Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Jamie

I couldn't believe it had been fifty-three days since Craig and I had had our first date.

Not that I was counting, but my maths brain never stopped, and I could count all the ways we made each other happy.

We'd moved from one high to another, the most recent being shower sex, which I never thought possible from a mechanical point of view, but I was very happy to be proven wrong. I was still on a high from what Craig had managed to achieve. I stood at the front of the small conference room, laser pointer in hand, ready to present the summary of my findings to a group that had expanded well beyond my original circle of three subjects—Craig, Annabelle, and Ian. Now the group included independent and voluntary coaches from various disciplines, not just hockey, football, and gymnastics, but also soccer and baseball. The expansion reflected the growing interest and potential application of my research.

Or at least that was why they were here, but I'd summarized my hypothesis as "making things better with data" to attract their attendance. Craig had been up with me last night, running me through my presentation, asking me why on so many occasions—why does that have to be a slide? Why is that so hard for you to explain? Why don't we kiss some more?

He'd made me rethink this presentation in so many ways—and even though he joked about dumbing it down, which earned him a thorough kissing, what he meant was that if people didn't understand what I was doing, then what was the point of doing it?

"Explain it like real life," he said.

And then in bed.

And in the shower this morning.

And just before this presentation started.

As I clicked through the slides, outlining the data and our methodological approaches, my voice steady and confident, I couldn't help but let my gaze drift to the back of the room. There, in a shadowed corner, sat Craig. His presence was like a magnetic pull, drawing my attention despite the moment's importance.

He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, a slight smile playing on his lips as he followed the presentation. Every so often, he would nod slightly, his eyes reflecting pride and perhaps a hint of amusement at my barely concealed nervousness. Seeing him so relaxed and supportive filled me with a warmth that offset the cool, professional air.

It made me feel as if I could yank all this data from its theory stage and actually make something real from it.

Despite my best efforts to focus on the audience as a whole—most of whom were attentive—my gaze invariably wandered back to Craig. His confidence, and the subtle encouragement in his beautiful smile, grounded me. Somehow he reassured me that the path I was on was the right one, and hell, each glance at him smoothed any tremor in my voice and kept me from spiraling into stats and theorems.

I touched on the theoretical aspects and glanced at the data trends on the large screen, but all the while, my heart was anchored at the back of the room where Craig sat. The discussion shifted from statistical analysis to potential real-world applications, and I fielded questions from a football coach curious about injury prediction and a gymnastics instructor interested in motion efficiency.

As the session drew to a close, I summarized our next steps and expressed gratitude for their contributions and feedback. Polite applause filled the room, and conversations began to buzz as small groups formed to discuss the implications further.

I made my way to the back of the room, my professional mask giving way to a more genuine smile as I approached Craig. His approval meant more to me than any accolade the academic or sports community could offer. The connection we shared, filled with love and respect for each other's passions, was the cornerstone of my current happiness and future ambitions.

"Great job, Doc," Craig whispered as I reached him, his hand finding mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His simple praise, delivered with a warm smile, was everything.

"Let's hope the funding is approved for the next stage," I murmured.

"It will be."

"Dr. Hennessy?" A young woman with a high ponytail rested her hand on Craig's arm and leaned past him to see me. I smiled at her, adopting the polite and encouraging demeanor Craig jokingly insisted was essential. A former Olympic gymnast, Emmy-Lou Fontaine was now a coach here at the college, responsible for Annabelle's training. She was known for her enthusiasm and her keen interest in applying theoretical data to practical coaching.

"Hello," I said after a pause.

"Can I steal you for a moment? I have several questions…" I noticed her pale pink polished nails against the fabric of Craig's Storm jacket—an innocent touch, yet a spike of unexpected jealousy jabbed at me. Without overthinking, I leaned in and kissed Craig square on the lips, marking a moment of impulsiveness that was rare for me. Only then did I allow myself to be dragged away.

He grinned at me for my stupidly possessive move.

I loved that smile.

"How can I help you?" I asked when I'd been dragged a sufficient distance away from Craig that I started to want to go straight back. Emmy-Lou launched into her questions, detailing her thoughts on how my research could be integrated into her gymnastics training regimen. As we talked—and after I chilled a lot more—I found my focus drifting back to Craig, seeing him laugh in the crowd and his ease among people. It was one of the many reasons I found myself so drawn to him, and as I engaged in a technical discussion with Emmy-Lou, part of me was always tethered back to him, to us.

He was not like anyone I'd been with before.

He was mine.

I was his.

"… so that was my intention. What do you think?"

I blinked at Emmy-Lou. "Sorry, I was distracted, can you summarize that last part?"

She was so patient, repeated it all, and I really focused.

Mostly.

By the time the presentation ended, and everyone had left, bar Craig who was kicked back in a seat by the door, I was on a high. The commission couldn't accuse me of not delivering, and I had a solid basis for what could be years of research into practical applications of my theories and could earn good money.

I might be able to afford a house of my own.

Or not.

I loved living with Oli and the girls, and Jackson had never implied he didn't want me there, but still… somewhere for me and Craig? Somewhere with a place where Claudia could live with us, and Bruno, of course. Next door to Oli. That seemed reasonable.

Right?

A few days later, Jackson found me in the garden, where I was deep in conversation with Scarlett and Daisy about the merits of pink dresses as Scarlett made me try on lip glosses and Daisy attempted to keep my hair back with a flowery headband. I grinned up at the man, but he didn't seem as if he'd come out to tease me over the hair or the makeup, instead, he had a face like thunder. Fuck. What was wrong?

"Jamie, can I have a moment?" he asked, glancing at the girls before focusing his intense gaze back on me.

"Sure, what's up?" I replied, keeping my tone even, standing from my crouch. Even though I stayed calm, thinking about the girls, they reacted to Jackson's aura and paused their excited chatter. "It's okay, girls, go inside, I bet I'm just in trouble for messing with J's breakfast this morning."

"Wait!" Jackson said, with fake horror, playing to the girls. "What did he do to my breakfast?"

I leaned into Scarlett and Daisy. "I put sugar in his coffee!"

They snickered, and we all smiled, but Jackson's and my smile dropped after they'd dashed inside.

"What's wrong?" I demanded. "Is Oli okay?—"

"It's Craig," Jackson began, his voice low, and my chest tightened. "He received a gift , and my colleagues out of cybercrimes got the call from him and said he's spooked. They gave me a courtesy call, and I'm heading out there, but maybe Craig might need a friend right now."

"Of course, I'll go," I said without hesitation, the concern for Craig overpowering. I thought that shit had stopped, but maybe it hadn't? Had Craig decided not to tell me if he was getting gifts? I quickly scrubbed my face, and followed Jackson to his car, catching sight of the headband and taking it off. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know—she didn't say much."

"But he's not hurt." I had all these scenarios where that ex-arsehole had sent him anthrax in the post, or poison, or… fuck knows.

"No medics were called out," was all he said, and that meant nothing. Craig was just like Oli, a stubborn ass over any kind of injury.

The drive to Craig's place was tense, filled with an uneasy silence that I didn't want to break with too many questions when Jackson's focus remained on the road, his jaw set in a firm line. I spent the ride trying to prepare myself for whatever situation awaited us, but as we approached Craig's residence, a modest three-bedroom house tucked neatly behind a high wall with a security gate, my anxiety heightened. The presence of a black and white cop car parked outside his front door did nothing to ease my nerves. A woman stood to the left of the entrance, her body language tense as she spoke to a young guy who was gesticulating wildly.

"I just delivered it! I just delivered it! I don't know!" the young man was defending, agitated but not angry.

"Who's the woman?" I asked quietly as we neared the front door, noting how her demeanor was relaxed as she spoke, calming the man down.

"That's Detective Joanne Russo. Cybercrimes. She's been handling the situation with the messages to Craig with her partner," Jackson whispered, scanning the area for any sign of threat. The detective gave Jackson a nod, and then indicated we should go into the house.

When we walked into Craig's living room, the scene was grimly surreal. On the coffee table, a cake shaped unmistakably like Craig's dog, Bruno, complete with a tiny, frosted jumper, lay in two pieces. What looked like jam or red icing was smeared grotesquely in and around the split, a macabre sight that made my stomach churn.

I focused on finding Craig and ensuring he was okay. Leaving the police with the cake, I had to look through several rooms but finally found him in the kitchen, with his back to me, staring out of the window.

"Craig!"

He spun to face me. "Jamie? What are you doing here?"

"Jackson said you needed me, I'm here."

Craig shrugged and didn't reach for me, as if he was holding himself back, and I held out a hand—it was up to him if he came to me, I wouldn't push my fear onto him.

"He's insane," Craig snapped, and then something changed, and he grabbed my hand and buried his face in my neck. "Fucking insane."

"Your sister?"

"Okay, she's okay."

"And Bruno?"

"He's okay too," he assured me, then gestured toward the living room where the cake sat, a tech now hovering over it, taking photos. "But this… this gift was sick. Cybercrimes are dealing with it."

I held him in a tight embrace and felt him stiffen before he relaxed slightly against me. "I won't let this get to me," he murmured, his voice muffled against my shoulder. "I have a game tonight. You're still coming, right?"

The concern in his question tugged at me. "Of course, I'm coming. But should you be playing?" I asked, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye, searching for any sign that he might be pushing himself too hard. But there was my hockey guy, my nothing-stops-me-playing guy. The man I loved.

Craig's jaw set, determination blazing in his eyes as he met my gaze squarely. "Damn right I will," he affirmed, the fierceness in his tone leaving no room for argument.

I nodded, understanding. "Then I'll be there, cheering the loudest," I promised, squeezing his hands.

The cake and its box were removed, the cop car left, and Detective Russo reassured us they would leave no stone unturned in finding out who was doing this. She didn't mention Leon's name, but we all knew. Only Jackson remained, leaning against the inside of the front door as if stopping anyone from getting in.

I smiled at him.

He nodded at me, then added a tender look.

Jackson was taking this personally, and that was what Craig needed.

Craig had foregone his usual afternoon preparation for tonight's game, which he told me mostly included carbing up and then sleeping for an hour. Instead, we cuddled in his bed, and when he had to go to the arena, we split, and I called a cab to go home.

Not before the sweetest goodbye kiss, though.

As I walked hand in hand with Scarlett and Daisy, both girls decked out in their adorable LA Storm outfits, ready for the seven o'clock game against Montreal, I couldn't help the rush of anticipation of seeing Craig play in the flesh. The girls were bubbling with excitement, chattering about the players they were going to see and the game. Their enthusiasm was infectious, reminding me of the first time I'd done this back in New York. But now, everything felt different.

New York had been mixed with too many memories of Oli losing Melissa, a time clouded by grief and adjustment. Not to mention me putting everything into trying to make things work with Sean and then losing access to all my data.

LA represented a fresh start, one that none of us had seen coming but all desperately needed. Here, not only had Oli found a new sense of home with the LA Storm and met his man, but I'd also fallen for Craig, and my love for him was something so damn pure and uplifting; it felt as though every day with him brought a new reason to smile.

Oli still hadn't asked Jackson to marry him, and I was sure he was waiting for the perfect moment. The two of them, plus the girls, of course, had plans to go to Disneyland for two whole days for Scarlett's upcoming eighth birthday, and I couldn't help but speculate about a possible proposal. Maybe Oli would pop the question on Dumbo the Flying Elephant, or perhaps under the twinkling lights of It's a Small World—both places seemed fitting for such a magical moment when you had two children with you who were going to be part of the entire proposal.

Whatever Oli's plans were, it meant that I was all Craig's for the next two nights. With no games or traveling to get in the way, I was heading to Craig's place right after the game tonight, and then it was only the two of us for a whole two nights and one entire day. No babysitting, no working—just us.

We'd planned hot tub time, sex time, cuddling time, but maybe none of that would happen now.

I'd be happy with just the cuddling.

I simply wanted to be with him.