This wasn’t about hockey.
It wasn’t about organization.
It wasn’t even about my ADHD, not entirely. My brain was part of it, sure. The racing, the spiraling, the way direct instruction could cut through a storm that other people didn’t even know was happening. But that explanation didn’t hold the whole thing. It didn’t explain my mouth going dry when he said sit. It didn’t explain the way my body waited for his voice. It didn’t explain why being told not to be late felt less like a schedule reminder and more like a hand at the back of my neck, even though he hadn’t touched me at all.
I picked up the phone and checked the time.
Set three alarms.
Then a fourth across the room.
Then I laid out my clothes, packed my bag, put my keys inside my sneakers so I couldn’t leave without finding them. I did all the things I knew how to do. All the systems that sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t, depending on sleep and stress and whatever else my brain decided to turn into static.
Seven.
Don’t be late.
I got into bed but didn’t sleep.
The apartment was dark. My phone was face down on the nightstand. Vanessa’s scent still lingered faintly on my hoodie where she’d leaned against me. Declan’s words sat heavier.
I liked being challenged.
I liked being corrected.
I liked earning approval from a man who never handed it out just to make me feel better.
And then came the thought I absolutely did not want.
What would happen if Declan stopped treating me like a player and started treating me like a man?
Chapter 10
Chapter 10
DECLAN
Jace was there at 6:41.
I knew because I checked the security feed in my office after hearing the side entrance open and close, then hated myself for checking it.
He came in with his bag over one shoulder, hair damp and half-styled like he had run wet hands through it in the elevator, coffee in one hand, notebook tucked under his arm. He stopped just inside the hallway, looked at the clock on the wall, and stood there for a second.
Not smug.
Not triumphant.
Relieved.
That did more to me than it should have.
I left him alone for six minutes.
Partly because I had work to finish. Mostly because I needed the space between seeing him and speaking to him. I had spent too much of last night awake beside my wife, thinking about a text message that contained no emotion and somehow carried too much of it.
Be at the rink at seven.
Don’t be late.
