Page 116 of Play Along With Me
Eventually, reluctantly, I climb off his lap, immediately curling into his side as he pulls me down onto the mattress beside him. His fingers trace idle patterns on my bare shoulder while mine follow the familiar path of the scar on his side.
"That was..." he begins.
"Award-worthy?" I suggest. "NHL-caliber? Vezina Trophy-level?"
He laughs, the sound rumbling pleasantly beneath my ear. "I was going to say 'perfect,' but sure, we can go with sports metaphors if you prefer."
"I've been studying," I inform him proudly. "Did you know a hat trick is when someone scores three times in one game? That has nothing to do with actual hats. Hockey terminology is deeply illogical."
"And yet you've mastered it admirably," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
"I'm a woman of many talents," I agree. "Speaking of which, I've been meaning to tell you something."
Jake shifts slightly to look down at me, his expression curious. "What's that?"
"I finished the novel," I say, the words still feeling surreal even to me. "Actually finished it. All thirty-eight chapters, beginning to end. I sent it to my agent today."
His eyes widen. "Audrey! That's incredible! Why didn't you say something earlier?"
I shrug, suddenly shy about my achievement in the face of his. "Today was your day. The big NHL contract, the starting position. My little book news could wait."
"Hey," he says, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. "It's not little. It's huge. I know how hard you've worked on that novel, how much it means to you. We should be celebrating both of us tonight."
The simple earnestness in his voice, the genuine pride in his eyes—it undoes me in ways that even our physical intimacy couldn't. This is what I never had with Daniel or any other boyfriend before Jake: someone who sees my dreams as equally valid, equally worthy of celebration.
"I wasn't sure I'd ever finish it," I admit. "Before you, I was stuck in this loop of rewriting the same three chapters over and over, never moving forward. Paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong choice, taking the story in the wrong direction."
"What changed?" he asks, his fingers still tracing patterns on my skin.
I consider the question, thinking back to those early weeks after we met—how something shifted in my approach to both my writing and my life.
"I think I finally realized that there is no perfect path," I say slowly. "No guaranteed 'right' direction. There's just the choice to move forward despite the uncertainty, to trust that even if you make mistakes along the way, the journey itself has value."
Jake smiles, recognizing his own philosophy reflected back at him. "Exactly like hockey. You can't score if you don't shoot, can't save if you don't commit to a position."
"Everything's a hockey metaphor with you," I tease, poking him in the ribs.
"Occupational hazard," he shrugs unapologetically. "But seriously, Audrey, I'm incredibly proud of you. Finishing a novel is an amazing accomplishment."
"Now we just have to see if anyone wants to publish it," I say, the familiar anxiety creeping in at the edges of my satisfaction.
"They will," Jake says with the same unwavering certainty he brings to his profession. "And if the first one doesn't, the next one will. You'll keep going either way, because that's who you are. Someone who persists. Someone who creates despite the uncertainty."
His faith in me—so clear, so uncomplicated—wraps around me like a blanket on a cold night. I've spent so much of my life doubting myself, second-guessing my choices, looking for external validation. Yet here is this man who believes in me with a steadiness that makes my usual insecurities seem suddenly insignificant.
"We're both getting what we've worked for," I muse, snuggling closer to his warmth. "You with the starting position, me with a completed manuscript. It feels like... I don't know, like we're exactly where we're supposed to be."
"Together," Jake adds, his arm tightening around me.
"Together," I agree. "Who would have thought that fake dating a hockey player would lead to this?"
"Well, your character can see future regrets," Jake reminds me. "Maybe you subconsciously knew all along."
"If only," I laugh. "Eliza's ability would have saved me years of bad relationships and questionable life choices."
"Not me, though," Jake says with mock seriousness. "I have exclusively made excellent choices."
"Excuse me, but I've seen photographic evidence of your hockey mullet. Your judgment has not always been impeccable."
