Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
JACKO
There’s something about the way Mia digs her elbow into my shoulder like she’s trying to tenderise a steak that makes me wonder if physios get a secret bonus for every grown man they make squeal.
“Breathe, Jacko.”
I grunt. “I am breathing. Through the pain. Through the betrayal.”
Mia snorts. She’s perched on her rolling stool beside the treatment table, her dark hair tied up in that no-nonsense bun she always wears on physio days. Her fingers are digging into the tight knot just under my collarbone like she’s mining for gold.
“This isn’t betrayal. This is me trying to keep your shoulder from seizing up and ending your season early.”
I shift on the table, wincing. “Feels like betrayal.”
“Tell it to Dave.”
That earns a laugh out of me, short and barked. “Don’t bring Dave into this. Dave’s innocent.”
“Dave’s a sourdough starter.”
“Dave’s family.”
Mia just shakes her head, biting back a smile. “God help me, I forgot how weird you are.”
She says it fondly, like she’s used to the weird. And I guess she is, being with Dylan. That man’s got the emotional range of a bulldozer and the grace of a wrecking ball, but he’s solid. Loyal. And mad about Mia, which kind of makes her part of The Raptors family whether she likes it or not.
She adjusts her grip, pressing her thumb right into the edge of the joint. I flinch.
“You been doing your stretches?”
“Religiously,” I lie.
She gives me a look.
“Okay, semi-religiously. Like a Christmas-and-Easter kind of faith.”
Mia rolls her eyes but doesn’t call me on it. “You’ve got a couple weeks before full clearance. Don’t rush it. You’ve been skating?”
“Light drills. Mostly just getting my bearings back. Coach is easing me in. Says I need to stay out of trouble.”
Mia snorts again. “And volunteering at a community bakery is his idea of rehab?”
“Public image rehab, yeah. After that last fight, they wanted me to ‘connect with the community.’ Show the world there’s more to Jacko than fists and facial hair.”
She glances up, mock-studying my ginger beard. “There’s a lot of facial hair.”
I grin. “It’s where I store my baking secrets.”
“God help the muffins.”
I laugh, but the truth is, I don’t mind the assignment. Not really. I’ve always found comfort in baking, something about the structure, the science, the smells. The quiet focus of it all. No roaring crowds or brutal hits. Just flour, water, time. And Dave.
Especially when things are noisy in my head, when my body’s off and the game feels far away, baking brings me back.
Mia finishes up with some stretching exercises, makes me promise I’ll ice the shoulder, and then kicks me out with a warning look. “Behave yourself, Jackson.”
“I’m a delight.”
“Uh-huh. Tell that to the icing you exploded in my kitchen at Christmas.”
“That was festive.”
“That was a sugar war.”
I wink. “Same thing.”
It’s drizzling lightly by the time I leave the rink. One of those misty mornings that makes the city smell like wet pavements. I tug my hoodie over my head, slide into the truck, and pull out into traffic.
I don’t know what made me swing by the community centre again. I’m not officially due there until tomorrow. But after yesterday’s cupcake chaos and awkward coffee moment, my brain’s been circling back to Maya.
And her daughter. The little hurricane in pink socks.
I liked them. Not in a “let’s start planning our future” way or anything. Just, I don’t know. It felt good. Real. Like they didn’t expect me to be anything I’m not.
Maya didn’t treat me like a star athlete or a walking headline. She barely even blinked at my name, and I swear she thought I made it up.
She called me a bear.
I kinda liked that too.
Traffic slows as I approach a crossing, and that’s when I see her.
Maya.
She’s pushing a stroller and looking behind her, one hand clutching her hood up against the drizzle, the other guiding the buggy. But she’s not watching the road. She’s halfway into the crossing when…
“Shit!”
I slam on the brakes. Tires squeal. My heart lurches up into my throat as the truck skids just shy of the crossing.
She jerks to a stop, eyes wide as she wheels the stroller back, stumbling.
I throw the truck in park and jump out.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She’s pale. Breathing hard. The rain’s already clinging to her lashes.
“I…I didn’t see…”
“You didn’t, no, it’s okay. You’re okay. Is Lila… are you…?”
She nods, but it’s tight. She’s shaking.
I glance down into the stroller. The kid’s fine. Bundled up, wide-eyed, clutching a stuffed bunny like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“Come on,” I say gently. “Let me get you out of the rain. There’s a café just there.”
She hesitates.
“I promise I won’t bite. Not even if you offer me a croissant.”
That gets a flicker of something close to a smile. She nods.
“Okay, let me park the truck up, wait here.”
We walk in silence to the little corner café, me awkwardly steering the stroller while Maya hugs her coat around herself like armour. I hold the door open, ushering them inside. It’s warm and smells like burnt espresso.
We slide into a booth by the window. I go to order without asking because she still looks rattled. Two coffees. A muffin. Something sweet. Something easy.
When I return, she’s taken off her coat and settled Lila with a juice box. Her hands are still trembling as she cups the coffee.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I was distracted. That was reckless.”
I shake my head. “Hey. No harm done. Just glad you’re okay.”
“I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“I wasn’t planning to stalk you. Promise. Was just passing by. You gave me a heart attack, though. Gotta admit, that’s a first.”
Her mouth quirks. “First time a cupcake nearly killed you?”
“First time it wasn’t my baking that nearly did me in, yeah.”
There’s a beat of silence as she sips her coffee.
I glance at her over my cup. “Seriously. You sure you’re alright?”
She nods, but there’s something shadowed in her eyes. Something bruised and private. I don’t press. That’s not my place.
But I can sit here. I can drink coffee and let her catch her breath. I can offer silence that isn’t demanding.
After a while, she exhales softly.
“My ex used to say I never paid attention. That I lived with my head in the clouds. He said one day I’d get myself, or Lila hurt.”
Her fingers twist around the cup.
I keep my voice low. “Sounds like an asshole.”
She doesn’t deny it.
“I moved here to get away from him.”
I nod. “Well, you picked a good spot. It’s full of weirdos. You’ll fit right in.”
She huffs something that’s almost a laugh.
“Seriously. Between me and Dave, my sourdough starter, you’ve already met the weirdest.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Dave?”
“Dave. He’s temperamental. Moody. But he makes damn good bread.”
A real smile now. Small, but there.
The kid tugs her sleeve and whispers something. Maya strokes her hair automatically.
“She likes you,” she says.
“Yeah?” I grin. “I’ve got a way with toddlers. Must be my emotional maturity level.”
She rolls her eyes, but it’s warm. Relaxed, almost. The edge is dulling.
“I should go,” she says eventually. “Get her home before she melts into her puddle boots.”
“Can I walk you back?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Okay.”
Just that.
And somehow, it feels like the start of something important.
Even if I don’t know what yet.