Chapter 25
JAYDEN
“Good God, that’s so good.” The moan echoes around the dimly lit room while I adjust myself into a better angle. I swear my entire body sings with the new position. “Fuck, I needed this.”
Lying back, I savor the sensation warming my muscles and close my eyes, blocking out everything around me. This is heaven. I never want it to end.
“If you’re going to bust your load, go do it somewhere else,” Matheo grumbles as he walks into the hydrotherapy room and turns every goddamn light on, like we’re a beacon for space.
“What the fuck, asshole? Turn it off,” Andersen yells from the other end of the room where he’s icing his body after this morning’s brutal training session. We tried some new defensive moves in the lead up to our next game, and even though we can’t rest our laurels yet, we have a chance.
“It’s not fucking date night in here,” Matheo lowers himself into the hydro-massage tub beside mine as Elijah walks in and quickly slips into the tub beside Matheo’s.
Pulling his cold gel mask over his eyes, he settles into the water with a yawn. He was off today. Sloppy and just not with it. When he collided with the goal and didn’t get back up, my insides turned to ice.
He seems better now that Doc’s seen him. Managed to walk in a straight line to the tub and get himself in without any issues. I watch him for a moment longer as he settles into the warm water silently, without acknowledging anything or anyone.
“Someone’s all sexed out,” Matheo laughs before he dips his head underwater and stays there for a while.
I know it’s his way of diffusing his anxiety of what happened out on the ice. Laughter is his way of coping with stress. And getting our asses back on track for The Playoffs is putting a fuck ton of pressure on the team. Still, it irks me.
“Did they give you the strong pills?” I ask Eli, turning onto my side so the rollers ease the ache on my quads. “It really fucked you up today.”
We have another run of away games starting after Thanksgiving in a few days, and I need him to be okay. I need him next to me. Elijah gives me a thumbs up just as Matheo pops his head out of the water again.
“Pussy is great. I love that you’re getting some, Sylkes. It’s about fucking time and I am happy for you, my man.”
This is where Matheo needs to end the conversation. For one, Elijah doesn’t have that kind of banter level with anyone. Not even me. The conversation this morning was an exception. And for another, I don’t like where the teasing is going.
Finley isn’t like the girls Hillier fucks for fun.
She’s quiet and sweet with a wholesomeness that’s entirely, uniquely hers.
Her laugh is dirty, but her smile is kind.
Her stare is sultry but her eyes warm and deep.
Then there’s also the way she loosens Elijah.
He’s different around her, like she grounds him in a way I can’t.
“Fuck all you want,” Matheo continues. “Fuck until your dick is raw and her pussy is destroyed—”
“Shut the fuck up, dickhead,” I snap at the same time as Elijah barks, “Enough.”
The room falls silent with both Matheo’s and Erik’s stares on Elijah and me. The atmosphere is uncomfortable as hell when Dylan walks in with Bruce hot on his heels.
The two of them pause in the middle of the room, looking around at the four of us as we remain sitting ramrod straight in our respective tubs.
Elijah is pissed. His hair is pushed back off his face by his eye mask, making his scowl appear darker and vicious. While the surprise on Erik’s and Matheo’s faces is unmissable.
“What’s going on?” Dylan asks, his voice taking on a fatherly tone.
Auguste tiptoes to one of the ice baths and quietly settles in, waiting for the juice.
“Nothing,” Elijah finally says, pulling his mask back over his eyes.
“Sure feels that way,” Dylan scoffs, dropping his towel before he heads for the last warm bath.
For the oldest player on the team, his body is in great shape. I can’t remember the last time he had an injury or didn’t show up ready to take the win. It’s why we all look up to him, and why he’s the Captain of the team.
“Sylkes,” he calls, keeping his stare on me. I don’t know why, but it sets me on edge. “We’ve got to play hard. We’ve got to play fast. No bullshit. What happens outside the arena, stays out of the game. Less fucking around and more rest. Got it?”
“Got it,” Elijah and I reply simultaneously.
“Hillier? Andersen?” Dylan calls for a response from Matheo and Erik.
“Got it,” they reply.
“Good. So, quit the shit and focus. We got three games to get to the top. Don’t fuck it up, bozos.”
Quiet settles all round when Dylan rests back into his tub with a sigh. It’s one of those moments where no one knows who should be the first to move or speak in case Daddy gets mad.
“Sorry,” Matheo murmurs to Elijah, leaning over the edge of his tub as he braves it first. “It was just a… I dunno, man. It was stupid.”
Elijah gives him a thumbs up without removing his mask. Anything from Elijah is something. That he hasn't ignored Matheo means they’re good.
Although, there’s a scratch in my chest that begrudges that. Finley doesn’t deserve to be the punchline of Matheo’s banter. Asshole doesn’t know her to be talking smack like that. And after what happened at the end of practice, Eli doesn’t need Hillier’s crap.
Asswipe.
“Don’t talk shit about people you don’t know,” I grumble, trying to relax back into the warm water as I close my eyes. I can’t force myself to zone out no matter how much I try. All I can think about is Finley and Eli.
Finley’s bright blue stare. Finley’s plump pink lips.
Her laugh. Her sighs. The way her hands hold Elijah’s.
How their fingers knot together. The subtle way his skin is tanner than hers.
But even with the callouses I know he has on the pads of his fingers and hands, they look soft together.
The back of his hands are soft. The way his neck and shoulders are in contrast to his lightly stubbled jaw.
My pulse quickens with my thoughts. Stirring up a heat in me that feels like I’m about to combust.
Sinking lower into the water, I try to deviate my thoughts to anything other than Elijah and Finley. Of course, I fail miserably. If anything, the effort only makes the visuals stronger. More potent. More vibrant.
Fuck.
I know I need to get out of here when my cock twitches.
A heavy yearning settles over me, making it impossible to control my body and the unrelenting thoughts in my head.
Reaching for my towel, hanging up behind the bath, I pull it down as I get up and wrap it around me as fast as I can before anyone notices my hard dick.
This is not good. Far from it—it’s terrible. A stupid fucking train of thought. A reckless reaction. As disastrous as it is, I can’t help looking back over my shoulder at Eli.
We have a good thing between us. We have game. I’ve never had a partner on the ice like him. Someone who can read me the way he can. Anyone whose body language is second nature to me.
There’s no way I can ruin that with my stupidity.
No way.