Chapter 5
THEO
By the time Jesse’s beat-up Jeep rattles into the driveway, Theo’s already cleaned the entire downstairs with a level of precision reserved for playoff prep.
He mowed the lawn, stacked the firewood he never uses, and spent twenty minutes rearranging the fridge so it looks like someone lives there. Someone normal.
He even vacuumed the guest room, though no one’s used it since his parents came for that awkward Thanksgiving two years ago.
Everything looks…lived-in. Normal.
That’s the goal.
Jesse parks crooked, tires nudging the edge of the grass. A duffel bag flies out, followed by a mop of messy hair and a grin that could get him out of a parking ticket.
“Dude,” he says, climbing out and spinning in a slow circle as he takes in Theo’s house. “Are you sure this is your place? You didn’t break in and start squatting here, right?”
“It’s a rental,” Theo says, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.
It’s not. But that version is easier to say out loud.
Jesse lets out a low whistle, eyes tracking the white trim, the black shutters, the wide porch with its inviting wooden swing Theo hasn’t sat on once. “You’ve been holding out on us, Tilly. Why don’t you host more parties?”
Theo doesn’t answer. It’s easier than trying to explain that his parents bought the house as an investment property and let him borrow it while he’s playing in Hartford.
They’d rather he was wearing a tailored suit and working in the city like the rest of the family.
Instead, he’s lacing up skates for league minimum and living in self-imposed exile.
“Bro,” Jesse says, dragging his battered duffel up the stairs, hitting every one on the way. “This place looks like a magazine cover.”
Theo opens the door and gestures for him to go inside. “Guest room’s on the left. You’ve got your own bathroom. Sheets are clean.”
Jesse dumps his bags on the floor, completely missing Theo’s attempt to change the subject. “This is like a grown-up’s house. Did someone die and leave you this place?”
“Not yet,” Theo mutters.
Jesse snorts and throws himself onto the bed without taking off his shoes. Theo resists the urge to tell him to stop.
Maybe it’ll be good for him, having someone around.
“Seriously, man,” Jesse says, arms spread like he’s about to make a snow angel. “Are you sure this is okay? I can find a place. I just figured—”
“You’re fine.”
Jesse grins. “You are saving my life. You’re like…a secretive, gym-addicted fairy godmother.”
Theo rolls his eyes but doesn’t smile. Not outwardly. Inside, though—he feels fuzzy warmth, even if it makes him uneasy.
They spend the next half hour hauling in Jesse’s remaining stuff, including a mysterious cardboard box labeled “do not judge me,” and setting him up.
Jesse talks non-stop—about training camp, his new stick curve, the girl he hooked up with whose name might’ve been Caitlyn. Or Katie. Or something with a Y.
“So,” Jesse says, cracking open a can. “You ready for the first road trip?”
Theo glances out the kitchen window at the maple tree, its leaves already reddening at the edges. The oaks along the property line need a few more weeks before they change to their signature gold.
It feels good to be back. Hartford may not be home—not exactly—but it’s far enough removed from his family’s scrutiny to breathe.
He exhales. “Yeah. I think so.”
Jesse raises the can like a toast. “Gonna be a good year. I can feel it.”
Theo nods, but says nothing. He hopes Jesse’s right.
The doorbell rings as Theo folds his last clean T-shirt into a precise square.
He pauses, still holding the cotton in both hands.
He wasn’t expecting anyone.
He has his usual routine on his days off—an early trip to the driving range before it gets too busy, then laundry, yard work, groceries, meal prep. He ends the day in the hot tub with ESPN playing on the waterproof TV he mounted last fall. Best decision of his adult life.
“Yo, you gonna get that?” Jesse calls from the hallway, a spoon in hand, the rounded tip dripping with something thick and suspiciously peanut-butter colored.
Theo shoots him a look as he starts toward the door, pulse ticking higher. He usually doesn’t answer the door without knowing who’s on the other side. It’s easier that way, cleaner, fewer surprises waiting to knock the air out of him.
“I’ll get it. But you live here too, man.”
The second he opens the door, he regrets it.
They spill into view like characters entering stage left—Jake, tall and windburnt, arms crossed; Natalie in a fitted denim jacket, sunglasses perched on her head and a tray of something warm and cinnamon-scented in her hands; and Mila, dressed in all black, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes, iced coffee in hand, mouth curved in a tight smile.
Theo’s stomach dips.
“Oh wow,” Natalie says as she breezes past him, already peering into the front room. “You undersold this place, Jesse.”
Jake whistles. “Holy shit, Theo. I thought Jesse was joking when he said you had a wine fridge and a bidet.”
Theo clears his throat, cheeks flushing. “I don’t have a bidet.”
“Yet,” Jesse calls from the kitchen.
“I—wasn’t expecting guests,” Theo says.
“Sorry to barge in,” Mila says as she steps inside last, offering him a smile that makes his brain skip like a scratched record. “But I’m driving back tonight, and we’ve got things to cover.”
She looks...gorgeous. Pulled together. Hair in a low bun, gold hoops glinting when she tilts her head, tablet tucked under one arm.
Nothing like the sleepy, rumpled version of her from this morning with the endearingly crooked ponytail and sweats.
That version was adorable. This one looks like she could end someone’s career before lunch.
He feels underdressed. And overexposed.
They gather in the open-concept kitchen.
Natalie finds a serving platter that Theo is positive he’s never seen before and starts unpacking baked goods like she’s in her own home.
Jake leans against the fridge, already in coach mode.
Mila claims the stool at the island with a kind of casual command that makes it impossible to argue.
Jesse’s still spoon-deep in peanut butter, looking like he hasn’t changed shirts since yesterday.
Theo crosses his arms, partly to look composed, mostly to keep from fidgeting.
“Theo, I can’t thank you enough for taking Jesse in,” Natalie says, unwrapping what looks like banana bread. There are scones too. She’s been busy.
Jake adds, “You saved us all from having to fish him out of whatever frat house he would’ve landed in.”
“It’s nothing,” Theo says. But it doesn’t feel like nothing—not with everyone in his space, inspecting the curated life he’s never explained to anyone.
“So,” Natalie says, clapping her hands. “Crisis debrief.”
“I prefer Save the Idiot’s Neck task force,” Mila replies, tapping her tablet. “SIN, for short.”
Natalie snorts. “Catchy.”
Theo leans against the back counter, fingers curling around the edge of the granite. He doesn’t know how to host. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he offer them something to drink? Coffee or tea? Does he even own tea?
Natalie has finished piling baked goods on the tray and is passing around plates and napkins she must have found in the pantry.
He glances at Mila.
She’s scrolling through something on her tablet, eyes sharp, lips pursed in thought. She has said little to him, which helps and hurts in equal measure.
She looks up, her face all business.
“We got the video pulled,” she says. “It won’t stay buried forever, but we’ve flooded the tags with safe content. Old game footage, fan edits, sponsored posts. That sort of thing.”
Jake nods. “GM saw. Said he was impressed how fast it was handled.”
Mila smirks. “Tell them to hire me next time. My rates are appalling.”
“You’re a PR ninja,” Jesse says through a mouthful of banana bread. “Like—bam. Crisis over.”
“It’s not over,” she replies. “It’s…slightly less radioactive.”
Theo watches her work, listening to her take control of the room.
It should make him nervous. And it does—but not in the way he expects.
He’s used to avoiding attention, staying out of sightlines.
Watching people like Mila from the corners of parties and bar booths, always from a distance.
Now she’s in his kitchen, and all he can think about is how good her voice sounds in this space.
“Thanks for letting us crash your posh palace,” she says, one brow arched.
Theo shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not that posh.”
“You say that,” Natalie mutters, eyeing the espresso machine. “But the heated floors say otherwise.”
Jake chuckles. “Jesse’s lucky. Not every rookie gets a teammate willing to play babysitter, let alone two years in a row.”
Theo shrugs, heat crawling up his neck. “He’s not every rookie.”
Jesse grins and throws an arm around his shoulders. “See? He loves me. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”
Theo grunts. Doesn’t pull away.
“So,” Mila says, rising from her stool. “Crisis mostly averted. Jesse’s still breathing. Team’s still intact. Can we celebrate with real food? Because I’m running on caffeine and adrenaline.”
“Kitchen’s stocked,” Theo says, motioning toward the fridge.
“Do you have pizza pockets?” Jesse asks, already opening the freezer drawer.
“There’s a chest freezer in the basement,” Theo sighs. “Help yourself.”
They all drift into the living room, talking over each other, moving like they’ve always belonged in this house. Theo stays a beat behind, still against the counter, still trying to parse the ache in his chest.
It’s not uncomfortable.
Just unfamiliar.
And when Mila brushes past him, her hand grazing his arm as she goes, he doesn’t flinch.
He watches her move, lets the noise build around him, and thinks—maybe he doesn’t mind the mess.