Chapter 26 - Tish
TISH
The bus lurches forward with a mechanical groan that seems to echo the knot in my stomach.
The opposing team’s arena is our destination, adding another torturous hour to this already awkward journey.
Every few minutes, my eyes drift up from the stack of Becky’s kindergarten worksheets spread across the small table, only to catch one of them looking at me.
Jake’s emerald eyes hold that familiar teasing glint, but there’s something deeper now, something that makes my cheeks burn when I remember the feel of his hands on my skin just last night.
Ash sits in one of the reclining chairs, his brown eyes intense and unreadable, that protective energy radiating from him like heat from a furnace.
And Carl keeps glancing over from where he’s reviewing game footage, those piercing blue eyes making my pulse quicken every time they meet mine.
The memory of kissing all three of them crashes over me like a tidal wave.
The taste of Jake’s lips, the gentle strength in Ash’s touch, the surprising tenderness in Carl’s kiss, it all feels surreal, like something that happened to someone else.
Someone braver.
Someone who doesn’t spend her nights worrying about making rent and whether her five-year-old daughter is getting enough vegetables.
“Mommy, you’re not helping,” Becky’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. She’s holding up a worksheet covered in addition problems, her dark blue eyes, so much like mine, filled with frustration.
“Sorry, baby.” The endearment comes out rougher than intended, my throat tight with emotion. “Let’s look at this one together.”
The bus hits a pothole, sending our pencils rolling across the table.
Becky giggles, the sound like Christmas bells, and some of the tension in my shoulders ease.
This is what matters. Not the complicated mess brewing between me and three impossibly attractive men, but making sure my daughter feels secure and loved.
“Can I sit with you guys?” Krystal’s small voice draws my attention.
Carl’s granddaughter stands in the aisle, clutching a pink backpack decorated with glittery snowflakes.
Her red hair catches the light from the bus windows, and there’s something so hopeful in her green eyes that my heart clenches.
“Of course, sweetheart.” The words come naturally, and Becky immediately scoots over to make room. “What kind of homework do you have?”
“Reading and math, just like Becky.” Krystal settles beside us, pulling out a workbook covered in Christmas stickers.
As if summoned by his granddaughter’s voice, Carl appears beside our table.
He’s changed out of his usual coaching attire into dark jeans and a navy sweater that brings out his eyes.
The silver threading through his hair catches the light, and when he smiles down at Krystal, the transformation is breathtaking.
“Mind if I join this study session?” His voice carries that familiar gruff edge, but it’s softer now, gentler.
“Please.” The invitation slips out before rational thought can stop it. Our eyes meet for a heartbeat too long, and the memory of his lips against mine floods back with startling clarity.
Heat creeps up my neck, but Carl simply slides into the seat across from us, his knee brushing mine under the small table.
The next hour passes in a bubble of unexpected peace. Carl transforms before my eyes, becoming an entirely different kind of coach when it comes to Krystal’s homework.
Where he’s demanding and exacting with his players, he’s infinitely patient with her, explaining each problem with devastating tenderness.
“That’s it, princess,” he murmurs as Krystal successfully sounds out a particularly challenging word. His large hands dwarf the tiny pencil, but his touch is gentle as he helps both girls form their numbers correctly.
This is the side of him the media never sees. The grandfather who probably reads bedtime stories and checks for monsters under the bed.
It’s devastatingly attractive in a way that has nothing to do with his silver hair or broad shoulders.
“You’re staring,” Jake whispers against my ear, making me jump. He’s somehow materialized beside our table, that trademark grin playing at his lips. “Can’t say I blame you. The old man’s got his moments.”
“I wasn’t…” The protest dies as Jake’s fingers brush against my shoulder, a casual touch that sends electricity racing down my spine.
“Sure you weren’t.” His green eyes dance with mischief, but there’s heat there too, a reminder of how those same eyes looked when he was moving inside me. “Just like you weren’t staring at Ash earlier when he was doing his pre-game stretches.”
My cheeks flame. “Jake—”
“Relax, sweetheart.” The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, sweet and dangerous. “Your secrets are safe with me. All of them.”
The bus begins to slow. Through the windows, I can see the arena rising ahead of us like a fortress of glass and steel.
Christmas garland wraps around the light posts, and a massive wreath adorns the main entrance.
But what makes my stomach drop are the crowds gathered outside.
Dozens of people holding signs, cameras flashing, voices rising in an excited buzz that penetrates even the bus’s thick walls.
Several have my name scrawled across them in bold letters, and my heart starts hammering against my ribs like a caged bird.
“This is insane,” the words slip out in a whisper.
Carl’s expression hardens as he takes in the scene outside. “Jake, get her through that crowd fast. Don’t stop for anyone.”
“Already on it, Coach.” Jake’s arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.
The familiar scent of his cologne—something woodsy with hints of pine that reminds me of Christmas trees—wraps around me like a security blanket. “Keep your head down, Tish. Don’t look at the cameras.”
We step out of the RV bus to shouting voices, clicking cameras, and questions being hurled through the air like weapons. Jake’s grip tightens on me, his body shielding me from the worst of it.
“Tish! Are you and Jake Sorenson really dating?”
Jake’s jaw clenches, and he pulls me closer, his lips brushing against my temple. “Almost there, sweetheart. Just keep walking.”
The arena doors can’t come fast enough.
Once we’re inside, the noise fades to a dull roar, but my hands are shaking as I smooth down Becky’s hair.
She’d stayed close to Carl and Krystal, protected by his imposing presence, but her eyes are wide with confusion.
“Why were all those people yelling, Mommy?”
“They’re just excited about the game, baby.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but what else can I say? That her mother has somehow become tabloid fodder?
Carl appears at my elbow, his expression grim. “Security will escort you to your seats and stay with you during the game.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“It’s not a request, Trisha. I won’t have you or the girls put at risk.”
The idea of needing a bodyguard feels surreal, like something that happens to celebrities, not single mothers from small towns who just wanted to pay their bills.
This isn’t what I signed up for when I agreed to the fake relationship scheme.
The arena fills quickly, a sea of blue and gold jerseys mixed with the opposing team’s colors.
Christmas music plays over the sound system, and the ice gleams under the bright lights like a frozen lake.
Becky and Krystal press their faces to the glass, watching the players warm up with wide-eyed fascination.
The game starts with the usual fanfare, but my attention keeps drifting between the action on the ice and the three men who’ve somehow become the center of my increasingly complicated world.
Jake moves like poetry in motion, cutting through defenders with ease. Carl paces behind the bench, his silver hair catching the arena lights as he shouts instructions.
And Ash plays like a man possessed, checking opponents with controlled violence that makes the crowd roar its approval.
He’s the team captain for a reason, leading by example, never backing down from a fight.
The first period passes in a blur of goals and penalties, the score tied 2-2. During the intermission, Jake skates over to our section, his helmet tucked under his arm and that devastating smile aimed directly at me.
“How’s the view from up here?” he calls out, loud enough for nearby fans to hear.
“Perfect,” the word slips out before I can stop it, and his grin widens.
“Save me a kiss for after we win.” He winks and skates away, leaving me burning with embarrassment and something much more dangerous.
The second period is more intense, both teams fighting for every inch of ice. But then, with less than five minutes left, everything changes.
Ash is racing toward the goal, the puck dancing on his stick like it’s attached by invisible strings.
The opposing team’s defenseman comes at him from the side, and I can see the collision coming before it happens.
Time seems to slow as bodies collide with a sickening crack that echoes through the arena.
Ash hits the boards hard, his body crumpling in a way that makes my stomach lurch. He doesn’t get up.
The arena falls silent except for the scrape of skates as players gather around Ash’s motionless form.
Carl is already moving, vaulting over the boards with surprising agility.
The team medic follows, and my heart hammers against my ribs as they kneel beside him.
“Mommy, why isn’t Uncle Ash getting up?” Becky’s small voice cuts through the terrible quiet.
The stretcher appears, and my world tilts sideways as they carefully load Ash onto it, his face pale beneath the arena lights.
Carl skates alongside as they move toward the tunnel, his expression carved from stone.
As the stretcher disappears from view, one thought echoes through my mind with crystal clarity: I can’t lose him. Not now. Not when I’m just beginning to understand what he might mean to me.