Chapter 15
JACKSON
It's been two days since Maya came to my room. Two days since she took control, chose pleasure, and left me lying there wanting her to stay. We haven't talked about it, haven't been alone since. Just continued to pretend that everything's normal.
But nothing is anymore.
Now I'm on a bus headed to the airport for a two-game road trip to Boston, and all I can think about is the way she looked riding me, the way she cried, the way she took her body back.
The bus is quiet this early. Half the team's asleep, the other half nursing coffee and staring at phones. Chase is across the aisle with headphones in and eyes closed. Jenkins is snoring in the back.
We reach the airport in thirty minutes. The routine is automatic—unload gear, check in, security, gate. I grab coffee and a breakfast sandwich I barely taste, then we're boarding.
I take a window seat. Chase drops in beside me.
"You good?" he asks. "You've been quiet."
"Just thinking about the game."
"Bullshit. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The look guys get when they're thinking about a girl." He grins. "Who is she?"
"There's no girl."
"Right. And I'm not terrible at face-offs." He leans back. "Whoever she is, she's got you twisted up."
I don't respond because he's right, and I can't tell him why.
I pull out my phone before we take off.
Me
How's therapy going?
Safe. Neutral. Nothing that reveals we're sleeping together.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again.
Stardust
Good. Hard but good. Dr. Mills says I'm making progress. How are you holding up?
Me
That's great. Road trip's long. Miss seeing you around. How's Max?
Stardust
Judging everyone as usual, but he's been more cuddly since you boys left. He's definitely a girl’s cat.
Emma says hi, btw. She's wondering why you're being weird.
Fuck. Emma's noticing.
Me
I'm not being weird.
Stardust
You are. But it's okay. I am too.
The flight attendant announces we need to switch devices to airplane mode. I pocket my phone and stare out the window.
The plane takes off at eight o’clock, and I watch Hartford disappear below us. An hour and thirty-five minutes to Boston. An hour and thirty-five minutes of not being able to think about anything except Maya.
We land in Boston at 9:35 a.m. The airport's chaos—people everywhere, announcements echoing, the usual travel madness. We collect our bags, load them onto another bus, and head to the hotel.
By eleven o’clock, we're checking in. I'm rooming with Chase, which means I need to act normal and not lie awake thinking about Maya.
"You sure you’re okay?" Chase asks while we're unpacking.
"We already had this conversation. I’m fine."
"Uh-huh." He tosses his bag on the bed by the window. "Emma texted. Asked if you're okay."
"I'm fine."
"She thinks something's up with you. Says you've been different lately."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Distracted. Distant." He studies me. "Is it Maya?"
My stomach drops. "What about Maya?"
"Emma's worried about her. The therapy, everything she's dealing with. It's a lot for you to handle, too."
Relief floods through me. He thinks I'm stressed about helping her, not sleeping with her.
"She's doing better. Therapy's helping."
"Good. Emma feels guilty that she didn't notice how bad things were." He sits on his bed. "But seriously, man. If it's too much, you can talk to me."
"I know. Thanks."
I want to tell him. Want to say that Maya came to me two nights ago, and we had sex, and it was the most intense experience of my life.
That I'm breaking rule number five every second I'm with her.
That distance is making it worse because all I can think about is getting back to Hartford and finding excuses to be near her.
But I can't. The rules are clear. Keep it physical. Keep it secret.
Team dinner is at an Italian place near the hotel. Coach gives his usual speech about focus, about how Boston's tough on their home ice, about maintaining our playoff positioning. We're third in the division right now. It’s a good place to be, but we need to stay sharp.
I eat mechanically. Pasta and chicken, protein and carbs, fuel for tomorrow's game. Around me, the team's loose, joking, confident. Jenkins is telling some story about his girlfriend. Reeves is doing scarily accurate impressions of Coach.
My phone stays in my pocket. I resist the urge to check it, to see if Maya's texted again, to break the careful distance we're supposed to be maintaining.
Back at the hotel, Chase falls asleep by ten. I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to him snore.
Tomorrow's game is important. We need the points. I need to be sharp, focused, and ready to lead.
But all I can think about is Maya. The way she looked at me with trust in her eyes, the way she took control, the way she left afterward, following the rules even though I wanted her to stay.
Game day arrives with the usual routine. Morning skate, team breakfast, pre-game nap. I'm dialed in now, focused. Thinking about Maya can wait until after we win.
The Boston arena is packed and loud. Their fans hate us. Division rivals, too much history. The energy is electric and hostile.
I thrive on it.
First period, I set up two goals. Threading passes through their defense like I can see five seconds into the future.
Second period, I score. Break toward the net with their defenseman draped on me, and somehow get the shot off. Top corner. Goal horn. The boys mob me.
"That's our captain!" Jenkins yells.
The rush is familiar, that high of playing perfect hockey, but underneath it, I'm thinking about Maya watching from home, wondering if she's proud.
The third period gets rough. Boston comes out aggressively, taking runs at our guys, trying to get under our skin. One of their forwards takes a shot at Chase after the whistle, and I'm there before I can think, dropping my gloves.
"You want to go?" I'm in the guy's face, ready.
The refs step in before fists fly, but the message is sent. We protect our own.
I end up scoring again on the next shift. Power play goal, one-timer from the slot. Their goalie had no chance.
We win 5-2.
In the locker room, Coach is grinning. "That's the team I want to see. Anderson, hell of a game."
"Team effort, Coach."
"Two goals and three assists isn't a team effort, that's you being a goddamn sniper." He claps my shoulder. "Keep this up and we're going deep in the playoffs."
The praise feels good but hollow. I want to tell Maya about it, want to hear her voice telling me I played well, want more than these careful text exchanges.
Post-game, I shower and dress, following the team to the hotel bar for the mandatory celebration drink. One beer, some games with the guys, then I excuse myself.
Chase gives me a look but doesn't push.
In my room, I lie on the bed and pull out my phone.
Stardust
You were incredible tonight.
Me
Thanks. It felt good to play like that.
Stardust
Can't wait for you to get home.
Me
Me neither.
I stare at the messages on my screen, at how carefully we're choosing our words. I could call her. Just to hear her voice, nothing that breaks the rules.
But a phone call feels different. More intimate than what we're supposed to be doing.
The rules exist for a reason. To keep things simple, to protect us both.
I want to break every single one.
I want to tell her that sleeping with her two nights ago changed everything, that watching her take control and reclaim her body wasn't just physical for me, it was everything.
I want to tell her that I've been in love with her for years, and the rules won't change that.
But I can't. Because she needs this to be safe, needs boundaries and structure, needs to heal without the pressure of my feelings.
So I put the phone down, turn off the light, and try to sleep.
The second game is in two days. Another chance to lead my team, another day closer to going home.
Another day closer to her.
The next day passes in a blur of practice and team meetings. We watch game footage, break down their defensive structure, and plan our attack. It's routine, mechanical, and it keeps my mind occupied.
At night, though, lying in the hotel room with Chase snoring across from me, the thoughts creep back in. Maya in my room, Maya taking what she needed, Maya leaving because the rules said she had to.
I check my phone. Nothing new.
I type out a message—Missing you—then delete it before sending.
It's too much.
The second game arrives, and I channel everything into the ice. The longing, the frustration, the love I can't express. It translates into two more goals and an assist. We win again, 4-1.
In the locker room after, Reeves throws a towel at me. "Cap's on a fucking tear. What'd you eat for breakfast?"
"Same thing I always eat."
"Well, keep eating it. You're playing out of your mind."
I am. Because it's the only place I can channel everything I'm feeling without breaking the rules.
The bus to the airport feels longer than it should. We're all exhausted, riding the high of two wins but feeling it in our bones. It's past eleven o’clock by the time we board the plane.
I take the window seat again. Chase drops beside me, already half-asleep.
The flight back is almost two hours. I stare out the window at the darkness below, at the scattered lights of towns and cities, counting down the minutes.
We land at 2:25 in the morning. The airport's nearly empty at this hour, just our team and a handful of other travelers. We collect our bags and load them onto the bus one more time.
The drive back to the arena parking lot takes thirty minutes. By the time we pull in, it's 3:30, and I'm running on fumes and adrenaline.
Chase and I grab our gear and head to my truck. The parking lot's quiet, just a few cars left belonging to guys who carpooled.
"Emma's making dinner tonight," Chase says as he climbs into the passenger seat. "You should actually come upstairs instead of hiding in your room all day and night."
I almost smile. He's not wrong. My usual routine after long road trips is to crash in the basement and sleep for what feels like an entire day, before ordering takeout.
"Yeah. Sounds good."
What I don't say is that I'm desperate to see Maya, to be in the same room as her, even if we can't touch, even if we have to pretend nothing's changed.
I turn the key in the ignition and reach for my phone, typing out a quick message before we head home.
Me
That's us back in Hartford, just about to drive home.
I don't expect a response, but then three dots appear.
Stardust
Drive safe.
Despite every rule we set, despite knowing this is supposed to stay physical, my heart pounds like I'm some lovesick teenager.
This is dangerous. This is exactly what we said couldn't happen.
But I can't stop it.
Fuck. I don’t want to stop it.
And that terrifies me almost as much as it thrills me.