“Hey.” Ricki stopped walking, turning to face him. “I’m not gonna run to Tremaine or anything. But if he’s hurting, someone should know. That’s all.”
Jacob rubbed the back of his neck.
“He’s seeing someone” Jacob replied. “Private physio. Comes to the apartment a couple times a week. It’s not about you being bad at your job or anything. Seriously, Ricki, you’re the best. He just… likes keeping it quiet. Controlled. You know how he is.”
Ricki exhaled, slow and thoughtful. “Yeah. I get it. Big personalities don’t like showing cracks. I won’t say a word.”
Jacob searched his friend’s face.
Ricki looked sincere—brown eyes steady, mouth curved in that easy half-smile—but a small, uneasy voice in Jacob’s head whispered anyway.
Ricki and Antonio Cardini had been circling each other for months now, casual at first, then not-so-casual. Late-night texts, “coffee” meetups that lasted until dawn. If Antonio asked, Ricki would probably tell him. Not out of malice. Just…loyalty. The kind that came with tangled sheets and whispered promises.
Jacob forced a smile. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
They walked on for another loop, Harry filling the silence with a story about a customer who’d tried to pay with crypto last week. Jacob laughed in the right places, but the unease lingered like a bad hit he couldn’t shake off.
When they circled back to the park entrance, Jacob checked his phone. “I should head back. Tane might be home soon.”
Ricki bumped his fist. “Get some rest, superstar. We need you flying tomorrow.”
“Ha! I’ll do my best,” Jacob said, pumping his fist.
Harry pulled him into a quick side-hug. “Tell Tane we’re rooting for him.”
Jacob nodded, throat tight. “Will do.”
He waved them off and started the walk to Tane’s apartment, only fifteen minutes away if he cut through the side streets. The city felt alive around him: cars honking, a busker playing acoustic guitar on the corner, a waft of street-cart pretzels drifting on the breeze.
Halfway there, a kid—no older than ten—darted out from behind a parked car, eyes wide, wearing an oversized Enforcers jersey with Jacob’s number on the back.
“C-C-C-Jacob Gosling” the boy breathed, like he couldn’t believe it. “Is that really you?”
Jacob stopped, crouching to the kid’s level. “Hey, buddy,” Jacob said, a smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”
The boy thrust out a puck and a Sharpie, hands shaking. “Can you… can you sign this? Please? You’re my favorite. I started playing right wing because of you. My mom says I’m fast likeyou too but I need to keep practicing if I want to make the school team!”
“I know you’ll make the team,” Jacob smiled. “ I can see you’ve got it.”
Jacob’s chest expanded, warm and bright. He took the puck, signed it with a quick flourish—Keep flying, buddy — Jacob Gosling #17—then added a little stick-figure skater underneath for good measure.
“That’s awesome,” he said, handing it back. “You keep working hard, okay? Speed is only half the game. Gotta have heart too. You got heart?”
The boy nodded furiously. “Yes!”
“Good. Then you’re already ahead of most guys,” Jacob said as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “Tell your mom thanks for letting you play. And always respect her too.”
The kid beamed, clutching the puck like it was gold, then ran back toward a woman waiting on the sidewalk who waved gratefully.
Jacob stood there a second longer, watching him go.
Pride bloomed sharp and sweet in his ribs. He couldn’t wait to tell Tane, and he could already picture the soft, proud smile Tane would try to hide behind a sip of coffee, the way he’d say something gruff likeTold you you’re good for the kidswhile his eyes said everything else.
The rest of the walk passed in a warm haze.
Jacob took the stairs to Tane’s floor two at a time, key already in hand.
The apartment door swung open to silence.
