Triple Power Play (Obsessed Players Club #1)

36. Jackson

THIRTY-SIX

JACKSON

“Your hair is a wreck, asshole.”

Ethan walks past me on the player’s bench, and my words spill out in a bitter rush. My emotions are all over the place. I’m finding it difficult to control the irritation in my chest, and my heart and mind are racing.

“Don’t like it?” He accepts an iPad from the assistant coach with a nod.

The underlying implication doesn’t escape my notice.

“I fucking hate it.” Do I, though? Or is it the dark storm brewing in my head that’s talking? Can’t say I enjoy him screwing my girlfriend—without me.

Maybe no one else would notice, given his inability to use hair product, but he’s out here with sex-hair. Not only that, but his face is flushed, and he’s late. He’s never late.

And he’s happy—another rare occurrence on game day.

He leans against the boards with his back to the ice and faces me, his attention on the iPad. “That’s too bad. Your girlfriend loves it.”

“Does she? Does she also love the”—I glance at my wrist—“three minutes you take styling it?” My irritation morphs into a self-satisfied smile.

He shakes his head while reviewing the rosters, his smug smirk firmly in place. “Unlike you, I don’t need an hour in front of the mirror to get the job done. My style is quite successful. Ask your girlfriend.” He grins so wide, his face might split.

My heart batters my ribcage, and I rub at the ache in my sternum. A wave of nausea passes through me then leaves as quickly as it came, taking the chest pain with it.

“You two have similar hair,” Grant says, oblivious to our situationship or my mini panic attack.

Ethan and I turn on him in unison. “Shut the fuck up.”

Heads swivel our way, but the arena is loud, with music blaring through the speakers and the crowd building in the stands. It’s doubtful anyone can hear other than those close. Even if they do, we’re only hazing one another, something the team has become accustomed to.

Grant gestures between us. “Coach’s hair is darker and longer, but you both have that messy look.”

I may have been making out with Aurora in the parking lot, partly to annoy Ethan and partly because I didn’t want her to go. Doesn’t matter—my hair is always perfect.

Ethan and I exchange a glance of shared amusement, breaking the tension.

I’m not even sure why I’m irritated. It’s not as if I didn’t plaster myself all over Aurora before she went into his office, knowing full well what he wanted.

With a shit-eating grin, Ethan grumbles, “Thicker. My hair is much thicker.”

My eyes want to roll right out of my head. “I’m not worried. You’ll go bald soon. What are you, fifty?”

“Again, your girlfriend doesn’t mind.”

“Again, you can fuck off.”

Grant bumps his shoulder into mine. “Hey, who’s that guy with Aurora?” He inclines his chin toward the family section behind us.

I twist around, following his gaze.

My brain is slow to catch up, almost as if I can feel it rotating in my skull, and my heart rate spikes at the odd sensation. It’s reminiscent of a bad high.

I breathe through it, telling myself I’m reacting to Aurora leaving and seeing her is a reminder. That’s all.

In my dazed state, I spot her sitting next to Ricky, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair. His head tilts toward hers, soaking in their conversation. A flash of humor lights up his face, and he playfully tugs at her ponytail.

If you’re into rugged masculinity, Ricky’s a decent-looking guy, with jacked-up muscles and neck tattoos. He gives off the vibe of a Viking or the president of an MC.

He’s not Aurora’s type. At least, I don’t think. I would’ve never expected Ethan either, but he has that arrogant-asshole attitude she seems to go for.

I scoff. “That’s her bodyguard.”

Ethan slams the iPad onto the boards, shooting me an icy glare. He’s more agitated by Ricky’s behavior than by my earlier insults. I guess he blames me for hiring him.

“Relax. No worries.” Wait. Are my words running together? Or is that in my head? Was I supposed to say that out loud?

Ethan’s death glare remains undeterred, and his brows furrow deeper. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Me? I’m not the one jealous of her bodyguard.” My speech is pressured, as if the words are too big for my mouth, and I swallow hard.

Am I having a manic episode? Aurora leaving might do that.

My respirations accelerate, and now, I’m freaking out thinking about it.

Coach and Grant share a glance. I shouldn’t have busted Ethan’s balls where others could hear, but the irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. He’s about to explode while I’m not bothered by Ricky at all.

Ethan walks around the back of the bench and squats behind me, pinning me with his stern gaze. “What did you do?”

What did I do? Hiring Ricky? “Would you rather she didn’t have a bodyguard?” My face heats, and my body breaks out in a cold sweat despite the frigid air.

“Shut the fuck up.” He lowers his voice. “Your pupils are dilated, and your words are slurred. Your mouth is running more than usual. What did you take?”

Confusion turns into defensiveness, although I’ve done nothing wrong. “Seriously? I’ve been with Aurora.”

He adjusts his stance, settling in, and a wave of déjà vu hits me. I’ve seen this episode before. It’s where Coach kicks me out of morning practice because I’m hungover or maybe still drunk.

Only this time, I’m completely sober.

“What did you do last night?”

I cock my head to the side and lower my brows. “What do you think I did last night?”

“Did you go out? Did you have people over?”

“Fuck no. I was in bed, enjoying my girlfriend.” And plotting ways to tie her to me permanently.

His eyes soften, as if he believes me. That’d be a shock. “Then what is wrong with you?”

So there is something wrong with me? I’m not the only one sensing this psychotic break I’m having.

Not that I’m telling him that. He’d never allow me around Aurora and the baby if he thought I was a nutcase. “I must be sick. I don’t feel well.”

“Don’t feel well, how?”

Is that patience I hear in his voice?

“It comes and goes. Racing heart, nausea, dizziness…”

He scrutinizes my face, and my stomach twists, fearing he won’t trust me.

“And you haven’t taken anything?”

Tears prickle my eyes. With a sharp shake of my head that rattles my brain, I exhale forcefully. “I swear.”

Ethan stands, calling to the trainer, and Grant passes me a water bottle. “Drink up. It’s October. It’s flu season. You possibly caught something .”

Electrolytes and smelling salts do the trick. My mind clears enough to perform, and I score two goals. But the second goal has me bent over dry heaving, and Ethan pulls me.

“Sit your ass on the bench.”

Heat prickles at the back of my neck, spreading over my scalp. I bury my face in my hands, gasping for air and battling the acid rising in my throat. The trainer rushes over, dropping to a knee beside me and rifling through her medical supplies.

“Did you take a little blue pill, or five, last night?” Ethan asks as the trainer packs ice on the back of my neck.

I lift my head enough to shoot him a glare. “You wish. Interesting that you know the color. Something you wanna share, Coach?”

The trainer stifles a chuckle. Ethan huffs, shakes his head, and clenches his jaw.

I sip water as the ice cools my overheated skin.

Not wanting to worry Aurora, I resist peering over at her. She can read me like her favorite book. She’ll know something is wrong.

My gaze drifts toward the suites above. I can’t see him, but Kyle’s watching. He’ll be furious I’m not playing. His box is full of politicians and other influential figures. It’s where he pretends to be a proud father while making shady deals.

Ricky and I discussed the prospect of him being at this game, which is why Aurora sits in the family section behind the bench instead of the suite. I highly doubt Kyle is foolish enough to try anything at the arena, given public appearance is his top priority, but I wasn’t taking the risk.

Shaky again, I signal for the trainer. “Can I get something for nausea?”

Her eyes dart to Ethan. “It’s against protocol, sorry.”

“Since when?”

With her hands on her knees, she leans in. “Since Coach fired the entire training staff. No meds unless you break a leg or crack your skull out there, his exact words.”

Fuck. I guess I’m sitting out.

Thankfully, we’re winning, because my focus is subpar. I couldn’t tell you a single stat to save my position. Not only is this queasiness kicking my ass, but I’m dreading what comes next.

Soon enough, Aurora will leave to visit her grandmother before flying to New York.

The thought has me giving in and scanning the rows of team jerseys, searching for one face. I’m terrified she’ll be gone, and I’ll be left empty, alone, and struggling to get out of bed.

Then, there she is, her vibrant smile easing the ache in my chest. She’s chatting away with Ricky, but as soon as she catches me watching, she stops and locks eyes with me.

“Love you,” she mouths across the sea of people, and everything disappears—my racing thoughts, the crowd, the game, all blissfully silent.

My breath stutters, and my heart skips a beat, and it has nothing to do with this meltdown I’m having.

She flashes me a sheepish smile, and I playfully narrow my eyes.

Really? She tells me she loves me during a game? Before she leaves?

She chuckles and blows a kiss my way. I make a heart with my fingers, placing them on my chest, and mouth the words back to her.

A powerful strike to my helmet shatters the moment. “I don’t pay you to flirt. Pay attention.”

I eagerly watch the minutes tick away on the jumbotron. I’m going to get fined for what I’m about to do. Ethan will have me shooting goals until I can’t see straight and skating laps until my ankles break. But I don’t give a fuck. He’ll understand one day, I guarantee it.

When the final whistle blows, the cheer of victory doesn’t even register. I throw off my helmet, the icy air rushing against my sweat-slicked hair, and toss my gloves.

I grab my stick—a player never leaves his twig—and bolt for the tunnel, my eyes on Aurora.

She stands to leave, and my world shakes.

My confidence wavers. I can’t do this. I can’t be without her.

Ricky pushes through the crowd, Aurora gripping his arm.

I pass security and stop at the edge of the first row. Disregarding the fans, I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, “Aurora! Aurora!”

Her face turns a bright shade of pink, and she makes her way to the barrier between the players’ tunnel and the stands.

I hand my stick to a guy between us who’s desperate to get my notice. “Here, move.” Shit, that’s another fine. Worth it.

He steps back, and I have Aurora in my grasp, carefully lifting her over the barrier.

“What are you doing?” She smiles, and laughter rolls through her voice.

“You’re going to tell me you love me before leaving me? Seriously?” I set her on her feet but refuse to let go.

“I wanted you to?—”

“Stay. Please. I can’t do this without you.” Too impatient, my words rush out, filled with desperation.

“Jackson…”

I release her from my embrace and cup her face in both hands. “I’m serious. I love you. You love me. Stay.”

“I’m already behind. I’ll be gone for three, maybe four weeks tops.”

Daggers of sharp pain pierce through me. “I need you.” My throat is tight, and tears prickle my eyelids.

“I. Love. You.” She stresses each word. “We’ll be okay.”

I drop my hands in despair. “I won’t be okay.”

“You’re Jackson O’Reilly. You’ll be more than okay.”

I draw her close and inhale her sweet scent. “I just want to be yours. Fuck the rest of this.”

“Let her go, lover boy.”

This can’t be happening. Not again. My head falls back in frustration, and Aurora jolts away from me.

Kyle stands not two feet away, flanked by two other men—men he undoubtedly wants to impress by using me. This is where I paste on a smile, shake hands, tell jokes, and invite these pricks to an after-party.

Ricky places himself between Kyle and Aurora, and she grabs the back of his jacket.

She should be holding me. Her trust should be in me. The familiar weight of hopelessness crashes upon me, and panic floods my veins. I can’t do this. I can’t go back to the loneliness, every day being on edge and praying for it all to end.

Ethan rounds the corner into the tunnel, the team behind him. His stony eyes connect with mine and flit to Aurora. I can hear that deep voice telling me not to be a fucking idiot, cupping my shoulder and reminding me I’m better than this.

There will be no forced smiles or after-parties. No descent into darkness—he’d probably reach down and rip me out of the abyss by the throat and shake the crazy right out of me.

Snubbing Kyle, I face Aurora, but it’s too late. There’s distrust and hurt in her eyes.

She puts a halting hand on my chest and mutters, “Bye.”

That’s all she says before she leaves with Ricky, whose icy glare is fixed on Kyle.

“Great game, son!” Kyle postures and slaps my pads, blocking me from chasing after her. “I have a few people I want to introduce you to.”

I knock his arm away. “I need to be in the locker room.”

He steps into me. “We need to talk,” he says through gritted teeth, his threatening voice matching the fury in his eyes.

I don’t want this confrontation in front of fans, cameras, and my teammates, and neither does he. This is another one of his manipulation tactics, and if I don’t comply… I don’t even want to think of the aftermath.

“Fine. After I change.”