Chapter 4 #2
She walks to the coffee machine and fills a mug, steam curling up invitingly from the dark, life-affirming liquid. A plan is crystalizing in her head, but she’s going to need a lot of coffee.
Natalie leans beside her. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” Mila says, sipping her coffee and wincing as it burns her tongue. “But I can’t let him tank his future over tequila and TikTok. He’s worked so hard. You both have worked so hard.”
Jesse groans, slumping into a chair. “I hate this.”
“You should,” Natalie says, shooting him an icy glare. “You’re lucky Mila’s here and not a lawyer.”
Mila closes her eyes, breathing in coffee and panic, and braces for the next thing to go wrong.
As if on cue, a knock rattles the front door, followed by a slow creak as it swings open.
“Hello?” comes a familiar voice, tentative and low.
She turns—and nearly chokes.
Theo steps into the entryway, looking like he walked out of an entirely different universe. One where people sleep eight hours and don’t wake up with mascara crusted under their eyes.
He looks immaculate in a plain black polo shirt stretched over his muscled shoulders, khaki shorts, and a baseball cap pulled low over dark, sleep-tousled hair.
His golf bag is slung over one shoulder, biceps straining to grip the strap.
When he shifts the heavy gear higher on his shoulder, the cuff of his sleeve rides up just enough to reveal hard, corded muscle and—oh.
Ink.
The edge of a tattoo curves along his tricep—something dark and intricate. Another one teases up from his collarbone, mostly hidden beneath the neckline of his shirt. It’s nothing obvious. Just a flicker. A whisper. But it makes something low and primal twist in her stomach.
Theo glances around like he’s not sure whether he’s walking into brunch or a hostage situation. Gordie Howl is losing his tiny dog mind at the invasion of guests, skittering around the kitchen, tail wagging like he’s trying to power a helicopter.
Mila, in her slept-on ponytail and borrowed hoodie that smells like beer, immediately regrets every life choice that led to her current condition. She becomes horrifyingly aware of her stained sweats and the sour taste in her mouth.
Had she even brushed her teeth?
She watches him through her lashes, trying to keep her expression neutral, unaffected.
It doesn’t work.
Her stomach drops like she's missed a step on a staircase, and she looks away too fast. Her heart starts doing this dumb fluttery thing, and she desperately wishes she could run to the guestroom and hide.
Jake’s eyes widen. “Shit. Theo. Golf.”
Theo blinks. “Uh…yeah. I texted you like thirty minutes ago.”
Jake swears under his breath. “I completely forgot. Things blew up.”
Natalie doesn’t look up from her phone. “Theo, come in. Your teammate’s trending for being licked in public.”
Theo steps further into the kitchen and sets his golf clubs down, brows lifting as he takes in Jesse slumped on a stool looking pale and guilty.
“I saw the video,” he says. “Someone, uh…put it on the team group chat.”
He says it to Jesse, but his eyes flick toward Mila briefly, making her spine straighten.
She sips her coffee, schooling her features into what she hopes looks like casual nonchalance, but burns her tongue again. Damnit.
“Theo, could you ask whoever shared it to delete it? We’re trying to stop the spread,” Mila asks, angling her face away from him, hoping he can’t smell her breath.
“Sure thing.”
Natalie looks up from her phone, her fury boiling down into a thin, lethal line aimed directly at Jesse. “I knew this would happen when you moved in with Tristan and Trayvon. You three are idiots together. You’re moving in with us.”
Jesse sits up. “What? No, I—”
“No arguments,” Natalie snaps. “I’m done pretending you’re a functioning adult. You need curfews. A meal plan. Supervision.”
Jake sighs, clearly trying not to laugh. “Babe, he’s nineteen, not nine.”
“He’s nineteen with the brain chemistry of a Labrador,” she fires back. “He needs boundaries. And maybe a leash.”
“I am not living with you guys,” Jesse groans. “Jake makes smoothies naked at 6 a.m. and meditates to whale sounds. Plus you bang, like, all the time. I can’t be around that.”
“They’re not whale sounds, they’re healing frequencies,” Jake replies defensively. He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “But you are right about the—uh, other thing.”
Natalie turns to him, eyes sharp like daggers. “What’s the alternative? Let him keep partying until someone records him actually committing a felony? Sit by and watch him mess up his chance to make the NHL?”
Mila sighs, pressing a hand to her throbbing head. “Jesse, your sister is right. You need a better living situation. Something to keep you grounded. You can’t live in a party house.”
“What about Pavel?” Jake asks. “He’s moderately responsible.”
“He just moved into a one bedroom apartment,” Jesse mutters. “Says he hates people.”
“Okay, what about that new goalie, Tall?” Natalie asks. “He looked older.”
“I’m not some charity case!” Jesse whines. “I don’t need to live with someone. I’ll get my own place like last season.”
“You mean, like last year when you got arrested before the season even started and got benched for skipping team obligations? That last season?” Natalie challenges.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mila sees Theo open his mouth, hesitate, then close it. He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck and opens it again. “He can…stay with me.”
Everyone goes still.
Even Jesse looks up in disbelief. “Wait, seriously?”
Theo shrugs one shoulder, possibly regretting it already. “I have room. I’m not a morning person, and I don’t like whales.”
“Plus you’re not nailing my sister,” Jesse quips, clearly into the idea.
“Rude,” Natalie breathes.
Mila raises her eyebrows, surprised. Theo is quiet, likes his space—and now he’s volunteering to host chaos incarnate?
Jake tilts his head, brows knitting together as he studies him. “You sure, man? Jesse is…a lot.”
“Right here, asshole,” Jesse grumbles.
“Don’t I know it,” Jake retorts.
Theo clears his throat. “It’s fine. I’ve got a spare room.”
“Dude.” Jesse stands and claps a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “You’re a legend.”
Theo winces under the contact but doesn’t shrug him off.
Natalie exhales like someone deflating a beach ball. “Okay. But I want check-ins. Pictures. Video proof of groceries. If you so much as think about going near a bar, I will appear like a summoned demon.”
Mila watches the whole exchange with a strange mix of amusement and admiration. Theo, awkward and reserved, just signed himself up for a human hurricane.
She wonders whether he regrets it already.
Then she wonders why it bothers her that he might.