Chapter 5 #3
"Reaper!" Marcus appeared, still in his goalie gear, grinning like a maniac. "Two assists! You were on fire!"
"Thanks."
"The scout looked impressed. I saw him taking notes."
"Great."
Marcus's expression shifted. "You okay, man? We just won. You just dominated. Why do you look like someone killed your dog?"
"I don't have a dog."
"You know what I mean."
Jake pulled off his jersey, focusing on the familiar ritual of undressing after a game. "I'm fine. Just tired."
"Bull. Something's up." Marcus lowered his voice. "Is this about Lucy?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know."
"Jake—"
"I'm seeing her tomorrow," Jake said quietly. "She invited me over to taste-test muffins."
Marcus's eyes went wide. "She invited you to her apartment?"
"Yeah."
"For muffins."
"Butternut squash muffins."
"That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."
"It's vegetables baked into bread. It's not romantic."
"It's absolutely romantic. She's sharing her baking with you. In her private space. That's intimacy, Reaper."
Jake finished changing, ignoring the way his heart was beating too fast. "The scout's probably going to make an offer. Derek called during the second period."
"And?"
"And I don't know if I want it."
Marcus sat down on the bench next to Jake, suddenly serious. "Talk to me."
"I spent the entire game thinking about tomorrow. About sitting in Lucy's kitchen, eating muffins, talking about something other than hockey. And I realized—I was more excited about that than I was about the scout being here." Jake looked at his hands. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're figuring out what matters to you. Finally."
"My dad would be disappointed."
"Your dad would want you to be happy."
"How do you know?"
"Because that's what parents want. Even the ones who push us toward their dreams—they want us to be happy. They just sometimes don't know the difference."
Tommy appeared in the doorway. "Morrison. Scout wants to talk to you. Conference room in five."
Jake's stomach dropped. This was it. The conversation that would determine his future.
"Want me to come with?" Marcus offered.
"No. I've got this."
The walk to the conference room felt longer than it should. Jake's legs were tired from the game, his shoulder sending up its usual post-game complaints. He was twenty-eight years old, not eighteen. His body knew the difference even if his brain didn't want to admit it.
The scout was waiting in the small room off the main corridor. Mid-forties, wearing a Nashville Predators polo, looking at his phone.
"Jake Morrison. Good game tonight."
"Thanks."
"I'm Steve Kowalski, assistant director of player personnel for Nashville. Mind if we talk for a few minutes?"
"Sure."
They sat. Steve pulled out a tablet, scrolled through what looked like stats and video clips.
"I've been following you this season," Steve said. "Two assists tonight, but that's not what impressed me. It's your consistency. Your hockey IQ. The way you read plays three steps ahead of everyone else."
"I appreciate that."
"We're looking for veteran depth. Someone who can play third line minutes, mentor younger guys, be a professional. Your injury history concerns us slightly, but our medical team reviewed your records and they think you're manageable."
Jake nodded, waiting.
"I'm prepared to offer you a two-way contract. AHL with NHL games when we need call-ups. It's not a guaranteed roster spot, but it's a chance." Steve named a salary that was triple what Jake made in Timber Falls. "You interested?"
This was it. The dream. The thing he'd been chasing since he was eight years old.
"Can I think about it?" Jake heard himself say.
Steve looked surprised. "Of course. But I'll need an answer by Monday. We're looking at a few options."
"I understand."
They shook hands. Steve gave Jake his business card. The meeting was over in less than ten minutes.
Jake walked back to the locker room in a daze. The team had mostly cleared out—Marcus was waiting, along with Tommy.
"Well?" Marcus asked.
"Two-way contract. AHL with NHL call-ups."
"Jake, that's amazing!"
"Yeah."
"You don't sound excited."
"I need to think about it."
Tommy, who'd been quiet, finally spoke. "What's there to think about?"
"Everything." Jake sat down heavily on the bench. "If I take it, I leave Timber Falls. I leave the Wolves, youth hockey on Saturdays, Wednesday morning pork buns—"
"Lucy," Marcus said quietly.
"Lucy," Jake agreed. "And I know we barely know each other. I know it's crazy to turn down the NHL for someone I've had like three real conversations with. But—"
"But you're finally starting to build a life here," Tommy finished. "And the thought of leaving it makes you sick."
Jake nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"Here's what I know," Tommy said. "You've spent three years in Timber Falls playing like someone with one foot out the door. Always waiting for the call, always thinking about what comes next. And you've been miserable."
"I haven't been—"
"You have. We all see it. But this week? Since you sat down at that bakery on Wednesday? You've been different. Present. Like you're finally here instead of somewhere else in your head."
"The NHL—"
"The NHL is a job, Jake. A good job, a prestigious job, but still just a job. And you have to decide—is it worth giving up the life you're starting to build here?"
Jake thought about tomorrow. About Lucy's apartment, butternut squash muffins, the way she'd looked at him at the farmers market like he was someone worth knowing.
"I don't know," Jake admitted.
"Then go home. Sleep. See Lucy tomorrow. And on Monday, make your choice." Tommy stood. "Just make sure it's your choice. Not your dad's. Not the dream you've been chasing since you were a kid. Yours."
After Tommy left, Marcus drove Jake home. They didn't talk, but Marcus's presence was comforting. When they pulled up outside Jake's building, Marcus finally spoke.
"For what it's worth? I think you already know what you want. You're just scared to admit it."
"What do I want?"
"You want to stay. You want to coach youth hockey and eat pork buns and see where things go with Lucy. You want a real life instead of chasing a dream that stopped fitting years ago."
"And that's okay? To want that?"
"It's more than okay. It's brave."
Jake got out of the truck, then leaned back in. "Thanks, man."
"Anytime. Now go home, don't watch old westerns until 3 AM, and get some actual sleep. You have a muffin date tomorrow."
Jake climbed the three flights to his studio apartment. Inside, his phone buzzed with messages—his mom, asking how the game went. Derek, his agent, wanting to know about the scout meeting. Owen, texting the group chat about how amazing the win was.
And Lucy: Saw your game tonight. You were amazing.
Jake read that message three times. Then he looked around his studio apartment—the IKEA furniture, the unmade bed, the succulent from the farmers market sitting on his windowsill.
It wasn't much. But it was starting to feel like home.
He texted his mom: Can we talk tomorrow afternoon? After lunch? I need your advice about something.
She responded immediately: Of course honey. Everything okay?
Yeah. I'm just trying to figure out what comes next.
I'm proud of you for thinking about it instead of just reacting.
Love you mom.
Love you too. Call me tomorrow.
Jake set down his phone and looked at the Nashville scout's business card. Monday. He had until Monday to decide.
But sitting in his apartment, thinking about tomorrow—about Lucy and muffins and the life he was starting to build—Jake suspected he already knew what his answer would be.
The question was whether he was brave enough to choose it.