11. JESS
Chapter eleven
JESS
My apartment is great. It’s the perfect layout for me, just the right amount of space. The galley kitchen is updated with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The living room is small, but cozy and has fresh paint. My furniture fits perfectly in here, although I haven’t had a chance to decorate at all.
I have a small balcony with enough room for a chair and a side table that has a beautiful view of the lake to relax after a long day. And I’ve had quite a few in a row at this point.
It’s been all work and no play after the first week here. The Missoula Hawks have not had a winning record in… well, let’s just say it’s been a long time. I had no idea this was the NHL minor league affiliate for Miami, seems crazy to have the team on the other side of the country.
The Miami team is usually at the top of the league, so it’s strange this team is so bad. With Jagger here, though, hopefully things will turn around for them. Winning some games should help with their following, but I need to get going on social media to put fans in the stands to help that happen. Nobody wants to play in front of empty seats, it’s not very motivating.
I know as professionals these guys are self-motivated, but engagement can feel like an extra player on the ice. In Nashville, the team’s crowd is known for creating an electrifying atmosphere, calling themselves the seventh man. It gives the team a significant home-ice advantage.
That’s what I want for these guys, too, So I’ve been putting in long hours in my office at the Echo Ridge Rec Center. The crowd here will be exponentially smaller, but the effect can still be powerful.
It hasn’t been easy seeing Jagger every day, and it’s not just at work. One of the reasons there was an opening here at Mountain View Villas is that Coach asked the manager to block off quite a few apartments for the team.
They just renovated this entire floor and were just starting to advertise them. Some of the guys found other options, so I was lucky enough to scoop up one of the places still available. It does come with some interesting neighbors, though.
Most of the people living on this floor are from the Hawks. I just can’t get away from these guys. But they’re fun, so it’s fine. There are a few local residents who already reside here. Gus, who works at Glacier National Park, lives on my left, and Mabel is to the right. I’m not sure who’s more of a character between the two of them.
They are both likely in their eighties. Mabel is retired, but very active. Gus works at the park entrance, collecting the fees and handing out maps to the visitors. He says he’ll work until he drops. There’s a bus that goes there every day, so it’s an easy commute. He loves people, so he’s perfect for the job.
Gus leaves a note at my door every couple of days, saying we should “hang out” sometime. He claims he’s a master with a can of Spam and can make me anything I want out of it. It’s a cute offer, but I’m not sure I want to eat meat that can be transformed in that many ways.
Then there’s Mabel. I see her most mornings on her way to exercise class. She’s always decked out like it’s still 1990 with her terry cloth headband, spandex and leg warmers, even in the summer. She’s very avid about the things she loves, I can already tell.
Mabel’s two greatest interests right now seem to be Jane Fonda and boy bands. I’m not sure which she loves more, but I’ve gotten a steady diet of Backstreet Boys songs the last two nights and have seen quite a few multicolored outfits so far.
One morning when I said “Hello, Mabel,” she responded I could call her “Jane” if I liked. I haven’t taken her up on that offer so far.
The two of them keep life interesting, along with the other guys on the team. Dax comes over to ask for more toilet paper almost every day. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on with his system. I’m going to get him a pack the next time I go to the store.
But the one who makes it tricky is Jagger, who lives on the other side of Mabel. Of course he does. Where else would he end up living if not two doors down from me in the same town we both moved to?
It’s been very awkward since that first day at the rec center, and it’s not even the puck to the glass I was standing so close to that’s the worst part. It’s what Jagger said. “We have no history and no future.” I’m nothing more than his hockey team’s new Media Relations Manager.
Whew, that hurt, deep down in my soul after all we’ve been through, especially after I forgave him. Honestly, it ticks me off a little bit, too. I have a very clear memory of our history.
Since then, he acts like he genuinely meant every word he said. His eyes seldom meet mine, offering only the minimum respect required during team discussions. In tight quarters, he goes out of his way to avoid me. Here in the apartment hallways, he pretends I don’t exist.
Even Gage and I have more interactions than I do with Jagger.
I understand this is Jagger’s career on the line, not mine. So, if he feels like the best thing for him to do is to completely disengage from me instead of being friends to make sure he doesn’t get distracted, then that’s his right. But I don’t feel like he needs to be quite so prickly about it.
It’s Sunday, and the guys have the day off. So, I’m staying home too, working on some social media ideas for tomorrow. I’ve done a lot of research and have seen many teams post funny stuff on TikTok to get more engagement.
So, I’m thinking of doing a sort of “day in the life” parody of each one of the guys. It will be a behind-the-scenes of their routines but incorporating a secret talent into the mix. I think if fans start to feel like they know the members of the team better, they’ll be more likely to come cheer for them, feel connected.
There’s a knock on my door as I’m deep into my third hour of TikTok research. I’m happy for the break. I think squirrels riding a surfboard are as funny as the next person, but how many people are out there videoing it. Does anybody work?
The hallway is empty, but there’s a takeout bag on the ground. I know I didn’t order anything. I bring it inside and plop it on the counter. There isn’t a name, just a room number.
452. Ugh.
Since I’m 448 and Mabel’s 450, it’s not tough to know who this is for. How they mixed up our apartments, though, is hard to understand. Clearly, the delivery person was in a hurry. It’s like they dropped the food and took off on a sprint to get to their next location.
I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing a Montana Hawks baseball cap Coach gave me and a white t-shirt and cut off jean shorts, very casual. I don’t know why I care, but I go to the bathroom and check my reflection while putting on a quick layer of deodorant. I’ve been too engrossed in small rodents on water to remember if I’ve done that today.
But it’s what any good delivery person would do, right? Make sure their scent doesn’t outdo the food. I’m not doing it for Jagger, we aren’t even friends.
The bag is still warm as I enter the hallway for the quick trip to his apartment. I knock on the door. After a minute or two Jagger answers, shirtless. “Got a hot date in there?” I ask before I can stop myself. Or maybe it’s purposeful to distract my eyes from glazing over his very tanned, very sculpted torso. I remember those pecs well.
He doesn’t answer, nor does he laugh, smile, or show even a hint of emotion. Jagger always thought I was funny. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.
“When did you become a delivery person?” he asks, deadpan.
I give him a smirk. I’m completely unable to contain my facial expressions the way he can. “It seems like the right thing to do when they deliver your food to the wrong place.”
Still nothing.
He takes a step out of his apartment to grab the food from me, then says, “Thank you,” and immediately moves back and shuts the door.
Really? That’s it? I stomp down to my apartment. Jagger is infuriating. All he did in Jamaica was flirt like that was his full-time job, and now he can’t muster more than two words. I can’t believe I put on deodorant for that.
I open my door, then close it. Open and close it. The third time Gus cracks his own door and peeks his head out. “Jess? What are you doing, dear?”
“Sorry, my door is sticking,” I lie.
“Oh, ok. Since you’re here, would you like some scrapple? I just went to the store, got a whole new batch.” Gus waggles his eyebrows.
“That’s a lovely offer, but I have a lot of work to do.”
Gus shakes his head and tsks. “Ok, but you don’t know what you’re missing.” He pulls his head back in like a turtle going into its shell.
I’m still standing in place, fuming in the hallway when Dax comes skipping my way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him just walk. “Hey, neighbor! Oh. Why’s your face so red?” He halts in front of me with a look of concern.
I plaster on a smile. “Jagger’s food was mistakenly delivered to my door, so I took it down to him.”
“Well, that was nice of you.” He gives me a high five. Dax loves to celebrate anything and everything. I’ve seen him fist bump his teammates when he throws his uniform successfully in the dirty clothes bin, when his favorite song comes on the radio, and apparently now, at any form of kindness.
“I thought so, but did he say thank you?” I pause. “Well, I guess he did, but it was the way he said it.”
Dax tilts his head. “How did he say it?”
I blow at a breath. That’s a good question. Was it rude? Not really. Sarcastic? Nope.
“Ok, maybe the way he said it was fine, but he basically slammed the door in my face.”
“What?” Dax yells. “That is unacceptable behavior from my best friend. I’m going down there.”
I’m caught off guard for a second. “You guys are best friends already?”
He laughs. “Yep, I told him so on the first day.”
Well, that makes more sense. “Thank you, Dax, but I’ll let him know myself.”
He puts out his arms for a hug. “Ok, but I’m here if you need me. That’s just crazy to hear, everyone on the team can see he cares about you.”
I give Dax a hug. “Thanks.”
Maybe he means “cared” about me because he doesn’t seem to have anything left in there now. And I know it shouldn’t affect me. I was the one who said we shouldn’t keep in touch. I moved on a long time ago, kind of.
But now I don’t know what I think, and it’s frustrating I don’t even get a chance to figure it out between what Coach Bradley said and the way Jagger is acting. We need to talk… now.
I march back to Jagger’s door.
After my second round of raps, he answers. My eyes drop to the pecs that are still bare. They’re so perfect, like they were constructed in a lab.
“Jess. Did you need something?”
I break my ogling. This shirtless thing is very distracting. “Yes, we need to talk.”
“I’m eating. Let’s do it another time.” He moves to close the door.
“I’ll wait.” I smile at him and push past into the apartment. I’m shocked by what I see. The room looks straight out of a magazine with its chic, contemporary furnishings.
“Wow. Did you do this yourself?”
Jagger laughs. Well, there’s a little emotion at least. “No, there’s a high-end designer in town. I wanted something different.”
“Different than a recliner and a cardboard box for a coffee table like you had in Miami?” I ask.
“I eventually got a real table.”
“Only because I forced you to. I got tired of my drink spilling because the box was uneven.”
He smiles at the memory.
“Why?” I prod.
“Why, what?”
“Why now to decorate when you don’t want to stay?”
He sits down at the table to finish his meal. “I’m just trying to do things differently,” he says as he picks up his fork.
I refuse to break my gaze. Eventually, he looks up to meet my stare and pushes the meal aside. “What do you want to talk about? I’m not sure you should be here.”
“Jagger, don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far. We’re adults. Coach Bradley isn’t your father. He can’t tell you who can be in your apartment.”
He looks back down at the table. “He can do whatever he wants. I have no leg to stand on right now if I want to get back to Miami.” He wrings his hands as he speaks.
I move over beside him. “But he can’t stop us from being friends. I thought we decided we were going to be friends. I didn’t forgive you just to be tossed aside again.”
He stands and pushes away from the table. “No, you decided we were going to be friends.”
I stand too. “And you agreed.”
“Did I have a choice?” His voice growls with frustration. No, I guess he didn’t. But I thought that was a significant step forward from not wanting to speak to him for four years.
“And now you don’t even want that?” I have to know what he’s thinking.
“I—”
He walks over to the couch and sinks into it, rubbing his neck. I follow, moving to the spot beside him. I’m not letting him off the hook after all I’ve been through. “You what?”
Jagger looks at me with a pained expression, his deep mahogany eyes dark and intense, like they’re holding back a storm. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and there’s a noticeable tightness in his jaw. I pushed too far; I should have let this go. “I can’t be your friend. You saw how that affected me with Brooks, and I have to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Because—”
I’m not going to force him to finish. There’s just too much history between us. Why should I push this friendship now after I did everything I could to stay away from him for so long. We’re better off apart.
“It’s ok, Jagger. I’m going to go.”
He grabs my arm to pull me back to the couch. “If I allow myself to be your friend while I’m here, then I’m going to eventually want to do this…”