Chapter 44
JAYDEN
Son of a—
My legs are swept from under me as I dash backwards toward our goal with Weismann on the right wing. The ruckus of the crowd gets louder with my hammering pulse roaring above it as he cuts off the Florida center and spins to block the puck a microsecond too late.
In a flash, instinct kicks in.
Muscle memory sparks bright.
Spearing my stick out, I sweep it across the ice, bouncing the puck back as Thompson throws himself down. Over the biscuit and my stick, saving our asses.
Fuck, that was close.
Pushing back up onto my feet, I glide behind the net, taking the puck with me. Before I start play, I steal a glimpse around the ice, taking stock of where Florida are waiting.
We have under a minute to win this game. We’re one goal up, but the two points aren’t enough, and neither is the win. They won’t move us up the table without help from a higher goal difference.
I slam my visor down, nodding in Weismann’s direction, I glance to the left before I drive the puck around the goal and deep into center ice, flicking it to Bruce.
Spinning, I glance at the timer. With seconds to go, I zone in on Rio just as he slaps the puck over the Florida defenses’ sticks.
Bruce dekes one way, appearing ready to take the last shot while Rio rounds the back of the goal and Andersen intercepts the puck, launching it beneath Florida’s keeper straight to Rio’s stick.
The red lights flash, the horn goes off, and the green light behind the net glows when the clock finally runs out. In. The. Nick. Of. Time.
Fuck me.
I’m breathless as I glance about the arena, getting my bearings hazed by the tsunami of adrenaline hurtling through me, until I find the cove area on the home side.
It takes me a moment too long to find Finley. I’ve barely got her in my sights when Rio rushes me, butting our helmets with a loud yell that manages to make it past my thundering pulse.
“Fuck, man, that was fucking genius!” He bellows into my face while the rest of the team joins us on the ice.
I keep waiting to feel Elijah near me. To celebrate another win with a play that he engineered during our last training session together. He’s so fucking smart, and I want to applaud him for it so bad that the high from the win dulls in his absence.
I find myself moving quickly through the motions so I can get into the locker room ASAP. The need to put my eyes on Eli is so strong that I’m one stride away from tripping over my feet when I reach my destination.
There he is.
Sitting at his locker with an ecstatic grin on his face. Every worry I had after last night dissipates and I feel my chest open with a deep drag of air.
“You nailed it,” he says, his voice is hoarse and giddy all at once as though he can feel all the emotions whirring a fucking unstoppable tempest inside me.
“That was you. You spotted that vulnerability. You—” I pause, watching as he gets up with a shrug.
He’s in one of his signature sharp black suits and a crisp white shirt that deepens his fair tan. When he takes his baseball cap off, his hair is a tangled mess from where he’s been running his fingers through it during the game.
“Weismann did good,” he says with an audible swallow, his face twisting as though it physically pains him to say so. “All that time you spent on the plays with him paid off. He did you proud.”
“He’s not you.” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop myself. That seems to bring his grin back. “But yeah, he did good.”
My feet close the distance between us with the ruckus from the world around us fading into insignificance. When his stare lands on mine, I notice how flushed he looks.
I swear, my hands would give anything, maybe a finger or two, to feel the warmth of his skin and the thrum of his pulse beneath them.
“Two points, one win, six goals,” he murmurs, still fussing with his hair.
The electricity in the air crackles when I reach past him into the side pocket of my open gym bag, for one of the loose hair ties floating around.
When I hold it out to him, he chuckles, “Jayden to the rescue… again.”
“Hardly, you leave those fuckers lying around everywhere you go. It’s fucking infuriating.”
“Not everywhere,” he laughs, taking the hair tie from me and twisting his hair into a messy knot at his crown.
“Literally everywhere. I pick them up after you all the time.”
His deep citrus and lavender scent fills my lungs with my sharp inhale when he playfully nudges my shoulder with his.
There’s a warm tinge on his cheeks that deepens all the way to the tops of his ears.
Fuck, his bashfulness is adorable.
With the adrenaline from the win still coursing through me, the urge to step closer is irresistible, until our shoulders are touching again and his face is so close to mine that if I just leaned in an inch, I could taste him.
Eli’s stock still. Frozen as I stay in place. The electricity buzzes louder. The heat in the air closes in.
All I can think is how fucking beautiful he is with his brooding, nearly black eyes and stoically sculpted lips.
The light stubble glittering pale gold across his perfectly cut jaw has my hands aching to feel the scratch of it.
I swear, my lips are burning with the prospect of how the friction of it would feel.
All the while his stare is holding mine. Pulling and tugging at all these feelings and that one need that I’m trying to contain so I don’t fuck this up. Him. Me. Us.
“Yes, motherfuckers!” Matheo’s voice booms around the room as some of the other guys rush inside.
Eli pulls back, straight into Andersen’s path. They bounce off each other. Andersen falling into the ruckus and Eli bouncing into me.
My arm instinctively wraps around his waist, steadying him.
Fuuuuuck...
Even with all the pads, I register how good he feels in my hold before I pull away and start taking my gear off. It’s so damn hot in here that it could make a sauna feel cool.
“Well done, guys! Another great game. Another fantastic win. Let’s keep it up. Thompson, I heard you have a good speech for us,” Coach hollers above the pandemonium of excited voices.
Dylan takes over, making short work of handing off the rocket to Matheo. “Happy birthday, Rio,” he hoots above the applause. “I guess it’s a double celebration tonight. Have fun. Get rest. And let’s gooooo!”
The adrenaline in the room makes it hard to dilly-dally while I get showered to the guys’ terrible chorus of Jolly Good Fellow. I can’t wait to see Finley or to see the look on Eli’s face when he sees her.
By the time I’m out, Eli looks ready to bolt. The noise is deafening and aside from the fact that he's not into the chaos, I worry that this isn’t good for him. It’s too loud, the lights are fucking bright, and it’s so damn hot, even I’m uncomfortable.
I’m ready in record time. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we find Finley. We can get a drink and mingle for an hour and then go home. Eli can go to sleep only a few hours past his schedule.
“Let’s get out of here,” I tell him as I grab my suit jacket and start for the exit with Eli at my side.
“Fin’s already at the bar with Christina,” he says, showing me his message thread with her.
“We don’t have to stay long. We’ll have a drink to toast her first day and Matheo’s birthday and then—”
“You better not be going home,” Matheo calls after us. “Don’t be pussies!”
“You were saying?” Eli scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“We’re not waiting all night for you to show up to your party,” I call over my shoulder, ignoring the ribbing that echoes back while Eli and I continue towards the elevators. “Are you sure you’re up for this? We can celebrate Fin’s day at home where it’s quiet and the lights aren’t bright...”
“Honestly, I’m good. The biofeedback training session was hardcore. It’s a lot harder than I thought with all the cables hooking me up to the monitors...”
“How did it go with Dr. Armstrong?”
It’s not the intensity of the Biofeedback that’s got me worried; it’s the toll that talking to a therapist can take.
Especially for him when he’s not into sharing his feelings and emotions as openly as most people.
Eli’s a closed book, prying it open is going to have side effects, and I want to make sure he’s mentally and physically able to cope with them.
“It was fine. I’m not sure that it’s helped me much, but thinking about it makes it seem harder than when I was there.”
“So, you talked to her?” My chest warms with pride at his bravery when he nods. “That’s good.”
“She asked me to go back tomorrow.”
“And?”
“I wasn’t sure I was going back, but I said I would, so...”
“Are you really certain you’re feeling up to tonight?” My dad’s a psychologist, my momma a psychiatrist, and I’ve picked up enough around them to know that physical respite is as important as mental rest.
“JJ—” He looks at me when we come into view of the press and some fans. “—I’m fine. I need some noise to get out of my head tonight. Okay?”
We spend a few minutes mingling, me more so than Eli. This is his least favorite part of the sport. I can sense his anxiety when he’s asked about his health and when he’ll be game fit again.
“It’s my sole focus,” he says, his eyes set firm somewhere in the distance. “I don’t want to let anyone down. Not the team nor the fans, and this feels like our year, so I want to play my part and make it happen.”
After a couple of autographs and photos we leave Dylan and Bruce to talk to the journalists and interact with the fans.
The elevator is waiting when I press the button, and we get in. The frown that the question from the journalist put on Eli’s face furrows deeper into his features. His stare is glued to his feet while I watch him.
This is the worst part of being a pro athlete. The expectations and the pressure they constantly tack onto our shoulders. I wish I could say something to ease the guilt I know he’s feeling for being benched.
“Eli…” I start, about to remind him that the reason we won tonight was because he pinpointed the weakness in Florida’s defense to Coach Hollinger when the doors ping open behind me and I pause.
Eli’s stare lifts, widening when he glances over my shoulder.
“Fuck.”
My pulse soars when I look over my shoulder to find the object of his stupefaction.
“Holy shit on a fuck stick.” I’m choking on my words while I take Finley in from head to toe.
My first instinct is to run over and whisk her away so none of the assholes making their way up here will get the chance to ogle her.
Second instinct has me sucking in a deep breath as I press my hand to Eli’s back and usher us both toward her.
My mouth is dry and my breath is sticking in my lungs like hot tar.
“Is that my jersey?” Eli croaks.
“Yeah.”
“You sent her my jersey?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
Pressing my hand flusher to his back, I feel him tremble all over. I don’t know what’s got me more worked up, the sight of Finley or his reaction.
“She looks too fucking good in it,” I say, my voice a deep rumble I don’t recognize.
“Yeah.”
“Close your mouths, boys,” Christina bursts out laughing as we come to a stop in front of them.
“Christina! Stop!” Finley’s voice is timid; her expression is pinched with trepidation. “I told you it was too much.”
“God, no,” Elijah blurts at the same time as I say, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
Goddamn!
Finley’s a vision with her curls loose and wild. Her blue eyes are lined black, making them appear even bigger, like cartoon princess eyes. Eyes that threaten to swallow me whole while her red-painted lips make my mouth water.
My hand fists Eli’s jacket as I try to ground myself when my eyes sweep down the length of his jersey. The hem hangs down to the middle of her leather covered thighs—thick and toned—that have my mind racing with images of what they would look like wrapped around my hips… Eli’s…
Fuck.
I glance down at the floor, hoping that I can clear the thoughts from my head. But the gold over-the-knee boots are the nail in the coffin of my hope.
Every vision I had when I picked out the oversized jersey pales in comparison to the real thing. It shouldn’t surprise me because that’s Finley—this girl is more than I ever thought a woman could be to me. She’s everything I never knew I could wish or hope for. And I’m going to make her mine.