After, Tessa walked us out separately again. She didn’t ask what we were going to do. She only looked at me in the staff corridor and said, “Do not wait for perfect.”
Then she left me there with that.
An hour later, Jace and I met at a coffee shop fifteen minutes from the arena, the kind of place that had chipped wooden tables, quiet corners, and nobody who looked like they cared about hockey. I arrived first and took a table near the back. Jace came in wearing a cap low over his forehead and my hoodie under his jacket, because apparently theft was now a coping strategy.
He ordered tea, then looked offended by his own cup when he sat down.
“You hate tea,” I said.
“I panicked. The barista had kind eyes and I forgot every coffee word.”
I pushed my coffee toward him.
He took it without arguing and slid the tea to me. “Enjoy your lawn water.”
I wrapped my hands around the cup because they needed something to do. “How’s your head?”
“Loud. But not useless.” He took a drink of my coffee and made a face. “Jesus, that’s bitter.”
“You stole it.”
“I steal your hoodies too. Doesn’t mean I want them to taste like punishment.”
The corner of my mouth moved, but the conversation waiting for us took the humor out of the air quickly.
Jace set the cup down. “I’m serious enough.”
I looked at him.
He stared at the table, then made himself look up. “That’s not the question for me anymore. It was, maybe. Weeks ago. When I still thought wanting you was the problem and not everything around it. But it isn’t whether I want this. I do.”
My chest ached with the effort of staying still.
“I do too,” I said.
“Okay.” His fingers found the cardboard sleeve and picked at the edge. “Then the question is how we keep it.”
There it was.
Not do we. Not should we. Not can we pretend this never happened.
How.
I had led teams through elimination games. Sat across from general managers after my knee ended my playing career. Told Olivia the truth and watched her face change because of me.
That one word still hit harder than expected.
“I’m willing to make professional sacrifices,” I said.
Jace’s head snapped up. “No.”
“You don’t know what I mean.”
“I know enough to say no first.”
“Jace.”
“No. You don’t get to walk into this assuming you’re the piece that moves because you’re older or because you’re the coach or because you’ve decided guilt needs a job.” His voice stayed low, but the intensity was all him, bright and difficult to contain. “Youworked for this. You lost playing before you were ready. You rebuilt your entire life around staying in the game. You don’t get to toss that on the table like it’s spare change.”
