Chapter 41 Zephyr
Chapter Forty-One: Zephyr
Jax won’t stop giving me shit about my ankle.
“Convenient,” he says for the third time this morning while throwing his duffel bag into the trunk. “Real fucking convenient.”
“It’s not convenient. I’m injured and can’t fucking play.”
“Right. Injured.” Callum makes air quotes around the word. “A day before an away game.”
“I twisted it during practice. Coach saw it happen. It was a stupid mistake.”
“Coach also said you could probably play through it,” Jax adds, slamming the trunk closed.
“But why would I risk making it worse?” I lean against the car, keeping weight off my left foot. “We have playoffs coming up. Better to rest it now than fuck it up for the rest of the season.”
“Sure,” Callum says, grinning. “Has nothing to do with getting to stay here alone with Tiger.”
My face heats up. “That’s not—”
“You’re turning into a lobster,” Jax observes.
“Fuck you.”
“You are.” Callum laughs. “Look, I’m not judging. If I had a convenient injury, I’d be staying back too.”
“Fuck off already.”
Jax studies me for a long moment. His jaw is tight. “Just... be careful.”
“Of what?”
“You know what.”
Callum claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves a lot of options,” I mutter.
They both climb into Jax’s car. I step back from the curb, watching them pull away. Jax gives me one last look through the rearview mirror before they turn the corner and disappear.
I stand there for a second. Then I can’t help it—I smile.
Because I am injured. My ankle does hurt. But yeah, okay, maybe I’m a little excited about having the house to myself with Tiger for the next day and a half.
I head back inside. She’s in the kitchen making coffee.
“What time is the game tonight?” she asks without turning around.
“Game’s at seven tonight.”
She nods, pours two cups, and hands me one. “Are we planning to watch it?”
I nod. “Yeah, we can watch it. How are you feeling?” I ask. “About today?”
She’s meeting with Marcus this afternoon. But she’s been quiet about it. She’s not avoiding the topic exactly, just not bringing it up.
“Nervous,” she admits. “Scared. I don’t know what to expect.”
“You don’t have to do this alone. I can come with you.”
“You have class.”
“I’ll skip.”
“Zeff—”
“Tiger, I’m coming with you. End of discussion.”
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
We drink our coffee in comfortable silence. She’s wearing one of Jax’s shirts again. It’s so big on her that it falls past her shorts, making it look like she’s not wearing anything underneath.
I force myself to look away.
“What do you want to do until then?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Something to distract me.”
“We could watch a movie.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t sit still right now. I feel really anxious.”
“What do you want to do then?”
She thinks for a moment. “Tell me about hockey.”
That throws me off. “What about it?”
“Everything. I don’t really understand it. Teach me.”
“Teach you hockey?”
“Yeah.” She nods, like she’s desperate to get out of her own head. Her voice isn’t as raspy today. She’s making good progress lately. She cut back on her medication too.
I grin. “Okay. Come on.”
We head to the garage. I grab two sticks and a practice ball from the corner. I hand her one of the sticks.
“This is a right-handed stick,” I explain. “Your right hand goes at the top, left hand lower on the shaft.”
She tries to hold it and winces when she moves her injured arm wrong.
“Here.” I step behind her. I guide her good hand to the stick. “Like this. And I’ll be your right arm.”
I reach around and place my hand below hers. She’s pressed back against my chest. I can smell her shampoo.
“Okay, so the basic grip is like this,” I say, adjusting our hands. “You want control but not tension.”
“Like this?”
“Yeah. Good.”
I place the ball on the ground in front of us. “Now we’re going to practice moving the puck. Just back and forth. Feel how the stick moves.”
I guide her through the motion. My body pressed against hers. Her back against my chest. Her ass against my dick. My arms wrapped around her, showing her how to move.
She laughs when the ball rolls away. “This is harder than it looks.”
“You have one hand.”
She chuckles.
We practice for a while. She’s actually getting the hang of it. Her movements become more confident and less hesitant.
“Can I try on my own?” she asks.
I step back and give her space.
She tries. The stick is awkward in her one-handed grip but she manages to move the ball a few feet.
“I did it!” She turns around, grinning.
And suddenly we’re inches apart.
Her smile fades. Her eyes drop to my mouth.
“Zeff?” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I ask, observing her this close. She has a cute freckle on her cheek.
“Can I kiss you?”
My heart pounds. “Yeah. Yes.”
She leans up. And I close my eyes as I lean down.
Our lips meet.
Her lips are soft and taste sweet like coffee. I kiss her gently, running my hands down her back, gently playing with her hair.
Then she makes a small sound in the back of her throat and everything changes.
I cup her face with both hands and deepen the kiss. She drops the hockey stick and wraps her good arm around my neck.
The kiss intensifies quickly. Too quickly. We’re both breathing hard. My hands are roaming, hungry.
“Inside,” I manage to say between kisses. “It’s cold out here.”
We stumble through the door into the house. We barely break apart long enough to close it behind us.
We end up on the couch. She’s in my lap. My hands are in her hair, on her waist, everywhere I can reach without hurting her arm.
She kisses like she’s starving for it.
And I’m giving her everything she wants.
My hands slide under her shirt. I feel the soft skin of her back, and she arches into me.
Then reality crashes down.
This is crossing a line. Jax and Callum are pissed I stayed behind. Neither of them wanted this to happen. And we haven’t established any kind of agreement.
I pull back. “Wait.”
She’s breathing hard. “Why?”
“Because—”
“Because of Jax? Callum?” Her eyes flash. “Are you scared of them?”
“No. I’m not scared of them.”
“Then why?”
“Because I want to do this right.”
She leans back and studies my face. “What’s right?”
“I don’t want you to regret this.”
“Zephyr.” She cups my face with her good hand. “I was the one who asked to kiss you. I wanted this. I still want this.”
“Tiger—”
“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But don’t use Jax or Callum as an excuse.”
She’s right. This isn’t about Jax or Cal. This is about me being scared of fucking this up.
“I do want to,” I admit. “I just... I don’t know what we’re doing here. Any of us.”
She climbs off my lap and sits next to me on the couch instead.
“Then let’s just talk,” she says.
So we do.
We talk about everything. About her stress over the lawyer meeting. About my family. About things I haven’t talked about with anyone in years.
“Tell me about Marcy,” she says about my sister.
I lean back against the couch. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. You mentioned her before, but you’ve never really talked about her.”
So I tell her about my dad’s drinking. How it got worse after our mom left, and I basically raised my little sister because our dad was too drunk to do it.
“I’d make her breakfast before school. Help with homework. Make sure she got to bed on time. I was trying to be both parents.”
“You sound like me.”
“Yeah.” I run my hand through my hair. “It didn’t last long, though, because she was only a couple of years younger than me. And as soon as she turned into a teenager, I was done for. She’d beat me.”
She laughs. “Is that why you came to UCLA? To get away?”
“Partly. But also to make money. Hockey scholarship meant I could send money home. Help with bills. Make sure Marcy had what she needed until she got out.”
Tiger’s quiet for a moment. “Did she? I mean, did she get out of there?”
I nod. “Yeah, but I think she developed a problem of her own. She lives with a boyfriend now, and I don’t know. She only calls for money.”
Tiger’s quiet for a moment and then she sighs. “I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone you can’t save.”
I glance at her. I reach my hand over and play with her fingers.
“I couldn’t protect Zinnia from my dad.” She pauses. “Damien. I couldn’t tell her the truth about what happened that night, what I had done, and I feel like shit that she’s in a foster home. My mom would’ve never let this happen.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She shakes her head. “It is my fault.”
“You did the best you could with what you had. That’s all anyone can do.”
She looks at me, and I see recognition in her eyes. Understanding.
She leans in, glancing at my mouth. And then she closes her eyes and kisses me again. But this time it’s different. Softer. Slower.
Not about heat or urgency or need.
About connection. About being seen.
I put her hair behind her ear and then we start making out. She climbs into my lap again. My hands are rubbing her back, gripping her ass, and I’m being extra careful about her arm.
This time I don’t let fear get in the way. Her tongue flicks mine, and I lay her gently on the couch. She tugs my shirt, so I take it off. I pull at her shirt and she sits up quietly to take it off. I slide it off her injured arm and throw it on the ground.
When I dive back in, I press my hard cock against her. She moans, reaching for my pants. I enjoy where her hand explores. When she rubs me over my pants, I kiss her deeply.
“Take this off,” she murmurs.
I pull back and remove my pants. She’s staring up at my body.
“I didn’t know you were this ripped,” she says, staring.
I smile at her and pull her pajama shorts off. Her underwear slides down with it. And seeing her pussy makes my dick throb.
She kicks her shorts onto the ground and then she turns around and says, “Unclip my bra.”
I stare at her juicy ass as I unclip her bra. I help the strap off her injured arm and kiss the back of her neck.
“You’re fucking breathtaking, Tiger.”