I lie there, eyes wide open, watching Brad sleep next to me. His chest rises and falls like he's got nothing to worry about in the world. Meanwhile, my mind? Racing. It's 3 a.m., and my phone's lighting up with notifications from the Insta story I just posted – a picture of Brad, shirtless, looking like a damn dream with his back to the camera. The caption? Straight-up bait. My finger hovers over the screen, second-guessing the whole thing.
Dinner tonight? That shit was unreal. Fancy-ass restaurant, champagne flowing like we're royalty. Braden's good at that—being all smooth and treating me like I'm the only girl on the planet. But somewhere in that mess of affection, I felt it. That possessive vibe, like he was staking a claim, wanting to lock things down. Make us exclusive.
And here I am, lying next to him, already doubting it. Brad's a great guy, but is he the guy? Every time he talks about "our future," my stomach twists. Like, I'm not trying to rush into a picket fence fantasy, ya know? Slow it down. But Brad? I know what he wants. And I'm not sure if I'm ready for that.
The phone lights up again. I squint at the screen, trying not to wake Brad. UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I feel my pulse spike. I already know who it is. He doesn't even have the balls to save his own number in my phone anymore. I slip out of bed, tiptoeing to the bathroom, heart pounding like I'm in some goddamn soap opera.
"Thank god you picked up." Jack's voice slams into my ear the second I answer. He sounds like he's been drinking, slurring a little, but still sharp enough to make me tense. I knew this call was coming eventually.
"Did you go out tonight, Morgan?" he asks, like he's got any right to.
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, Jack, I went out. Had dinner with Brad."
There's a pause, and I can practically feel the irritation coming through the line. "Yeah? Well, I hit the club with Trevor and a few others... it was fucking wild." He laughs, but it's not a happy sound. The kind of laugh you give when you're pretending everything's fine but it's clearly not.
I sigh, looking at myself in the mirror, barely lit by the glow of my phone screen. "You sound like you've had about five drinks too many. Where are you right now?"
"Me and Zegras just called an Uber. Party's fucking over. Shit was dead anyway."
Of course. I swear, every time Jack gets trashed, he decides it's the perfect time to drag me into his mess. But why tonight? Why now?
"Listen," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "I don't know why you're calling me at 3 a.m., but you really need to delete my number and go home." My words feel like a slap, but damn, he needs it.
He's quiet for a beat, then his voice turns bitter. "I saw your story. The one with Brad. What the fuck, Morgan? You're better than that. That guy? Fucking loser. You know it."
My heart skips, anger bubbling up, but I keep it in check. "Are you serious right now? You're calling me drunk to talk shit about Brad?"
"You're wasting your time on him, Morgan," he says, voice sharp. "Think about it. You don't actually like him like that. He's just a safe bet. You're afraid to be with someone who could actually make you feel something."
There it is. The fucking truth, right? He's always gotta cut deeper, hit me where it stings the most.
"You're drunk, Jack. Quit drinking and get home. This conversation is over." I can't let him get to me. Not again. Not tonight.
"No, I fucking mean it. You knew it was me calling, and you still answered," Jack snaps, and yeah—he's right. Of course I knew it was him. I could've let it go to voicemail, could've just ignored it. But I didn't.
I take a deep breath, thinking about what to say next, then I go for it. "Are you still thinking about us?" The words hang in the air, and for a second, I wonder if I've completely lost it. But Jack doesn't hesitate.
"Nah, I'm sorry, Morgan. I'm not," he says, voice suddenly sober and way too honest. "I just hope you're doing better."
The straightforwardness hits me in the chest, a weird mix of relief and—what? Embarrassment? Disappointment? I don't even know. It's been years, I shouldn't care. I don't care.
"Yeah, well," I say, voice tight, "it's been years, what do you think, huh? I'm gonna hang up now. Take care, Jack." I'm trying to sound strong, to put a wall between us. But right as my thumb hovers over the 'end call' button, he hits me with something I didn't expect.
"Wait, come see me play tomorrow." The way he says it, low and almost pleading, catches me off guard.
I scoff, rolling my eyes even though he can't see it. "You know I can't, Jack," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I'm not stepping back into that mess. The games, the nights of pretending everything's cool when it's anything but—nah, I've left that behind.
Before he can say anything else, I end the call, cutting him off, and just stand there in the bathroom, staring at the phone like it's gonna explain why I keep letting him get to me.
I crawl back into bed beside Brad, who's still out cold, blissfully unaware of the storm that just passed. He doesn't know about the history I've buried with Jack, and honestly? He doesn't need to. That's old news. Toxic news.
I lie there in the quiet, leaving behind the late-night discussions and contemplating the boundaries I've set to protect myself from the ghosts of the past.
...
I take a sip of my coffee, perched on my usual seat at the bar, observing Olivia efficiently working. Sam, Olivia's co-worker, chimes in with a teasing remark, "Did you sleep well last night, Carter? You were on a date, right? Must have had some good sex, huh?" I smirk, allowing the memory of the incredible night to linger, and respond, "Yeah, kind of."
Sam heads into the kitchen, disappearing from sight. It's been a while since I've been in this bar, a testament to the progress I've made, needing therapy sessions less frequently than before.
"What are the plans for tonight?" Olivia asks me. "On a Thursday night? Nothing," I reply. "Oh, come on, your guy is not even here. He's out of town."
"I guess I'll be alone tonight." Olivia nods and says, "No, we have to make plans."
I consider mentioning the hockey game Jack invited me to, but it sounds like a potentially awkward plan. "I mean, some hockey player invited me to his game."
She looks at me with a suspicious look. "You're going to fly to Ottawa?" Olivia asks, considering the fact that the Rangers are playing there tonight.
"Jack invited me to the Devils's game tonight," I tell her.
"Oh crap, we're going!" she exclaims with excitement. "No, absolutely not, I declined his offer. You're crazy," I assert.
She makes a sad face. I initially thought that she suggested me to distance myself from Jack.
"Let me think about it."
The restaurant's ambiance remains lively, but my thoughts are consumed by the unexpected invitation from Jack.
The idea of spontaneously going to a hockey game feels impulsive and potentially problematic. However, there's an undeniable intrigue and excitement in the proposition. Olivia raises an eyebrow, silently urging me to make a decision.
I take a deep breath, contemplating whether I should embrace the spontaneity or stick to my initial reluctance.
Olivia continues to work behind the counter as my mind races as I try to weigh the pros and cons of attending the hockey game.
"Thank you so much for coming, see you next time" she says to the little family she's serving.
I put a five dollar on the counter to pay for the coffee I enjoyed and I walk toward Olivia. She looks at me with a big smile.
"Okay the game is at 8 pm, so we're leaving at 6h45pm. Be ready." I command her.
Olivia gives me an amused look but nods in agreement. The impromptu decision to attend the hockey game seems to have injected a dose of excitement into our mundane Thursday night plans.
...
I feel fire tonight—literally untouchable in this red sweater, owning the fact that I'm here for Jack. The leather pants? A little badass edge, and with my hair curled just right, it's like I'm daring the night to surprise me. Jack's tickets ping on my phone, and I smirk. Guess he's trying to make up for a lot, considering the game's almost sold out.
The Prudential Center's alive with energy, the roar of the fans hitting like a shot of adrenaline. Montreal's in town, and honestly, it's about time I saw Cole, too. He's been killing it for the Habs, but tonight? Tonight, it's all about Jack.
The announcer starts rolling through the names, but it's not until Luke Hughes gets called that the crowd loses its mind. Jack's up next, and Olivia's grinning before it even happens.
"Your favorite player, number 86, Jack Hughes!" The place erupts—it's wild. I feel that buzz, the excitement, and yeah, maybe a little extra something when his name is shouted like that.
Olivia leans in, eyeing me with that smug look she does so well. "You gotta admit, the guy knows how to own a crowd. Badass."
"Yeah, he's good at that," I admit, but inside? I'm replaying every damn reason why I shouldn't be here. Jack might be a magician on ice, but off it? Let's just say it's complicated.
The anthem plays, but my head's in another space, thinking about how Jack's gonna play tonight and whether he's showing off for me. I send him a text—casual—just letting him know we're here. Don't expect a reply, but hey, let him sweat a bit.
First period? Devils are up 2-0, and Jack's already flexing his moves. Every time he's on the ice, my eyes are glued to him—there's this precision in the way he plays, this effortless ease. And when he's on the bench? I can't stop looking. Sue me.
Cole scores for Montreal, and I can't help myself. I'm up outta my seat, screaming like a fangirl. Olivia yanks me back down, rolling her eyes, "Sit down, dumbass. You're gonna get us booed."
Whatever. Cole deserved it, and yeah, I'm that friend who cheers for her boys, even if it means pissing off some Devils fans.
Then it happens—Jack pulls off the sickest goal. The arena explodes, horns blaring, everyone on their feet. He gets mobbed by his teammates, but he can't help it—he spots us in the stands, grinning like the cocky bastard he is. Sticks his tongue out at me, too. Show-off.
By the end, it's 3-1 Devils, and the whole place is buzzing. I can feel my phone vibrating before I even check it—it's Jack, with a "meet me here" message, smooth as ever. Olivia and I head out, blending with the sea of red jerseys, and I'm already half-excited, half-nervous about what's next.
We're waiting for Jack at this spot for what feels like forever, and I'm mindlessly scrolling through the Rangers' win, sending Brad a quick "congrats babe" text, just to keep things casual between us. Out of nowhere, I hear my name.
"Morgan?"
I look up and there's Cole, flanked by Suzuki and Slafkovsky. He looks just as surprised to see me as I am to see him.
"Coley!" I grin, pulling him into a hug. "Didn't think I'd run into you here."
"Who you here for?" he asks with that grin, but he knows. "Is it for me? You should've texted!"
Before I can answer, Jack shows up, owning the room like usual. "For me, Coley—Jack Hughes, remember?" He's all cocky, throwing his arm over my shoulder like he's claiming me right in front of Cole.
Cole just smirks. "Jack, huh? Scored a goal for you tonight, didn't he?"
I laugh it off, playing it cool. "Just enjoying the game, you know."
"Yeah, sure," Cole says with a knowing grin, before turning to Jack. "We still on for tonight?"
Jack nods, then Cole throws out, "You girls coming with?"
Olivia's nudging me, practically begging me to say yes. But if Jack wanted me there, wouldn't he have invited me himself? I feel the tension, like a dare hanging in the air. Jack's staring at me, waiting.
"Come on, Morgan," Olivia grins, "It'll be fun! You can't just dip out now."
I hesitate, scanning Jack's face. This night could go anywhere, and the reckless part of me is screaming to lean into it. What the hell, right?
I exhale, feeling the adrenaline surge. "Alright, let's do it."
Jack's eyes light up, and I feel that familiar rush. Whatever comes next, tonight's about to get wild.
...
Hello,
Here you go a third one! This one is one of the shortest chapter I had planned. The next one is a much longer.
Do you prefer short or long chapter? Let me know.
Hope you liked it.
Much Love xx