4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Holly
T he red glow of the "On Air" sign fades, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Adrenaline pumps through me like I'm the one out on the ice, not the one reporting from the sidelines. I turn to Colton, my heart still racing.
"Did I do okay?" My voice is hopeful, eager for his approval.
Colton glances at the monitors, then back at me, a grin spreading across his rugged face. "You killed it, Holly."
He offers me a fist bump, an easy camaraderie already forming between us. I can't help but smile back, feeling a sense of accomplishment mixed with relief. This is it. My first big break. Surrounded by the electric buzz of the Grizzlies' arena, I can’t help but be grateful. This is everything I hoped it would be and more.
I’ll have to thank Sawyer for the “in” until the end of time.
"Thanks, Colton. It means a lot coming from you." I tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear and glance around the broadcasting booth. It's cramped, littered with stat sheets and half-drunk cups of coffee, but it feels like it’s where I'm meant to be.
"Listen, the first few broadcasts are always the toughest," Colton says as he starts packing away his notes. "But you've got the chops for this. Just keep your head in the game, stay sharp, and don't let the boys rattle you."
"Boys?" I laugh. It's true though. The locker room interviews will always be a test of wills, a dance to maintain professionalism while the team scrutinizes the new girl. Not to mention that there are three I’ve already… interacted with.
"Yeah, the players, the fans, even the other journalists, they'll all try to throw you off. It’s…I’m not gonna lie Holly. They’ll be even harder on you because you’re a female. But you're here because you're good. Remember that."
I nod, taking in his words. Small-town girl makes it to the big leagues—it's a narrative I want to live up to. And I know this is a male-dominated sport. I expect the sexism and misogyny I know I’ll face. Still, Colton's advice is gold, and I'm grateful for it.
"Got any more pearls of wisdom?" I ask, only half-joking.
"Plenty. But for now, let's grab a drink. We can decompress." He slings his bag over his shoulder, looking every bit the seasoned pro who's seen it all.
"Lead the way." My feet are tired from standing during the whole game, but I'm ready to follow him to whatever lesson comes next.
"First tip," he says as we make our way down the corridor, his voice low and smooth. "Always keep them guessing. On air and off."
"Keep them guessing, huh?" I muse. "I think I can handle that."
"Good." Colton chuckles, pushing open the door to the outside world, where the city lights are just starting to twinkle. "Because around here, the game never really ends."
The next game will be an even bigger challenge because we’re playing away from home. After that it’s off to the next city and another after that. I'm one of the team, yet apart. I know the stats, the plays, their strengths and weaknesses. But it's their gazes that unsettle me, not the hard facts of hockey.
As we board the charter plane, my heart thumps against my ribs. The close quarters, the endless hours on the road—I wonder how much longer I can keep this up. How long until the line between professional and personal blurs into nothing?
After what I’d already done, I needed those lines to remain drawn in permanent ink, not chalk. Jaxon. Cameron. Deacon. They were everywhere I went. Literally. I saw them in the halls, at the arena, in my freaking dreams—and my fantasies.
Stepping onto the plane, my game plan is clear: sit with Colton, talk shop, and stay professional. But the universe—and Jaxon—seem to have other ideas.
"Hey, Holly," Jaxon calls out, that cocky grin plastered on his face like he's already won whatever game we're playing. His hand finds my waist, fingers gentle but insistent as he guides me down the aisle. I suppress the shiver that runs through me at the feel of him pressed against my skin. "You're with us."
"Actually, I—" My protest fades as I lock eyes with him, those brown orbs pulling me into a familiar dance of defiance and desire.
"Hey, Holly," Deacon calls, patting the seat across the aisle from him. His voice is deep, inviting.
"Come on," Cameron adds, his voice quiet but firm. "You know you want to sit with the cool kids."
"Come on, it'll be fun." Deacon nods, signaling his agreement with a tilt of his head and a playful wink.
"Guys, I should really—" Again, my words trail off into nothingness. They're a trifecta of temptation, each one a different flavor of trouble.
"Sit down before you fall down," Jaxon teases, the warmth of his breath brushing my ear. It's an echo of that night, the heat, the passion, the memories that refuse to fade into the background.
"Fine," I relent, slipping into the seat with a huff, pretending my heart isn't racing.
My cheeks flush, and I let out a shaky laugh. "You guys are impossible," I say, even as I slide into the seat next to Jaxon.
Jaxon's thigh presses against mine, a silent reminder of what we have shared. That night was supposed to be a one-off, a way to quench this burning curiosity. Instead, it kindled something fiercer, more consuming.
Remember, keep it professional , I remind myself, though my inner voice is drowned out by the recollection of tangled sheets and whispered promises. It was a one-time thing , I lie to myself.
"Everything okay?" Deacon asks, eyebrow arched, a knowing look in his eyes.
"Perfect," I lie, flashing a smile that feels as flimsy as my resolve.
"Good," Cameron says, handing me a safety card. "Because you're going to need to buckle up."
It's not the flight that worries me. It's the turbulence in my own chest, the storm these three have conjured within me. I'm pretty sure I wore out the batteries on my vibrator thinking about them, about us. How long am I going to be able to resist the temptation? Because the real thing? It’s so much better than my fantasies.
Deep breaths, Holly. Just another day at the office .
But who am I kidding? When it comes to Jaxon, Cameron, and Deacon, it's never just another day.
I look out the window, watching the ground crew prepare for takeoff. This is my life now—constant travel, constant proximity to temptation. I'm not just reporting on the game; I'm living it, caught in a whirlwind of adrenaline and desire.
The jet engines roar to life, vibrating through the cabin and into my bones. It's nothing compared to the way Jaxon's hand on my thigh sends a tremor straight to my core. I grip the armrest, trying to anchor myself to something, anything that isn't the heat of his touch.
"Scared of flying?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble over the sound of the plane picking up speed.
I shake my head, my voice a mere whisper. "Not the flying."
His fingers inch higher, emboldened by my answer. My breath hitches. This is bad. Very, very bad. Any semblance of professional distance is sprinting for the emergency exit.
"Jax," I warn, but it comes out all breathy, like an invitation.
"Relax, Hol," he says, that dimple making a brief appearance as he smirks. "Just making sure you're comfortable."
Comfortable is not the word I'd use. More like delirious. I close my eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the desire pooling in my belly.
"My brother's going to kill me," I manage to get out, half-joking, half-terrified.
"Only if he catches us," Cameron chimes in from my other side, never taking his eyes off his book. I'd almost forgotten he was there, which says a lot about my current state of mind.
"Us?" I echo, my attempt at sounding stern falling flat.
"Collective responsibility," Deacon adds with a wink.
"Great," I mutter. "I've turned my brother into a mass murderer."
"Sounds like a fun family reunion," Jaxon teases, his hand still dangerously high on my thigh.
"Stop," I plead, but we all know it's a feeble attempt I’m making to grab control. My body betrays me, leaning into his touch like a flower to sunlight.
"Make me," he challenges, his brown eyes locked onto mine, intense and unyielding.
The plane lifts off, peeling away from the ground, and with it, my last shred of self-control threatens to slip away. I'm in free fall, and these three men are the only thing keeping me aloft.
"Behave," I say, but it's less a command and more a plea.
"Where's the fun in that?" Jaxon's voice is a husky whisper against the shell of my ear now, his breath hot on my skin.
I don't have an answer because, God help me, I don't want him to behave. Not really. Not at all.
But no matter how heated things get, I have a job to do. And I'll be damned if I let anything—or anyone—compromise that.