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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE CLUB

OWEN

The bar Jayce takes me to is a far cry from The Night Hawk. It’s sleek and upscale, with polished wood accents and soft ambient lighting. A jazz trio plays in the corner, and the patrons are all dressed like they just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

Right away, I know this won’t be able to distract me from thoughts of Stacey. Not after our kiss. Walking through this place, I’m imagining bringing her here and kissing her again in one of the shadowy booths. Kissing her and letting my hands drift down the front of her dress, pulling up her skirt, and sliding my fingers between her legs.

Jayce leads me to a table near the back. He gestures for the server, ordering us each an old-fashioned without asking what I want.

I raise an eyebrow. “Confident choice.”

“You seem like an old-fashioned kinda guy,” he replies with a grin. “Call it a hunch.”

As we wait for our drinks, my phone buzzes. Dread twists in my stomach when I see it’s a message from Elise.

Elise: Owen! What’s going on? You haven’t talked to Gerald about the engagement yet? I thought you were going to convince him to call it off.

Sighing, I shoot her a quick reply. I’m not in the headspace to deal with this right now.

Owen: I’m taking care of it. Don’t worry.

Elise: All I can do is worry!

Owen: Just trust me!

I tuck my phone away with a huff and Jayce arches his brow at me.

“You good?” he asks.

I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Just…family stuff.”

He gives me a nod and a knowing look. “Gotcha. Say no more.”

The drinks arrive quickly, and we settle in. Jayce leans back in his chair, looking completely at ease, like this kind of place is second nature to him. It probably is.

We make small talk for a while—how Denver compares to other cities we’ve played in, the team’s dynamic, our season opener coming up next week, and so on—but I can tell Jayce has something else on his mind. Finally, he sets his glass down and leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“You know, we talked before about both of us coming from… let’s say privileged backgrounds.”

I nod, unsure where he’s going with this.

“So I get,” he continues, his tone more serious now, “how tricky it can be navigating what you want for yourself versus what your family expects.”

The statement catches me off guard.

“I’m not trying to pry,” he adds quickly, seeing my expression. “I just have a feeling the ‘good boy’ persona you put on for the public isn’t the whole story.”

I raise my glass to my lips, taking a long sip to buy time. He’s not wrong, but admitting that feels... vulnerable. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to go there, even with someone who seems to understand.

“I guess you could say there’s a lot of pressure to present myself a certain way,” I say finally, choosing my words carefully. “My stepdad’s big on appearances. Everything I do has to reflect well on the family.”

The warmth of the old-fashioned burns my chest. I stare at the polished surface of the table. Jayce is waiting, patient and quiet, like he knows I need the silence to gather my thoughts.

“He’s got this way of making everything about himself,” I continue. “I’m a tool to him. A walking PR machine he can use to bolster his image and his influence over the family company. And I go along with it for my mom’s sake. She’s…” I pause and gaze off across the bar as I swallow back the frustration bubbling up within me. “Well, she’s stuck in the middle of it all, you know?”

Jayce nods, his brows furrowing. He appears thoughtful as he takes a drink.

Setting his glass back down, he says, “I get it. My family’s all about big deals, bigger egos. My parents are always putting pressure on me, one way or another. Whether it’s about making appearances at events or being the ‘good son’ who keeps the family legacy intact. And hockey…” He lets out a dry chuckle. “They think I’m wasting my potential chasing a puck.”

I shake my head, laughing under my breath. “My stepdad’s got opinions on everything I do. How I talk in interviews, what I wear, even who I should be seen with. My life is just another extension of his brand.”

Jayce leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Yeah, that’s the thing, right? You work your ass off to build something for yourself, but they always find a way to make it about them. That’s why I’ve never gone for anything more than the basics when it comes to publicity. Some of the guys—like Carson—they’ve taken off in popularity, especially with Grace running the social media stuff, but I’ve got no interest in becoming a brand. The game’s enough for me. I value my privacy too much to give it all away for the sake of likes and clicks.”

“Exactly,” I say, meeting his gaze. “I don’t need the circus. I just try to stay neutral. My stepdad does enough spinning for both of us. The ice is where I can just… be. Everything else is noise.”

Jayce swirls the last of his drink in the glass as he studies me. The conversation has been easy so far. We really connect.

But when he shifts the topic, my defenses snap back into place.

“So,” Jayce says,“what’s with you and Stacey?”

I stiffen.“Huh?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Relax, man. I’m not trying to pry. It’s just obvious you two have something going on. You’ve got this way of looking at her. I saw it the other day at the rink.”

Fuck. I hadn’t realized I was that transparent.

“We went to school together,” I say finally, trying to sound nonchalant.

Jayce raises an eyebrow. “I knew that already, dude. Clearly there’s more to it than that.”

I take a slow sip of my drink, debating whether to say more, but for some reason, maybe because of the way he’s been real with me all night, I find myself talking.

“I loved her,” I admit quietly, staring at the amber liquid in my glass. “I wanted to spend my life with her. Back then, it was simple. I knew exactly what I wanted, and it was her. She was it. She is it.”

Jayce doesn’t interrupt, letting me keep going.

“But then my mom suddenly announced she got married again and my new stepdad decided we were moving to Canada, and I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. One day I was with her, and the next, he had my entire life packed up and put on a plane. I fought him on it. But it didn’t matter. He always gets what he wants.”

I rub the back of my neck, the memory still sharp. “I tried to stay in touch. Wrote her a letter that she never responded to. Tried to call her, but she changed her number. I knew I’d fucked up, but when I couldn’t contact her… I guess I just gave up.”

Saying the words out loud makes my stomach churn with disgust. I should’ve tried harder to find her. I was so blindsided by the move and mom’s marriage… I didn’t feel like I had any say in my own life. No power to change things or resist what all was happening around and to me. As a result, I just let her go, and I’ve regretted it every day since.

Jayce shakes his head, a small, understanding smile playing on his lips. “Family screws with your head, huh?”

I nod, glad for the empathy but still feeling raw after spilling my guts and realizing how much of a pussy I really was back then.

He finishes off his drink before continuing, “People think it’s all trust funds and luxury vacations, but coming from money is suffocating too. The traditions, the expectations, the constant need to keep up appearances…”

I glance at him, surprised by his candor. Jayce always comes off as so easygoing, the guy who doesn’t have a care in the world, but that’s not him on the inside. We really are scarily similar.

Jayce chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Sometimes I just want to blow the whole thing up, you know? Walk away and start over.”

I don’t say anything because, yeah, I do know.

The weight of the conversation lingers, but then Jayce grins, a mischievous glint slipping into his eyes. “But enough about family drama. How about a different kind of distraction?” He sets his glass down. “Follow me.”

He leads me through the bar and toward a set of unmarked doors. He pushes one open, revealing a hallway that’s dimly lit and lined with plush carpet. There are more doors along the corridor, each one numbered, with a low light hanging off the top of each doorframe. Some are turned on, but others are dark.

“What is this?” I ask.

Jayce turns back with a smirk. “This club’s real appeal. Private rooms where interested people can enjoy some… stress relief.”

I raise my brow in surprise. “I see.”

He leans against the wall, crossing his arms, his grin widening. “I’m serious. I’ve arranged for someone to play with tonight, and someone for you too, if you’re interested. Don’t worry, everyone signs NDAs here and they are ironclad. You can indulge however you want, and it will stay within these walls. Sometimes, you just need to let go and get away from it all, you know?”

As if on cue, one of the darkened doors opens and a gorgeous woman with long, platinum blonde hair and a short, black, sleeveless dress comes sauntering out. Jayce smirks at her as she sidles up next to him, resting her hand on his chest.

“Ready, baby?” she purrs.

“One sec,” he whispers, then faces me. “So, interested?”

I laugh. This type of thing is actually right up my alley, and I’d usually be completely up for it. However, all I can think of is Stacey, imagining her in that black dress, pressing herself into my side, and I know no other woman will do it for me.

“You do you, man. I’m not up for that tonight.”

Jayce shrugs, unbothered. “Suit yourself. You know it’s here if you ever want that distraction.”

“Appreciate it. Have fun, Jayce.”

He winks at me, turns with his lady, and they disappear into the room she first came out of. I gaze around the hallway, briefly imagining what all is happening behind each door, but before my thoughts can run away with me completely, I turn and head back out into the bar.

Getting outside, I hail a cab. When it arrives, I settle into the back seat wordlessly. Leaning back, my eyes flutter closed. I think about my conversation with Jayce, and then those private rooms and I can’t help wondering what it would be like to explore them with Stacey.

Leading her into a lowly lit space where no one will bother us.

Tying her down to the bed.

Exploring her body with my fingers, lips and tongue until she’s squirming and begging me for more.

Driving my cock into her and fucking her until we’re drowning in pleasure.

Fuck, that would be so hot, but now I have a raging boner that I’d rather not have the driver notice.

I wonder what Stacey’s doing? It’s after midnight, so most likely she’s asleep, but I want to see her again.

Impulsively, I grab my phone and pull up her number. I found it in the staff directory at the stadium, and shamelessly added it to my contacts. Typing out a quick message, I hit send.

Owen: It’s Owen. Want to get breakfast with me in the morning?

I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply even though I know I shouldn’t. She’s got to be asleep by now. It’s so late…

Suddenly, I see the “Read” notification pop up on the message. I watch, my heart pounding, as the three dots flash to indicate that she’s typing. They go away without her sending a response, but before I can feel the full brunt of my disappointment, the three dots reappear and then a message flashes across the screen.

Stacey: No. I’ve got a situation going on right now.

I frown. That’s it? And why is she even awake at this hour? I tap out another message, my fingers moving faster than my brain.

Owen: Why are you even up this late? Are you okay?

The seconds stretch into minutes, each one making the silence heavier. The “Read” notification pops up again, but that’s all. I stare at the screen until it blurs, but still—no response.

Something’s wrong. I can feel it.

“Change of plans,” I tell the cab driver, rattling off Stacey’s address. When Stacey left me in her office that first day, I did a little snooping and found her address on some intake paperwork on her desk. Stalkery? A little bit, sure, but I was so stunned after seeing her again, I wasn’t exactly thinking straight. If she tells me to leave, I’ll obviously leave, but her text set off alarms for me.

My anxiety makes the ride feel longer than it is. Every streetlight we pass casts shadows that stretch and fade, feeding the gnawing worry in my chest. When we finally pull up in front of her house, I toss cash at the driver and climb out, the cool night air biting at my skin. My footsteps echo as I head up to her door, my pulse loud in my ears.

I hesitate, then knock.

Nothing.

I knock again.

There’s movement on the other side of the door, a shuffle, then the sound of locks clicking. The door creaks open, and Stacey appears.

She looks like hell.

She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt with her hair thrown into a messy bun, and her eyes red-rimmed and tired. There’s a sizable stain on the front of her shirt that I quickly recognize as puke.

Shit, I was right. Something is wrong.