“A little. Nothing bad.”
Tane pressed a kiss to the back of Jacob’s neck. “Tell me if it flares. No hero bullshit today.”
Jacob turned in his arms. “Promise.”
They kissed… slow, unhurried, tasting of coffee and morning quiet. When they broke apart, Jacob rested his forehead against Tane’s.
“We’re gonna win this thing,” Jacob said.
Tane’s hand came up to cup the back of Jacob’s neck. “Yeah. We are.”
They finished dressing in comfortable silence—socks, skates in bags, hoodies zipped against the February chill outside. Jacob grabbed his stick from the hall closet while Tane slung both gym bags over his good shoulder.
At the door, Tane paused with his hand on the knob.
“Ready?” Tane asked.
Jacob bumped his fist against Tane’s shoulder—light, playful.
“Born ready,” Jacob replied, his golden smile lighting up the moment between them.
Tane opened the door and they stepped out into the hallway together, side by side, the elevator waiting at the end of the corridor.
United, Jacob and Tane were on the cusp of making Toronto Enforcers history together.
But this was professional hockey, and things rarely ran smooth…
* * *
The living room clock glowed 11:47 p.m., casting a faint blue hue over the coffee table cluttered with empty water bottles and Jacob’s half-eaten protein bar.
The TV screen flickered with the chaotic glow ofSuper Smash Bros., controllers clicking furiously under Jacob’s thumbs. His character—a speedy fox with laser eyes—darted across the battlefield, dodging fireballs and landing combo after combo.
Victory after victory came to Jacob, his hand-eye coordination as on point as ever. But the high-score rush couldn’t quite drown out the electric buzz still humming under his skin from the morning’s practice session.
Anticipation and adrenaline didn’t fade easy.
Footsteps padded softly from the hallway. Jacob glanced up just as Tane emerged from the bedroom, wearing nothing but loose gray sleep pants that hung low on his hips. His hair was tousled, chest bare, the faint outline of his abs shadowed in the low light. Even post-thirty-eight, post-injury, the man looked like he could bench-press an SUV.
“Bed, Jacob,” Tane said, voice low and no-nonsense, arms crossing over his broad chest. “Now.”
Jacob paused the game, tossing the controller onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “I know, I know. But I won’t sleep. I’m too wired. That skate today? Something felt off. Technically I was fine but the plays just didn’t connect like they should. I could sense Tremaine losing his shit with me. It’s a lot. I don’t want to duck everything up for the team.”
Tane’s expression didn’t budge—stern captain mode fully engaged. “You won’t. That’s your mind playing tricks on you. You did great. Now…bed. That’s an order, boy.”
Jacob pouted, but there was no real fight in it. He powered down the Switch dock, the screen going dark. “Fine. But you’re the worst.”
Tane’s mouth twitched.
“Fine,” Tane grumbled. “A special treat tonight. Bring the Switch. You can have a quick go in bed while I finish my chapter.”
Jacob’s eyes lit up. “For real? How about we say twenty minutes?”
Tane nodded once. “Don’t push it.”
Jacob scooped up the console and controllers, trailing Tane back to the bedroom like an eager puppy. The king bed was already turned down on Jacob’s side, sheets crisp and inviting. Tane slid under the covers first, propping pillows behind his back and cracking open his worn paperback—a thriller about mob hits and double-crosses that Jacob had eyed suspiciously more than once.
Jacob stripped down to his briefs, flicked off the overhead light, and climbed in beside him. The mattress dipped under his weight as he wriggled closer until his back pressed against Tane’s solid warmth. Tane’s good arm draped over Jacob’s waist, pulling him in snug, chest to back, legs tangling just so.
