Jace looked away first. His lips pressed together like he was biting back whatever reckless thought tried to escape.
Roman saw it.
Of course he did.
I watched him set his glass on the table.
The event thinned slowly.
Sponsors left in clusters, loud at the doors after too much free wine. Hotel staff cleared plates with practiced efficiency. Players drifted toward the elevators, ties loosened, shoulders slumped with the relief of their obligation ending. Milo stole three cookies from the dessert display and told Brooks one was for later. Brooks called him full of shit and took two anyway.
Jace should have gone with them.
He didn’t.
He stood near the windows with his phone in his hand, screen dark, thumb working along the edge of the case. Roman approached once. I couldn’t hear the exchange, but Jace shook his head. Not angry. Worn down. Roman didn’t press. He did look at me before he left.
This time I didn’t look away.
His stare held steady. A warning, maybe. Or a question he wasn’t ready to ask in public.
Then he walked out.
By eleven, the room belonged mostly to hotel staff and a few team employees packing up signage. Tessa disappeared with the event coordinator, still discussing vendor timelines like it was amilitary operation. Benny headed upstairs with two assistants. The last of the sponsors finally stopped needing handshakes.
I should have gone to my room.
Olivia had texted an hour earlier.
Olivia: Dinner ran late. Exhausted. Call tomorrow?
I had answered like a decent husband.
Me: Of course. Get some sleep.
Then I had locked my phone and watched Jace refuse to leave.
When I took the side exit, I told myself it wasn’t because of him. It was quieter than the main doors. I needed five minutes without someone wanting an answer, a photo, a plan, a promise. If I went upstairs right away, I would lie in the dark and replay every wrong choice until morning.
The hotel business center sat beyond the conference rooms, tucked behind glass doors with unused computers and a printer humming to itself. Past it was a small lounge overlooking downtown, low chairs, dim lamps, tall windows catching the city in broken light.
Jace was already there.
He stood near the glass with both hands in his pockets, jacket thrown over the back of a chair. His reflection looked pale against the window. Drawn. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with hockey.
He didn’t turn when I entered.
“I didn’t follow you,” he said.
“I know.”
“You didn’t follow me either.”
“No.”
The silence between us had weight. Not awkward. Not easy. Too much truth compressed into a room too small to hold it.
I stepped inside and let the glass door close behind me. I didn’t lock it. I wasn’t going to pretend privacy was something we could steal and then call safe.
