Chapter Eleven
Clay
The call comes through just as the front door bursts open.
Steven’s voice booms from the entry, followed by boots stomping on hardwood and the high-pitched laughter of kids. I duck into the hallway, phone buzzing in my hand. It’s Connor, the goalie coach from Kolmont. We’ve been talking off and on ever since word got out about the open position.
I swipe to answer before the noise swallows me. “Hey, man.”
“Got a second?”
“Yeah,” I say, pressing a shoulder against the wall. “Could use a distraction from the Christmas chaos anyway.”
He laughs, then gets right to it. “Nothing official yet, but they’ve narrowed it down to two candidates. You’re still in the mix. Having history with Coach Sanders definitely works in your favor. Everything’s just on pause for the holidays, so it could go either way right now.”
It could go either way. The kind of phrase that’s supposed to sound neutral but cuts like a blade.
I clear my throat, forcing the tension out of my voice. “Appreciate the update. Means a lot.”
When we hang up, the thin bit of hope I’d been clinging to feels stretched tight. I’m one more letdown away from it being snapped in half.
Coaching at Kolmont would mean starting fresh.
A steady paycheck. A chance to be back on the ice without gambling on another surgery.
It’s not the NHL, but it’s something. A piece of what I lost. And after the past year, after losing the career I’ve worked so hard to build, it feels like the closest thing left to that dream.
I pocket my phone, roll my shoulders back, and step out of the hall.
And that’s when I see them.
Evan’s already there, standing too close to Tessa by the kitchen doorway.
He’s wearing that same easy grin on his face.
The same one he’s used to get away with shit his whole life.
She laughs at something he says, but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
She’s trying to make it look natural, and it’s not.
It hits me like a puck to the chest.
I hate it. Hate even the thought of their history. Hate that she’s looking at him at all. She was supposed to be my brother’s forever.
Now she’s the mistake I’ll never regret.
Because she’s supposed to be off-limits. And because I already know—I’m in too deep with this girl.
Still, the longer I stand there, the tighter my chest gets. My fingers curl into a fist against my leg, a weak attempt to hide the irritation coiling in my gut.
I know what it is. Jealousy—plain and simple. The same kind that used to get me in trouble when I was younger and started more than a few fights on the ice. The kind I swore I’d left behind.
But it’s more than that. It’s fear because watching them, even just laughing together, reminds me of how easily I could lose her. And she’s not even mine to lose.
Evan leans in and says something I can’t catch. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. It’s a nervous habit. It’s probably harmless, but my pulse jumps as I try to stop myself from wanting to step in.
Then Steven’s voice cuts through the noise, dragging me back. “There’s my little sister!”
Tessa turns toward him, relief flickering across her face, and I finally pull my eyes away before someone notices how long I’ve been watching her.
He crosses the room in two long strides, scooping Tessa up in a hug that’s all noise and motion. “You’re late,” he teases, laughing as he squeezes her. “I thought you forgot us.”
“Please,” she fires back, smiling up at him. “You’d survive one holiday without me.”
Erica’s right behind him, pulling Tessa into another hug. “It’s been too long,” she says, smoothing a strand of hair from her face. “You look good, honey.”
By the time they’re done, the twins and their little sister circle Tessa’s legs like puppies. She crouches down, laughing as they throw their arms around her neck. “Look at you guys,” she says, pulling them in tighter. “You’re growing like little weeds.”
One of the twins puffs out his chest. “I’m almost as tall as Uncle Clay now!”
He glances over at me, his smile beaming on his face. His brother throws up his arm and flexes. “And we’re almost as strong too!”
That causes all of us to crack up, and I lift a brow. “Almost, huh?”
He nods, grinning wide enough to show the gap where his front tooth used to be.
Tessa laughs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You’ve still got a ways to go, kid.”
She’s glowing now. Cheeks flushed, hair slipping loose, surrounded by people who already love her.
The noise picks up as Erica and Steven come in, laughing about how they took the kids outside to burn off some energy, but it clearly didn’t work. The twins are already arguing while their parents talk over each other. Everyone’s laughing, voices overlapping until it’s too damn loud.
I cross my arms, trying to look relaxed, but my chest is tight. Heat crawls up the back of my neck, and I should look away or walk off, maybe step outside for a breath of fresh air. Anything to help pretend it doesn’t get to me, watching her slide so easily into everyone else’s world but mine.
But I don’t.
She’s laughing now, crouched beside the kids as they dig through the basket of toys our moms kept here for them. One of the twins hands her a homemade cookie, and she gasps like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted. After taking a big bite, she’s still grinning as crumbs fall from her lips.
The boys crack up, crumbs covering their shirts, too. The little one squeals, frosting smeared across her chin, and Tessa just throws her head back, laughing right along with them.
It’s chaos—loud, messy, sticky with sugar. And she’s right in the middle of it, loving every second.
From the couch, Steven props his leg on the ottoman and laughs. “See? Tessa always ends up at the kids’ table.”
Tessa glances over, holding up her cookie. “Can’t help it. They’re more fun than the rest of you.”
The kids cheer like she’s just proved them right. She throws her arms up, laughing, glitter dusting her sweater and frosting smudged across her fingers. A few strands of hair slip loose and fall into her face.
I just stand there, watching. Because seeing her like this—laughing, relaxed, surrounded by my family—hits me hard. I’m already in too deep to back out now.
She’s on the rug with the twins, crayons everywhere, turning wrapping paper tubes into swords. One’s tucked against her side with crumbs on his shirt. The other leans into her leg, waving a coloring book and telling her she’s “doing the antlers wrong.”
Her voice is soft, calm in a way I’ve never heard before.
She laughs, fixes the drawing, and hands the crayon back with a sound effect.
They eat up every look, every sound, every stupid little thing she does.
They can’t get enough of her. She doesn’t care about the mess.
Tessa talks too much, trips over her own feet, and hides behind sarcasm when you push her buttons.
But with them? She doesn’t overthink or second-guess herself. She’s just… herself.
And it kills me. Because I fucking love her for it.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and grind my teeth until my jaw aches.
My hands itch to wipe the frosting off her cheek, to pull her close, to tell her she has no clue what she does to me.
Instead, I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, lean harder into the pillar like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, and stare at the floor, because if I keep looking at her, I’ll give myself away.
Erica jokes about stuffing Tessa in her suitcase and taking her home since the kids can’t get enough of her. And Tessa just stands there, laughing, glowing brighter than the damn tree, and it’s more than I can handle.
And then Evan drifts up beside me.
“Looks like you two survived the storm,” Evan says. His tone’s light, but the words have teeth. “Cozy cabin. Just you and her, huh?”
My jaw locks before I can stop it. “We managed.”
He laughs under his breath, the kind of sound that’s meant to pass as harmless but never is. “Bet that was… interesting.”
The way he says it hits like a jab. I don’t bite. With Evan, silence usually says more. But he doesn’t take the hint.
He shifts closer, shoulder bumping mine. It’s casual enough that no one else would think twice, but I know him. It’s a move meant to get a rise out of me. “She say anything about me?”
That one lands square in the jaw.
I slowly turn my head. “Why?”
He smiles, still watching her. “Just curious. Thought maybe she mentioned if she’s seeing anyone. Or if she mentioned me at all.”
I study him, trying to find the angle. It’s the same smug look he’s had since we were kids. The one that always showed up right before he did something he knew would piss me off. “I figured that ship sailed a long time ago.”
He shrugs, pretending not to care, but his grin slips a little. “Yeah, maybe. Timing wasn’t right. But she’s grown up, you know? She seems different now.” He glances at me, that fake-casual tone back in play. “Maybe I should give it another shot.”
The words hang heavy between us.
For a second, it’s like all the air leaves the room.
He keeps talking, but I stop hearing him.
The only thing cutting through is the rush of blood in my ears.
The twins’ laughter, the scrape of a chair, Tessa’s voice—it all fades until it’s just that one sentence looping. Maybe I should give it another shot.
My fists curl at my sides, shoulders tightening. I can almost feel what it’d be like to put him through the wall just to shut him up.
Instead, I stand still.
Tessa’s a few feet away, kneeling on the floor, her hair falling loose as she leans over the coloring book.
One of the twins smears frosting on her arm, and she laughs.
Evan’s beside me, pretending to watch, but I can feel him waiting to see how far he can push before I crack. He’s always been good at that.
I press my tongue to the back of my teeth and swallow the words, trying to claw their way out. My jaw aches. My fingers twitch, itching to move—to reach for her, to do something.
What I want to do is grab her hand, pull her close, and walk out of here with her. I can see it play out in my mind. The drive back to the cabin, my hand resting on her thigh, away from everyone, where it’s just her and me.
But the noise around us keeps going. The twins start arguing over a crayon. Tessa breaks it in half so they both win. Evan chuckles softly beside me, like he’s enjoying the show.
I turn away before I do something stupid.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Tessa looking up, hair falling into her face. Her smile falters for a second, just enough to tell me she notices something’s off. Her questioning eyes linger on me before she looks away, pretending not to.
I breathe in slowly, count to five, and let it out through my nose. The air feels thick. Too hot.
I tell myself he’s just being him, stirring things up because that’s what Evan does. Whatever they had, whatever he had, is long gone. That she’s not his to talk about. Not anymore.
But I can feel it fraying inside me, piece by piece. Every word, every laugh, every second of pretending I’m fine pulls tighter.
Standing there with my hands jammed in my pockets and my jaw clenched so hard it hurts, all I can think about is how much longer I have before I snap.