“Fancy.” He stepped aside to let me take over. “I’ll make coffee.”
Jace was already rummaging through the fridge, muttering something about questionable leftovers and Owen's terrible grocery habits.
We moved around the small kitchen with surprising ease, like we'd done this before, like waking up together and makingbreakfast was normal instead of dangerously domestic. Jace found the coffee grounds and started the machine while I cracked eggs into a bowl and found a pan that looked clean enough. The silence between us was comfortable, broken only by the sound of the coffee brewing and the hiss of butter in the hot pan.
“Grant.” Jace's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “You're burning the eggs.”
I looked down. He was right. I turned the heat down and focused on not fucking up breakfast, which was harder than it should have been with him standing there watching me like I was something worth paying attention to.
We ate at the small table by the window, coffee steaming between us, and for a while it was just easy. Just two people sharing a meal in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, pretending the rest of the world didn't exist.
“This is good,” Jace said, forking up another bite of eggs. “I mean, it's not gourmet, but it's better than the protein bars I've been living on.”
“You need to eat more.”
“I know. I will.” He paused, then added quieter, “I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
He set his fork down, looked at me directly. “For being a pain in the ass.”
“You're not—” I stopped, because lying wouldn't help either of us. “Okay, you are. But I knew that when I took this job.”
“Did you know you'd end up here? In a cabin in the woods having breakfast with your injured star player after...” He trailed off, but the implication hung heavy.
“No.” I met his eyes. “But I don't regret it.”
“You should.”
“Maybe. But I don't.” I reached across the table, covered his hand with mine.
Jace's throat worked, eyes going bright before he blinked and looked away. “You're going to make me cry into my eggs, Coach.”
We finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and I helped him clean up despite his protests that he could handle it. Then we moved to the couch, and he curled up against my side like it was the most natural thing in the world, injured shoulder carefully positioned, and we just... sat there. Watching the fire. Watching the snow outside. Not talking because we didn't need to.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again. Then again. Then started ringing.
“You should get that,” Jace said, not moving.
“I don't want to.”
“It might be important.”
It was. I knew it was. The outside world had given us one night, and now it was demanding payment. I pulled out my phone and saw June's name on the screen. Three missed calls. Two voicemails. A string of texts that I didn't need to read to know they were urgent.
I answered. “Yeah.”
“Finally.” June's voice was clipped, professional, and pissed. “Where are you?”
“Away.”
“That's not an answer, Grant. I've been trying to reach you since yesterday. The media is circling, the fans are speculating, and I need to know if we have a crisis on our hands.”
I felt Jace tense against me. “What kind of crisis?”
