I wanted to trust that Jake Riley—disorderly, impossible Jake Riley—might stay long enough for me to figure out how to be brave.
The apartment was quiet around me but didn't feel empty anymore. Jake was just down the hall, probably awake, thinking about the same kiss that had rearranged something fundamental inside me.
Tomorrow, there would be practice, team dinners, and all the ordinary moments that made up a life shared with someone else.
Tonight, there was only me standing in our kitchen, staring at a half-eaten cookie, finally understanding that some things were worth the risk of wanting them.
Even if they didn't come with a label.
Chapter eleven
Jake
Three perfect passes, one stolen puck, and zero faceplants into the boards—by my standards, I was Wayne Gretzky with better hair.
Still riding the high, I spotted Juno Park lurking near the media alcove. She had that look on her face. Was she planning to offer me something to make my career or end it in a spectacular crash and burn? Given my track record, the odds weren't in my favor.
"Riley." She pushed off the wall as I passed, falling into step beside me. Her combat boots clicked against the concrete, and she carried a steaming cup that reeked of mysterious herbs. "Got a minute?"
"That depends. Are we talking a friendly conversation or professional evisceration?"
"Little of both." She grinned, pulling out her recorder. "Live taping. Friday night. Me, you, and Nik Vanko."
I stopped walking. "Nik Vanko? That pretty boy from Sudbury? The one with the skincare sponsorships and the TikTok following?"
"That's the one." Juno's eyes glittered. "Theme of the night: queerness and masculinity in minor-league hockey."
My stomach dropped. "What, you need someone to add a little mayhem? A token disaster to balance out the golden boy?"
"I need someone real." She fixed me with her sharp gaze. "Not an attention hound performing for the cameras."
Real? Me? I tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strangled. "Sounds like a blast. Can I rap about it? Maybe dust off the sequins?"
"Jake." She stopped walking and turned to face me full-on. For a second, the journalist's mask slipped. "You don't have to be anyone but you. Unless you're scared of what that actually means."
Unless you're scared of what that actually means.
I was always terrified of what that meant.
"I'll think about it." I backed away, headed toward the locker room.
"That's not a yes."
"It's not a no either."
The apartment was dark when I got home, except for the soft glow from the kitchen. I found Evan at the counter, two mugs steaming before him. He'd been waiting for me. He wore that gray hoodie that made his eyes look more blue than gray, and his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscle of his forearms and those veins I wanted to trace.
"Tea?" He pushed one of the mugs toward me without looking up.
I took it, wrapping my fingers around the warm ceramic. Earl Grey—he'd remembered I liked the fancy stuff, not only whatever was cheapest at the grocery store. It was a small kindness that hit me sideways.
"You looked good at practice."
"Aww, thanks. Another day, another dollar… or maybe only fifty cents." I sipped, letting the bergamot settle on my tongue. "Coach almost smiled. I hope it was me and not a medical emergency."
Evan was halfway to a smile. We stood facing each other, comfortable together.
I had to say something to add some noise. "Juno cornered me in the Barn."
