Chapter 21 JAKE
JAKE
Instinct
Iwake up in a bad mood.
That’s not unusual, but today it’s got teeth. It’s the kind of grumpy that sits heavy behind my ribs, like a bruise someone keeps pressing.
I stare at the ceiling and let the numbers line up in my head.
Three days.
Three days until my birthday.
I hate my birthday.
Always have.
It’s not the getting older part. It’s not the attention. It’s the fact that it shows up every year like a reminder that I existed when someone decided they didn’t want to deal with the responsibility of that fact.
And last night, talking to Talia, brought it all back.
I slide out of bed, grab a T-shirt, and pull it over my head before I can talk myself out of the day. The floor is cold under my feet. The house is still. I move through it on autopilot.
Coffee. Shower. Training clothes.
In the kitchen, I catch sight of a sticky note by the coffee machine.
Good luck at practice. Don’t bite anyone today.
I try to hold on to my bad mood, but a small smile tugs at my mouth.
This woman is something else.
I leave with a little more energy, driving to the training center. Maybe Petrov’s drills will help me burn off the rest of this frustration.
The guys are already on the ice when I step out. Sticks clacking. Skates carving sharp lines into the surface.
I step onto it like I’m walking into a fight.
My strides are hard. My stops are sharper than necessary.
Connor glides past me, eyebrows raised. “You okay, Cap?” he calls, voice bright with the kind of concern that’s mostly mockery.
“Fine,” I snap.
He grins. “I can see that.”
We run drills.
My body is a machine. It knows what to do. It knows where to be. It knows how to hit the edges and push the pace until everyone else has to keep up.
It’s easy to be ruthless on the ice. Out here, aggression is useful.
Out here, it’s allowed.
I throw a check a second too hard into the boards and Declan grunts, catching himself with his glove on the glass.
He turns his head, eyes narrowed.
“Jesus, Morrie,” he says. “What did I do?”
“Skate faster,” I bark.
Rhys coasts past me, smirking. “Who got your panties in a twist?”
I shoot him a look sharp enough to crack glass.
He just laughs and skates away.
I take the next rep like I’m trying to punish the ice for existing.
Coach blows the whistle.
“Again,” he barks.
Again.
Again.
My lungs burn. My legs start to feel heavy. My mind doesn’t calm.
If anything, the harder I push, the more the thoughts keep scraping at me.
Three days.
Birthday.
Dad.
We finish with sprints. The guys groan, because they always do, and I should feel satisfied.
Instead, I feel like someone poured gasoline into my bloodstream.
When practice finally ends, sweat dripping, breath heavy, I skate off without the usual post-drill chatter.
Coach Petrov stands by the boards, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
He watches the last guys file off. Then his gaze lands on me.
For a second, the room feels like that dinner again. Like a test.
He doesn’t say anything.
He just gives me a single, slow nod.
It’s not friendly.
It’s not warm.
But it’s… something.
Acknowledgment.
I nod back once.
Then I keep moving, because I don’t know how to do anything else with that.
In the locker room, the guys are loud. Music blares. A towel goes flying. Someone complains about a hamstring like it’s a life-threatening injury.
I shower at the facility, then head to my other appointments for the day.
Individual mobility work.
Soft-tissue massage.
A sports psychology session.
Video analysis with the team wraps it up.
“You coming?” Rhys’s voice cuts through my thoughts after the session.
I look up.
He’s standing there with Misha, Connor, Marcus and Declan, all five of them already dressed in street clothes.
“Where?” I ask.
“Beer,” Connor says. “Pre-birthday.”
“No,” I answer immediately.
Declan grins. “That was too fast. You didn’t even pretend to consider it.”
“I’m not doing a birthday thing,” I say.
“It’s not a birthday thing,” Rhys says, far too cheerful. “It’s a beer thing. In honor of the fact that you were born and the world has suffered ever since.”
I glare.
He beams back.
Marcus claps me on the shoulder. “Come on. One beer. Maybe two. We’ll be civilized.”
Connor snorts. “We will not.”
I exhale.
“One beer,” I say. “Then I’m out.”
Misha’s grin turns feral. “He said yes!”
Connor cheers like we just won a playoff game.
Declan points at me. “We need photographic evidence. He’s never going to admit this happened.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I’m already standing.
We head out as a group. The guys are loud, shoving each other, talking about nothing and everything. Their energy echoes through the parking garage.
Once we’re in the car, I pull out my phone and text Talia.
Me:
Running late. I’m out with the boys.
I hit send.
A second later, three dots appear.
Then her reply pops up.
Talia:
Okay. Don’t let them get you into trouble.
I lock my phone and stare out the window, jaw clenched, pretending the city lights are fascinating.
We end up at a place the guys love. Loud, dark, with too many TVs and sticky tables and a crowd that recognizes us immediately.
A few heads turn. Phones come out. Someone calls Rhys “Rocket” like it’s a prayer.
We get a corner booth and the guys order without looking at the menu because they’ve been here a thousand times.
Once we all have a beer in front of us, Rhys clears his throat. “So. How’s Talia?” The undertone is unmistakable.
I take a long drink and glare into my glass. I knew this was coming.
“She’s good.”
Connor snorts immediately. “Really, Cap? Could you be any more vague? What’s wrong with you?”
Misha rolls his eyes. “Leave him alone. Stop poking the bear.”
Marcus nudges my shoulder. “We only mess with you because you’ve been miserable for years. Then suddenly you’ve got a serious girlfriend out of nowhere, and somehow you look… less miserable.”
I scoff. “I do not.”
“You do,” Declan says simply.
I stare at them, irritated by the possibility that they might be right.
Connor grins, because he can’t help himself. “Also, she’s hot.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
He laughs. “Protective.”
Marcus smirks. “Very boyfriend of you.”
Connor leans back in his chair, watching me over the rim of his beer like a shark that just smelled blood in the water.
“You know what’s interesting?” he says slowly.
I narrow my eyes. “No.”
“Coach,” he continues. “He’s been looking at you weird.”
I can’t suppress a laugh. So even the team has noticed.
Declan perks up. “Oh yeah. He’s right. What’s going on there, Cap?”
I try to deflect. “Coach is always watching. That’s just his face.”
Rhys shakes his head. “No, man. I know Coach-face. This is different.”
Declan tilts his head at me. “What did you do?”
I sigh and decide to go with the truth. It’s not like I can hide it from them forever.
“Actually, there might be a reason he’s watching me more now…”
I pause for a moment, keeping them in suspense a second longer.
Connor squints at me. “Come on, tell us.”
“It’s probably the fact that I’m dating his daughter.”
I let the bomb drop.
The reaction is immediate.
Gasps of shock and disbelief echo around the table.
“What?”
“You’re not serious.”
“Talia? Coach’s daughter?”
“You’re banging Coach’s daughter?” The last one, of course, is Connor.
I shrug, because what else can I say?
Rhys whistles under his breath. “That explains so much.”
Misha shakes his head slowly. “You are insane.”
Declan grins. “Bold strategy.”
Connor is still staring at me like I just confessed to robbing a bank. “You’re either the bravest man alive or the dumbest.”
“Probably both,” Rhys says.
Marcus lifts his beer. “To Jake Morrison,” he declares. “The only guy in the league with the balls to date the coach’s daughter.”
I groan and take another long drink, grateful when the conversation finally shifts to Elara and Rhys’s wedding.
We order another round, and soon a soft buzz settles into my system.
But my thoughts drift.
I picture her at home. Wondering what she’s doing.
Music playing softly in the background.
Paint on her fingers.
Sitting cross-legged in front of the easel in the living room, brow furrowed in concentration.
I can see it so clearly it almost feels like I’m there.
And suddenly I don’t want to be here.
I want to be home.
With my wife.
The server drops another round on the table.
I don’t touch mine.
“I’m heading out,” I say, sliding out of the booth.
Five heads snap up at once.
Connor smirks. “Translation: he misses Talia.”
Declan lifts his bottle in a lazy salute. “Go home, Morrie.”
I shake my head, but I’m already pulling on my jacket.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Rhys calls after me.
“I won’t,” I toss back.
That’s the problem.
The stupid thing would be staying.
Outside, the air is colder than I expect. It hits my face and sharpens me a little, but not enough to erase the buzz under my skin.
I pull out my phone and order an Uber.
The city feels different when you’re slightly tipsy. Lights blur softer. Sounds drift farther away.
The car arrives quickly. I slide into the backseat and give the driver my address.
The entire ride home, I think about her.
When the Uber turns onto my street, my pulse kicks up.
I tip the driver more than necessary and step out.
I fumble with the key when I unlock the door.
It takes two tries.
I push it open and stumble half a step over the threshold.
“Talia?” I call, louder than I intend to.
The house is dimly lit.
Warm.
Home.
“Tal?” I say again, grinning like an idiot.
“In here!” she calls back.
Her voice floats from the living room.
I toe off my shoes messily and head toward the sound.
And there she is.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the easel.
Hair pulled into a messy bun that’s already half-fallen out.
One of my old T-shirts swallowing her frame.
Paint smudged along her wrist and on the side of her cheek where she must’ve brushed it absentmindedly.
She turns slightly at the sound of my footsteps.
Her face lights up when she sees me.
And something inside my chest cracks open.
“Hi,” she says, smiling.
God.
I don’t even think.
I just move.
I cross the space between us in three strides and drop down behind her.
My arms wrap around her before she can react.
She lets out a soft gasp.
“Jake—”
I bury my face in her neck.
Her skin is warm. Soft. Familiar.
She smells like soap and paint and something that is entirely her.
I breathe her in like I’ve been holding my breath all night.
“You’re home,” she murmurs, laughing softly.
“Obviously,” I mutter against her skin.
My arms tighten around her waist.
She wiggles slightly. “You’re squishing me.”
“Good.”
She laughs again.
“You’ve been drinking,” she says.
“Little bit.”
“How many is a little bit?”
“Two.”
She hums skeptically.
My hands slide over her stomach and settle there, fingers splayed against the soft cotton of the shirt she’s wearing.
She turns her head slightly, trying to see my face.
“Did you have fun?”
I think about the bar.
The noise.
The way I kept thinking about her instead of whatever Rhys was saying.
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “But I wanted to come home.”
She laughs softly again.
My grip tightens again.
The buzz in my bloodstream makes everything feel sharper.
Her warmth.
The slow rise and fall of her back beneath my hand.
Something inside me pulls forward.
I don’t have a name for it. It feels strange. New.
It isn’t lust.
It’s something else.
Instinct.
I nuzzle into the curve of her neck, pressing my nose there, my mouth brushing softly over her skin without thinking.