Chapter 16 Penn
Penn
The coolness in the room pulls me awake, and when I peel my eyes open to find Jaylynn wrapped snugly around me, my lips curve into a smile I couldn’t stop if I tried.
Her breath is warm against my chest, her leg tangled with mine, her arm slung over me in a way that feels…
possessive. Like she belongs here. Like I belong to her.
I lift my head, eyes drifting to the fireplace. The flames have died, leaving only a bed of glowing embers. Careful not to wake her, I slip out from under her body and draw the blanket higher over her shoulders. She stirs faintly, sighs, then settles deeper into sleep.
I pause, caught in the pull of her beauty.
My heart gives a hard thump as I stand there, just staring, drinking her in.
The curve of her lips, still a little swollen from my kisses.
The faint pink flush across her cheeks from the heat of the fire…
and from the way she opened to me only hours earlier.
Something deep in my chest twists, equal parts awe and fear.
A shiver runs through me and I crouch at the hearth, quietly feeding logs onto the embers until they crackle and flare back to life.
The warmth seeps into my skin, but it’s not enough.
Not compared to the warmth I just left behind.
I stay there, crouched low, mesmerized by the flames and by the thought of what I risk every second I let myself fall harder for this woman.
Just as I’m about to stand and slip back under the covers, I feel a soft, familiar touch. Warm hands slide over my shoulders, down my chest, and every muscle in my body goes taut. Need and tenderness collide inside me, swelling until it’s hard to breathe.
“Hey,” I murmur, covering her hands with mine and rubbing them gently.
She presses her front against my back, her cheek brushing my shoulder.
I turn slightly, catching her sleepy smile, and it hits me—hard—that I have no idea how I’m supposed to walk away from her and still keep my heart intact. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me,” she says, her voice low and raspy from sleep.
God, she’s stunning like this. Sleep-tousled hair falling across her face, eyes heavy-lidded but soft, lips curved in that lazy smile of contentment that can only come after a night of passion.
Firelight glows across her skin, making her look almost otherworldly.
And I can’t stop thinking about how much I want her again—not just her body, but her.
I tug her gently into my lap, guiding her to sit between my legs. She settles with a soft sigh, her back pressed to my chest, her warmth sinking into me. My arms wrap around her automatically, hands linking together just above her heart as if to keep her there forever.
“This is so nice,” she whispers, her voice stirring heat low in my body.
I bury my nose in her hair, breathing her in. “Yeah. It is.”
For a long moment, we just sit there, the fire crackling, the storm outside eerily silent. I glance toward the window, snow still plastered thick against the panes. “Looks like the storm’s finally died down.”
We listen together. No howling wind. No rattling shutters. Just quiet.
“It’s still pitch-black,” I say, my voice low. “Morning’s not close…or maybe it is, and the snow’s just blocking the light. Do you know what time it is?”
“Don’t know,” she murmurs, sinking deeper against me. “Don’t care.” Her contented sigh vibrates against my chest, and I tighten my hold on her like I could anchor this moment in time.
A yawn pulls at me, but instead of exhaustion, there’s a restless hum inside my veins. “Maybe we should try to get some more sleep,” I suggest, though even as I say it, I don’t want to move.
“I actually don’t want to sleep.”
I get it. Sleep feels like wasting something we’ll never get back.
Despite what that drunk Santa said about there being no such thing as magic, tonight feels charged with it.
Like the world outside has stopped, the storm locking us into a bubble of warmth and firelight where nothing else exists.
I want to stay awake with her. To talk about everything and nothing, or sit in silence and just let her weight against me remind me I’m not alone.
“Want me to make coffee?” I ask, even though it’s the middle of the night.
She eyes me playfully. “You’re not going to do weird stuff to it are you.”
I laugh. “Never, and it’s you who does weird stuff—that I don’t want to know about—to your enemies’ coffee.”
“Yes, that’s true.” She stretches her arms wide, her sweater slipping from one shoulder, baring smooth skin to the flickering glow of the fire.
I lean down and press a kiss to the side of her head, unable to resist. She makes this soft little sound—half sigh, half moan—and leans into me like she needs the contact just as much as I do.
“Go get under the blankets. I’ll be right back.” I help her to her feet, reluctant to let go even for a moment. She pads toward the sofa, wrapping herself in the throw while I head to the kitchen.
The space is dark and quiet, the only sound the drip and hiss of the coffeemaker as I pop in the pods I’d found last night. The smell blooms instantly, an aromatic richness filling the air. I fill two steaming mugs. Black, because there’s no milk or sugar to be found.
I head back to the door when something from the corner of my eye catches my attention.
Was that…a racoon? Either I’m seeing things, or those strange noises came from that very swift mammal.
I blink, but the vision is gone. Best not to mention it to Jay, partly because it might freak her out, and partly because it’s possible I’m seeing things.
When I return, she’s curled on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her, staring into the fire. But the second she hears me, she turns with a smile so bright and genuine it slams into my chest like a fist. God. I don’t want this to end. But it will. It has to.
“Black okay?” I ask, offering her the mug. “It’s how I drink it, but I saw you put cream and sugar in yours at the inn.”
“It’s perfect.” She wraps her hands around it, cradling it between her palms. She inhales deeply, eyes fluttering shut. “Smells so good.”
I sink beside her, and she immediately tugs the blankets over both our legs, drawing me into her cocoon of warmth. Our shoulders brush. Our knees bump. So easy. So right.
“You know, we never did find the star,” I remind her, taking a sip.
She groans, tipping her head back. “God, I know.”
“If you were a gigantic star for a nativity set, where would you be?”
She blows on her coffee, steam spiraling into the air between us. “Hidden away in some storage room, probably. We need to find out who packed it up.”
“Whoever was in charge of the country club float, I’d guess.”
“That could be half the town,” she says, lips pursed in thought. “Hopefully by morning we’ll have better reception, and I can start making calls.”
She rests her head on my shoulder, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I feel her weight sink into me, her hair brushing my jaw, her breathing syncing with mine. Together, we sip our coffee in silence, the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of sparks the only sounds in the room.
And damn it, I don’t think I’ve ever been more content in my life. Not in the locker room after a win, not even in the quiet moments alone when everything should’ve felt good but never really did.
This—her, here with me—feels right.
But it’s not real.
At least, it’s not supposed to be. Sure, the sex was great, and being with her feels effortless, but at the end of the day we’re trading favors, aren’t we? She needed a fake fiancé. I needed an image adjustment.
Except it isn’t simple anymore. Because the fiancé part might be pretend, but the rest—the warmth, the intimacy, the way my chest tightens just looking at her—that’s all terrifyingly real.
And that…that’s not good. Especially since I’m still not convinced a part of this is because she wants Dylan back.
“Jay.” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.
“Hmm?” she murmurs against my shoulder.
“Do you miss Boston?”
She exhales slowly. “I really do.”
“What do you miss the most?”
She tilts her head, considering. “Work. Shopping. The big city vibe. There’s just…energy there, you know? It’s so different from Snowberry Falls.”
I glance down at her, at the way her lashes brush her cheek, at the way she looks perfectly at home here with me despite her words. “You like it here too, though, don’t you?”
“Yes, but the city has more to offer.” She glances at me, eyes bright with ambition. “More opportunities for me.”
I nod, my chest tightening as I think about what she’s been through to claw her way back. “I really hope you get the job. It’d be nice. We could hang out.” I nudge her playfully, like we’re just friends, even though it doesn’t feel that way. Not anymore.
“I could come to your games. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you play in person.”
“Yeah,” I manage, but the word scrapes raw in my throat. My stomach knots. Jesus Christ, I want to stay on the Bucks so bad it hurts.
“You know I loved watching you play, right?”
“You did?” My brows lift. “I thought you just went to hang out with your dad.”
She smirks. “Sure, but you don’t spend that much time around a coach without picking up a few things.”
I tilt my head, curious despite myself. “So, what did you learn, Jay?”
Her gaze holds mine, steady and unflinching. “That you’re really talented.”
A laugh escapes me, but it sounds hollow. “Yeah, I can take a guy down when I need to.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her silence stretches, weighted, until finally she says softly, “I really loved watching you.”
My head jerks toward her. “Wow, I didn’t know you were such a creeper.”
Her lips curve, teasing. “Well, now you do.” She inches closer, until her thigh brushes mine, the heat of her body seeping through the blanket. Her voice drops, quiet but sure. “You’ve got a lot of skill.”
“As an enforcer, you mean.”
She shakes her head. “You handle a stick as well as you handle an opponent. You’ve got more going on than you let on.” There’s a caution in her tone, like she knows she’s stepping into dangerous territory with me.
“That’s not what anyone wants,” I mutter, shifting in my seat, restless.
“I’m not so sure that’s true. What’s the worst that could happen if you showed them your stick and puck work?”
“That’s not what they pay me for,” I snap more sharply than intended. My jaw flexes as I drain the last sip of my coffee. “And if I step out of line, if I stop being what they expect, I get sent back.”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t back down. “What if you don’t?”
When I don’t answer, she traces her finger around the rim of her mug, choosing her words carefully.
“You know, after #GobbleGate, my confidence was wrecked. I was terrified to put myself out there again. So, I hid. Came back here. But when you’ve lost it all.
When you’ve already hit rock bottom…” she shrugs, lips twisting.
“There’s nowhere to go but up. So, I took on the parade. Small steps, right?”
“Nothing small about that,” I say quickly.
“Well, that’s turning out to be true. But now I’m applying to the Bucks. Maybe I’ll get it, maybe I won’t. But what do I have to lose in trying?”
I run her words through my head, unsettled. “Nothing, I guess.”
She nods, quiet but certain.
We fall into silence, but my mind won’t stop spinning.
What she’s saying echoes too close to what Jaxon told me yesterday.
It rattles around in my chest, scraping against the fear I don’t talk about, the fear that if I stop being the guy who does what’s expected—the fighter, the protector, the one who never steps out of line—I’ll lose the only thing keeping my spot on the team.
But hell, doing the right thing, the thing people wanted, never brought my parents back, did it?
The thought rips through me like barbed wire, leaving me raw and aching.
I drag my gaze back to Jaylynn. Her face is open, warm, lit by firelight and filled with a concern so genuine it almost undoes me.
She wants me to believe I could be more.
That I am more. But no one else has ever believed that—not the team, not the coaches, not even me.
I was never even enough for my parents.
But right now, I don’t want to unpack it. Not tonight. Not when the walls between us feel this thin, and I’m one breath away from giving her more of myself than I should.
“Come on.” My voice comes out rougher than I’d like. I stand and hold out a hand, needing to move, to break the heaviness before it swallows me whole. “Let’s go check out the billiards room.”
She hesitates, eyes narrowing like she sees right through me. Like she knows I’m running from something. But then she slips her hand into mine anyway.
Her fingers curl against my palm. Warm. Trusting. And as I lead her into the darkened hall, one thought pulses like a warning I can’t shake—
Why does she want this for me? Sure, I’m an NHL player, and enforcer, fourth line. Does she need me to be more, to be something else, something better? Something equivalent to mayor?
What if I can’t be what she wants?