30. Jessica
Chapter thirty
Jessica
T he flight back to Colorado is quiet, contemplative. The snowy peaks below stretch endlessly under the sky, and as Eric dozes beside me, I replay the whirlwind of the last few days. Meeting his mom in Las Vegas was emotional, intense—and yet, it seemed to bring him a kind of closure he hadn’t expected. Seeing him finally get answers felt like witnessing a part of him come home. I feel closer to him, grounded in ways I hadn’t expected.
Eric stirs, his head lifting from his shoulder. He blinks, his groggy gaze meeting mine as he stretches. “We back yet?” he mumbles with a grin.
“Almost,” I whisper, smiling. “Just a little more snow and a quick drive, and then we’re home.”
The plane touches down in Denver, and as we step off, the sharp bite of cold hits us immediately, a stark contrast to the Vegas sun. A few scattered flurries drift down, and Eric lets out a breath that hangs in the air, watching it with a bemused look.
“Colorado knows how to make you feel alive, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, pulling his jacket tighter. I laugh, nodding in agreement.
The ride home from the airport is smooth, the roads icy but manageable. Eric is at the wheel, his hand resting casually on the gearshift as he drives, and I settle into the rhythm of the drive, watching the snow-covered trees blur by. Every now and then, he glances over, his smile relaxed and easy.
“So, are you excited to be back? To start the new year in Colorado?” I ask, curious.
“Yeah,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Vegas was a lot. Good, but a lot. I think I needed it, though.” He pauses, taking a steadying breath. “Having Linda in my life feels like the start of something different, something better.”
I nod, watching him carefully. “You mean like maybe finding some peace with your grandparents’ decisions… and your mom’s?”
“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze fixed on the road. “I think that’s part of it. And being back here… I don’t know. It’s weird; I’m starting to feel like this could be home.”
My heart skips, and I bite my lip, gathering the courage to say what I’ve been wondering for a while now. “Would you ever consider…staying in Colorado long term? I mean, Kip offered you a contract to stay with the Avalanche.”
Eric’s eyes flicker over to mine, a glint of surprise mixed with something unreadable. He’s silent for a moment, and I brace myself, wondering if I’ve overstepped so soon after his world being flipped upside down by meeting Linda. But then he sighs, his gaze softening.
I can’t get over how mature he seems since meeting his mom. I think there was something inside him that was always churning, always ill at ease, always knowing that there was a big piece of his life that was missing. And now, it’s been found.
“It’s crossed my mind,” he admits slowly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I mean, the Avalanche—they’ve got a solid team, a good culture, and a damn good chance of positioning me to lead them to the playoffs. But…” He trails off, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
“But Nashville hurt you?” I finish for him, realizing this is more than just a new contract for him. He feels betrayed. I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on this before. I watch him closely.
He nods, his expression hardening. “It’s not just that they traded me. They painted this narrative that I was uncommitted, unstable—even a liability. It spread like wildfire, and I can’t get rid of the feeling that signing with anyone else, especially so soon, will make it seem like they were right. Like I’m just bouncing from team to team.”
I reach over, placing my hand on his arm. “Eric, you know that’s not true. You work harder than anyone I know. You’re anything but a liability.”
His mouth curves into a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Jess. I know you believe that. But signing with the Avalanche feels like a big commitment, and I just don’t know if I’m ready to put myself out there again like that. Not yet anyway.”
I nod, understanding but also feeling a quiet ache in my chest. I want him here, and the idea that he might leave again brings a sense of dread I haven’t felt in a long time. “So…what would it take for you to feel ready?”
He shrugs, his gaze distant. “I don’t know. Time, maybe? Or maybe just a little more faith that this…could be my place. I don’t want to go through another mess like Nashville. It’s like I gave them everything, and they just tossed me aside. You know?”
I nod, biting back the urge to argue, to insist that this is different. But I know this is his decision, one he has to come to on his own terms.
The road stretches on, and we slip into a comfortable silence. Snowflakes begin to fall more heavily, creating a soft white blanket on the surrounding ground. When we finally pull into the driveway, the house looks inviting, warm lights spilling from the windows.
We step inside, shedding coats and boots in the entryway. The house is silent, and there’s a peacefulness here that feels different from anywhere else. I breathe it in, letting it settle inside me, and glance over at Eric, who’s taking it all in with that familiar look of quiet contemplation.
“Home sweet home,” I say, hanging up my coat and kicking off my boots.
He grins, that boyish charm breaking through. “It’s good to be back.”
The fireplace crackles in the corner, filling the space with warmth, and as we settle in, I grab a couple of mugs, pouring us both some tea. Eric sits beside me, the warmth of his body close, and I feel myself relax, the stress of the trip melting away.
“Hey, I know you’re uncertain about the contract,” I say, breaking the silence. “But I want you to know that whatever you decide, I’m here for you. And not just as…you know, someone you’re fake dating.” I stumble over the words, but I keep going. “I mean, I’m here for the long haul, whatever that means for us.”
He looks at me, something vulnerable in his gaze. “You mean that?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I don’t care where you play or what happens with your career. I just care about you. And I know Colorado would be lucky to have you.”
Eric’s fingers tighten around mine, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to say something important, something that could change everything. But he just leans in, brushing a kiss to my forehead, then my cheek, and finally my lips, his touch gentle but filled with meaning.
“Jessica,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You make me want to stay. Not because of the team or the city, but because you’re here.”
His words hit me like a rush of warmth, filling me with a mix of happiness and relief.
We sit there in the quiet of the living room, the snow falling softly outside, and for the first time, I feel like we’re not just skirting around something. We’re facing it head-on, together, and it feels like we’re both finally ready to embrace whatever comes next.
But then he leans back, his gaze contemplative. “Jessica, if I stay, if I really stay, it’s going to mean letting go of all that baggage I’ve been carrying from Nashville.” He chuckles humorlessly. “It seems that’s all I’ve done since moving here, letting go of old beliefs with my mom and my grandparents, and now needing to let go of my doubts about trusting this team.”
“You’ll have to let go eventually,” I say gently. “And maybe staying here is a part of that.”
He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You’re probably right. I just don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep. You know?”
“I don’t want you to, either,” I reassure him. “Just being open to the possibility of staying is enough for now.”
He smiles, that spark of mischief returning to his eyes. “You’re kind of smart, you know that?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” I tease, poking him in the ribs.
Eric laughs, pulling me into his arms, and I settle against him, the world outside fading away. I’m here with him, and it feels like this could be the beginning of something lasting. Sure, we’re still in a fake relationship and it’s fragile most of the time, but it’s a start. It’s not what I would want long term, but it works for now.
The rest of the evening passes quietly, and as the hours slip by, I find myself feeling more at home with him than ever before. We don’t need the noise, the excitement of Vegas, or the flashiness of the city. We don’t need parties and a big penthouse to be happy. Heck, we don’t even need a huge following on social media looking into our personal lives, much to Allison’s chagrin. We just need each other. It’s simple. And it’s pure.
As we head to bed in his room, he turns to me, his gaze serious once again. “I want you to know, I really am thinking about it. About signing with the Avalanche.”
“Good,” I say, feeling peace settle over me. I want to make sure I’m not pressuring him. It is his life and his right to decide, after all. I add, “Whatever you decide, I support you.”
He pulls me close, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that feels like a promise, one that lingers long after we finally fall asleep.
***
Two days later, I find myself pacing the length of the living room, stealing glances at my phone every few seconds, waiting for Eric to call or text. I haven’t heard from him since he left for the arena this morning, but with the game only hours away, I can’t expect him to be glued to his phone. Tonight’s game is huge, one of many that will determine if the Avalanche can make it into the playoffs. Since the season started up again after the holiday break, the stakes for every game have been high, and I can see how much it means to Eric. I want him to know that I’m here for him, no matter what.
To distract myself, I turn on the game’s pre-show coverage, where sports commentators discuss the Avalanche’s chances of making it to the playoffs. As they analyze Eric’s recent performances, I feel a surge of pride. This game is his chance to shine and leave everything behind—Nashville, the doubts, and the nagging fear of not belonging. I just wish I could be there to remind him of that. I should be working in the home office, but I’m too wound up.
But then, my phone buzzes on the coffee table, and my heart leaps, hoping it’s Eric with a quick “wish me luck.” Instead, the name flashing on my screen belongs to the PR lead from the Avalanche, Amanda. I groan. She’s been put on other projects lately, since my fake relationship with Eric is going so well. What does she want?
“Jessica, have you seen the front page of The Press ?” Amanda’s voice is tight, skipping any pleasantries.
I pause, confused. “The front page? No, I haven’t—what’s going on?”
“It’s…it’s about Eric. Well, mostly his mom.” Her voice drops, softer now, as if she’s breaking bad news. “You need to tell Eric not to look at the headlines. Not until after the game. Oh, and he should skip any post-game interviews until we get a handle on this.” She ends the call, promising to call back with a strategy.
The pit in my stomach sinks even further as I swipe open a browser on my phone, typing in The Press ’s website, and there it is. Right on the front page, along with a black-and-white photo of Eric’s mother: NHL Star’s Mother Battled Addiction—Son Discovers Her Past in Vegas Rehab Center. Beneath the headline are details, grossly manipulated, of Linda’s history, Eric’s connection to her, and even quotes from “anonymous sources” who somehow saw their reunion.
My blood runs cold as I skim through the lines, barely registering half the words. The article paints a tragic picture of Linda, of her struggle to overcome her addiction, and of her decision to stay away from Eric when he was young. It’s an invasive exposé that reveals so much more than it has any right to.
It hits me then—Eric was right. Back in Vegas, he’d noticed someone tailing us, someone with an interest in where we were going. And I hadn’t wanted to believe it. I hadn’t thought anyone would go to such lengths to expose something so deeply personal and vulnerable, especially not about Linda.
Panic claws at me as I realize Eric probably hasn’t even seen this yet. If he finds out now, just before the game…no, I can’t let him see it yet. Amanda’s right about that. I try calling him, hoping I can reach him before someone else mentions the article.
He doesn’t answer.
I send a text, telling him to not look at the news, that he should just focus on the game. But deep down, I know it’s too late to shield him from this. Word travels fast, and there are too many people at the arena who may already have seen it. I can almost picture his reaction, his face hardening, that mask he wears when he’s hurting but refuses to show it.
And the anger. I know Eric well enough by now to know that anger will be his first reaction. I can imagine him feeling like this article confirmed every one of his worst fears about opening up to people, about trusting too easily, about letting his guard down.
I sink onto the couch, my mind racing. I know exactly what needs to be done next. There’s no way a publication should have been able to get away with this. I know it in my gut, and even without being an entertainment attorney specializing in protecting people from invasive and unethical journalistic practices, I know that Linda and Eric both have grounds to go after them for privacy invasion.
I scroll through my contacts and dial a number I haven’t called in weeks. My father’s name flashes on the screen, and I take a steadying breath as I hear his voice on the other end. I’m still mad at him, but I also need his help.
“Jessica? This is a surprise.” Then his voice changes from friendly to one of utmost concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Hi, Dad. I… I need your help.”
I dive straight into the story, sparing no detail about Eric, his mother, and how the journalist apparently posed as a rehab patient to gain access to Linda’s records and their private lives. Dad listens, his voice calm but steely as he assesses the situation, asking all the right questions, making notes, planning out a strategy as only he can. My dad is many things that I prefer he wasn’t, but this part of him, the professional problem solver, is a part of him I admire.
When I finish, he’s quiet for a moment. “Jess, this is serious. I’m not sure who Eric’s existing representation is, but I’m happy to look into privacy violation claims. This story—it sounds like The Press crossed major lines, possibly even criminal ones, if they impersonated someone to access restricted areas.”
My shoulders relax, the smallest amount of relief seeping in. “Thank you, Dad. I just couldn’t think of anyone else who could help us.”
“Jess,” he says, his tone softening. “Let me handle this. I’ll get in touch with a few colleagues in Denver who specialize in sports and entertainment. We’ll do everything we can to make sure this gets handled.”
When we hang up, I finally exhale. But my heart is still pounding, knowing that even if we can fight this legally, the damage is already done. Linda’s story is out there now, and Eric is facing his worst nightmare.