Even so, I would prefer to work with dough right now, take some of this . . . energy out on it. But the tarts . . . well, they had to be done.

“I apologize for leaving so abruptly.” It hurt to say, but some things always did.

Mamie tutted lightly and without censure. “I understand. Though perhaps our guest might not.”

Our guest. My gut flipped uncomfortably. I was six feet four and 220 pounds of bone and muscle. Men feared facing off with me. And yet I’d run away from a five-foot-six woman I could lift with one arm like my ass was on fire.

What must she think of me? I grabbed another lemon, sliced it open, and crushed it over the sieve with my bare hand. Bright, fresh citrus invaded my senses. She liked the scent of lemons. Said they reminded her of happiness.

The kitchen was warm with the heat from the ovens, where I was baking baguettes. On the stove, tonight’s dinner simmered away, releasing the fragrant mix of wine-roasted vegetables and thyme. Ordinarily, I found pleasure in these things, but not today.

“You think I ought to apologize to her; is that it?” I ground out.

Mamie stared at me for a long moment, then sighed. “Only if you want to. Insincere apologies are worthless.”

“I’ll do it,” I said, concentrating on my lemons. “But I don’t want to.”

She laughed and set her cool hand on my arm. “Ah, Titou, your blunt honesty is a beautiful thing. Never change.”

“Hmm.”

“Leave it be for now. Perhaps later . . .”

“Mamie.” I set the lemon down and turned her way. “You need to quit with the matchmaking.”

“Matchmaking?”

I gave her a long look. “I mean it. I’m not ready for a relationship.”

The thought of opening myself up to anyone, much less someone who might own my heart and therefore crush it, turned my stomach.

Fact was I’d kept away from women since Cassandra had waltzed out less than a month after I’d quit the game. She’d made it crystal clear that my position on the ice was what she valued. Then again, I’d been in such a dark place at the time—I had to take some blame as well; I wasn’t exactly easy to be around anymore. I’d been bitter when she left, but I didn’t miss her, which was fairly telling. I’d become that person, shallowly wanting someone for how easy they made my life, not for who they were on the inside.

“Who said anything about a relationship?” Mamie countered, as though that wasn’t exactly what she’d been scheming. “I simply think you could use some companionship your own age.”

“Sal is my age,” I pointed out just to annoy her.

“And if you actually spent any time with him, maybe I wouldn’t worry so much.”

“We spend enough time together. He tells me what he wants to eat, and I tell him not to leave his shoes by the pool.” The amount of times I’d tripped over his fucking purple clogs . . . I was liable to chuck one at his head if it happened again.

“Oh, yes, highly in-depth conversation right there.” She scoffed, then wiped at the counter, as though trying to clean it; my workspace was immaculate. “Emma is different.”

No kidding.

“Perhaps you can relate to her.”

“Relate to her?”

“Yes, relate.” Mamie huffed. “She, too, has lost her way a bit.”

“Mamie . . .” I rubbed my face with a tired hand. “I haven’t lost my way a bit. I’m . . .” Broken. My throat closed up, and I grabbed a carton of eggs and a bowl. “I’m not the man I used to be. He’s just . . . gone. And what’s in his place isn’t anything a woman with a lick of sense would want.”

The egg tapped against the side of the bowl, and I cracked it open with care, concentrating on separating the pale whites from the deeply golden yolk. “Headaches, frustration, rage, apathy. I try to control these things, but they’re there all the same. Don’t push her in my direction. She deserves better than anything I could ever offer, Mamie.”

I didn’t see my grandmother move, but suddenly her frail arms wrapped around my waist, and she hugged me from behind, resting her head on my back. “Titou. Mon ange.”

I closed my eyes, feeling horrifyingly close to crying. I did not cry. I hadn’t even when they told me that was it for hockey. But I had to make her see. “I lost everything that meant anything to me.”

Mamie gave me a surprisingly strong and fierce squeeze. “You are here. Alive.” She drew back and glared at me with angry eyes. “It might feel like nothing right now. But you are alive. And that is all that matters.”

That was the rub. I could have stayed in the sport I loved with my whole heart. And risked dying. I chose life, but it didn’t feel that way. Training camp began in a few weeks. That knowledge sat like a black hole in my chest.