Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JACKO
Game day.
My kit bag thuds against the changing room floor, my shoulder still warm from the gym session this morning, but the adrenaline’s already sparking beneath my skin.
Not because of the game though, it’s an exhibition day today, it’s supposed to attract new fans and showcase the local teams. That’s not what’s got my gut doing Olympic-level flips.
It’s my phone.
Or more specifically, what’s not on it.
No new messages.
I must’ve checked it seven times already. Not that I’m counting. Just, you know, making sure I didn’t miss something in all the noise of the arena.
Murphy clocks me glancing down at my screen again and smirks from across the bench. “She’s not gonna text faster if you burn a hole through it, big man.”
I roll my eyes. “Did I say anything?”
“You didn’t have to,” Dylan pipes up from where he’s taping his stick. “You’re practically vibrating. It’s like watching a golden retriever try to wait for dinner.”
“Leave him,” Ollie says, grinning. “He’s finally got a crush that isn’t Mary Berry.”
“Blasphemy,” I mutter, but my mouth quirks despite myself.
Dylan points his blade at me. “You made her a personalised biscuit box, Jacko. That’s not a crush. That’s a declaration of war.”
“Yeah,” Ollie adds. “If this was Bake Off, she’d be Star Baker and you’d be down on one knee in the Showstopper tent.”
“You lot are insufferable,” I grumble, but the truth is, I wouldn’t swap them for anyone.
The banter helps settle my nerves. Almost distracts me.
Almost.
Because the second Coach steps in and starts the pregame talk, I feel my phone buzz in my palm.
I look down.
MAYA: Thank you for the seats and the family and friends pass. We’re right on the front row next to the plexiglass. Lila says she’s going to wave every time she sees your bum.
My chest loosens in a way it hasn’t all day.
She came.
They came.
And they’re right on the glass. Which means I’ll see them. During warmup. During face-offs. Every time I skate past, they’ll be there.
Ollie glances over as the guys start heading out for warmup. “You look like someone just handed you a cinnamon roll and called you pretty.”
I grin. “Better.”
The moment my skates hit the ice, everything sharpens. The lights. The sound. The cold bite of the air as I pick up speed. And then I see them.
There.
Front row, just like she said. Maya’s in that soft green jumper she wore the day I helped clean the bakery, her hair tied up and her eyes tracking me like she can feel every turn I make.
Lila’s next to her, practically bouncing in her little coat, palms pressed to the glass.
I skate over during a lull in the drill, slow and easy, and tap my glove against the plexi right in front of them.
Lila squeals. Maya smiles.
I dig into my glove and pull out the puck I tucked in there earlier. Hold it up with a raised brow.
Lila nods frantically. I lob it gently over the top of the glass, right into Maya’s hands.
She catches it one-handed, graceful as anything, and mouths something through the plexi before she hands it to a very excited Lila.
“Show off.”
I laugh, shake my head, and skate off before Coach can bark at me to focus.
But I do focus.
Harder than I have in months.
Because every time I pass that side of the rink, I see them. Every turn, every check, every shift. I’ve got something to skate for now.
And it’s not just a win.
It’s them.
The game is brutal. Fast. Full of elbows and shouts and sticks hitting ice.
But I’m sharper than I’ve been in weeks. I hit hard, skate fast, keep our blue line clean. I even catch a few chirps from the other team’s winger, but I barely bite. Barely.
Mostly because I know exactly who’s watching from the front row.
Second period, I block a shot and hear the crack echo through the boards. I wince. It stung like hell, but when I glance toward the plexi and see Maya’s eyes wide and Lila cupping her hands over her mouth in awe, I push through it. Can’t let them see me wince.
Between shifts, I sneak a glance at them. Lila’s waving with both hands. Maya points to the scoreboard, mouths You’re winning like she’s surprised.
I grin through my visor and mouth back, Obviously.
We take the win 4-2. Clean, strong, hard-fought. The locker room erupts in shouts and towel-whipping chaos.
Murphy hands me a bottle of water. “You played like someone was watching, Romeo.”
“Someone was,” I mutter, but I can’t hide the grin stretching my face.
Dylan tosses me a fresh shirt. “You gonna see her after?”
“Hope so.”
I duck out of the changing room as the noise fades, still slightly damp, hair mussed, and walk toward the family and friends’ entrance. There’s a small crowd, but I spot them immediately.
Lila’s waving the puck at anyone who’ll listen. Maya’s laughing, shoulders loose, cheeks flushed from the cold.
When she sees me, her mouth twitches into a smile that hits me square in the chest.
“You survived,” she says.
“Barely. Took a puck to the ribs for dramatic effect.”
She arches a brow. “Trying to impress me with blunt-force trauma?”
“Is it working?”
She tilts her head like she’s pretending to think about it. “Lila says yes. I’m undecided.”
Lila barrels into me before I can reply, wrapping her arms around my legs. “Mr Bear, we saw you! You skated so fast and threw me a puck and hit a man with your butt!”
I blink. “That’s… exactly the summary I would’ve written, kiddo.”
She beams. “Mummy said you were showing off.”
Maya huffs, eyes sparkling. “I said he was obviously showing off. There’s a difference.”
I squat down to Lila’s level. “Think you can keep that puck safe for me?”
She nods solemnly. “I’m going to sleep with it next to my bed.”
“Perfect.”
When I rise, Maya’s watching me with something quieter in her eyes. Something unsure, but warm.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “It was loud. And busy. But we had fun. You didn’t tell me you were going to bodycheck a man into next week.”
“That was the tame version. I didn’t want to scare Lila.”
Maya smirks. “She screamed ‘GET HIM’ like a tiny Viking.”
Her gaze flicks to my collarbone, where the towel’s slipped and a red mark has starting to bloom.
“Does it hurt?” she asks softly.
“Nah,” I say. Then, lower, “Not if you’re here.”
She rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide her smile. “That was terrible.”
“Little bit.”
We stand there for a long moment. The crowd thinning around us. The buzz of victory still humming under my skin. We smile at each other. There’s something new in the silence between us, comfortable, crackling. Close.
I glance around. “You two want to hang back? Meet the guys? They’re mostly harmless.”
Maya hesitates. Lila doesn’t.
“I wanna meet Diesel!” she shouts. “Mummy says he’s the one with the hair like a lion!”
Maya groans. “I did not say that.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Okay, I might have said that.”
I grin. “Come on. I’ll smuggle you both in for a quick visit. You’ve earned it.”
Maya tucks her hair behind her ear and steps closer. “You played really well tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“Not just physically. You looked happy.”
I meet her eyes. “I was.”
Something passes between us then, quiet and sure.
She touches my wrist, a light brush of fingers. “Let’s go meet the lions.”
“You free tomorrow?” I ask.
She hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. We are.”
“Good.” I glance at Lila, who’s now attempting to use the puck as a make-believe camera. “Because I was thinking pancakes.”
Maya lifts a brow. “You’re bribing me with pancakes now?”
“Only the fluffiest,” I say, grinning. “And maybe a fresh batch of gingerbread.”
She shakes her head, but her cheeks are pink again. “You’re a menace.”
“Guilty.”
I touch the edge of her hand, just briefly. Testing the waters.
She doesn’t pull away.
And it’s enough for now.