"No. That's not really in my skill set."
Jake smiled, but it was sad. "Me neither. I spent three years trying to be perfect at hockey—perfect technique, perfect stats, perfect professionalism. Trying to prove I deserved another shot at the NHL. And all it did was make me miserable."
"Is that why you looked so detached during your game last night?"
Jake's eyebrows rose. "You could tell?"
"You looked like you were going through the motions. Like you were somewhere else in your head." Lucy took a sip of her cappuccino. "Did the scout make an offer?"
"Yeah. Two-way contract. AHL with NHL call-ups when they need me."
"Jake, that's amazing!"
"Is it?"
The question hung between them.
"You don't sound excited," Lucy said quietly.
"I'm not. Not the way I should be. Not the way eighteen-year-old me would have been." Jake stared at his coffee. "I have until tomorrow to decide. And I don't know what to do."
"What does your gut say?"
"My gut says I don't want to leave Timber Falls. My gut says I'm finally starting to build something here—coaching the kids, having actual friends, eating butternut squash muffins in yourapartment on a Sunday morning." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "My gut says that if I take this offer, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what I gave up for a dream I stopped wanting years ago."
Lucy felt her breath catch. "And what does your head say?"
"My head says I'd be crazy to turn down the NHL. That I'd be wasting everything I've worked for. That my dad would be disappointed."
"Your dad?" Lucy remembered Jake mentioning him at the farmers market.
"He died six years ago. Heart attack. I was in the AHL, three thousand miles away. Didn't make it back in time to say goodbye." Jake's voice was rough. "He spent my entire childhood driving me to practices, paying for equipment we couldn't afford, believing I was going to make it. And I did—for three seasons. Then I got hurt and everything fell apart."
"That wasn't your fault."
"Wasn't it? If I'd been faster, stronger, better—"
"Jake, no." Lucy reached across the table and grabbed his hand. "Injuries happen. That's not failure. That's life."
Jake looked at their joined hands like he'd never seen anything quite like it. "I keep telling myself that. But there's this voice in my head that sounds like my dad, saying I gave up too easy. That real hockey players fight through anything."
"That's not your dad's voice. That's your fear talking."
"How do you know?"
"Because my grandmother has a voice in my head too. And sometimes I can't tell the difference between what she actuallywanted for me and what I'm afraid she wanted." Lucy squeezed his hand. "I got an email Friday. From a development company. They want to buy the bakery."
Jake's eyes widened. "Are you going to sell?"
"I don't know. The logical part of me sees dollar signs and freedom. The emotional part of me sees betrayal and abandonment. I spent five years building this life around preserving her legacy. If I sell, what does that say about me?"
"Maybe it says you're ready to have your own legacy."
Lucy felt tears prick her eyes. "What if I don't know how? What if I've been hiding in her shadow for so long that I don't remember who I am without it?"
"Then you figure it out. Same as I'm trying to figure out who I am without hockey being my entire identity."
They sat there, holding hands across the table, two people stuck in the expectations of who they thought they should be.
