I did not touch it.
I told myself that was discipline.
The truth was less comfortable.
I didn’t touch it because I knew if there was a message from Jace, I would answer.
And if there wasn’t, I would feel the absence.
Neither option was acceptable.
Beside me, Olivia slept turned away, breathing evenly. Tiny huffed from the floor. The house was steady, organized, exactly the kind of life I had built after my body had betrayed me and the game had taken my first future away.
I had rebuilt myself on control.
Today, in my office, Jace Holloway had sat because I told him to, and some part of me had wanted to test what else my voice could make quiet.
That was not coaching.
Not anymore.
I did not know what it was yet.
I only knew that tomorrow, when he stepped onto the ice, he would look for the line.
And I would be waiting to draw it.
Chapter 9
Chapter 9
JACE
I got to the rink early enough to make it look intentional.
That was the plan.
Walk in calm. Coffee in hand. Notebook in bag. No running through the parking lot with one sneaker untied and my hoodie inside out. No asking Tessa what time anything was. No letting anyone see that my brain had spent the entire drive replaying three sentences from Coach Reid’s office like they were burned into the inside of my skull.
Sit.
Look at me.
Stop interrupting.
Normal words. Boring words. Words that belonged in classrooms and meetings and every locker room in the league.
My body disagreed.
That was the part I couldn’t get around. I could explain the rest if I worked hard enough. I liked direct communication because guessing sucked. I liked knowing what a coach wanted because vague expectations made my head feel like a room with twelve TVs on at once. I liked structure because without it, time turned into soup and I forgot to eat until my hands shook.
Fine. All true.
None of that explained why I had lain awake last night with my dick half-hard, furious at myself, thinking about the way DeclanReid’s voice had cut through my argument and made me shut up.
Not scared.
Not embarrassed.