48. Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Eight
JACKSON
T he plane touches down in Denver just after noon, the wheels hitting the tarmac with a jolt that echoes through my bones. I glance at Ava across the aisle. She’s looking out the window, fingers twisting together in her lap.
She catches me watching and offers a small, tired smile. I reach across and squeeze her hand.
By the time we get to the hotel, the lobby is buzzing with reporters and fans. I keep Ava close, ignoring the flash of cameras and the too-bright smiles that follow us in. Russo whistles low when we pass him near the elevator.
"Bringing your good luck charm this time?" he teases, giving my good shoulder a light slap.
"You’ll need it until I’m back in the lineup," I shoot back, raising an eyebrow.
Ava and I take the elevator up to our rooms. A staff member delivers my gear and the team’s schedule. I glance through it briefly, my shoulder already beginning to ache.
The next day, the hotel lobby is already humming by the time we head down. Players move past us in suits and sneakers, staff barking last-minute directions, the whole place vibrating with the focused edge only game days bring.
Ava stands at my side, hand hooked loosely around my elbow. When we step into the suite, she sets her purse down and moves to the front row of seats without hesitation. I take the seat beside her, feeling her lean in a fraction closer than usual, almost like she’s trying to anchor herself.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. Just a lot on my mind.”
I squeeze her knee. “Me too.”
Even if I’m not lacing up tonight, my head is already on the ice with the guys, tracking every shift, every zone entry. But tonight, there’s something bigger humming under the surface. Something that has nothing to do with the scoreboard.
Ava watches, too. Calm, composed, but I can tell by the way her fingers tap gently against her leg that the weight of everything we’re carrying is still there.
When she catches me staring, she just gives a small, knowing smile. “It feels different now,” she says quietly, almost to herself.
I nod, my throat catching. “Yeah. Everything does.”
Below, the pregame lights swirl across the ice, the roar of the crowd climbing like a wave. When the puck finally drops, I lean forward, instinct pulling me toward every shift and every hit.
Ava’s presence beside me is a steady, calm counterweight to the chaos below.
The game feels different from up here, a strange mix of distant and too close. I watch every shift like I’m still out there, my fingers twitching at every turnover, every missed chance.
Ava watches too, quieter now, her hand resting on my arm or tracing along the edge of her water bottle. I can feel her checking on me in those small touches, even when she doesn’t say a word.
When the final buzzer sounds, we’re down by one and the loss sits heavy in my gut like a bad bruise. We still lead the Final, 2-1. But the tension crackles through the arena like a live wire.
I force myself to breathe, to roll out my shoulders carefully, reminding myself I’ll be back on the ice next game. I’ll have a chance to help fix this.
She turns to me, her expression soft, searching. “You okay?” she asks quietly, even though she already knows the answer.
I squeeze her fingers, the tension still coiled in my chest. “Yeah,” I say, but my voice is rough.
Ava leans in a little, her voice low but steady. “You’ll get them next time,” she says. No fluff, no forced optimism, just quiet belief.
I turn to her, the tension in my chest easing a fraction. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Next time.”
I lean in, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Thank you for being here. It means more than I can say.”
She leans into me, her eyes shining with something fierce and steady. “I’ll be waiting for you back at the hotel,” she says, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Go talk to the guys.”
I nod, one last squeeze before I stand. “I won’t be long.”
I head down to the locker room, and the second I cross that threshold, the weight shifts. The air is thick with sweat and frustration, every scrape of a skate blade or clang of a helmet echoing like a challenge.
Russo catches my eye first. He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head once, jaw set. I nod back, a silent agreement passing between us: tomorrow, it has to be different.
Coach Barrett stands near the whiteboard, arms crossed. His gaze sweeps the room like a searchlight. “We’re still in this,” he says finally, voice low but cutting. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy. We regroup, we dial it in, and we come back stronger the next game.”
A few guys grunt in response, others nod. Russo tosses his gloves into his bag with a sharp exhale, muttering something under his breath about turnovers.
I move toward my stall, even though my gear is mostly untouched. I run my hand over my helmet, that restless itch to get back on the ice thrumming through me like a second heartbeat.
Coach steps closer, his eyes locking on mine. “You good for Game 4?”
I meet his stare head-on. “I’m ready,” I say, and I mean it all the way down to my bones.
He nods once, a brisk, approving flick of his chin. “Good. We’ll need you.”
One by one, the guys file out, the mood tense. Russo claps my good shoulder on his way by. “It’s about time you dragged that pretty face back into the lineup,” he mutters, and for the first time all night, I almost crack a smile.
When the room finally empties, I take a moment alone. I close my eyes, breathe in the sting of sweat and tape, and let the need to fight tomorrow start to coil hard inside me.
Tomorrow, I’m not just coming back. I’m coming to win.
By the time I get back to the hotel, the adrenaline from the game and the locker room is still wound tight in my muscles. My shoulder aches a little from the tension, but it feels more like a signal than a setback. Tomorrow, we practice. Day after tomorrow, I’m back on the ice.
I drop my gear in my room, barely pausing to run a quick hand through my hair, and then head straight down the hall to her room.
When she opens the door, she’s already changed into soft clothes, her hair damp from a shower.
She looks up at me, and for a second, everything else: the loss, the noise, the pressure, it all falls away.
“You okay?” she asks softly, her eyes scanning my face.
I let out a long breath, shutting the door behind me. “Yeah,” I say. “Frustrated. But… focused.”
She crosses to me without hesitation, her hands coming up to rest lightly on my chest. “I’m sorry about the loss,” she murmurs.
I shake my head. “We’ll bounce back.”
She studies me for another heartbeat, then presses her forehead to my chest. I wrap my arms around her, my hand finding the curve of her neck.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” I say.
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” she murmurs.
We stand like that for a long moment, the quiet between us deep but soft. When I finally pull back, she touches my jaw lightly, her thumb tracing a slow line along my skin.
“You should try to get some sleep,” she whispers.
I nod, but neither of us moves. Her eyes are soft and open, her fingers still warm against my jaw.
Instead of stepping away, I lean in again, capturing her mouth in a slow, searching kiss. She answers immediately, her hands sliding into my hair, pulling me closer.
It starts gentle, but there’s something deeper underneath, a shared ache, a need to anchor ourselves in each other after everything we’ve faced.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, our foreheads resting together.
“Stay,” she whispers.
My chest tightens, that quiet invitation hitting me harder than any check ever could.
“You sure?”
She nods, her breath hitching as her body presses closer to mine, her hands gripping my shirt. My hands slide down to grip her waist, my thumbs tracing the swell of her hips.
Ava pushes me back just enough to strip my shirt over my head, her nails dragging down my chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
I moan, my hands tangling in her long, dark hair as I crash my mouth to hers.
The kiss starts slow, a savoring of lips and tongues, but it quickly escalates, her hunger matching my own.
My hands drop to her thighs, holding her steady as I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist. She gasps into my mouth as I carry her to the bed, her fingers fumbling with the button of my jeans.
“Jackson—” she breathes, her voice desperate, and I swallow the sound with another kiss, my hips rolling against hers so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
Her hands shake as she undoes my jeans, pushing them down just enough to free my cock. It is hard, aching for her, and I kick the rest of my clothes off while she watches, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
My fingers hook into the top of her lace panties, dragging them down her legs with agonizing slowness.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I growl, my voice raw with need as I spread her thighs wide, my thumbs brushing over her slick folds.
She is already wet, glistening, and when I dip a finger inside her, her back arches off the bed with a cry.
“Jackson, please—”
I’m on her in an instant, my mouth replacing my fingers, my tongue dragging through her folds before circling her clit.
She tastes like heaven, like sin, and I can’t get enough.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, her hips bucking against my face as I worship her, my free hand sliding up to cup her breast, my thumb flicking over her nipple.
“You’re so sexy,” I murmur against her skin, the words vibrating through her, and she whimpers, “I’m right there…” before her thighs clamp around my head, her orgasm crashing over her.
I crawl up her body, my cock dragging through her wetness, teasing us both, before I line myself up at her entrance. Our eyes lock. Hers dark and hazy with lust, mine burning with something that feels like it can swallow me whole.
I sink into her in one slow, deep thrust, both of us moaning at the way she stretches around me, tight and perfect. My hips move, drawing back to press into her again, slow and deep.
The way her body moves with mine is intoxicating, her legs locking around me, her heels digging into my ass like she is trying to pull me deeper. I feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around me, and I reach between us, my thumb finding her clit again.
“Come for me,” I murmur, voice rough. “Let me feel you, Ava.”
And she does, her back arching, her nails raking down my back as she clenches around me, her cry muffled against my shoulder. The sensation pushes me over the edge, my release tearing through me as I bury myself to the hilt, spilling inside her with a moan, my lips finding hers in a hungry kiss.
Then it’s just us. Sweaty, breathless, tangled together as I roll to the side, pulling her against me. My hand gently touches her stomach, and I press a kiss to her temple.
As we lie there, her head on my chest, her breath evening out, my heart swells with so much happiness, it feels like it could burst.
“I love you,” she whispers, her fingers tracing the lines of my jaw.
I smile, my heart swelling with a love so profound it is almost overwhelming.
“I love you too, Ava.”