Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Do you think he’ll do it?” I ask, turning to Jacob.
He shrugs, his calm, blue eyes meeting mine, no furrow to his brow or pain etched lines around his mouth. “If anyone can, it’s him.”
“And you?” He’s told me more times than I can count that he doesn’t want to return to the game, but here and now, I want to find out if this milestone has made him change his mind.
He smirks, leaning in to kiss my temple. Then he taps his own. “This… it’s too important, Riley. I don’t ever want to go back.” His gaze fixes on a faraway place for a few seconds before he returns to me and smiles, exuding a new sense of peace. “Besides, I’ve got everything I need right here.”
Jacob’s journey hasn’t been easy. Haunted by his father’s legacy and battling his own demons has been deeply challenging, but he’s found his way. And so have we.
The crowd thins, and I glance back at the ice one last time. The players are gone now, the boards empty, but the echoes of the game linger. And still, it doesn’t feel right to leave. Maybe I’m more sentimental about this closing chapter than any of them.
“You ready to go?” Jacob asks eventually, standing and holding out his hand.
“Yeah.” I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. “I’ll post on Instagram when we’re in the car. Your final mention.”
“Well, I’m very close to the social media manager, so who knows.” He kisses the end of my nose, and I beam up at him.
“I still can’t believe they didn’t fire me after they found out all my secrets.”
“You’re the perfect candidate for the job,” he reminds me, and leans in closer. “Who else has soundbites from top athletes whispered directly into their ears?”
“Only me, I hope.” A shiver passes through me as it always does when any of the Drayton brothers are this close and whispering huskily.
“Only you,” he confirms.
As we leave the arena, the future is like a yawning, open thing, as it should be. We’re young, with all the time in the world, to test out our dreams and make our way.
And the only thing that matters is that we do it together.
***
We head to O’Connor’s, where the team will end up for the post-game and end-of-season celebration, and drink beer together while Jacob trawls up small memories of our shared past that I marvel he still has stored away.
“Remember that time your dad burned the pancakes, and Mr. Douglas from next door called nine-one-one because he thought our house was burning down?”
We both laugh at the one. “Yeah, Dad’s pancake skills have improved over the years.”
“He seems okay about things.” He brings his bottle to his gorgeous mouth, and I feel a little lightheaded looking at him. I think I’ll always feel that way about all the Drayton brothers, in awe of their handsomeness, drawn to their confidence and light.
“He is.” I reach out to entwine our free fingers. “You know he loves you all, right? That was never a part of his reservations about the relationship.”
Jacob smiles and strokes my fingers like a pianist preparing to caress a lullaby from waiting keys. “He’s a good man, your dad, and I don’t blame him for having reservations. Dealing with your daughter having one boyfriend is hard enough, but three?” He shakes his head. “The trouble with an unconventional relationship is that people’s minds just go to the sex.”
I grimace at the suggestion that my dad’s mind might have gone there because of the situation, but Jacob is probably right, which is more than mortifying. Our friends have all asked inappropriate questions, and not just in private. It’s like our sex life is a trashy reality show that everyone believes they have a right to dissect. Thankfully, Shawn, Hayes, and Jacob have shut down those questions, first with eye rolls and then, when that was ineffective, with angry stares that promised violence. They haven’t had to deliver on that promise yet, but I don’t doubt they’ll preserve my reputation and honor. They’re old school like that.
“What are your plans for Icing the Cake?” he asks.
We haven’t talked about it much since I revealed my secret identity, and I haven’t made any new content for a few weeks.
“I don’t know,” I say. I spin a beer mat, like Hayes did on our first date, finding it a good distraction. “It’s hard to make the content I used to. Roasting hockey players has lost its appeal. But it’s something I built, brick by brick, and I enjoy baking and the hockey commentary. I just feel bad.”
“Hockey players have giant egos,” he says, arching a brow. “They need someone to take them down a peg or two when they overstep. They’re tough… the toughest! They can take the occasional roast.”