Chapter 22
Jacob
The series against the Titans was all set at three games apiece.
Tight didn’t do it justice. This was going to the wire.
Game Seven loomed tomorrow night at Pine Rise Arena—winner takes all, home ice, the whole city holding its breath.
Jacob had spent the morning in light skate, then film review, then a quick nap that did nothing to quiet the buzz in his veins. By mid-afternoon he needed air, noise, anything that wasn’t another loop of defensive-zone coverage on a tablet screen.
Roast Days was the obvious choice. The coffee shop sat two blocks from the arena, tucked between a vinyl record store and a tattoo parlor. It had become the unofficial off-day hangout for half the team ever since Harry—one of the co-owners and a die-hard Enforcers season-ticket holder—started comping espressos for anyone in team gear.
Oh, and the delightfully appealing private kink room there added to the appeal too!
Today the place smelled like fresh-ground beans and warm cinnamon scones, the kind of smell that made everything feel momentarily less high-stakes.
Jacob pushed through the door, the bell jingling overhead.
Ricki was already there, sprawled in the corner booth with two tall glasses sweating condensation onto the scarred wooden table. Harry leaned against the counter in a faded Roast Days apron, chatting with a new trainee barista while he frothed milk.
“Gosling!” Harry called, waving a milk pitcher like a flag. “Your usual is coming right up.”
Jacob slid into the booth opposite Ricki. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Ricki pushed one of the glasses toward him. “Espresso milkshake. Triple shot, extra vanilla, whipped cream on top. Harry’s patented playoff motivator.”
Jacob took a long pull through the striped straw. Cold, sweet, caffeinated heaven. The brain freeze hit almost immediately, but it was the good kind, the kind that shoved tomorrow’s game to the back of his skull for a few blissful seconds.
Harry appeared with a fresh one for himself and dropped into the seat next to Ricki. “So. Game Seven. You nervous?”
Jacob shrugged, playing with the straw. “I mean…yeah. But it’s the good nervous. The kind where you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
Ricki raised his glass. “To being exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
They clinked. For a while they just talked. Stupid stuff, safe stuff. Harry’s latest failed attempt at baking sourdough. Ricki’songoing feud with the new massage gun that kept overheating. Jacob’s discovery that Tane had started hiding the good protein bars in the back of the pantry so Jacob wouldn’t eat them all in one sitting.
It was a good time. No stress.
Laughter came easy, loose, the kind that made the knot in Jacob’s stomach loosen a fraction.
Eventually Harry checked his watch. “I’ve got an hour before the evening rush. Wanna stretch the legs? The park is right there.”
Jacob glanced out the window. The late-afternoon sun had broken through the clouds, turning the city soft gold. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
They stepped outside, coffees in hand, and wandered the short block to Crescent Park. The green space wasn’t huge—just a loop of paved path around a pond, some benches, a playground where kids shrieked on swings—but it felt like breathing room after weeks of rinks and hotel corridors. Trees were starting to bud, early spring stubbornness pushing through the last chill.
They walked in easy silence at first, then Ricki nudged Jacob’s shoulder. “You’ve been quiet about Tane lately. Everything okay at home?”
Jacob’s steps slowed.
He stared at the pond, watching a pair of ducks paddle in lazy circles.
“He’s… dealing with stuff,” Jacob said. “Shoulder’s been bugging him. More than he’s letting on.”
Ricki nodded, unsurprised. “I figured. He skipped our last scheduled rehab session. Said he had a “personal commitment.” I didn’t push, but… yeah. I noticed.”
Jacob winced. He hadn’t meant to spill it—not like this—but the words were already out. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s his business.”
