Chapter 23 JAKE
JAKE
Birthday
Iwake up already knowing what day it is.
The awareness sits heavy in my chest before I even open my eyes.
My birthday.
I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Talia must already be up, because her side of the bed is empty.
It’s Saturday, and a long weekend stretches out in front of me. No game. No practice. No obligations.
If I can just spend the day here, I think.
At home.
With her.
It’ll be fine.
Just a normal day.
I slide carefully out of bed, pull on sweatpants and a T-shirt, run a hand through my hair, and head downstairs.
I turn the corner into the kitchen.
And stop.
Completely.
The entire room looks like it exploded in blue and silver.
Balloons are taped to the cabinets.
There’s a banner across the doorway that reads HAPPY BIRTHDAY in slightly crooked letters.
The table is fully set.
Not just set.
Decorated.
Pancakes stacked high in the center, strawberries arranged around them like something out of a magazine. Whipped cream. Syrup. Fresh coffee steaming.
And in the middle of all of it—
Talia.
Her face lights up the second she sees me.
“Surprise,” she says, a little breathless.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
“What is this?” I ask, because my brain genuinely can’t process what I’m looking at.
She laughs and rushes toward me before I can react.
Her arms wrap around my waist and she presses a quick, slightly shy kiss to my cheek.
“My husband deserves only the best,” she says, like it’s obvious.
Husband.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright.
“Happy birthday,” she says softly.
Something in my chest shifts.
The tightness I woke up with cracks open just a little.
“You knew?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes gently. “Of course I knew.”
“How?”
“The wedding certificate,” she says, proud of herself.
I huff out a breath that might be a laugh.
“You did all this?” I ask quietly.
She shrugs, suddenly shy. “It’s not that much.”
It’s everything.
I swallow.
“Thank you,” I say, and it comes out rougher than I expect.
She beams like I just handed her the Stanley Cup.
“Sit,” she orders, tugging me toward the table.
I let her.
Because somehow, despite my long-acquired distaste for this day, I feel… good.
Great, even.
I sit down, and she immediately starts pouring coffee, stacking pancakes onto my plate, adjusting things like she doesn’t know how to stand still.
“Careful,” she says. “They’re still warm.”
I stare at the plate.
“Tal, this is amazing,” I say. “Thank you.”
She smiles softly. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
We start eating.
The pancakes are actually perfect. Fluffy. Sweet but not too sweet. She watches me take the first bite like she’s waiting for a grade.
“They’re good,” I say.
She exhales dramatically. “Thank God.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
We talk about nothing for a few minutes. Random things. A show she wants to watch. The garden. Our plans for the week ahead.
But I notice something.
She can’t sit still.
She shifts in her chair. Tucks her hair behind her ear. Bounces one knee under the table. Takes a sip of coffee, sets it down, picks it up again.
I narrow my eyes at her.
“What?” she asks immediately.
“You’re vibrating.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” I insist. “What’s going on?”
She bites her lip. “I’m just… excited.”
“About what?”
Her eyes light up again, barely contained.
“Your presents.”
I groan immediately. “Absolutely not.”
She laughs. “Absolutely yes.”
She stands up abruptly, unable to stay seated any longer.
“You’re going to love them,” she says, already halfway out of the kitchen.
“I don’t need anything,” I call after her.
“Maybe you don’t need them,” she calls back. “But you’ll want them.”
I rub a hand over my face.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
Talia comes back in carrying a large wrapped package that’s awkwardly shaped, almost as tall as her torso. The paper is blue with little silver stars, but the corners are taped a little unevenly, like she got impatient and just decided it was good enough.
She sets it down in front of me with a dramatic flourish.
“Ta-da.”
I stare at it.
Then at her.
“What is that,” I ask, cautious, like it might explode.
She tilts her head innocently. “Open it.”
I exhale and start peeling the tape, but in truth I already know what it is.
The paper gives way, crinkling loudly in the quiet kitchen. Under it is brown shipping paper, then bubble wrap, then finally a corner of a frame.
I pause.
My throat tightens.
Talia hovers near the table, barely containing herself. “Keep going.”
I slide the last of the wrapping away.
And there it is.
A painting.
Her painting.
Framed and finished.
She must have worked on it for hours to have it ready today, because it’s absolutely flawless.
I swallow and run my thumb along the edge of the frame.
“Talia,” I say, and my voice comes out rough.
She shifts, suddenly nervous. “Do you hate it?”
“What?” I look up fast. “No.”
Her brows knit. “You’re making a face.”
“I’m making a face because—” I clear my throat. “Because it’s… incredible.”
Her expression brightens instantly.
“You like it?”
I nod once.
Then again, firmer.
“I love it,” I say. “It’s perfect.”
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for ten minutes. “Oh my God. Okay. Good.”
I stand up, still holding the painting, and step around the table.
She looks up at me, her smile smaller now, softer.
I pull her into a hug with one arm, careful not to crush the frame.
“Thank you,” I say into her hair. “Seriously.”
She hugs me back, squeezing tight.
“You’re welcome,” she murmurs.
Then she straightens. “Okay,” she says, clapping her hands once. “Are you ready for your second present?”
“Okay?” I ask warily.
And then she’s gone again, practically skipping out of the kitchen.
I set the painting carefully against the wall.
From the hallway, I hear her whispering something in a high, coaxing voice.
Then a small sound.
A yip.
My heart stutters.
What the—?
Talia walks back into the kitchen with a furball in her arms.
A small golden retriever puppy, all paws and soft ears and dark curious eyes. Its tail is wagging like it’s powered by magic.
My brain stops working.
Talia’s smile is so bright it almost hurts to look at.
“Surprise,” she says again, softer this time.
The puppy looks at me and lets out a tiny, uncertain bark.
My chest goes tight.
“What… is that?” I manage.
“It’s a puppy,” she says, like I’m the one who’s confused.
“I can see it’s a puppy.”
She shifts the little creature closer to me. “He’s yours.”
I stare at her.
Then at the puppy.
Then back at her.
“I know you don’t want children,” she says carefully, watching my face. “But…”
Her voice softens.
“I don’t want you to have no one to love.”
She swallows.
“And I thought maybe, once I’ve moved out and we’re divorced… it might help to have someone here who’s always happy to see you.”
The puppy yips again, like it agrees.
My vision blurs for a second and I blink hard.
My eyes sting.
I clear my throat and step closer.
“Talia,” I say, and my voice catches like I wasn’t expecting it to.
She bites her lip, suddenly nervous again. “Do you hate it?”
I let out a breath that sounds dangerously like a laugh.
“No,” I say. “I don’t hate it.”
The puppy reaches a paw toward me, clumsy.
I hold out my hand.
It sniffs my fingers, then licks them like it’s already decided I’m safe.
Something inside my chest cracks open.
“Hi,” I murmur stupidly.
Talia smiles, relieved.
“He likes you,” she whispers.
I glance at her, then back at the puppy.
“You got a dog,” I say, like I’m still trying to catch up.
“I got you a dog,” she corrects.
The puppy squirms again and Talia lowers it carefully into my arms.
The weight is small and warm and alive.
It immediately presses its nose into my chest like it belongs there.
My throat tightens again.
I look down at it.
“Thank you,” I say, quiet.
She steps closer and kisses my cheek. “Happy birthday again.”
The puppy chooses that moment to lick my chin.
I flinch and then I laugh, startled by the sound.
Talia laughs too, eyes shining.
We spend the next hour on the floor like idiots, watching the puppy explore the kitchen.
It sniffs everything. Trips over its own paws. Attacks the fringe of the rug like it’s a mortal enemy. Follows Talia like she’s the sun.
And when it waddles toward me and flops onto my foot like it’s exhausted by existing, something in me goes soft.
We make coffee again and start googling things we probably should already know.
How often do puppies need to pee? What can they eat? How do you stop them from chewing literally everything?
Talia has already bought the essentials. A bed. A collar. Food.
Right now, the puppy is asleep in my lap, his little belly rising and falling, and I can’t imagine putting him down.
“Name,” Talia says suddenly, sitting cross-legged across from me. “We need a name.”
“We do,” I agree, scratching him gently behind the ears. “Wait. Is it a boy or a girl?”
The puppy makes a tiny, content sound, and something in my chest does something stupid.
Talia watches me with a soft smile. “It’s a boy.”
I look down at the sleeping furball again.
“What about Hudson?” I suggest.
Talia’s “No” comes instantly.
“Okay,” I say. “Then how about Lucky?”
She tilts her head, considering. “I like Lucky… but he doesn’t feel like a Lucky.”
I glance at her. “Fine.”
I think for a moment. The puppy yawns, revealing tiny teeth, then stretches.
“Then how about Bear?”
She huffs a laugh. “He does look like a little bear.”
I smile, trying out the name again. “Bear.”
The puppy opens one eye like it’s acknowledging the name.
“Okay,” I say, and I don’t even fight the warmth in my voice. “Bear it is.”
We spend the rest of the day orbiting each other around the house with a puppy between us.
Bear pees on the rug twice.
We take him outside into the garden and he loses his mind over a leaf.
A leaf.
He pounces on it, then sprints in a crooked circle like he’s won a championship.
Talia laughs so hard she has to bend over, hands on her knees.
Bear falls asleep in the sun patch near the porch steps.
Talia sits on the grass beside him, leaning back on her hands, face tilted toward the sky.
I lower myself next to her without thinking.
My shoulder brushes hers.
She turns her head slightly and smiles at me.
The doorbell rings.
Bear startles awake and lets out a tiny bark.
I push myself to my feet. “I’ll get it.”
Talia nods, brushing grass from her shorts. “Okay.”
I walk to the front door and pull it open.
A young woman stands on the porch.
Blue eyes. Freckles.
She looks like Talia.
But sharper around the edges. Paler. Thinner.
Her hair is darker, tangled.
And there’s something frantic in the way she’s holding herself together.
Her gaze flicks over my shoulder into the house like she’s checking exits.
Then her eyes land on me.
“Is Talia here?” she asks.
My throat goes tight.
Because I don’t need an introduction.
I already know.
“Katia,” I say quietly.
Her eyes widen just slightly, like she’s surprised I know her name.
Behind me, I hear Talia’s footsteps in the hallway.
And then her voice, sharp with disbelief.
“Katia?”