Chapter 21
JACKSON
January hits with the kind of cold that makes your lungs ache.
We're in the thick of midseason now: games every other night, travel wearing everyone down, playoff positioning getting tighter. The Wolves are third in the division, but Boston's breathing down our necks, and we can't afford to slip.
Coach is riding us hard, but coming home to Maya makes all of it bearable.
The progress is real now. The nightmares that used to wake her screaming now only happen once, maybe twice a week. Dr. Mills is working miracles, and Maya's doing the work, showing up every week, processing the trauma, learning to live with what happened without letting it define her.
Tonight after practice, I come home to find her in the kitchen with Emma, both of them laughing about something while Ethan bangs on a pot with a wooden spoon.
"What's so funny?" I ask.
"Chase tried to assemble the crib for the new baby," Emma says, wiping tears from her eyes. "He put it together backwards."
"It was confusing!" Chase yells from somewhere upstairs.
Maya's laughing so hard she's bent over the counter, real laughter, the kind that lights up her whole face.
Emma shakes her head, still grinning. “He gets one day off practice to help me. And this is what I get."
"Hey!" Chase calls down again. "I’m being supportive!"
"You good, Ice Capades?" Maya asks when she catches me staring.
"Yeah. Just tired."
Emma checks the time. "I need to get Ethan ready for bed. Maya, can you help?"
"Sure."
They disappear upstairs, leaving me with Chase, who comes down looking defeated.
"It's not my fault the instructions were in Swedish," he says.
"The instructions were in English. Just like the last one you built."
"This one had Swedish diagrams, though."
I grab a beer from the fridge. "You want help?"
"Please."
We spend an hour fixing the crib, and by the time we're done, Ethan’s in bed, and Maya's curled up on the couch with Max, reading something on her phone.
An idea hits me.
"Maya," I say, keeping my voice casual. "Want to learn to skate?"
She looks up. "What?"
"Ice skating. I could teach you."
"Now?"
"Why not? The backyard rink's ready, it's a clear night."
Emma appears in the doorway. "Oh, you should! Jackson's an excellent teacher."
"I don't know—" Maya starts.
"Come on," I say. "When's the last time you did something just for fun?"
She considers this, chewing on her bottom lip. "Okay. But if I break something, you're explaining it to Dr. Mills."
Twenty minutes later, we're in the backyard. The rink Chase had built when they moved in is perfect: smooth ice lit by the floodlights mounted on the house, cold enough that our breath fogs in the air.
Maya's wearing my old skates with three pairs of socks stuffed inside to make them fit. She's bundled in a puffy jacket and one of my beanies, looking nervous and excited at the same time. I have to resist the urge to pull her close to me.
I lace up my skates and step onto the ice before offering my hand to help her on.
"Okay," she says, gripping my hand tight. "How do I—"
Her feet slide out from under her immediately. I catch her before she falls, pulling her against my chest, and the contact sends heat through me despite the freezing temperature.
"Not like that," I say.
"Helpful, thanks."
I keep one arm around her waist and guide her onto the ice properly. She's clinging to me like I'm the only thing keeping her upright, which, to be fair, I am, and I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch.
"Bend your knees a little," I say, trying to focus on teaching instead of how good she feels pressed against me. "Keep your weight centered."
"I am centered."
"You're not, you're—" She slides again, and I catch her, my hands gripping her waist firmly. "Okay, let's just try moving forward."
For the next thirty minutes, I basically drag her around the rink while she alternates between laughing and swearing. She falls four times despite me holding her, and each time she gets up more determined, more flushed, more beautiful.
"This is impossible," she says after the fourth fall. "How do you make this look easy?"
"Practice. I've been skating since I was a kid."
"Show-off."
Movement in the window catches my eye. Emma and Chase are watching from the kitchen, both smiling. Max has joined them on the windowsill, tail flicking in judgment.
"We have an audience," I tell Maya.
She glances back and waves, nearly falling again.
"Eyes forward," I say. "Look at me, not them."
She does. Her brown eyes lift toward the floodlight, lit with laughter that softens her whole face. She’s never looked more beautiful, never looked more alive.
"You're staring," she says.
"Can't help it. You’re stunning."
"Smooth talker." But she's smiling, that soft smile that's just for me.
We make it around the rink twice without her falling. By the third lap, she's getting the hang of it, still clinging to me but moving with more confidence, trusting me to keep her upright.
"See?" I say. "You're doing it."
"I'm literally holding onto you for dear life."
"Still counts."
We come to a stop in the center of the ice. She's breathing hard, face flushed, grinning up at me with such unguarded happiness that my chest tightens.
"That was terrifying," she says.
"But fun?"
"Yeah. Surprisingly."
I pull her closer, just testing the boundaries. Out here in the cold, with the lights and the ice and the distance from the house, it feels safer somehow, like we can exist in this bubble where the rules don't apply.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For this. For everything."
"Always."
Her hand comes up to my chest, fingers brushing over something under my jacket and hoodie. My father's pendant that I've worn every day since I was twenty-one.
"I've seen you wear this," she says, curiosity lighting her features. "What is it?"
I pull the chain out from under my clothes. The pendant is simple, a small silver wolf, worn smooth from years of wear.
"My dad gave it to my mom when they got engaged. It was his most prized possession, his grandfather's, passed down through generations." I hold it out so she can see it properly, the metal catching the light. "When he died, Mom gave it to me. Said I should have something of his."
Maya touches it gently, reverently. "It's beautiful."
"It's supposed to go to the person you love most. Dad gave it to Mom, she gave it to me, and I'm supposed to—" I stop, the words catching in my throat.
"Supposed to what?"
Give it to you.
The words stick. We haven't said "I love you" yet, haven't crossed that final line, but standing here with her, watching her trace the silver wolf with careful fingers, I know.
I'm going to give her this pendant, going to claim her properly the way my dad claimed my mom, going to make sure she knows she's mine and I'm hers in every way that matters.
Just not tonight. Not yet.
"I'm supposed to give it to someone important," I say instead.
She looks up at me, something in her eyes that says she knows exactly what I'm not saying.
"Well," she says softly. "That's a big responsibility."
"It is."
"Better make sure you give it to the right person."
"I will." Already have, I think, but don't say.
We stand here in the center of the rink, the cold forgotten, just looking at each other. Her hand's still touching the pendant like she's already laying claim to it, and my hand's on her waist, thumb brushing against her jacket in small circles.
The back door opens, shattering the moment. Emma leans out.
"You two want hot chocolate?" she calls.
"Yeah!" Maya yells back, and just like that, we're back to playing our roles.
The moment breaks. We skate, well, I skate while supporting Maya, back to the edge, and I help her off the ice and onto solid ground, steadying her when she wobbles.
Inside, the kitchen's warm and smells like chocolate and cinnamon. Emma's made hot chocolate with whipped cream, and Max is demanding attention from everyone. Ethan's awake again, escaped from his crib somehow, and Chase is trying to wrangle him back upstairs.
Normal chaos. Normal family.
Except Maya and I aren't normal. We're a secret. Every time we're around Emma, I have to watch what I say, how I look at Maya, and where my hands go. It's exhausting pretending there's nothing between us when there's everything.
I watch Maya laugh at something Chase says, watch her help Emma with the mugs, watch her exist in this space like she's always belonged here, and the ache in my chest grows stronger.
I'm tired of hiding. Tired of pretending she's just Emma's friend staying with us, tired of the stolen moments and careful distance in front of everyone else.
Later, after Emma and Chase have gone to bed, after the house is quiet and dark, Maya comes to the basement. She doesn't knock, just walks in and climbs into my bed as if she belongs here, and maybe that's because she does.
"That was nice tonight," she says, curling against my chest. "The skating."
"You were terrible at it."
"I was not that terrible."
"You fell four times."
"You were supposed to be teaching me, not letting me fall."
"I caught you every time."
"True." She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. "Tell me more about the pendant. About your dad."
So I do. I tell her about the man I barely remember: big laugh, rough hands, loved hockey and his family more than anything.
Tell her about the day he died, how Mom held it together for Emma and me, even though we could hear her crying at night.
Tell her about getting the pendant on my twenty-first birthday, how Mom said it was time, how I'd been terrified of the responsibility.
"She said he'd want me to have it, want me to pass it on someday." I play with Maya's curls, wrapping them around my fingers. "It's the most important thing I own."
"That's a lot of pressure. Choosing who gets it."
"Not really." I glance toward the door, making sure it's closed, making sure we're alone. Then I press a kiss to her forehead, soft and lingering. "I've known who it belongs to for a while now."
She doesn't ask who, doesn't push, but I feel her breath catch.
Her hand finds the pendant around my neck and holds it, her thumb brushing over the worn silver.
I fall asleep thinking about how I'm going to give it to her. I can’t just hand it over; I need to do it right. Make it mean something, show her that she's not just someone I'm with, but the only person who matters.
The one Dad would've wanted me to give this to.
The one I'm going to spend the rest of my life with, if she'll have me.
Soon. I'll do it soon.