30. Jayce
THIRTY
Jayce
I ’m tearing through the cabinets like a madman, shoving aside old board games, sun-faded towels, and a half-empty bottle of bug spray. The scent of pine and dust fills my nose, and I let out a sneeze that practically rattles the flimsy cabin walls.
It has to be here. I know I packed it.
I stand up, hands on my hips, scanning the room like my swim gear is about to magically materialize.
And of course, it doesn’t.
Rosie’s voice cuts through my frustration. “And you remember unpacking it?”
I turn to find her leaning in the doorway, wearing a red bikini with a scarf tied loosely around her waist. The sight of her—hair damp from the lake, lips curled in amusement—does absolutely nothing to help me focus.
“Yup,” I say, not nearly as confident as I want to sound. I crouch down again, or if you can call it crouching when one of your legs is fucking stiff. However, I manage to peek under the bed like maybe, just maybe, my swimsuit decided to crawl under there for a nap.
Still nothing.
Rosie smirks. “Mm-hmm. Sure. Maybe you forgot it at home?”
I sigh, getting up and feeling like a grandpa again. “No, I unpacked it yesterday. But…I have an idea. Be right back.”
I step out into the main cabin area, scanning for the one person who would know.
Liora. She’s the only one who was in my room besides Rosie.
She’s in the kitchen now, slicing up watermelons like she’s preparing for a summer barbecue commercial. If anyone has been snooping and knows where my trunks ended up, it’s her. That little trickster is onto something.
“Liora,” I call out, my voice echoing through the open space.
“Looking for something, Jay?” she asks, a knowing smirk forming. Yup, pure evil, that one. Just perfect for my best friend.
“I feel like I don’t want you to yell the next sentence,” I say, stepping closer.
She hums in amusement, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Jay, I could force you to admit that you’re sleeping with Riley’s sister…” She spears a watermelon chunk with a fork. “But if Rosie had actually slept in her own bed , she would’ve found your trunks under her blanket.”
My stomach drops.
Liora grins, clearly enjoying this way too much as she arranges the watermelon slices on a plate.
“Damn,” I mutter. She got us this easy?
She pats my arm, her expression turning just a bit more serious. “You know what this means, right?”
I nod. “We have to tell him.”
Her brows lift, like finally .
“But if I tell him now,” I continue, “he’ll be pissed for the rest of the trip.”
Liora shrugs. “Maybe. But if you guys love each other, there’s no reason for him to be angry . Annoyed? Probably. But furious?” She tilts her head. “It’s Riley, not a firing squad.”
“You do know who you’re marrying, right?” I deadpan.
Her face flushes. “Okay, yes , he might freak out a little. But the longer you wait, the worse it’ll be. And honestly? I don’t want to lie to him. He’s oblivious to things like this. You could probably live this charade forever and he wouldn’t notice. But I knew you liked Rosie last year.”
I blink. “You did?”
“Oh yeah.” She pops a piece of watermelon into her mouth. “But have you guys actually talked about your future?”
I know exactly where she’s headed with this. I’ve talked about wanting a wife and kids someday, and with Rosie, that’s not happening anytime soon. She has the same vision for her future—but her timeline is a few years down the road. That’s not new information. I’ve always known that.
“Yeah. No pressure, no rush. I’ll let her shine. Don’t worry,” I say.
Liora softens. “That’s good. Because she deserves that. But…you deserve a family of your own too.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. I’d wait for her forever if I had to. It’s not like I need to have kids right now . Whether it’s five years from now or more, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s the only person I see that future with. And maybe in two years, she won’t want me anymore—I can’t control that. But I won’t let this slip away just because I have some timeline in my head. I need to find my own footing first, grow into the person I want to be, build my career in coaching. I need time too. And it’s enough for me just knowing that we want the same things, even if it takes a little longer to get there than for my other friends. So I’ll wait. I’ll carry all her ballet bags until she’s ready to put them away. I’ll stand by her until she’s ready to take that next step. Whenever, if ever , that is. Because, Liora, I am so in love with her. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”
Liora smiles. “Okay, that’s all I needed to go and fight my future hubby for you guys. But, well, eventually, you’ll have to stop sneaking around.”
I sneeze.
“Bless you,” Liora says.
“Thanks, but…I know. It’s just…I’m scared of losing him. If this blows up, if he thinks I’ve betrayed him—” I shake my head. “With everything that happened to you…”
I don’t need to say more. Liora already knows what I’m referring to. Knows the way her past still lingers in the corners of her life, how the trust she lost isn’t something that can just be rebuilt overnight. And the last thing I ever want is for anyone— especially my friends—to look at me and see even a shadow of that monster that groomed Liora. Her former coach had groomed her when she was young, manipulated her, and left scars she was still working through. It’s something I never want to be compared to.
Liora’s expression softens. “Jay, it’s not the same. You never crossed any lines. You never manipulated her or took anything from her. Rosie’s twenty-three . She knows her own heart.”
I exhale slowly, staring at the worn wooden floor. “I just…I never want to be that guy.”
“You’re not that guy.” Liora reaches out, squeezing my arm. “And Rosie never saw you as some father figure. If anything, I think she saw you as a challenge.”
That startles a laugh out of me. “Her playmate.”
“Exactly.” She smiles. “And then, at some point, it wasn’t a game anymore. It was real . And that’s a good thing, Jay. Don’t ruin something beautiful by letting guilt twist it into something it’s not. I let my coach step into a space in my life that he was never meant to fill. He wasn’t my father, and he crossed lines that should’ve never been crossed. But, Jay, that’s not you. What you and Rosie have—it’s real. It’s love. And love doesn’t always happen the way we expect, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”
I nod, the tightness in my chest easing—just a little.
“And as for Riley…leave my hotheaded husband-to-be to me . But please, stop lying to him.”
I hesitate, then sigh. “I wasn’t trying to hide it to be shady. It’s just…fear.”
“I know,” she says, softer this time. “But it has to stop now.”
I nod again, leaning in to kiss her cheek, a silent thank-you.
Then I sneeze again, groaning as she gives me a smug look.
“You better not be getting sick,” she warns.
“No, no,” I say, already backing out of the kitchen to go for a swim with the guys. “Just the dust.”
Rosie steps into the room, her eyes widening the second she sees me. “Jay, you look awful.”
“Well, thank you, babe,” I say, coughing.
She’d stayed out longer, soaking up the sun with Liora and Priya, but now she’s here—fresh from the lake, skin warm, hair damp, her scarf loosely draped over her shoulders. She doesn’t hesitate. In a few quick strides, she’s beside me, pressing her cool hand to my forehead. It’s a relief against the burning heat simmering under my skin. I guess it wasn’t just the dust.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, even as my teeth chatter. “Just cold.”
Rosie raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Jay, you’re burning up. I think you’ve got a fever.”
I shake my head, pulling the blanket up over my chest. “Nope. Totally fine. I don’t do fevers.”
She lets out a short laugh, unimpressed. “Oh? You just decided that? Like some kind of genetic immunity to basic human ailments?”
“Exactly,” I mumble, sinking further into the pillows. My limbs feel like they weigh a hundred pounds, and just keeping my eyes open is an effort.
Rosie sighs and tucks the blanket around me tighter, her touch so gentle it makes something in my chest ache. “You’re so unbelievably stubborn. It’s wild.” Then, after a pause, “I’ll make you something. What would one make for you when you’re sick?”
She sits next to the bed, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of my blanket as she waits for my answer. Her eyes are soft with concern, and for a second, I forget about the fever altogether, lost in the way she’s looking at me. I could look into those eyes forever and never be bored.
“Chicken soup, I guess,” I say after a moment.
Rosie smiles, tucking away a loose strand of hair that fell onto my forehead. “You know, we always had a doctor come straight to us whenever we got sick. My mom almost never came near us when we weren’t feeling well. She said she didn’t want to get sick too.”
There’s something in her voice, something distant, and I reach out, despite the weight in my limbs, and take her hand in mine. My thumb brushes over her knuckles. “But kids need cuddling when they’re sick.”
She gives me a small, sad smile. “My dad would cuddle me when he was around. But he often wasn’t. And then I’d crawl into Riley’s bed, or ask an au pair, but they were always so young, not really knowing how to handle me, they just called the docs. I just thought that’s how it was. You get sick, and you deal with it alone.” She squeezes my fingers. “But I wouldn’t want to leave you alone.”
I squeeze back. “You can, though. I’d understand.”
She shakes her head. “No, I want to take care of you. Just…don’t be mad at me if I’m bad at it. I’m not used to taking care of people.” She huffs out a breath, shaking her head at herself. “God, that sounds awful.”
I grin, even as a cough shakes through me. “Oh, my sweet billionaire girl.” I swallow against the scratchiness in my throat. “Maybe you should go. You really don’t want to catch this.”
Rosie ignores me entirely. She pulls the blanket up again, smoothing it over my chest, and then rushes to the bathroom. A minute later, she’s back, pressing a cool, damp cloth against my forehead. The relief is instant, and I sigh, my body relaxing despite the fever burning through me.
“Not going anywhere,” she murmurs, adjusting the cloth. “Just downstairs to make you some soup .”
I can hear the excitement in her voice, like cooking for me is some kind of grand adventure. It’s adorable, honestly. And as much as I want to tease her for it, sleep is already pulling at me.
Through the haze, I feel her fingers in my hair, pushing a few damp strands away from my forehead again. I hear her say something soft, but I’m already too far gone, drifting into sleep with the lingering warmth of her touch still resting against my skin.