Chapter 46 – Jordan
FORTY-SIX
JORDAN
I don’t fight the tear that slips from the tightly locked dam in my eyes. It trails down my cheek as I watch Jaxon and his dad from afar. Keeping to the side wall, my bag shifts across my back as I head toward the entrance of the arena.
Our team bus pulls up out front, headlights pour in through the glass corridor.
Being the only female on the team has its perks, sometimes.
Not having to bunk up with someone else, and automatically getting a personal row on the bus—but that might just be because of my brother.
Despite knowing that the middle exit row will be empty no matter when I get on, I decide it would be easier to go now than wait.
I’ve already said hello and thank you to my parents, not sure where they drifted off to.
Over my shoulder, I see Cooper walk up to Jaxon’s dad and grandma. Leaning down, he hugs Mr. Greene, Jaxon translating their conversation. Everyone has large smiles and a laughter that’s contagious among them.
“Jordan,” my name lightly filters over the bustling lobby. “Jordan,” Jaxon calls for me again, almost out of breath. Tendrils of light brown hair, damp from his shower, hang over his forehead. I scrunch my hand, refusing the involuntary desire to run my hands through them, pushing them back.
“You okay, Greene?” I drown in his bright eyes, struggling to tread and not fall in love with him. My tone is borderline what it used to be, dipped in the feistiness that’s never once scared him away.
Jaxon folds in half, hands braced on his knees. “Fuck,” he breathes out. Taking in a deep drag of air, he rights himself. “Will you come with me?”
Anywhere and everywhere is what I want to admit to him. The words clinging to the tip of my tongue. Instead, I purse my lips and pretend to contemplate his invitation.
Because Jaxon has the patience of a kid on Christmas morning, he blurts, “I want you to meet my dad.” His smile carves dents into his cheeks. “And Gran.”
“Really?” Hearing the word leave my lips, it comes out more shocked than excited. “I mean, yes.” I blink, staring up at him, the muscles in my cheek creeping up into a smile.
He takes my hand, interlocking our fingers.
“Jaxon—”
Whirling on me, in the middle of the crowd filled with people we don’t know. I hit his chest, a strong arm tucked around my waist.
“I’m tired of pretending that I don’t want to hold your hand or kiss you. We need to tell him.”
I sigh into him. “I am too. We can tell him when we get back.”
A kiss is pressed along my temple, and before I can get close to a response, he’s already whisking me through the crowd. We slip between people to where Jaxon’s family is. Squeezing my hand three times, he drops it when we become visible.
“Dad,” Jaxon speaks and signs. “This is Jordan, my…” He catches himself, thinking fast on his feet. “Teammate. Cooper’s sister.”
I can see the resemblance. He smiles between Cooper and me, standing across from each other. I’ve—It’s nice to meet you.
My cheeks heat. “I’ve heard lots about you,” I say and, shocking everyone standing there, sign back what I think—and hope—he was going to say. “Mr. Greene.”
Mr. Greene? Who is that? He swats at Jaxon’s bicep. Please call me James.
My peaceful morning before our flight back to Wisconsin is disrupted by a loud pounding.
I open the door, not surprised to find Jaxon or his handsome smile on the other side. He has one hand on the door frame, leaning into it in a waffle-knit sweater under a black denim jacket and a pair of cargo pants.
“Morning.” I yawn, checking him out. Jaxon must’ve forgotten his razor, because there’s a dusting of hair along his jaw. Swelling gone, and his lip is almost healed from where Luka punched him.
He returns the favor. Eyes roaming over his shirt and the lace trim, cotton sleep shorts I slept in. His stare is heated and full of desire. Even standing here with no makeup, eye patches on, and my hair unkempt in a bun on the top of my head, I feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.
I don’t know how he does it, or what he did to me, but whenever he looks at me, the world falls away, and it’s just us. Jaxon makes it as if we are the only ones that exist and if that were true, it would be more than enough.
“While I love this, get dressed. We’re going to breakfast.”
I check the alarm clock beside my bed. “Isn’t team breakfast in thirty-minutes?”
“We’re skipping.”
Jaxon goes to the dresser beneath the TV.
After our first weekend double-header, he learned that there is no minimum amount of time I’ll spend in a hotel room without unpacking my bag.
He opens the middle drawer, pulling out a mismatched pair of leggings and a sports bra and tossing them over his shoulder.
Next is an oversized, pastel floral patchwork sweatshirt that Xanie got me.
Luckily, because one of the flowers is navy, it’ll go with the leggings.
I don’t have the heart to tell Jaxon that what he’s picked out, socks now included, don’t go together.
He lays out his findings on the bed before turning to me. “Arms up.”
Reluctantly, I stick one arm in the air, then the other.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re in a rideshare to his childhood home. I thought we’d go somewhere near campus, certainly with coffee, not into the suburbs.
We pull into the driveway. Jaxon races around the car to get the door for me as I take in the quaint, ranch-style house. White brick with midnight blue shutters, and landscaping that beats every neighbor. Walking up to the front door, the pathway smells like the inside of Mom’s flower shop.
Inside the house smells even better. “Are those cinnamon rolls?” I ask in a hushed voice, gripping Jaxon’s hand.
“Sort of.” He smiles down at me. “You’ll see.”
His dad is setting a small wooden table when we waltz into the kitchen. Gran is moving from the stove to the fridge, a glass bowl with egg yolks tucked in the crease of her elbow. She closes the door, spotting us.
“Perfect timing. I’m putting on the eggs, and then breakfast is ready.
” By breakfast, she means a platter of fruit, an assortment of breakfast meats, eggs, toast, and what has my mouth salivating, cinnamon roll pancakes.
Oh, and a box of Fruit Loops for Jaxon. “Jordan, do you like them scrambled? Or would you rather have over-easy, poached—”
“Scrambled is perfect.”
Jaxon assists his dad with setting the table and bringing over the food, placing them on an oversized lazy Susan.
The food is incredible, and I have to refrain from moaning when I bite into the cinnamon roll pancake—Katie would have loved these. But my physical reaction is enough to cause laughter to burst at the walls of the kitchen, and Gran promises to send me home with the recipe.
I do my best to keep up with the conversation—stories about Jaxon as a kid. Questions about myself, an eagerness from them to get to know me more—some of the signs I’m not familiar with. Jaxon translates, and they slow down to make sure I’m included.
After breakfast, Jaxon and I sneak up to his bedroom.
“Ta da,” he says, holding the door open for me. I’m not quite sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this. There’s no sign of aged posters of Sports Illustrated swimsuit models taped to the walls or a trophy case filled to the brim with every medal, trophy, certificate, or award he’s ever received.
It’s simple.
Blue walls. A wood bedframe with a plaid comforter and a matching desk. A bean bag chair positioned in front of a TV stand with a gaming system. And posters of Gretzky and Crosby on the wall opposite draped windows.
It’s clean, as if he hasn’t slept here in months, maybe years.
“When was the last time you’ve been home?”
There’s an extended beat of silence before he huffs out an exhale. “Start of summer last year.”
I spin, doing another scan of the room, but when I catch Jaxon’s face, I can tell this is a touchy subject. I refrain from any follow-up questions, instead leaning into teasing him.
“How many girls have been in here?”
“One.”
“Must’ve been a lucky girl.”
“Nah. I’m the lucky one.”
“Wow.” I meander over to his desk. There’s a small shelf with a photo of him and his dad, Jaxon looks like he’s maybe five or six, and a couple of trophies. “Should I be jealous of her?” I look over my shoulder at him. “Beautiful, probably.”
Green eyes beat into me. His tone lacks its usual playfulness. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
I think he’s talking about me.
“Oh.”
“Wasn’t a ladies’ man in high school. Plus”—he snorts a laugh—“Gran was intimidating. Tried to bring a girl home once, and she threatened her with her black belt.”
I laugh. Full body, free. “After this morning and those pancakes, I think I might be in love with her.”
“If I knew all it would take was pancakes for you to fall in love, I’d have learned to make them for you years ago.”
“And all I needed to do was pour a bowl of cereal?”
“No, just be you.”
Something palpable passes between us, almost as if I could reach out and grasp it, but I don’t know what it is. I turn away, looking at another photo on the shelf.
Jaxon slips his arms around my waist, lips ghosting the nape of my neck. He gently moves my hair, pulling the loose waves to the right, and presses a kiss below my ear.
Fluttering my eyelids, I close them, sinking into his touch and smell—for once, something other than fruity. A masculine hue I can’t quite pinpoint, but I like it.
“You smell good,” I murmur.
“Not as good as you,” Jaxon says against my skin, inhaling. “It’s the cologne Dad got me for my birthday.”
He presses another kiss to the curve of my neck, and I almost drop the frame I’d picked up. I let my arms fall to my sides as Jaxon takes my chin in a featherlight grip. Putty in his hands, he tips my head easily and captures my mouth in a possessive kiss.
“Blue.” It’s quiet and tender. I love getting this side of him—raw and serious. The guy behind all the clothes and facade. The authentic Jaxon—and I love that he’s willing to be like this around me. “When did you learn to sign?”
Oh. I knew this question would come. It’s not that I’ve been hiding this from him; I didn’t see the need to make it a thing.
“Learning,” I correct. Passing thanks to the extra help from Mom. We’ve been video chatting twice a week to practice. Sea green eyes met mine in a mirror I hadn’t noticed hanging on the sliding closet doors, and I tell him about my mom, then add, “My Tuesday night lecture is Introduction to ASL.”
“But I thought—”
“I was in Digital Media and Social Media in Sports, but I dropped the class.” He opens his mouth, and I try to infer what he’s going to say or ask. “They’re offering it in the spring.”
“Did…” He drags his bottom lip between his teeth. A speechless Jaxon is new. Through the mirror, I watch as his mind spins. “Did you add the class for me?”
I nod. “I did.”
“Why?”
“I think you know why.”
“Will you say it?”
“Because he’s important to you, which makes him important to me. I wanted to be able to communicate with your dad, tell him how annoying his son is and how much I lo—” I freeze, coughing to cover my tracks. “Um. It’s really no big deal.”
“It is to me. Just like you coordinated him getting to the game yesterday.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw your parents in the lobby, and again after the game. They ratted you out.”
Traitors.
“It was nothing.”
“You should stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Acting as if your kindness is a weakness. You have the biggest heart I know, and more people deserve to see it.” He twirls my hair as tears well up in my eyes.
I fight off the emotions, hearing him say that.
Having him see me. “Whatever you’re feeling, whenever you’re feeling it, it’s okay.
I like your big emotions. I like how they make you care and want to help everyone around you. ”
“I like yours too.”