Chapter 20 Snow Day #2
“Questionable leftovers,” he muttered. “And Owen’s terrible grocery habits.”
I came up behind him, reaching past his shoulder to grab what I needed. “There’s eggs. And bread. I can make scrambled eggs and toast.”
“Fancy.” He stepped aside to let me take over. “I’ll make coffee.”
Jace was already rummaging through the fridge, muttering something about questionable leftovers and Owen's terrible grocery habits.
We moved around the small kitchen with surprising ease, like we'd done this before, like waking up together and making breakfast was normal instead of dangerously domestic.
Jace found the coffee grounds and started the machine while I cracked eggs into a bowl and found a pan that looked clean enough.
The silence between us was comfortable, broken only by the sound of the coffee brewing and the hiss of butter in the hot pan.
“Grant.” Jace's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “You're burning the eggs.”
I looked down. He was right. I turned the heat down and focused on not fucking up breakfast, which was harder than it should have been with him standing there watching me like I was something worth paying attention to.
We ate at the small table by the window, coffee steaming between us, and for a while it was just easy. Just two people sharing a meal in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, pretending the rest of the world didn't exist.
“This is good,” Jace said, forking up another bite of eggs. “I mean, it's not gourmet, but it's better than the protein bars I've been living on.”
“You need to eat more.”
“I know. I will.” He paused, then added quieter, “I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
He set his fork down, looked at me directly. “For being a pain in the ass.”
“You're not—” I stopped, because lying wouldn't help either of us. “Okay, you are. But I knew that when I took this job.”
“Did you know you'd end up here? In a cabin in the woods having breakfast with your injured star player after...” He trailed off, but the implication hung heavy.
“No.” I met his eyes. “But I don't regret it.”
“You should.”
“Maybe. But I don't.” I reached across the table, covered his hand with mine.
Jace's throat worked, eyes going bright before he blinked and looked away. “You're going to make me cry into my eggs, Coach.”
We finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and I helped him clean up despite his protests that he could handle it.
Then we moved to the couch, and he curled up against my side like it was the most natural thing in the world, injured shoulder carefully positioned, and we just..
. sat there. Watching the fire. Watching the snow outside. Not talking because we didn't need to.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again. Then again. Then started ringing.
“You should get that,” Jace said, not moving.
“I don't want to.”
“It might be important.”
It was. I knew it was. The outside world had given us one night, and now it was demanding payment. I pulled out my phone and saw June's name on the screen. Three missed calls. Two voicemails. A string of texts that I didn't need to read to know they were urgent.
I answered. “Yeah.”
“Finally.” June's voice was clipped, professional, and pissed. “Where are you?”
“Away.”
“That's not an answer, Grant. I've been trying to reach you since yesterday. The media is circling, the fans are speculating, and I need to know if we have a crisis on our hands.”
I felt Jace tense against me. “What kind of crisis?”
“People are asking questions about why our head coach drove off the grid the same day our injured star disappeared.
Talk shows are calling the benching 'personal' and suggesting you might be too emotionally invested in Hartley's performance.” She paused.
“Bottom line: we need to get ahead of this narrative before it writes itself.”
Fuck. “What's the current narrative?”
“That you're either obsessed with protecting him or you made a rash decision based on personal feelings instead of medical advice. Pick your poison—both are bad.”
I closed my eyes, felt the weight of it settle in my chest. “What do you need from me?”
“I need you back in Toronto. I need a united front with the medical staff. I need you and Hartley in the same room looking like this was a professional decision made in his best interest.” Her voice softened slightly.
“And I need you to tell me there's nothing going on that could blow up in our faces.”
“June—”
“Don't.” She cut me off. “Don't tell me something I'll have to put in a report. Just tell me you're handling it.”
“I'm handling it.”
“Good. Because Paul called me this morning. He's not happy. He wants Hartley back, and if that's not possible, he wants to know why you're making decisions that cost the team wins.” She paused. “He's already talking about other options.”
The threat was clear. Other coaches. Other systems. Other people who'd push injured players back onto the ice because winning mattered more than long-term health.
“Hartley's not playing until he's cleared. That's not negotiable.”
“Then you better have a plan. Because this isn't going away, and we're running out of time.” She hung up without waiting for a response.
I set the phone down on the coffee table and stared at it like it was a bomb that had already gone off. Jace had gone very still beside me, and when I looked at him, his expression was carefully blank.
“They want me back,” he said. Not a question.
“Paul does. June wants damage control.”
“And what do you want?”
I stopped, shook my head. “It doesn't matter what I want.”
“It matters to me.”
“I want you to have the career you deserve.” I reached up, cupped his face. “But I don't know how to give you that and keep my job.”
“So we're fucked.”
“Probably.”
Jace was quiet for a moment, then leaned into my touch. “What happens now?”
“Now I call Paul back and tell him the medical timeline hasn't changed. Then we figure out how to navigate this without destroying everything.”
“And us?
I didn't have a good answer. Didn't have any answer that wouldn't hurt. “I don't know.”
He nodded slowly, like he'd expected that, and pulled back. “You should make the call.”
I picked up my phone and saw another message from Paul. Short, direct, demanding. I dialed his number, and he picked up on the first ring. “Grant.”
“Paul.”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Checking on Hartley. Making sure he's okay.”
“Is he?”
“He's recovering.” The lie came easier than it should have. “The medical recommendation hasn't changed.”
“That's not acceptable.”
“I’ll play.” Jace's voice cut through the conversation, and I looked up to find him standing right beside me, hand extended for the phone.
I shook my head, covered the receiver. “No.”
“Give me the phone, Grant.” His voice was calm, steady, and his eyes held mine with that stubborn determination I knew too well.
“Jace—”
“Now.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to sit down, let me handle it, trust me to protect him. But something in his expression stopped me—not defiance, exactly. More like resolve. He was making his own call, and fighting him on it would only make things worse.
I handed him the phone.
“Paul, it's Hartley.” Jace's voice shifted into something professional, controlled. “I'm fine. Shoulder's healing on schedule. I'll be ready for prelims.”
I could hear Paul's voice through the speaker. Jace listened, jaw tight, and I watched him make calculations I didn't want him making.
“It is enough time. I'll do extra physio, work with Tess, whatever it takes. But I'll be ready.” He paused. “Yeah. Understood. See you when we're back.”
He hung up and handed me the phone.
“What the fuck was that?” My voice came out harder than I intended.
“That was me taking control of my own career.”
“You're injured. You're not ready. The doctor said—”
“I'm not letting you lose your job because of me.” Jace's voice was firm, no room for argument.
“That's not your decision to make.”
“Yes, it is. It's my body. My career. My choice.” He stepped closer, and I saw the fear underneath the determination.
“So you're going to destroy your body instead?”
“I'm going to heal it properly and then come back when I'm ready. Which will be in time for prelims.” His voice softened slightly. “Grant, I can do this.”
“You don't know that.”
“Neither do you.” He reached up, touched my face. “But I'm asking you to trust me. The way you asked me to trust you when you benched me.”
I stared at him, every instinct screaming to say no, to protect him from himself, to make the call I knew was right even if he hated me for it.
But the look in his eyes—determined, scared, pleading—stopped me.
This was him choosing. Him taking ownership.
Him deciding what risks he was willing to take.
And if I didn't let him, I'd be just another person treating him like an asset instead of a person.
“And if Tess says you're not ready, you don't play. No arguments.”
“Deal.”
“And you do every single thing she tells you. No cutting corners. No pushing too hard.”
“Okay.”
“And if anything gets worse—anything—you tell me immediately.”
“I will.” He smiled slightly. “You done being bossy?”
“No. But I'm done arguing with you about this.”
He kissed me then, quick and soft, and I felt some of the tension drain from my shoulders. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Don't thank me. I still think this is a terrible idea.”
“Noted.” He pulled back, and I watched him process what he'd just committed to. “What do we do now?”
“Now we stay here. And we let the world wait.”
“That's not going to solve anything.”
“I know.” I kissed him again, softer this time. “But maybe we deserve a few more days before we have to face it.”
He nodded slowly, and I felt him relax slightly. “Okay. A few more days.”
We went back to the couch, and he curled up against me again, and we sat there in silence while the world outside kept spinning.
My phone buzzed a few more times—June, probably, or Paul, or someone else demanding answers I didn't have—but I ignored it.
Let them wait. Let them think whatever they wanted.
For now, it was just us in this cabin, pretending we could pause the machine and hold onto something good before it got ripped away.
I knew it wouldn't last. Knew that eventually we'd have to go back to Toronto and face the consequences. Knew that my job was hanging by a thread and Jace's career was still months away from recovery and everything we'd built here was too fragile to survive in the real world.
But for now, I let myself have this. Let myself hold him and feel his weight against me and pretend that caring about someone more than the game wasn't the thing that would destroy us both.
Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, the fire kept burning. And for a few more hours, we let ourselves believe that was enough.