Page 131 of The Pucking Date
And then, from deeper in the gym, I see it.
Finn, mid-combination, glove cocked, mouth guard in, just…stops.
His sparring partner pulls back, confused. “Yo, you good?”
But Finn doesn’t respond. He’s staring straight past the ropes. Past the row of heavy bags and sparring mats. Right at us. Right at Jace. His jaw tightens. Shoulders coil. That stillness slices through the chaos like a blade.
Then, from somewhere off to the side, a man’s voice cuts through the din. “Hold. O’Reilly, out.”
Finn taps gloves, steps back, and ducks under the ropes. He moves like a man with purpose. There is tension in his shoulders. The way his jaw ticks. The way he spits the mouth guard.
He tosses a towel over his neck, sweat glistening on his skin. Doesn’t even glance at the others. Just zeros in on us.
Jace straightens slightly. Still cool. But I can feel it, the subtle shift. The realization that something just changed.
Finn’s voice cuts through the noise, rough and Southern, like gravel under a boot. “Didn’t realize we were hostin’ a damn social hour back here.”
Jace just smiles, lazy and unbothered. “Didn’t know she was yours to claim, Golden Boy.”
I stiffen.Yours to claim?
Finn doesn’t blink. Just shifts his weight, mouth tight, gaze flicking to me, then right back to Jace. “She ain’t mine,” Finn says, too quick, voice flat as hammered steel.
Jace’s smile edges wider. “Good to know. Wouldn’t wanna step on any toes.”
Finn’s grin comes slow, tight, cold, and all teeth. “Ain’t no toes in my way.”
Jace lifts his hands, still smiling, but there’s a flicker of understanding and respect there. “Well then,” he says, easy as sunshine, “guess I’ll let y’all catch up.”
He steps back, slow and smooth, the retreat casual but clear. And even with the space between them growing, I can still feel it. The air crackles. And I know him well enough to read the truth in that restraint. He’s not over it.
Not even close.
He locks eyes with me for a long moment. I can feel my heart clench. And maybe I should say something. Like,“Y’all done measuring dicks or should I come back later?”
But I let it go. Because as much as I want to roll my eyes at being treated like a tree to stake claim on, part of me is just glad he can’t help but want to.
I stand there, breath shallow, soaked in regret and adrenaline.
He steps in front of me, close, but not enough to reach. His chest rises steady. His eyes stay locked on the wall behind me. But he’s not walking away.
“You didn’t want me here,” I start. No flicker. Just a clenched jaw and silence. “I tried to call; you weren’t picking up. So I came.”
Still nothing. But he shifts his gaze to my face for a second, then looks away again. “I was wrong.” It drops from my mouth, no buildup, no framing. “I was wrong to not let you in. Wrong not to tell you. Wrong not to trust you. And I’m sorry. I know that probably doesn’t mean much now, but I need you to hear me.”
I see his throat work as he swallows hard. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t flinch. Just listens.
“You did everything to show me how much I meant to you. How serious you were about us.” I pause. “You scored for me. Danced. Sang. Learned a damn figure skating lift.” I take a deep inhale. “You swept me off my feetevery single day.You made it so clear I wasn’t a fluke or a fling. Everyone saw it. I was the only one who couldn’t. Because I didn’t believe I was worthy of your love.”
His shoulders shift, barely. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
“I told myself I couldn’t tell you yet. That it was to protect you. That I didn’t want to mess with your career or box you in. But that was a lie. I wasn’t protecting you; I was hiding. From the idea that someone like you could want me.”
Another beat. Still quiet. But he’s listening.
“I was scared to let you love me that much. Of having something that real and not knowing how to hold on to it.”
I take a breath. Step closer. But he takes a step back, like he’s afraid to let me back in.
