By the time I closed my eyes, I'd decided: if the dream came back, it could wait its turn.
Chapter twenty-two
Evan
The shower was running, which meant Jake hadn't bolted.
I blinked at the ceiling, processing that fact while my brain caught up to the rest of my body. The sheets still held his warmth where he'd sprawled across three-quarters of the mattress, one arm flung over my ribs like he was claiming territory.
My shoulder blade ached where his chin had dug in during the night, but it was the good kind of ache—proof that last night hadn't been another stress dream about perfect defensive positioning.
Water drummed against the shower walls down the hall. Jake's voice drifted through the steam, off-key and completely unselfconscious, butchering what might have been Coldplay's "Viva La Vida."
Flashes of the night before hit me in fragments—his laugh rough against my throat, the weight of his palm over my heartbeat, and how he'd whispered my name like he was testing the shape of it.
I rolled onto my side and buried my face in the pillow that smelled like his shampoo. The shower cut off.
I sat up, running both hands through my hair, trying to look like I hadn't been lying there sorting through every detail of the night before, obsessively tucking it away in my mental archives. Through the thin walls, I heard the rustle of towels and the soft thud of Jake's feet hitting the bathroom floor.
He emerged three minutes later wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. Steam followed him down the hallway, and he was humming again—the same melody he'd been murdering in the shower, but quieter now.
"Morning." He caught my eye through my half-open bedroom door. His grin was crooked and unguarded, the black eye starting to fade to yellow-green around the edges.
"Morning. Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in weeks." He paused in the doorway, water still beading on his shoulders. "You?"
"Good. Really good."
"Earl Grey?" he asked.
"Yeah. I'll be right there."
I waited until he disappeared into his room before pulling on jeans and a clean t-shirt. By the time I reached the kitchen, Jake was already at the counter.
The electric kettle gurgled to life. I pulled bagels from the freezer and dropped them in the toaster. When Jake reached past me for mugs, his arm brushed my shoulder. When I turned to grab the cream cheese, my hip bumped his thigh.
Small touches. Accidental but not accidental.
Jake poured hot water over tea bags in two mugs. He handed mine over.
"Thanks."
"Welcome."
The bagels popped up. I buttered them while Jake leaned against the counter, sipping his tea.
I should have asked about Rockford. About the fight and whatever had gone wrong and why he'd thrown away his shot at moving up. The questions sat heavy inside me, demanding answers, but asking them would crack our peaceful morning.
I wasn't ready for that.
Jake straightened up and offered a neutral topic of conversation. "Big game today."
I nodded. "Sudbury's tough. We'll need to be sharp."
We were in my car twenty minutes later, heading toward the Barn under gray late October skies. I turned onto Cumberland Street, and the arena's familiar bulk rose ahead of us.
Whatever conversation we needed to have about Rockford could wait until after the game. Inside the arena, I found my stall and started my pre-game rituals.