“Black,” he said, and I took a moment to reset myself, filling his mug and mine, then setting out plates for the cake. I cut two slices, and all that time, all I could think was that he'd said hockey was his new favorite thing.
Or did he mean me?
Why did I hope he meantme?
I took the stool next to his and forked up a mouthful of cake, then paused. “Okay,” I said. “That’s unfairly good.”
“Yeah?” His face lit up.
“The pineapple’s caramelized just right,” I went on, because apparently, I was doing this now. “Not too sweet. And the cake’s light, not heavy.” I took another bite, slower this time. “I don’t let myself have cake that often.”
He lifted a brow. “Occupational hazard?”
“Something like that.” I shrugged. “But for this? I’d do extra reps any day.”
He watched me for a second longer than necessary, as though he were weighing something. Then he carefully set his fork down.
“Can I—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “Can I kiss you?”
The question landed softly and still managed to knock the air out of me. I nodded once, and he leaned in slowly, giving me time to pull back if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
The kiss was gentle, unhurried. Sweet in a way that had nothing to do with cake, though the faint taste of pineapple and caramel lingered between us. It was easy to get lost in it, to forget everything else for a few seconds, and that was precisely why I pulled back first.
“I’ve been thinking,” I blurted, setting my fork down because my hands had started to shake. “About what happened. About… us.”
He stilled, eyes on me, open and patient in a way that made this harder.
“It’s not fair,” I continued. “I’m not out. You are. I can't be out. Not when everyone already hates me, and when my father… and my mom…” Jesus, how did I explain this? “My mom needs me to… look… I can’t ask you to hide, or pretend, or wait around while I have all this to figure out.” I swallowed. “So, you should probably stay away from me and maybe find someone else to kiss or something.” The last part came out rough and low, everything I’d been holding back spilling over at once. “I can’t lose my career. And it’s not fair on you to be wrapped up in secrets that are mine.” I dragged a hand through my hair, words tumbling faster now. “What if we keep kissing and someone sees? What if it gets back to the fans or the team? They wouldn’t understand. I’m not like Noah or Trick. I’m not out, and I don’t know if I ever can be, and I'm not a good person.”
He frowned, processing that, then tipped his head to the side. “Okay,” he said. “But?—”
“But what?”
“But you’d be okay,” he said, “with me finding someone else to kiss?”
The words hit me hard, stripped of all the softer edges I’d wrapped around them in my head. Hearing it out loud—him saying it, plain and reasonable—made my stomach drop.
“No,” I said, too fast, horror flashing through me before I could stop it. My chest seized, breath locking up as the truth of it slammed home. I shook my head, even as something hot and unstoppable forced its way up from somewhere deep and buried. “I?—”
My voice broke.
I shoved back from the stool, legs unsteady, the sudden movement clumsy and desperate. Humiliating tears burned, spilling before I could get control. I turned away from him, hands clenched at my sides.
“But I can’t,” I said. “I can’t do anything that hurts my mom.”
I backed into the wall, breath coming too fast. I pressed my forehead to the cool surface and squeezed my eyes shut, but the tears kept coming anyway, dragged up from somewhere deep and long ignored. I didn’t understand any of it—how something that felt this right could also feel impossible.
Cam was there before I realized he’d moved. Not crowding me, just close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, hear his breathing steady and sure.
“Stay with me, Jari,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
The words looped, gentle and relentless, until my knees gave out. He caught me, guiding us down the wall until we were sitting on the floor. Somewhere in the clumsy descent, I ended up straddling his lap, his arms coming around me withouthesitation. I buried my face into his neck, breathing him in, clinging to the solid reality of him holding me together while everything inside me came apart.
“Do I need to call someone?” he asked, tugging me close and wrapping his arms around me. “One of your friends, Noah? I saw you and him laughing on the bench?”
I shook my head. The tears were quieter now, no longer breaking, just steady and humiliating. I focused on my breathing, on how he held me, forcing myself to slow down one breath at a time.
