20. JAX
CHAPTER 20
JAX
The parking lot of the old community sports complex is just as I remember it: cracked asphalt, faded lines, and the faint smell of rubber wafting from the gym shoes of kids and parents walking by. It’s been years since I’ve set foot here. Too long. The last time I played was a lifetime ago—before the injury, before the endless nights of trying to figure out who I was without the game.
I park my truck and grab my bag from the back seat, its weight almost nostalgic. My gear rattles slightly inside, reminding me of a version of myself I’ve all but buried. As I walk toward the rink, laughter and shouts grow louder. Kids dart around with sticks and pucks, their movements wild but full of energy. Parents lean on fences or sit on the bleachers, cheering them on. The place is alive, buzzing with the kind of hope I used to feel every time I laced up my skates.
I hesitate at the edge of the arena. A part of me wants to turn around and leave. What am I even doing here? But then I see an opening on the small rink where a few guys my age are passing the puck around.
I inhale deeply and walk onto the concrete surface, every step feeling like crossing a threshold into a past I’m not sure I belong to anymore. The stick feels good in my hand, though—familiar, grounding. I take a moment to stretch, rolling my shoulders and bending my knees. My body remembers even if my mind doesn’t want to.
One of the guys notices me and waves. "Hey, aren’t you Jax?" he calls out, his voice carrying over the clatter of sticks and pucks. "You used to play for East Ridge, right?”
"Yeah," I say with a nod, forcing a small smile. It’s strange being recognized after all this time. "That was a while ago."
"You were a legend, man," he says, tossing me a puck. "What brings you out here?"
"Just restless," I admit, knocking the puck back to him with a practiced ease. "Thought I’d get some moves in."
He grins. "Well, you picked the right place. Jump in."
I spend the next few minutes skating and shooting, falling into a rhythm that feels oddly comforting. My muscles burn, but it’s a good burn—a reminder that I’m still alive, still capable. The guys are friendly, joking and ribbing each other, but I stay quiet, focused on the puck and the satisfying sound of it clattering against the boards.
"Hey, can you show me that move again?" A small voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I glance down to see a kid, maybe eight or nine, looking up at me with wide eyes. He’s holding a stick almost too big for him, his helmet slightly askew.
"Sure," I say, crouching to his level. "What’s your name?"
"Tyler," he says shyly.
"Alright, Tyler. Watch this." I stand and demonstrate a simple wrist shot, sending the puck sailing into the net. Tyler watches intently, his face lighting up.
"Cool!" he says, trying to mimic my movements. The puck wobbles and barely moves, but he looks at me expectantly.
"Not bad," I say with a grin. "Let’s work on that aim."
As I help him adjust his grip and stance, a strange feeling washes over me—something I can’t quite name at first. It’s not just pride or nostalgia. It’s deeper, more grounded. For the first time in years, I imagine what it might be like to teach my own kid something like this. To see that look of awe and excitement on their face. The thought catches me off guard, and I shake it off, focusing back on Tyler.
A woman calls out from the bleachers, and Tyler runs off, waving goodbye. I watch him go, my chest tightening slightly.
What would my life look like with a kid in it? It’s a question I’ve never let myself ask before. Hell, I’ve never been with a woman who made me want to. But Olivia—she’s different. She makes me think about things I’ve never considered. A life. A family. A future.
I take another shot, the puck slamming into the boards with a loud crack. My heart pounds, but not from the effort. I’m not sure what’s scarier—wanting something I’ve never wanted before or the possibility that it might not be mine to have.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking me out of my thoughts. I fish it out and see Olivia’s name on the screen. My chest tightens as I read her message.
Can you meet me at Ethan’s apartment? I have news.
News. That could mean anything, but in my gut, I know. She’s made her decision. My palms are sweating before I even finish reading. I flex my hand around my hockey stick, trying to settle the nerves coursing through me. This is it.
I grab my bag, toss it over my shoulder, and head out. On the way, I pass a flower stand and stop. Flowers. It feels old-fashioned, maybe even a little cheesy, but I can’t help myself. If this is the moment Olivia decides—if it’s me—I want her to know how I feel.
I pick out a bouquet of sunflowers and white roses. Bright and bold, just like her. My heart feels like it’s going a hundred miles an hour as I pay the vendor and head to Ethan’s place.
Ethan’s apartment door is slightly ajar when I arrive. I push it open, stepping inside, and immediately spot Ethan and Marcus sitting on the couch. They both turn to look at me, their eyes landing on the flowers in my hand.
Marcus raises an eyebrow. “Flowers? Really?”
“You know, flowers might’ve worked in high school,” Ethan says. “But Olivia? She’s not going to be swayed by some grand romantic gesture.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “It’s not a grand gesture. It’s a sincere one.”
Marcus chuckles dryly. “Sincere or not, you’re underestimating her. Olivia doesn’t want showy. She wants real.”
“Like you’d know,” I snap, the words coming out harsher than I intend.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Marcus says, sitting up straighter, his calm demeanor cracking for the first time.
“You think you’ve got her figured out just because you had one good night together?” I counter. “Newsflash: that doesn’t mean you know her.”
Ethan’s head swivels between us, his brows furrowed. “Seriously? You’re both going to pretend you’re not doing the same thing? Trying to one-up each other while Olivia decides if she wants any of us?”
Marcus glares at him. “And you’re so above it all, huh? You’re the one who gave her an ultimatum.”
Ethan stiffens, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t mean to pressure her. I just…” He trails off, his expression softening. “I just needed to know where we all stand.”
“Where we stand?” I scoff, leaning against the counter. “You mean where you stand. You’ve always thought you were the front-runner, didn’t you? Like you’ve got some claim on her because of your history.”
“That’s not fair,” Ethan says, his voice rising. “This isn’t about claiming her. It’s about?—”
“About what? Winning?” Marcus cuts in. “Because that’s what it feels like.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
Finally, Ethan sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Look, this isn’t how I wanted things to go. I don’t want to fight with you guys. But Olivia… she’s different. She makes me feel?—”
“Like you can’t breathe when she’s not around?” I interrupt, my voice quieter now. “Like she’s in your head, even when you don’t want her to be?”
Marcus nods slowly, his gaze distant. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”
The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts our conversation. I turn around to see Olivia waiting there, her arms hugged to herself.
Her cheeks slightly flushed as if she’s been running or debating whether to come in. Her green blouse clings in all the right places, and her dark jeans hug her curves. Her hair falls in loose waves around her face, and a calm determination in her expression immediately sets me on edge.
“I have news,” she says, her voice steady but guarded.
Ethan straightens, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What kind of news?”
She steps further inside, her gaze flicking between us. For a moment, she hesitates, glancing at the bouquet on the counter. Her lips twitch as if she’s about to smile, but it fades just as quickly.
“The kind that might change everything,” she says simply.
My heart is pounding so loud I’m surprised no one else can hear it. Olivia stands there, her hand tightening on the envelope like it holds a live grenade.
“What’s in the envelope?” Marcus asks, his voice calm but laced with tension.
Olivia hesitates, her gaze darting at him for a brief second before she looks back at Ethan and me. “Before I open this, I need to say something.”
The weight of her words sinks into the room. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until my chest aches.
“I’m not here to talk about… you three,” she says, motioning between us. “At least, not yet. There’s something bigger going on, and it needs to be addressed first.”
Ethan steps forward, his expression tightening. “What do you mean? Is this about Charlie?”
“Yes,” she says, her voice clipped.
“And Jax.”
I blink, unsure if I heard her right. “What?” The word barely comes out, more breath than sound.
Marcus straightens, his brows pulling together. “What are you talking about, Olivia?”
Olivia holds out an envelope, her hand trembling slightly. “Jax, open it.”
The room freezes. My stomach tightens as I take the envelope from her, my fingers brushing against hers.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice rough. “Why are you giving me this?”
“I had my lawyers dig deeper into Charlie Green,” she says, her voice steady but with an edge of urgency. “I couldn’t understand why she was so intent on hurting us. It felt too personal, too calculated.”
“And?” Marcus presses, his tone sharp.
Olivia swallows hard. “And I thought… what if it is personal? What if it’s not just about us or Love Lab?”
The envelope feels heavier in my hand. “What are you saying, Olivia?”
She takes a deep breath. “As you know, only a parent can access a child’s birth records. So even I don’t know for sure what’s in there. But I have a strong suspicion.”
The world tilts slightly. My pulse quickens as I glance down at the envelope. My name is scrawled across the front in Olivia’s handwriting. My throat feels tight.
“Go on,” Olivia says gently, almost like she’s afraid of what’s about to happen.
I slide my thumb under the flap and rip it open. The paper feels thin, almost fragile, as I pull it out. A single sheet, folded neatly, stares back at me. I hesitate for a moment before unfolding it.
The words hit me like a freight train.
Birth records. A child’s name. My name listed under “Father.”
“What the hell?” I whisper, my knees nearly buckling. I grab the edge of the table for support as my eyes dart over the document, rereading the words as if they’ll change if I just look at them long enough.
“Jax?” Marcus’s voice is cautious, but I can hear the underlying tension.
I lift my head, my eyes locking onto Olivia. “Is this… is this for real?”
Her lips press together, and she nods. “It looks like it.”
“You had your lawyers pull this?” Ethan asks, stepping closer. His voice is sharp, almost accusing.
“I had to,” Olivia says defensively. “Something about Adam didn’t sit right with me, and Charlie’s behavior only made me more suspicious. I needed to know the truth.”
“Adam?” I say confused.
“We’ve met him before,” she tells me, brows furrowed. And then I remember.
Adam. The kid at the skating rink. The one I thought looked familiar.
My chest tightens. “He’s… mine?”
“It looks like it,” Olivia says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I sink into the nearest chair, the document still clutched in my hand. My mind races, a thousand questions firing off at once. How? When? Why didn’t I know? Does Adam even know?
“How is that even possible?” I say, my voice shaking. My mind races as I stare at the birth record in my hands. “I’ve never even met Charlie Green in my life.”
“Well,” Ethan says, crossing his arms, his voice laced with sarcasm, “you did have your share of fun back in the day. And judging by Adam’s age, he might’ve been born when you were still in school.”
The comment cuts deep, but I can’t even snap back. My head feels like it’s spinning as I try to piece together the fragments of my teenage years. The parties. The hookups. But nothing clicks.
“I don’t…” I trail off, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t remember anything.”
Olivia steps forward, her voice calm but firm. “That’s because Charlie isn’t Adam’s mother.”
“What?” I blink, completely thrown.
“Her younger sister, Charmaine, is,” Olivia says, her eyes locking onto mine.
For a moment, the name doesn’t register. But then, like a blurry photo coming into focus, the memory hits me. Charmaine Green. The girl I used to mess around with in school. She was quiet, almost shy, but she had this way of showing up at every party. We hooked up a few times, nothing serious. I never thought much of it—just another casual thing in a string of teenage mistakes.
“Charmaine…” I murmur, the weight of realization crashing down. “I remember her. Barely.”
Ethan leans against the table, arms crossed, his face a mix of judgment and disbelief. “Barely, huh? That’s comforting.”
I shoot him a glare. “Not now, Ethan.”
Olivia steps between us, her voice cutting through the tension. “Focus, both of you. This isn’t about the past. It’s about Adam. And Charlie.”
“Wait,” I say, shaking my head as the pieces start to fall into place. “If Charmaine’s his mother, where is she?”
Olivia hesitates, glancing at Ethan and Marcus before looking back at me. “That’s something we need to figure out. But it’s clear that Charlie has taken on a maternal role, whether by choice or circumstance. And she obviously wants revenge.”
“That’s fucking insane,” I say. “What do we do?”
“There’s only one thing we can do,” Olivia says. “We take it to the world.”