Chapter 18 #2
“Well,” he says, clearly delighted, “that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me at one of these dinners.”
Jake nods solemnly.
And then spends the rest of the meal smiling like a man who has discovered inner peace.
A little bit later a slow jazz band tucked into the corner of the ballroom, starts playing. It’s the kind of music that makes couples drift toward the dance floor like it’s inevitable.
Jake is watching the band mesmerized.
Then he turns to me with sudden, intense focus. “Tal.”
The way he says my name makes my stomach drop.
“Yes?” I say cautiously.
His eyes are bright. “Do you hear that?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s music.”
He nods slowly. “Yes.”
A pause.
“We should dance.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“Jake—”
But he’s already standing.
My hand tightens around his sleeve.
“Jake,” I hiss, “this is not the time—”
Too late.
He pulls me gently but insistently to my feet, weaving our fingers together again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “Trust me.”
I’m not entirely sure I should trust him in this condition, but he looks so happy I can’t refuse him.
We step onto the dance floor.
People make space immediately. When the captain of the Metro Raptors moves somewhere, space tends to open around him automatically.
Jake turns toward me, places one hand at my waist, and takes my other hand.
We sway slowly.
I let out a quiet breath of relief.
Okay. This is manageable.
Then the music shifts to something upbeat—definitely not suitable for ballroom dancing—and Jake Morrison, normally the most controlled, disciplined man on earth, starts freestyle dancing like the music personally invited him.
His shoulders loosen. His hips shift to the beat.
His arms move in wide, exaggerated motions like he’s conducting the band.
I stare at him. “Jake.”
“Yes?”
“You don’t dance.”
“I do tonight.”
He spins in a small circle.
Then points at the band like he’s acknowledging their hard work. “Fantastic rhythm section.”
He grabs my hands and gently pulls me into the rhythm with him.
“Just go with it,” he says.
“Go with what?!”
“The vibe.”
He starts bouncing lightly to the beat, shoulders rolling in a way that is surprisingly smooth for a six-foot-three hockey player.
Then he attempts what I can only describe as enthusiastic improvisation.
A little shuffle step. A shoulder pop. A completely unnecessary spin.
He looks so cute and carefree it’s almost too much.
Across the room, Connor spots us and freezes mid-sip, elbowing Marcus.
Rhys slowly lowers his glass.
Declan leans over to see what they’re looking at.
And then all four of them lose it.
Meanwhile Jake is thriving.
He points finger guns at the drummer.
The drummer points back.
Jake beams.
He keeps moving, completely unbothered by the fact that half the ballroom is now watching.
At one point he slides sideways across the floor like he’s on ice.
It’s… actually kind of impressive.
“How do you even know how to do that?” I ask.
“I have rhythm,” he says confidently.
“You play hockey.”
“Same concept.”
The music gets a little louder and Jake gets a little more creative.
He does a tiny hop. Then a shoulder shimmy.
Then what might be the world’s happiest version of a hockey victory dance.
I’m laughing now. I can’t stop.
Because this man is usually so serious.
So controlled.
And now he looks like someone set his personality to “golden retriever.”
Then he grabs my hands again and spins me in a quick circle.
When I stumble slightly he catches me easily.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
Across the room, I see my father standing frozen, watching us.
Jake notices him too. And instead of panicking like a normal person, he waves cheerfully.
Then he keeps dancing.
“Are you having fun?” he asks.
“Yes,” I admit helplessly.
“Good.”
The song ends and polite applause ripples through the room.
Jake bows. Actually bows.
Then he pulls me gently against him again, breathing slightly harder now.
I press my forehead to his shoulder, still laughing.
“You are unbelievable.”
He sounds very pleased with that. “Thank you.”
When we walk back toward the table people are smiling.
Connor is staring like he just witnessed a miracle.
“Jake,” he says slowly, “I have known you for seven years.”
Jake nods.
“You hate dancing.”
Jake considers this carefully.
“That was before tonight.”
Connor turns to me. “What did you do to him?”
“He took some THC gummies,” I whisper.
Connor blinks.
Then he bursts out laughing
***
By ten p.m., I decide we’re done.
I stand and slide my hand into his.
“We’re going upstairs,” I tell him quietly.
He looks at me.
“Okay,” he says immediately.
We slip out before my father can stop us.
The elevator ride up is quiet.
Jake leans slightly into me, his shoulder brushing mine like he needs the contact.
“You did good,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens.
“So did you,” I lie.
He smiles.
Back in the room, I close the door behind us and exhale deeply.
We survived.
Barely.
Jake kicks off his shoes immediately, wobbling slightly.
I catch his arm.
“Easy.”
He laughs softly.
“You’re very competent,” he tells me.
I roll my eyes, but my chest feels warm.
“Sit,” I say.
He obeys.
That alone tells me how far gone he is.
I kneel in front of him, undoing his tie, then his buttons. His hands rest loosely on my shoulders like he’s trying to stay connected.
He studies my face like he’s memorizing it.
“I really like you,” he says.
My heart stops.
“I like you too,” I whisper.
He shakes his head slightly. “No. I really like you.”
My chest aches.
He looks down at his hands.
“I can’t be married,” he says.
The words hit like ice water.
He exhales sharply. “What I mean is… I can’t be married married.”
I stay very still.
“I don’t want kids,” he continues quietly. “I don’t want someone depending on me like that.”
My throat tightens.
He looks up at me again, eyes clear and open in a way they never are when he’s sober.
“I would fail,” he says simply.
I don’t comment, but finish unbuttoning his shirt.
I help him lie back on the bed and he’s asleep within seconds.