really looking up for him. His businesses were profitable, and he started coming around more often. I can’t tell you for sure what had changed, but I was grateful for it. If I had to guess, he started gambling again when I stopped coming home from college as much. And now here I am. I’m disappointed in him, but I love him and want him to get the help he needs.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes until Hart said, “You want to get fucked up and redo the night?”

“Yeah, fuck it. I don’t have classes tomorrow,” I agreed readily.

“Pick your poison.”

“Tequila. And don’t forget the salt and limes.”

Hart of Gold

Vera

I hung on every word as Hart gave me the rundown of all his philanthropic endeavors. He provided a yearly stipend to a few local inner-city schools to support their hockey programs. That included establishing a team if they didn’t have one, paying coaching staff salaries, providing uniforms and equipment, and covering travel and accommodation expenses. He launched the Emerald Chef Scholarship Fund, providing $10,000 annually to ten aspiring chefs entering culinary school. He donated to child hunger initiatives and mental health organizations. And if none of that impressed you, he even donated to a local organization that trained service dogs for veterans.

And now I feel like an asshole for judging him and believing he was nothing but a cocky, dick-slinging pro athlete.

“I help newly single mothers re-establish themselves.”

I blinked repeatedly, unsure if I had heard him correctly.

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“All right. I’m officially cutting you off,” he said, laughing as he moved the tequila bottle far out of my reach.

“I’m not that drunk,” I protested.

“You’re drunk enough,” he replied, pouring me a glass of water from the pitcher DeAndre left behind. “Here. Drink this.”

Without hesitation, I downed the water and motioned for him to refill it.

“Okay. Now that I’m properly hydrated and alert, can you run that last part by me again—the part about the single mothers?”

“Sure. I help recent single mothers re-establish themselves. I own two apartment buildings, and I leave one unit vacant in each building for this purpose.”

“Oh, my God. That’s amazing. How do you find these women, or how do they find you?”

“The social workers from the schools I partnered with will refer them.”

“Th-that’s amazing. So, how does it work? What’s the criteria?”

“I help single mothers who are at risk of becoming homeless with their child or children. They stay rent-free and are connected to resources they need to become independent.”

“How long can they stay?”

“I don’t like to put a time limit; however, we do everything we can to set these women up for success, and most are out within a year.”

“Was your mother the inspiration?”

“Somewhat. She panicked when my dad left because she was a stay-at-home mom and wasn’t confident that he would help with the bills or that she’d find a job. A few nights, I found her at the kitchen table, circling waitressing jobs in the newspapers. Once I overheard her whispering with Ms. Kelly on the front porch about being unsure if she could cover the rent. Ms. Kelly told her not to worry because she’d have us covered if we needed anything. I remember the pure relief on my mother’s face when she found an envelope stuffed with cash from my dad. Every first of the month, he made sure that the envelope was in the mailbox. I don’t feel that any woman should live in fear and have to worry about where her child will lay their head or if they’ll eat the next day.”

I was speechless. There I was, sitting beside a man who checked all my boxes, but I couldn’t have him. He was handsome, intelligent, thoughtful, talented, funny, and generous.

It’s a shame that whatever may transpire between us has an expiration date.

“I come bearing gifts!” DeAndre announced, returning to our table with two saucers. I bit back a moan at the sight of the decadent chocolate cheesecake before me.