Chapter 15 Rourke
FIFTEEN
Rourke
“Another win!” Miles shouts as he comes into the locker room, which is already electric with victory after our game—guys whooping, music blasting, someone spraying a bottle of San Pellegrino like it’s champagne.
I should be riding this high since I played well tonight—two goals along with shutting down their power play.
But all I can think about is whether Aria will still be awake when I get home.
“Riley!” Brax shouts over the noise, grinning as he pulls his jersey over his head. “What a game, man. That hit in the second period—”
“Thanks,” I say, but I’m already reaching for my phone to check the time. Eight thirty. Maybe if I hurry, I can see Janie for an hour before she goes to bed.
“You coming out to celebrate?” Jaxon asks, toweling off his hair. “I think there’s a brunette waiting to talk to you.”
I don’t even hesitate. “I don’t like brunettes. I’m more of a blonde guy now.” Blonde with pink streaks, to be exact.
Jaxon’s eyebrows fly up. “That’s not what you said last year.”
“People change,” I say, shoving gear into my bag faster than usual. “I need to get back to Janie’s and work on the pageant script tonight.”
The guys exchange glances. “Wait.” Jaxon stares at me like I have horns growing out of my head. “You’re choosing a kids’ pageant over hanging out with us?”
In the past, I’d be the first one ready to hit Boots and Buckles after a win like this.
“Well…yeah.”
There’s dead silence before Leo starts howling with laughter. “Oh, man, you’re really gone for your new roommate, aren’t you?” Leo asks.
“No,” I say, avoiding them as I zip my bag shut. “It’s just temporary.”
“While every rental within an hour radius is supposedly booked?” Jaxon interrupts.
“It’s the holiday season,” I say.
The truth? I haven’t looked for another place since those first calls.
But staying in Sully’s Beach makes sense—it’s more convenient for practice and the pageant.
Plus, the reports about someone prowling around at night make me concerned.
After hearing that, I can’t just leave Janie and Aria there alone.
“But you’re not even checking,” Jaxon says.
“That’s because…” Why exactly? Because I’m worried about a couple of teenagers? Because it’s convenient for the pageant?
Or because waking up to Aria’s babbling and the sight of Janie in her pajamas has become the best part of my day, and I’m not ready to give that up?
“Because he’s whipped,” Leo answers for me.
Like he’s one to talk.
“It’s not like that.” I shake my head. “This isn’t a normal hookup. It’s more complicated because of her history.”
“How complicated can it be?” Leo asks. “You like her. She likes you. Take her out for a date and stop pretending there’s nothing between you.”
“She doesn’t feel the same,” I say. “She’s a single mom who’s not ready to date. We’re just…roommates.”
The guys burst into laughter.
“Roommates,” Leo repeats. “Right. And I’m the Pope.”
“When’s the last time you had a date?” Jaxon interrupts.
I open my mouth, then close it. I haven’t had one since I danced with Janie at Boots and Buckles last summer.
“I thought so,” Leo says, crossing his arms. “You’re domestic now, dude. Rushing home after a game.”
“I have to get my hours in for volunteering…” I throw my bag over my shoulder.
“Our boy’s all grown up,” Leo mocks, wiping fake tears from his face. “Playing house with a teacher and a baby.”
“Shut up,” I say over my shoulder as I head out of the locker room. “You guys are idiots.”
I’m smiling before I even hit the door.
Janie’s house is a small three-bedroom Cape Cod tucked into one of Sully’s Beach’s quieter neighborhoods—the kind of street where kids ride bikes and neighbors actually know each other by name.
Because let’s face it, I’ve never even talked to my neighbors in The Foundry, let alone asked them their names.
The white clapboard siding and black shutters could use fresh paint, and when I first arrived, the front porch had a sag that made me wince every time she walked out there.
So yesterday, while she was at the grocery store, I grabbed some tools and fixed it.
She didn’t even notice right away, but when she did, the smile on her face was thanks enough.
Janie’s taken the modest space and changed it into something that actually feels like home—with throw pillows in gray and cream, framed photos of her and Aria scattered around the place, and soft blankets that she loves to use when she cuddles her daughter.
The kitchen is so small that two people have to do an awkward dance to get around each other—something I don’t mind, especially when I catch a whiff of her perfume.
Her entire place is a fraction of the size of my industrial loft, with none of the expensive finishes or designer touches.
But walking through these rooms, seeing Aria’s toys scattered across the floors and Janie’s coffee mug, I understand something I never did before.
This is what I’ve been searching for. Home, family, and everything I never had.
By the time I pull into the driveway, the living room lights are on, but Aria’s room is dark, which means I missed bedtime.
I let myself in, dropping my gear by the door quietly so I don’t wake the baby before I notice Janie at the dining room table. Her laptop is open in front of her; next to her is a mug of steaming tea and a notebook covered in scribbled-out words. She lets out a sigh before throwing down her pen.
“Hey,” I say softly, trying not to surprise her.
She looks up and gives me a tired smile. “How was the game?”
“We won.” I grab a slice of leftover pizza from the counter. Somehow, the game doesn’t seem as important as what’s eating at her. “What are you working on?”
“This script.” She gestures at the laptop screen.
“It’s impossible. I’m trying to fix the entire storyline so we don’t have Santa mixed up with Bethlehem and Saint Nicholas.
I swear the last director tried to stuff every Christmas story in here.
” She rests her chin on her hand as she stares at the screen.
“I thought this was my job?” I ask.
“I know you offered.” She pauses. “But you don’t have time for writing on top of everything else.”
“And you do?” I lift a brow.
“Okay, you made your point,” she says with a sigh.
“Mind if I take a peek?” I sit next to her on a chair and read through a few lines. The script is exactly as bad as I remember.
“Listen, I know you offered. But I think it’s best if someone who likes Christmas reworks the script.”
I lean back in the chair. “Janie, you look like you’re about to cry into your laptop.”
“I’m not about to cry,” she says quickly. “It’s just…this is my responsibility. My kids are counting on me to make it work.”
“So let me help.”
She shakes her head. “But the whole structure is wrong. There’s no flow, and it’s kind of flat, honestly. And you’re already doing enough by playing Santa—”
I cross my arms. “I told you, I’m not playing Santa.”
Her face snaps to mine. “Rourke, you signed up for the lead. It’s the only adult role.”
“And I said we’re not mixing up fact and fiction. If I have to participate, I’ll play Saint Nicholas instead.”
She throws her arms in the air. “What’s the difference?”
I lean back in my chair. “Saint Nicholas was an actual person who gave away his inheritance to help people. Santa’s just marketing magic, red suit, flying reindeer. Complete fiction.”
She stares at me. “Since when do you know anything about Saint Nicholas?”
“Since I decided I wasn’t going to parade around in a fat suit ho-ho-hoing for your amusement.”
“My amusement?” She scoffs. “This is for the kids. It has nothing to do with how I feel.”
“Which is exactly why it should be someone real. Saint Nicholas actually cared about children. Or maybe I think kids deserve better than fairy tales.”
“Okay,” she begins, like she’s thinking it over. “I’ll let you be Saint Nicholas. But you still need to wear something red.”
“Easy enough.”
She takes back her laptop and makes the changes in the cast list, her fingers flying across the keys. “Now, about the script—if Saint Nicholas is the narrator, where should we begin? We need to work in the kids as much as possible.”
I slide the computer toward me. “How about you take a break and let me take a stab at it?”
“Nope.” She snatches it right back like it’s a container of ice cream and I’m holding a spoon. “I’m thinking if we focus on the historical aspects…”
“Janie.” I reach out and ease the lid closed. She gasps like I just shut it on her fingers.
“You almost got my fingers!”
“And you’ve been at this all night. Besides, they’re going to cramp up if you keep typing like a caffeinated squirrel.”
Her lips press into that stubborn pout again. “You’re seriously forcing me to quit right now?”
“Not quit. Just take a break. You can even look over my shoulder.”
She hesitates, then sighs and hands me the laptop like it’s her firstborn. “Fine. But if you turn Saint Nicholas into an action hero, I’m taking the laptop back and locking you out.”
“With what—your secret password? Let me guess…1, 2, 3, 4?”
“How’d you…” She stops herself, gaze narrowing. “Great. Now I have to change my password.”
“No, you don’t,” I say, scooting my chair closer to hers. “You just need to do something that’s hard for you.”
Her brow crinkles. “What’s that?”
I shoot her a look. “Trust me.”
For a moment, she says nothing.
I open the laptop and read through a few pages. Her shoulder brushes mine as we share the computer, but she doesn’t try to take over. This is progress—her willingness to give up control and work with me.
“What if we pick one thread and follow it?” I suggest. “If we start with Saint Nicholas’s story, he could present the Bethlehem story.”
“That could work.” She picks up her mug of tea. “But how?”
“I think we should let the kids tell the story,” I suggest. “Honestly, they’re way more entertaining than I am.”