Page 97 of Blocked Shot
Jake joins them, dropping onto the grass at Natalie’s feet. He leans his shoulder against her knee, his hand wrapping around her ankle. His eyes tilt up toward her, quiet and sure.
“Still thinking about if I want to play another year,” he says, almost to himself. “And I have no idea where I would sign. Could be here. Could be Vancouver. Could be goddamn Buffalo.”
Natalie brushes her fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to think about it yet.”
He nods, then rests his cheek against her leg. “I don’t want to do this long-distance thing again. I can’t.”
“You won’t have to.” Her voice is soft but firm. “Wherever you go, we’ll figure it out. I mean, I work remotely now, remember? All I need is a laptop and a decent coffee shop.”
Jake grins. “And me?”
“And you,” she says, nudging his shoulder with her knee. “Obviously.”
They fall into a companionable silence, the kind that feels earned—easy and full of something sturdy.
“I don’t need the perfect city,” Jake says eventually. “Only the right person.”
Charlotte groans again from the other side of the bench. “You two are revolting. Seb and I were never that disgusting.”
She gets up, brushing herself off. “I’m gonna go get more wine and check on the twins.”
Natalie laughs as Charlotte disappears inside, then threads her fingers through Jake’s. “So, what now?”
Jake looks up at her, eyes full of that same steady certainty she’s come to recognize as love.
“Now?” he says, smiling. “Now we go home.”
EPILOGUE
The late summer sun spills through the windows in thick, golden slants, casting a warm glow over the chaos of cardboard boxes and curled strips of packing tape. Natalie’s childhood home smells like pizza, lemon cleaner, and fresh coffee. Jake stands in the middle of it all, arms crossed over his chest, surveying the disarray with a satisfied kind of calm.
His life is in boxes again. But this time, it’s different.
“This is like, your fourth move in a year,” Mila gripes from the couch, flopping dramatically onto a pile of folded clothes. “I thought fancy hockey players had assistants for this crap.”
“We’re not exactly making Sidney Crosby money,” Natalie replies dryly, taping up a box labeled Kitchen—FRAGILE.
She tugs the roll off with her teeth and glances at Jake. “Unless you’ve got a secret endorsement deal I don’t know about.”
Jake chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s sweaty from hauling furniture, his old Coyotes t-shirt sticking to his back, but there’s a glow to him that has nothing to do with the heat. “No secret deals. Just a new job and a girl who agreed to move to Connecticut with me.”
Mila groans. “I can’t believe you’re really doing this. Hartford? What even is in Hartford?”
“A good team. A head coach who believes in me. And a backyardbig enough for a firepit and a dog,” Jake says. His voice is quiet, thoughtful, as he leans down to adjust the box flaps at his feet.
“And don’t forget me, Coach,” Jesse calls from the hallway, lugging in another box with a loud thud. He wipes his brow dramatically. “You’ve got your star rookie to look after.”
Mila narrows her eyes and raises a brow. “How’s that going to work, anyway? Isn’t dating your player’s sister some kind of HR disaster waiting to happen?”
Jake shrugs, unbothered. “I was up front with them. They still offered me the job. I’m not coaching Jesse directly, and even if I were—” he smirks, glancing toward Natalie, “I wouldn’t discipline him. His sister terrifies me.”
Natalie looks up from the floor, where she’s crouched beside a box of books, carefully bubble-wrapping photo frames. A lock of hair falls across her face, and she brushes it back absently. When her eyes meet Jake’s, her mouth curves into that warm, private smile—the one she only gives him. Jake feels it like gravity pulling him in.
His heart swells, full and steady.
Jesse vanishes again and returns with another box, huffing. “Seriously, Nat, why do you need to bring all these books?”
“Books are my love language,” she says breezily. “They stay with me.”
