Page 30

Chapter 30

RYLAN

T he bottle of wine feels heavy in my hands as I stand outside Jamie's door, second-guessing my choice for the fifth time. I spent an hour at the wine shop, analyzing vintages and regions with the same intensity I use for reviewing game tape. The clerk probably thought I was insane.

Deep breath. I can handle this. I've faced playoff elimination games with less anxiety than I'm feeling about this dinner, but... this is different. This is Jamie's family. This is his home.

Before I can overthink it further, the door swings open. Jamie's there in a soft sweater that makes his eyes impossibly blue, curls slightly messy like he's been running his hands through them while cooking.

"You're early," he says softly, a smile playing at his lips. "Should have known."

"I can come back…"

"Don't you dare." He glances down the hallway before pulling me inside. "Mom and Dad are stuck in traffic, they decided to get an Air B&B on the other side of town for some unknown reason," he rolls his eyes. "And Lola and Adam won't be here for another hour."

The door clicks shut behind me, and suddenly we're alone in his space. His actual home, not another hotel room. The delicious smell of turkey cooking in the oven makes me remember our family's holiday dinners when Nick and I were little kids. But the memories don't hurt right now, they feel more like a cozy blanket around my shoulders as I follow Jamie into his home.

"Nice place," I manage, taking in the comfortable mix of modern furniture and personal touches. There are books everywhere, academic texts mixed with novels, scattered across coffee tables and stacked on shelves. Family photos sit next to random hockey memorabilia, and he has some quirky art on his walls.

It's exactly like him, stylish but lived-in. It has an underlying warmth that makes my chest ache.

"Here." I thrust the wine forward like some kind of shield. "I wasn't sure what to..."

"You didn't have to bring anything." But he takes the bottle, his fingers brushing mine. "Though knowing you, this is probably perfectly selected to pair with turkey."

Heat crawls up my neck. "The clerk said the acidity would complement—"

Jamie's laugh cuts me off, warm and fond. "God, you're adorable when you overthink things."

Before I can protest that observation, he steps closer, right into my space. "We have at least forty-five minutes before anyone else arrives," he murmurs, eyes dropping to my mouth. "Any ideas how we could pass the time?"

My carefully prepared response about wine pairings dies in my throat.

"Jamie..." His name comes out rougher than intended. "We shouldn't..."

"Why not?" His fingers trail up my arm. "My family's stuck in traffic. We're alone. And you look..." His eyes drag over me, making my skin heat. "Really good in that sweater."

I should step back. Should maintain some professional distance. Should...

"Fuck it," I mutter, pulling him into a kiss.

He makes a pleased sound against my mouth, backing me against his kitchen counter. My heart pounds in my chest. Everything in here is just so him—just Jamie —and it's making me dizzy.

"Been wanting to do this all week," he mumbles between kisses. "Do you know how hard it is to watch you in that weight room and not touch?"

I laugh breathlessly. "Try watching you stretch after practice."

"Yeah?" His smile turns wicked. "Like what you see, captain?"

"You know I do, you menace." But I'm smiling too, letting myself relax into this moment. Into him.

The oven timer beeps, making us both jump. Jamie groans, pressing his forehead to mine. "I should check that."

"Probably." But neither of us moves.

The sound of a key in the lock makes us spring apart like startled teenagers.

"Jamie?" Alexandra's voice carries from the entryway. "Traffic wasn't as bad as we thought!"

Jamie's eyes go wide. I quickly straighten my sweater while he runs a hand through his curls, trying to tame them.

"In the kitchen, Mom!" he calls, voice only slightly strained. "Rylan just got here too."

Alexandra appears in the doorway. Her eyes take in the scene: Jamie's mussed hair, my flushed face, the wine bottle still unopened on the counter, and something knowing crosses her expression.

Panic claws at the back of my throat, but when I meet her eyes, there's no judgment, only the same warm acceptance from the restaurant in Boston. Something about that brings a lump to my throat that I have to quickly swallow down.

"Perfect timing," she says smoothly. "Joseph's parking the car. Rylan, dear, would you mind helping Jamie with the appetizers while I freshen up?"

"Of course, Mrs— Alexandra," I correct myself at her look.

As she disappears down the hall, Jamie lets out a shaky breath. "Well. That was..."

"Yeah." I glance at him. His lips are still slightly swollen from our kisses, and something possessive flares in my chest.

"Later," he promises quietly, reading my expression. Then, louder as footsteps approach, "Can you grab those crackers from the pantry?"

I move to help, falling into an easy rhythm with him as his father arrives, already deep in discussion about some literary theory. But I catch Alexandra watching us work together, her smile soft and understanding in a way that makes my throat tight.

This is what family looks like, I realize. This easy affection, this casual acceptance, this warmth that wraps around you like a blanket.

Something I never let myself want before Jamie Pirelli showed up in my life.

Jamie's dining setup is a creative mix of his regular table with what looks like a borrowed card table, all covered by a tablecloth I suspect Alexandra brought with her. Somehow it works, making the space feel cozy rather than crowded as we all squeeze in. Jamie's dad is still talking about some obscure literary theory with Adam, while Lola arranges her napkin with the precise movements of someone used to power lunches with Supreme Court justices.

I find myself cataloging the differences between this place and my own sparsely furnished apartment. The warm glow of actual candlelight instead of my usual harsh overheads, the way dishes get passed family-style instead of my carefully pre-portioned meals, the easy flow of conversation and laughter. Even the minor chaos of Jamie having to hunt for an extra wine glass feels... right, somehow.

"So Seattle's your first American team?" Lola asks, leaning forward with interest. "After Montreal and Toronto, right?"

"Winnipeg too," I add, focusing on perfectly aligning my fork with my knife. "Played there for a couple seasons between Montreal and Toronto."

"That's quite a journey," Alexandra says softly. "All those Canadian teams, and now here. How are you finding life in the States?"

"Different," I admit. "Even after three years, some things still catch me off guard. Like Thanksgiving being in November instead of October."

I catch Jamie's slight smile at my mention of Canadian Thanksgiving.

"Well, we're certainly glad you're here," Alexandra says warmly. "Jamie tells us you've been a wonderful captain. The team seems to be coming together under your leadership."

"Mom," Jamie groans, but he's smiling.

"I'm just making conversation," she protests innocently. "Though since we're talking hockey, that goal you two scored last week was quite impressive..."

"Oh god," Lola laughs. "Now you've done it. She's been watching all the game highlights, saying she needs to 'understand the team dynamics.'"

"I'm a psychologist," Alexandra sniffs. "Observing group behavior is literally my job."

The easy way they tease each other, with warm acceptance beneath every interaction almost makes me choke up. This is what family dinner should be like. I haven't had this for so long…

"You know," Alexandra says casually as she passes the platter, "Seattle seems like a wonderful city. And it's nice to have everyone together like this."

The invitation in her words is clear, even if she doesn't say it directly. My chest aches with how much I want what she's talking about. I want to be part of this warm circle of acceptance and understanding.

As we finish dessert, Alexandra insists Jamie stay sitting, "You cooked!"

Jamie laughs "Mom, I picked up the pre-cooked meal at Whole Foods. All I did was put stuff in pans and heat it up!"

She brushes off Jamie's protest with a casual wave. "Keep your seat. I need your captain to assist me with something in the kitchen."

"If she starts interrogating you, just bark like a dog and I'll come to rescue you!" Jamie calls out as I gather dishes. His mom responds by flinging her napkin at his head.

It should worry me, being pulled aside like this. But there's something about Alexandra that puts me at ease. She radiates this peaceful energy that makes it impossible to feel threatened around her.

"You know," she says softly as we work together to clean the kitchen "you remind me a bit of Jamie when he was younger. So careful about doing everything perfectly."

"Jamie? But he's so..."

"Relaxed now?" She smiles. "That took time. And people who helped him realize he didn't have to be perfect to be loved."

I nearly drop the plate I'm holding. Something about her tone reminds me so much of my own mom that my eyes fill with tears.

"My mom..." I have to clear my throat, blinking the tears back while hoping she didn't notice. "She used to say something similar. About not having to earn love."

Alexandra's hand lands softly on my arm. "She sounds very wise." Her touch is so kind, so maternal, that for a moment I almost smell the perfume my mom used to wear. The unexpected wave of grief nearly drowns me. But Alexandra's eyes are kind, and somehow I keep breathing.

"She was." The words come out rough.

"She always said hockey wasn't just about the game. It was about finding your people."

"Smart woman." Alexandra's voice is soft but her eyes are suspiciously bright. "You know, Jamie's been different lately. Happier. More himself." She squeezes my arm gently. "I think maybe he's found his people too."

I nearly drop the dish I'm holding. "Mrs. Pirelli—"

"Alexandra," she corrects automatically. Then, even more softly, "And Rylan? Whatever makes my son smile like that?" She pauses. "All any mother wants is for her children to be happy. To be loved and accepted for exactly who they are."

She smiles and hands me a dish towel before turning to grab the coffee mugs, giving me a moment to compose myself. In the living room, Jamie laughs at some joke Adam just made. His dad's professor-ish voice mixes with laughter and it somehow feels like home.

"You're always welcome with us," Alexandra says quietly as she starts pouring the coffee. "Not just holidays. Anytime you need... Anytime."

"Thank you," I whisper.

Her smile is soft and understanding. "That's what family's for, dear."

As everyone gets ready to leave, Alexandra pulls me into a hug. "Thank you for sharing the holiday with us," she murmurs.

"Thank you for having me," I manage, my voice rough.

She squeezes my arm one more time, her eyes knowing. "Take care of each other," she says, glancing between Jamie and me. Then, louder, "Joseph! Come on, darling."

They all say goodbye like this is normal. Like I belong here.

Eventually, the door closes behind them. The sudden silence is heavy with all the things I'm trying not to feel.

"Hey." Jamie's voice is soft as he moves closer. "You okay?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. He reaches for me slowly, like he's afraid I might bolt. When I don't pull away, he wraps his arms around me from behind, pressing his face into my neck.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "For being here. For letting them take care of you."

"Jamie..." My voice breaks.

"I know." His arms tighten slightly. "I know it's a lot. But they mean it, you know. About you being welcome. About wanting you here."

I lean back into him, just for a moment, letting myself have this. Letting myself want it.

"Stay?" Jamie asks softly. "Just... stay tonight? I just... I don't want to let you go yet."

I should say no. It's too risky, what if someone saw me leaving in the morning? Several guys from the team live right around here. I should...

"Okay," I whisper, turning in his arms. "Okay."

His smile is soft, full of something that looks like hope.

For once, I let myself hope too.