Chapter 18 #3
Even Hayes and Vanderbilt had left the comfort of their corner to peer at Tom curiously.
Jax wanted to apologize, wanted to tell Tom he didn’t have to open it in front of everyone, wanted to say something to defuse the situation.
But everyone had stopped, listening and watching, and all he could do was shoot Tom the most apologetic look he could muster.
“Come on, Cap!” Howie wheedled.
Tom glanced around the room. “We have a game in ten minutes. Surely—”
“If we spend all game wondering what is in the box, we will play much worse.” Betrayed by the Italian. Jax frowned at Luca.
“Wait, do you know who it’s from?” Betrayed by the French-Canadian Italian too. Jax wanted to shut them all up, but Breezy seemed so honestly excited it would have been heartbreaking.
Tom didn’t meet anyone’s eye. “I have an idea, yeah.”
Wolf-whistles and cheers sounded around the locker room. Jax had to turn away and start pulling on his pads or someone would catch on to whatever his face was doing.
“Damn, Crow, I thought you were a monk all this time. Turns out you’ve got some crazy rich mistress!
” Hayes sounded far more enthused by this development than Jax would have thought.
Maybe he wanted to see Tom being human and fallible.
Maybe he hoped he wouldn’t be the only guy in the locker room with something to be ashamed of. Maybe Jax was reading too much into it.
“Ooh,” at least three guys went.
“Is she hot?” Howie asked.
Jax thought for sure Tom would clam up, would hide in his turtle shell. But then something magical happened. Tom laughed, loud and bright.
Jax had to turn to him. He had to see the lines around Tom’s mouth, the crinkle in the corners of his eyes. He never wanted to look away.
“All right,” Tom said. “I’ll open it. But I’m not telling you anything.”
He picked the package up and ran his fingers around the edges, searching for an opening. One of the equipment guys gave him a pair of scissors. Apparently, this was an event for the whole team and the crew. The locker room fell totally silent as he lifted the top off the box.
Tom pulled out the contents.
Howie groaned in exaggerated disappointment. “Bo-ring!”
Vanderbilt pushed to the front. “Are you kidding? Those are cashmere. That’s fucking expensive as shit.”
Hayes and Howie stared at him while Dmitriyev nodded as if this should have been obvious.
“What?” Vanderbilt shrugged. “I like high quality menswear.”
Tom pulled the top sweater out of the box carefully, thumbing the fabric.
There were three total, one in blue to match Tom’s eyes, one in black to match Tom’s hair, and one in cream because Jax thought he would be incredibly soft and comfortable in it.
He’d gone a bit wild on the site, deciding between different styles and colors for almost the entire flight back from Arizona.
He’d only wanted Tom to have nice things.
“Just saying, if someone got me something from Prada, I’d want, like, bling, not some sweaters.”
Breezy cuffed Howie around the head. “That’s not important. What do you think, Crow?”
Tom looked up from the sweaters. He didn’t seem aware he was still running his hands across the fabric. “I love them.”
Jax’s heart did something it had previously only done during a VO2 max test.
Breezy beamed. “Well, then.”
“If y’all are done with…whatever this shit is,” Trout barked. “Warm-ups. Now.”
“Ignore him,” Hayes muttered on the way out. “Bet no one’s ever given him a present in his life.”
Oddly, the team hit the ice thrilled by the whole thing.
Jax had expected confusion, maybe even some resentment.
Instead, everyone was excited, laughing and joking during warmups.
Seattle’s season had not gone well so far.
Their star forward had an undisclosed upper body injury, which probably meant “concussion we’re hoping isn’t serious.
” Their defense tended toward the slow side of things, and their goaltender lacked experience.
No way they’d match the Sea Lions in a really good mood for the first time in a month.
Still, Jax hadn’t counted on a seven–one blowout.
He had a three-point night, assisting on two of Tom’s goals. He got one of his own on a breakaway in the starting minutes of the third.
He should have been on top of the world.
Instead, he felt exactly the same as he had in the morning—anxious, empty, and less surefooted than he’d been in years.
Tom careening into him to celebrate after every goal, reminding Jax he’d never again hold him without six layers of hockey gear between them, did not help.
Postgame, the locker room filled with buoyancy the way only a win could ensure.
“Drinks! We are all going for drinks,” Breezy shouted. “Keep your suits on. We’ll hit the clubs after!”
Vanderbilt cheered. Who knew the only thing it would take for him to act like part of the team again was Jax humiliating himself and Tom in front of the whole locker room?
While Tom did postgame media—the curse of the captain, and the guy who’d just gotten his second hat trick of the season—Jax wanted desperately to congratulate him. He also wanted to apologize for the stupid sweaters, but he couldn’t with everyone around.
Olivia Starling, still in her Bobcats hat, had a question. “Tom,” she asked, overly familiar. “Before the game, Jax was telling us about the team’s new sponsorship project. How do you feel about it?”
Tom smiled his media smile, not the real, shy little thing Jax liked so much he wanted to wallpaper pictures of it all over his bland, terrible hotel room.
“Jax and Breezy—sorry, uh, Chris—have started something really great in their work with the shelter. I haven’t been out there yet myself, but I’m scheduled to go next week.
I’m excited to see what the kids have learned about hockey so far. ”
“Crow’ll make them run sprints and learn to use a foam roller,” Mooney yelled from across the locker room.
A real grin stole across Tom’s face. “I will not. They’re kids.”
“Ooh, he likes them better than us already!”
Shaking his head ruefully, Tom turned back to the reporters. “It’s a wonderful program, and I’m so proud of Jax for doing something so good with our platform. And, uh, Breezy, of course. Chris.” Tom’s eyes darted over to Jax, and Jax couldn’t take it.
He ducked into the shower and spent about twenty minutes trying to boil his skin off. Tom was proud of him. Tom thought he was doing the right thing. Even now, with Jax fucking him over by leaving a very personal gift in the middle of the locker room, Tom was proud of him.
Maybe Jax did need to get traded again. Staying here might kill him.
By the time he got out from under the water, the locker room had emptied. No one remained except Tom, sitting in his stall right by Jax’s, softly petting the fucking sweaters.
“Where is everyone?”
“Headed out. Breezy called some bar in the Marina. Everyone’s on their way over there now.”
“Ugh, that’s so far away.”
Tom laughed at him. “Careful, you’re sounding like one of the old guys.”
Jax finished toweling off his hair and pulled on a pair of athletic shorts before sitting down on the bench next to Tom.
How much of a mindfuck would being naked around his ex multiple times per week be?
He guessed monumental. He’d had reasons for not sleeping with hockey players.
They’d been good reasons, too. Just not as good as Tom.
“I’m sorry about the sweaters. I wasn’t thinking. I got them this morning, and I was going to return them or something, but…”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I shouldn’t have put them in the locker room. I was upset, and I wasn’t thinking, and I guess I really am an impulsive idiot, and—”
“Jax, stop.”
Jax swallowed hard and forced himself to stop.
Tom picked up the cream sweater and held it against his skin. “It’s not stupid or impulsive to buy a thoughtful gift for someone you care about.”
Unable to stand the sight of Tom holding his present so tenderly, Jax examined his hands, braced on the locker room bench. “I care about you so much,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to turn it off.”
Carefully, gently, Tom placed his hand on top of Jax’s, right there in the locker room.
“Don’t.”