Page 10 of Trade It All

“Hey, Captain,” I say, lifting my phone slightly. “Got a quick one for you.”

He grins. “Always.”

I tilt the camera toward him. “How do you prepare for a home game?”

Jake huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“Depends,” he says, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. “Before Matty? I’d say routine, focus, all that boring captain stuff.”

I smile. His and Pen's little boy Matty is the cutest little boy. He is all chunky rolls and squeezable cheeks.

“And now?” I prompt.

His grin shifts—softens.

“Now?” he says. “I’m lucky if I get more than two hours of sleep and make it out of the house without wearing crayon.”

I laugh quietly behind the camera.

“But,” he adds, straightening slightly, that captain edge slipping back in, “still showing up ready to win. Just with a little less sleep and a lot more motivation.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Go be a dad and a captain.”

He tips his chin and heads inside. Next is Luka.

He walks in like he owns the building. Suit sharp. Watch catching the light just enough to be intentional. That easy confidence in every step like he doesn’t even think about it anymore. My breath catches for a minute. Like it does every time I see him. Reminding myself that he is here. That he is okay.

“Maddie,” he greets, already smirking when he sees the phone.

“Luka,” I return. “Same question.”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“How do I prepare?” he repeats, dragging a hand down the front of his jacket. “Simple. I show up, look this good, and let the rest take care of itself.”

I snort. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirms, leaning slightly toward the camera. “Confidence is key, babe.”

“Get out of my shot,” I laugh, waving him off.

He winks and keeps moving. Jasper follows. His energy is quieter. More contained. Everything about him feels deliberate—from the way his tie is perfectly in place to the way his gaze scans the hallway before landing on me.

“Maddie.”

“Jasper,” I say, lifting the phone again. “How do you prepare for a home game?”

His answer comes without hesitation.

“Same way every time,” he says. “Routine. Film. Focus.”

No fluff. No extras. Just facts.

“Nothing changes?” I ask.

“Doesn’t need to,” he replies simply.

I nod. That tracks.