Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
JACKO
I’m still smiling when I step into the locker room the next morning.
Not the cocky, post-fight kind of grin. Not the lopsided “Jacko took down another six-foot-four winger” kind either. No, this one’s quieter. Stuck beneath my skin. Like a secret I’m not ready to let go of yet.
Because last night…God. Last night was something else.
I can still feel her against me. The weight of her arms around my neck. The sound she made when I kissed her like I meant it. The way she whispered don’t stop like it wasn’t just about the kiss, but the whole damn thing; me, her, this thing between us that’s growing roots.
And then Lila. Padding in with her bunny and her big sleepy eyes. Like the universe’s most adorable cockblock.
I’m still chuckling when Ollie throws a towel at my head.
“Alright, Romeo,” he says, grinning as he drops onto the bench beside me. “You gonna tell me what’s got you smiling like you just won Bake Off and the Stanley Cup, or do I have to guess?”
I shake the towel off, still grinning. “Guess.”
“You finally found your missing skate guard?”
“Nope.”
“You and Dylan got matching socks?”
“Nope again.”
His eyes narrow. “This about the bakery girl?”
I pause. Let the grin give me away.
“Oh ho ho shit,” Ollie says, pointing at me. “It is.”
“Her name’s Maya,” I say, untying my trainers.
“Alright, alright,” he says, hands up. “Maya. Bakery girl. Cupcake queen. The one you’ve been pining over like a bear in mating season for the last month and a half.”
I huff out a laugh. “Shut up.”
“So? Spill.”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to tell him. But because I don’t know. It matters. More than I thought it would. And I don’t want to cheapen it with locker room jokes or some braggy one-liner.
“She kissed me,” I say finally.
Ollie’s eyebrows shoot up. “No shit.”
“In her kitchen. After she put Lila to bed. It was…” I trail off, rubbing the back of my neck. “It was real.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Ollie bumps his shoulder against mine.
“Good for you, man.”
“Thanks.”
“She okay with everything? I mean, with Lila and her history and all that?”
I nod slowly. “She told me she’s not great at this anymore. Trusting. Letting someone in. And I told her I’m not in a rush. That we go at her pace.”
“And then she kissed you anyway?”
I smile. “Yeah. She asked first. Said Can I kiss you? Like I was the one who needed protecting.”
Ollie whistles low. “Man. That’s… damn.”
“She was wearing this apron, still had cupcake frosting in her hair. And she just stepped into me. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And when I held her, it felt like…”
I don’t finish the sentence. Mostly because I don’t know how. How do you explain what it feels like to finally belong somewhere? To be wanted for more than your fists or your stats? To hold something soft and breakable and have it not shatter under your hands?
Ollie must sense the shift because his voice goes gentler. “And then?”
“Then Lila came in,” I say, chuckling. “Sleepy, holding her bunny. Said she had a bad dream about being stuck in a box full of ants.”
He barks out a laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”
“She needed a drink, and Maya just snapped into mum mode. And I stood there, hoodie in my hands, not sure if I should disappear into the backsplash or keep drying the counter.”
“You dry the counter?”
“I panicked.”
Ollie laughs again, full and loud, and I find myself grinning too.
“But,” I say, quieter now. “The way Maya looked at me after… She wasn’t embarrassed. She wasn’t pulling away. She just came back and slid her arms around me like I still belonged there.”
Ollie’s watching me closely now. Not teasing. Just listening.
“I told her I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “And I meant it. Even if she needs time. Even if all we ever do is drink tea in the kitchen while her daughter interrupts us mid-makeout. I’m there.”
He nods, slow and thoughtful. “That’s big, man.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t feel big. Just feels right.”
“Still big,” he says. “Letting someone in like that. Especially when there’s a kid involved.”
“Lila calls me Bear.”
Ollie grins. “Of course she does.”
“I don’t want to mess this up,” I say, the words slipping out before I can think better of them. “I’ve never done this before. Not like this. Not with someone who makes me feel like I matter off the ice.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then says, “You do matter off the ice.”
I glance at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re the guy who brings extra pastries to physio. Who helps rookies move without being asked. You’ve always mattered, Jacko. You just didn’t have someone who saw it before.”
That hits harder than I expect. Because he’s right. And because I didn’t realise how badly I needed to hear it.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thanks, mate.”
Ollie shrugs. “Don’t mention it.”
Then he adds, “Also, if you hurt her, I’ll fight you. Just FYI.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You’d lose.”
“True, but I’d be annoying the whole time. Like, relentless.”
“Like a wasp with a podcast.”
“Exactly.”
We both laugh, and I feel something in my chest loosen.
It’s easy to forget how much I needed this connection.
A mate who gets it. Someone I can talk to about more than tape brands and post-game beers.
Ollie’s always been the joker, the chaos coordinator who steals the last muffin and blames it on Dylan.
But underneath all that, there’s a heart. Big and steady and loyal as hell.
And today, he’s showing up for me.
“You ever feel like you’re scared of being happy?” I ask, quieter now.
He turns toward me, surprised. “All the time.”
“Like, the second you let yourself feel it, it’s gonna vanish.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Like it’s not yours to keep.”
“Exactly.”
There’s a long pause. Then Ollie says, “I think happiness isn’t a prize. It’s not something you earn once and get to keep forever. It’s something you choose every day. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
I blink. “That’s unexpectedly deep.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“You contain crumbs and chaos.”
“And wisdom,” he says. “Don’t forget wisdom.”
We sit in easy silence for a minute. Just two blokes in a locker room, sharing the kind of conversation most people don’t expect from guys like us. Big. Bruised. Built for collisions.
But that’s the thing no one gets. Some of us bruise easier off the ice.
Some of us have been carrying weight so long we forgot we could share it.
I lean back against the lockers. Let my eyes close for a second. “I think I’m falling in love with her,” I say.
Ollie doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t jeer. Doesn’t joke.
He just says, “Then fall.”
And it feels like permission.
I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to say it’s okay to want this. To have this. A home that isn’t made of bricks or banners, but of warmth and laughter and frosting in your hair.
I open my eyes.
“You ever been in love?” I ask.
Ollie exhales. “Yeah. Once.”
“What happened?”
“She left,” he says. “Moved back home to take care of her mum. We tried the distance thing, but life happened. And I wasn’t ready to give her what she needed.”
“Do you regret it?”
He pauses. “No. Because I wasn’t who I needed to be back then. But I think I’m getting there now.”
There’s a story there. One I can feel between the lines. But I don’t push.
We’ve both shared enough for one morning.
“You’ll meet someone,” I say.
He smiles. “Hope she likes chaos.”
“She’d have to.”
We bump shoulders again, and this time the silence is lighter. Filled with something like hope.
Then Dylan walks in, towel around his neck, already chirping about Ollie stealing his protein bar, and the moment shifts. The room fills as the team arrives.
But I carry the quiet with me.
The kiss. The promise. The feeling that maybe I’ve found something worth holding onto. And someone worth fighting for.
Even if she needs time. Even if we have to take the long way around.
I’ll wait.
Because for the first time in my life, I want forever.
And I think I’ve finally found someone who might want it too.