That was the problem. I noticed everything now, not as a coach reading a player’s habits, but as a man who had learned the sound Jace made when he came, the way his focus narrowed when an instruction gave him somewhere to put himself, the way his hands shook after he let go and the first place his mind went was guilt.
My phone lit up on the tray table.
Olivia: Land safe. Call later if you’re not exhausted.
I stared at it until the screen dimmed.
I should have felt only warmth. Concern. Familiar affection. Instead there was a hollow place inside my chest where a husband’s easy reply should have been.
Me: Will do. Long travel day. Hope Chicago settles down.
It was not cruel. It was not dishonest.
It was inadequate.
I turned the phone facedown and reached for the report again.
Jace shifted in his seat.
I knew because my attention went there before I permitted it. His knee bounced under the blanket he had dragged over himself. His thumb moved fast against the seam of his hoodie pocket, rubbing the fabric in a repetitive motion I had seen him use when he was trying to stay grounded. He kept his head angled toward the window, but the glass reflected part of his face.
Eyes open.
Not sleeping.
Not looking back.
Then, briefly, he did.
One quick glance through the reflection, not even fully turned. His eyes met mine in the oval-dark window, distorted by sunlight and altitude. It lasted maybe a second.
Long enough for the hotel room to come back whole.
His open shirt. My hand around him. His voice rough with permission. The heat of him spilling over my fingers. The trust in the way he had lain under me afterward, dazed and quiet, waiting while I cleaned him up like care was as intimate as anything we had done before it.
I looked down first.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I was the one responsible for remembering where we were.
A plane full of players. Staff. My assistant coach beside me pretending not to fall asleep with his tablet still open. A franchise that had hired me to lead, not fracture the room with a secret I had no clean language for.
“Dec.”
Benny’s voice cut through the noise in my head.
I blinked and looked over. “Yeah.”
“You good with pushing video to tomorrow? Guys are cooked.”
“Yes.” I closed the report. “Recovery first. Short meeting after practice tomorrow.”
He studied me. Benny had known me long enough to see when I was locked behind my own face. Not enough to know why. “You look like you’re trying to solve world hunger with faceoff stats.”
“Feels about as productive.”
He snorted and went back to his tablet.
