Chapter 9
NINE
Jari
I stepped into the meeting room already searching for an empty seat at this first planning meeting for Cam’s charity.
Maybe a dozen people were scattered around the long table, coats draped over chairs, takeaway cups clustered near a cardboard box stamped with the charity’s logo.
Conversation hummed under the scrape of chairs and the rustle of agenda packets; the kind of polite noise that made it clear everyone was still feeling each other out.
My chest tightened, and my breathing was shallow, every sense dialed up too high, as if I were braced for impact.
But everything eased as soon as I saw Cam.
He was leaning back in his chair, talking to Cap, and when his gaze flicked up and found me, his whole expression softened.
It was just a small smile, but he seemed genuinely glad I’d made it.
I smiled back before I could stop myself, quick and instinctive, and the tension loosened its grip a little. Not gone. But manageable.
I straightened my shoulders and took another step into the room.
I can do this.
I barely took two steps before someone stepped up behind me, close enough that their shoulder brushed my arm as they passed.
I’d stalled without meaning to, turned myself into a human roadblock while I stood there trying to get my bearings.
Heat crept up my neck as I half turned, already forming an apology, fingers lifting in a useless, belated gesture.
Tennant Rowe.
His presence filled the doorway in that effortless way some men had. Calm. Solid. Like he belonged anywhere he chose to be. He smiled immediately and stuck out his hand.
“Tennant Rowe,” he said as if I wouldn't know who he is. “Jari, right? Good to finally meet you.”
I froze for half a beat—then shook his hand. Fast. Too fast.
“Yeah. Jari, hi,” I muttered, already pulling back, gaze dropping. I disengaged almost before the contact registered, headed straight for the table, and took the chair beside Cap.
I should have known Tennant would be here, right? After all, he was one of the organizers of this charity with Cam.
He went to his seat halfway down the table, relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair. I couldn't look at him, so I kept my eyes on the agenda packet in front of me and still couldn’t focus on the words.
“Okay then,” Cam said, glancing down at his notes. “Before that, though, we still need to lock down the main event.”
“Casino night is always a draw,” someone further down the table offered. “Low barrier, good sponsor tie-ins.”
“High cost, though,” Layton countered. “Dealers, tables, insurance. And some fans don’t love the gambling angle.”
“What about a burlesque night?” another suggested, half-joking, half-serious. “Ticketed, flashy, easy publicity.”
Tennant leaned his forearms on the table. “Great energy, but we’d need to be careful about tone. This is still a mental health fundraiser. We don’t want it to feel like we’re undercutting the message.”
“Silent auction?” Cam said. “We’ve got access to jerseys, experiences, and meet-and-greets. Keeps it inclusive.”
There were nods, pens tapping, ideas being scribbled down.
The conversation flowed easily back and forth, pros and cons weighed without anyone talking over anyone else.
I followed along as best I could, grateful for the structure of it, for something concrete to focus on instead of the way my pulse still hadn’t quite settled.
“… and we’ll need volunteers for the outreach with Cam,” Layton added.
“Jari can help,” Cap said easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
My head snapped up before I could stop it. “What?”
Cap smiled at me. “If you’re willing.”
Every eye turned. The room tilted. Just a little. Enough that my hands went cold. “Yeah,” I heard myself say. “Sure.”
Tennant’s gaze found me then. I held it for half a second too long before looking away, pulse spiking.
When Cam called for a coffee break, I stayed seated, barely registering the end of the discussion before I stood, muttered something about the restroom, and pushed out into the hallway, lungs already working too hard.
The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the noise, but my chest stayed tight as I found the nearest corner, braced my hands on the cool wall, and stared at the floor.
Don’t spiral. Don’t make this a thing.
I pushed off the wall and dragged in a steadier breath.
My hands were still trembling, but the worst of the spin had settled.
I told myself that was enough to walk back in, but footsteps approached from the meeting room, and someone had found my hiding place.
God, I hoped it was Cam. He’d know just what to say to me.
It wasn’t Cam.
“Took me a minute to catch up with you,” Tennant Rowe said.
I straightened instinctively. “Sorry. I… needed… space.”
“That’s fair,” he said easily. He stopped a few feet away, giving me space without making a show of it. “I wanted to say… It’s good to meet you, Jari. And I mean that.”
I blinked at him, caught off guard.
“I like your play,” he went on, calm and direct.
“The way you read the penalty kill, how you don’t panic on a breakaway.
Your January game against Toronto last season—you broke up that rush in the third and turned it the other way like it was nothing.
I’ve been following your career for a while. You see lanes other guys miss.”
For a second, my brain stalled completely. I just stared at him, mouth open, words gone. Tennant Rowe was following my career.
He watched me, then let out a quiet breath and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Okay. I’m doing this wrong.” He tilted his head. “Jared said… Jared's my husband.”
“I know,” I said automatically, and then stopped talking, heat rushing up my face.
He smiled, softer now. “Yeah. He told me I should be straight with you.” Tennant’s gaze held mine, steady and unflinching.
“Your dad—what he did, what he was—that doesn’t fall on you.
Okay?” He paused. “This team doesn’t work that way.
Jared and I have both learned that people deserve to be judged by who they are in the room, not by the worst thing someone else did.
” I felt sick as he paused, but then he smiled at me.
”I was worried when I first heard they were interested in you. ”
“I’m sorry,” I began, suddenly distraught, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“Not in the way you think, Jari. The fans here are good and loyal, but they don't forget easily, and I’m worried about the barriers you’ll have to push down to get them to see your talent.
Y'know, they'll learn when you score your first goal for their team, yeah? So, I’m really pleased you’re one of the Railers now,” he added.
“How can you say that?”
Oh god! Did I say that out loud?
“Why would I blame you for what your father did? This team is all about looking after our own. And you’re one of us now, and I know in my heart that you're nothing like your dad.”
Something tight in my chest shifted. Not gone. But lighter. “Thanks,” I managed.
“So, if you need to talk, or you want to do a promo with me to show the fans how I feel, then let Layton know, and he'll fix it. Okay?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Okay then, I’ll see you back in there.”
I didn’t look up until Cam’s voice cut in. “Hey. I saw Ten follow you out. You need me to—”
I straightened too fast. “I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he said, and didn’t argue. He stood a few feet away, close enough to register, far enough not to crowd me. “I figured I’d check.”
I nodded, throat clenched. “That was… a lot. He said he… yeah…”
“Ten's a good guy,” he said, then hesitated. “He puts a lot of weight on this stuff—the charity, the culture, making sure people don’t get lost in the noise. It matters to him.” His kindness hit harder than it should have. “You don’t have to go back in right away.”
“I’m not running,” I said, sharper than I meant.
Cam’s expression didn’t change. “I didn’t say you were.”
I exhaled slowly, the fight bleeding out of me.
“But he's being all supportive and understanding and telling me what he sees in me, and it's too much.” Silence stretched—not awkward.
Just space. “Did you know he saved my father's life in the Olympics by covering him when he was at the bottom of a pile, yet for all of that, my father still hates him,” I said finally, words low and rough.
“Makes deals so I have to play hockey, tells me to hurt people, Jesus!” Why did that all tumble out?
“‘Deals’? What do you mean?”
Fuck. I never meant to say that. Why in God’s name did I say that? “Nothing,” I blurted because I wasn’t going there.
“Your father is just a man,” Cam said instead. “And you’re allowed to exist without carrying all his hate.”
I looked at him then. Really looked.
“Sometimes I don’t know how to do that,” I admitted. “When I talk to the doctor… I’m still seeing him, you know, this morning was session five, I mean, who else needs that much talk, and even then, I can’t make any sense of how I feel.”
Cam met my gaze. “You don’t have to know. You have to keep working on it.”
The quiet between us shifted, punctuated by the distant hiss of the coffee machine down the hall and the muffled sound of voices drifting through a half-open door, and I became acutely aware of how close he was, of the warmth at my side and the way my body reacted before my head could catch up.
Everything inside me felt overstimulated and unsteady—relief tangled with gratitude, trust blurring into something sharper—and the ease of stepping forward hit at the same time as the fear of what it would mean.
“Cam,” I said, voice barely holding.
He didn’t move. “Yeah?”
I swallowed. “If I want to kiss you, is that okay? This isn’t about panicking, or needing…” I faltered, the words tangling in my mouth. “I just need to—I want to kiss you. But no one can see, or know, and I need you to tell me if it’s not okay.”
The thought alone made my pulse spike. Kissing him here—where anyone could walk past, where a phone could come out, where a moment could turn into something with consequences—was reckless.
Public places weren’t safe. Nothing was ever just between two people.
Someone always watched. Someone always talked.
And if it got back to my father… if it became another thing he could use…
This was too dangerous. I knew that. I should have stepped back.
I want to kiss Cam so badly.
Instead, I took a half step closer. One kiss. That was all I wanted. Something small. Contained. Proof that this pull didn’t own me.
I reached for his sleeve and tugged him deeper into the shadows, my hand shaking despite my grip.
His answer was immediate. “It’s more than okay.”
The kiss was nothing like the movies. No rush.
No crash. Just contact. Soft. Careful. His hand hovered at my waist until I nodded, then it settled there as if it belonged.
I kissed him back slowly, learning the shape of his mouth, the way he breathed out when I leaned in.
It was the best kiss I'd ever had, and the first time I’d wanted more.
When we broke apart, my forehead rested briefly against his shoulder, the solid warmth of him steadying me. He laced his fingers through mine and squeezed—not tight, just enough to remind me that this was real, and instead of wanting to pull away, I wanted to stay right here.
“Hey,” he murmured. “I’m heading to Greece in two days for a month, with Yanni, we do it every year.”
“Okay,” I said, surprising myself with how steady I sounded despite him telling me I wouldn’t see him for so long.
“I don’t want this to feel like a disappearing act,” he added. “Can we text? Is that okay? Call. Whatever pace you want. I'd like that. More kisses when I come back, maybe we can go on a date. I don't know if you're out, but…”
“Not completely, people know, but I've always dated women, and…” I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I'd like a date if you don't mind spending time with this messed-up hockey player who has issues.”
A corner of his mouth tipped up. “I like this hockey player.”
When we went back inside together, the room felt lighter—someone was laughing about auction items getting out of hand, Layton was already jotting notes, and whatever tension had been there earlier had eased. Tennant caught my eye again.
This time, I didn’t look away.