Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
JESSIE
I t must be some kind of record when I’m the first to get to the gym on Monday morning.
Fuck me, even Zach isn’t here.
My next therapy session with the team psych, Ashley, is scheduled right after this, and the thought of walking into her room and talking with her settles heavily in the pit of my stomach. There’s only one person I’ll consider sharing with.
Maybe Mia thought I’d opened up with her because of the alcohol, but the truth is, that night in her dorm room, I wanted to talk—or at least offer her a part of me.
That was, until her friend arrived home and interrupted us.
The temptation to pull out my phone, scroll to her contact—which I have saved under S for the nickname I gave her years ago—and type her a message, asking how her day was, is overwhelming.
I’d thought I knew Mia Jenkins, but on Sunday morning, she surprised me—she didn’t judge me for the state I was in on Saturday night. All she wanted was to understand, and she started with my tattoos. She asked questions about me that I wanted to answer. I’d meant it when I said she made me feel safe. She always had. But in that moment, on her bed in her dorm, I’d never wanted to kiss her so badly. She’d caught a glimpse of the real me, the ink that represented so much. She didn’t get irritated when I struggled to explain what they were and how they had gotten there. Instead, she sat and ate pancakes with me thirty minutes later. Talking to me about hockey.
I know she wants me to open up and tell her more.
And I want to let her right the fuck in, crack the door and give her access to all of me. If only the monsters I can’t control wouldn’t walk through with her.
“Fuck me, you’re here—and early. Put the flag out or something.” Zach walks past me, heading to the changing rooms.
I pocket my phone and follow behind him.
“You disappeared fast on Saturday night.” Zach pulls off his jacket and starts changing his sneakers. “One second, you had been having a drink with us all; the next, you were making your excuses to head to the restroom and never came back.”
I pull at the back of my neck. “I told you I wasn’t up for going out. I had a drink with you guys.”
“Would’ve been nice if you’d at least answered our texts and calls. You know, to let us know where you were.”
I would have if I’d known myself. But somehow, I’m in a random bar and on my fourth scotch didn’t quite sit right.
“Yeah, sorry, man,” I reply.
Three more guys enter the room, followed by Jensen. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as he pushes past and immediately begins getting changed.
Shit.
“How’re June and Will?” I ask, approaching cautiously.
One thing about Jensen Jones, no matter how pissed he is, the second you mention his wife—or in this case, his kids—our crazy-ass goalie melts into a puddle.
“Don’t try that one,” he bites out, still not looking at me.
“Huh. That moody then?”
“No, Jessie. Just fucking perplexed as to why you constantly go AWOL.” He turns to me, a serious look on his face. “Are you seeing her again?”
My eyes flare, and he clearly catches himself as his head darts around the locker room. Thankfully, everyone is busy laughing and joking, and some others, including Zach, are already in the gym.
“I’ve seen her, yeah. Seeing her? No.”
“And that’s where you were on Saturday night, right?”
“Yeah. I went to her. To talk.”
Jensen’s eyes soften as he sees the anguish in me. “You know that I’m here for you too, right? You aren’t alone.”
I drop my head between my shoulders and exhale slowly. “I know. There’s a lot that’s changed for you though, man. With Kate and the twins. You have a lot going on, and I don’t want to get in the way.”
He reaches out and sets a hand on my shoulder. “Jessie, you are never in the way, and when you’re ready to talk, I’m always ready to listen. I just get concerned when you disappear and ghost us. It happens a lot.”
I nod once and grab my wrist tape from his bench, trying to deflect from the conversation. “This is mine.”
He snatches it back and rolls his lips together. “Look at it as penance for ignoring my texts all weekend.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so fucking needy. Also, you didn’t answer my question. How’re my niece and nephew?”
He zips his bag shut and smiles. “June and Will are good. Kate’s fucking stressed though.”
“Why?”
He dumps himself down on the bench, bending over to do up his laces. “Her maternity leave ends in a month. She’s stressing over going back—how many hours to do, what her cases will look like when she takes them back from Nina ‘Bitchface’ Higgins. She’s giving herself a hard time, feeling guilty about leaving June and Will.” He blows out a humorless laugh. “I don’t think it helps that we barely get any time to go out together. I think what she needs is a date night with me, but our nanny just quit since she’s getting married and moving away, and I’m not about to invite her parents over to sit for us.”
Kate Jones could rival me in the closed-book department. What I do know about her is, her family sucks ass—other than her brother, Easton, who works in the Middle East. From what Jensen has told me, Violet and Henry Monroe are lucky to be free people after being caught up in a huge tax scandal. Pretty much all their assets were seized and sold to pay off bills and unpaid staff wages. They swapped their huge mansion for a modest two-bedroom house, and Kate hasn’t seen them in over a year.
“Well, I could help.”
I gotta admit, avoiding his texts on Saturday was a shitty move. Babysitting June and Will is the least I can do. Not to mention, I love the twins with my whole damn heart. I’ll never forget the time Jensen told me he had named his son after my brother.
I swallow down the lump forming in my throat. “If you want?”
He smirks and stands from the bench. He’s only got a couple of inches on me, but in his mid-thirties, he sometimes feels like the father figure I never had. “You ever change a diaper before?”
If you count the times I had to change my own, then yeah.
“I can manage. When do you need me?”
A cheeky smile spreads across his face as he takes a sip of water from his bottle.
I hold up a hand. “I don’t need the freaky details, just where and when and for how long.”
“This Friday night. It’s our last game before the bye week, and I want to take her out to the same French restaurant I took her to a couple of birthdays back. Probably be a few hours, max.”
“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
Walking back out into the gym, we’re met with blaring music and a horde of guys working out.
Coach stands in the center of the room and raises a brow at us. “You planning on joining us this morning or what?”
“Yep.” Jensen pops the P and then turns to me. “When you’re ready to talk, just know I’ll be waiting.”
MIA
J
Still thinking about those pancakes …
My phone buzzes on my desk, and Tara’s eyes dart to the screen, lit up with Jessie’s message.
“Ooh.” She leans in and speaks low so the professor can’t hear. “Is Pancake Boy the same guy on the other side of your door on Saturday night?”
On a side-eye, I pick up my phone and drop it into my bag.
“It is, isn’t it? You guys were quiet on Saturday. I didn’t hear a thing.”
I side-eye her again. “I hope you aren’t expecting details because I have none to give.”
She visibly deflates and sticks out her bottom lip. “Does he have a name? I assume it begins with J .”
In my head, I cycle through possible names starting with J . I feel like I have to offer her something to at least not raise suspicion.
“Jay,” I hiss.
Fucking Jay? Imaginative, Mia.
She balks. “What?! As in Jay Macintosh, the football player in his senior year? Well, he is always in the library, so that wouldn’t surprise me. You two probably hook up near the Historical Romance section.”
My brain whirls in panic. Christ, is that the guy who smiled at me that day I saw Jessie?
“No. No, not him,” I rush out quickly.
The professor stops talking, throwing daggers our way. He begins speaking again, and I duck down slightly.
“You don’t know him. He doesn’t go here, hence why we were sneaking around.”
“Like, an older guy?” she whispers back, her eyes wide.
“Yeah, exactly.” I cringe. “But it’s nothing serious. I doubt I’ll see him again.”
“Ohh, a one-and-done type of arrangement.” She leans back in her chair and chews on the tip of her pen. “I didn’t have you pinned as someone who does that, but fair play, girl.”
I can’t help it; a smile spreads on my face, but not for the reasons she’s thinking. If only she knew the truth …
“We’re all headed out on Thursday night. There’s this bar in town that Leo keeps saying is really great. Wanna come? If you aren’t seeing Pancake Boy, that is.”
“You mean Jay?” I correct her, feeling ridiculous for keeping up the lie.
She taps her pen against her lips in thought. “No, I think I prefer Pancake Boy. Anyway, are you coming or not?”
I would rather stick pins in my eyes, but unfortunately for me, Thursday isn’t a night I have a shift at the florist, so my excuses are running low.
“Is it better than the place we went to for New Year’s?”
She shrugs. “Apparently. It’s got a private area in the back, and Leo is talking about booking a booth since it’s his birthday this weekend.”
“It is?” Shit, I didn’t know that.
She nods. “I had no idea what to get him, so I just picked up a gift card for the record store he likes downtown.”
I don’t think flowers will be his thing, but cash is really short right now. “That’s really thoughtful. I haven’t gotten him anything.”
“Well, if Pancake Boy really was a one-and-done deal, I’m pretty sure I can think of a couple of things Leo would thank you for,” Tara adds.
I press the pen harder into my pad as I continue to try to focus on the class and take some kind of meaningful notes. “Oh, yeah?” I ask innocently.
She scoffs quietly. “Oh, come on. You know he has the hots for you.”
“He does?” I continue to play along.
“Yes,” she hisses, garnering another seething look from the professor.
“You’re going to get us kicked out of this class in a minute.”
She leans forward and begins writing. “And we couldn’t have that, could we? Good girls don’t get kicked out of lectures.”
I inwardly roll my eyes. I’m ready to change the conversation—or better yet, put an end to it altogether. “What’s the name of the bar?”
She stops writing and looks across the room, clearly trying to remember. “I know it’s a sports bar. I want to say it begins with an S .”
“Helpful,” I reply dryly. I don’t know why I’m so damn moody, but I am.
“All right, don’t get your panties in a twist,” she replies, pulling out her phone and quickly typing something, although I can’t see to who, and I get back to note-taking.
A couple more minutes pass, and finally, I feel like I’ve rejoined the room and started to follow the class. Although Jessie’s unanswered text plays in the back of my mind, firing off excitement in my stomach. Once I’m out and away from prying eyes, I’ll reply to Pancake Boy.
“Aha!” Tara announces. “I was close with the S , just one letter off in the alphabet. Riley’s! That’s the name of the bar.”