The door opened thirty seconds later. My mom stood there in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back, face lighting up when she saw me before shifting to confusion when she saw Grant.
“Jace.” She pulled me into a hug, careful with my shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart. We've been so worried.”
“I'm okay, Mom.” I hugged her back with my good arm. “Is everyone here?”
“Your dad and Leah are in the living room. We saw the news, and—” She stopped, looking at Grant properly for the first time. Recognition flickered across her face. “Coach Sutherland.”
“Mrs. Hartley.” Grant held out the flowers and donuts. “These are for you. Thank you for having me.”
She took them automatically, still processing. “I... of course. Come in. Both of you.”
We followed her inside, and I felt the weight of what we were about to do settle in my chest. The house smelled like coffee and something baking—probably banana bread, my mom's stress-baking specialty. I heard voices from the living room, my dad's low rumble and Leah's sharper tone.
“Derek, Leah,” Mom called. “Jace is here. And he brought... someone.”
The voices stopped. Footsteps. Then my dad appeared in the doorway, still in his work clothes, face already creased with worry. Leah was right behind him, arms crossed, eyes narrowing when she saw Grant.
“Coach Sutherland,” Dad said carefully. “This is unexpected.”
“Mr. Hartley.” Grant extended his hand. “I appreciate you letting me into your home.”
Dad shook it, but his expression was guarded. “Jace, what's going on?”
I set the donut box on the coffee table and turned to face them. Mom, Dad, and Leah all watching me with varying degrees of concern and suspicion. Grant stood slightly behind me, close enough to feel but not touching.
“You saw the news,” I said. Not a question.
“We saw pictures of you and your coach looking very cozy at some cabin,” Leah said bluntly. “And about fifty articles speculating about whether you're sleeping together.”
“Leah—” Mom started.
“What? We're all thinking it.” Leah looked at Grant. “So are the rumors true? Are you two involved?”
The room went very quiet.
I felt Grant tense beside me, ready to answer, but I spoke first. “Yes.”
Mom's hand went to her mouth. Dad's expression shifted through surprise to something I couldn't read. Leah just nodded like she'd expected it.
“How long?” Dad asked.
“Still pretty new.” I kept my voice steady.
“And the cabin?” Mom's voice was small. “That was real?”
“Grant drove up to check on me when I was struggling after the injury. He stayed to make sure I was okay.” I looked at Grant, then back at my parents. “And yeah, it was real.”
“By spending a week alone with you in the woods?” Mom's voice had an edge now.
“I know what it looks like.” I cut her off. “I know it's complicated and messy and probably breaks a dozen rules. But before you decide what you think about him, you should know something.”
Grant's hand touched my lower back, brief and grounding. I took a breath.
“When I was at my lowest, Grant didn't walk away. He didn't tell me to deal with it on my own. He showed up.” I felt my throat tighten. “And not because it was his job or because it would look good for the team. He showed up because he cared. Because he saw me, not just the player.”
Dad's expression shifted slightly.
“He's never once given me special treatment on the ice. If anything, he's harder on me than anyone else because he's terrified of looking like he's favoring me.” I looked at Grant. “But off the ice? He's been the one person who's made me feel like I matter beyond what I can do with a hockey stick.”
