18. Rosalie
EIGHTEEN
Rosalie
J ay didn’t answer my call, and I’m not usually the clingy type or anything, but I know he’s been in a fragile state, so that’s why after training with Leah and Julian I drove straight to his apartment and I’m now barreling up the stairs, heart pounding like a drum. His door’s unlocked, which isn’t okay. I push it open, and the smell of bourbon hits me like a slap in the face. I usually love to be right, but not when it comes to this.
“Jay, why didn’t you lock up? That’s not safe at all,” I call out, scanning the room. It’s a mess—an empty bottle lying on the floor, his clothes strewn everywhere, and Jay passed out on the couch. My stomach sinks. Fuck.
I walk over to him, taking in the rise and fall of his chest, and come to a stand in front of him. At least he’s breathing. I nudge him gently. “Jay, are you okay?”
He stirs, mumbling something incoherent before his head lolls toward me. Suddenly, he sinks his head into my stomach, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m so weak.”
My heart aches for him, and I can’t help but run my fingers through his curly, beach boy hair.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper, and he tightens his grip around my waist. I shouldn’t have left him alone. He needs someone when I’m not here, but then again…who?
I want to ask what happened, but part of me is scared to hear the answer. I sink down onto the couch beside him, pulling him onto my lap, my fingers gently running through his hair as I try to calm the storm inside me.
“Jay, what happened?” I ask softly.
He sighs, his breath warm against my thigh. “Panic attack,” he admits and starts to caress my thigh. “I turned on the game, and it just…it all came flooding back. The pressure, the expectations…I couldn’t breathe.”
“You’re not weak, Jay,” I say firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, and it takes time. It’s not even been half of a year.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, right,” he mutters. “The minute I can, I drink myself senseless.”
I look down at him, but he doesn’t shift, he still looks away into nothingness. “You wanna try watching the game again?” I ask tentatively. “Or we can leave it off.”
“I really want to, but…I don’t know if I can. It hurts so much seeing them doing what I love so much, knowing I can never do it again.”
“I’m here for you. Maybe if we manage to watch some games it will get easier…”
I feel so damn stupid, knowing it will never be easy, and I have no clue what to say or how to make it better. But then, he shifts slightly in my lap and looks up at me, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You wanna watch your brother fail to score?” he asks, and suddenly, the weight on my chest lightens.
I grin, rolling my eyes. “Obviously.”
He shifts so that he’s able to see the TV, and I turn it on, stroking his hair gently as the game comes on. We’ll get through this together.
“Did the alcohol make it better?” I ask, already bracing myself for the answer.
“No,” he says. “It just made everything worse. And I kept drinking more, trying to numb it all.”
I nod, feeling the weight of his words way too much. Oh, I’ve been there so often. “I get that. Every time I took something, it was like a quick buzz—a moment of relief—but then it just turned on me. We need to realize that it’s not helping, Jay. Using substances to block out the pain only makes it worse.”
He sighs, squeezing my thigh gently. “You’re right. I just wish my brain would catch up and figure that out too.”
“You know what moment made me realize I had gone too far?” I ask.
I notice him turning around, his focus on me instead of the game. He’s listening, even if he’s not saying much. “What moment?” he asks, his voice soft.
“Do you remember Mom’s last sports gala? When you had to take me outside to watch the stars because I was so out of it from the drugs? I embarrassed everyone at the table.” I say it like it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing. I was so over myself.
He smiles, just a little, and there’s a sadness in his eyes that makes my heart ache. He looks so damn beautiful in this moment, more than words could capture. The soft glow of the lamp spills over his face, warming his features, and his messy curls fall gently over my thighs as he looks up at me. God, those eyes. Big, deep blue, and framed by lashes that are almost too long to be real. I can’t help but get lost in them. “Oh, I remember. How could I forget?”
He lifts his arm, gently brushing his fingers against my cheek, and I almost melt under the warmth of his touch.
“You told me that night, ‘This isn’t you.’ You even sent me a video of myself, and I was so shocked by what I saw—how I was acting, how I could barely stand without you. That’s when I stopped the drugs. It took me a while to really face it, but when I saw that video, I knew I had to make a change. I still mess up sometimes, but that’s why I stay away now. Especially after…what happened with Kix Lyle.”
“You’re doing great, Rosie,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “I should try to stay away too. But, you know, liquor’s everywhere.”
I nod, leaning down to kiss him, unable to keep my distance any longer. “Yeah, it’s tough. I’ve deleted all my dealer’s numbers, but I could get it in an instant if I wanted to. It’s more about overcoming that threshold, though. It’s not like I can just walk into a store or someone’s house and find it.”
He nods, quiet for a moment. He just looks at me and I could drown in his eyes. “Yeah. Alcohol is everywhere.”
The silence hangs for a second, and I can tell he’s starting to tense up again. I try to shift the focus, anything to keep him from slipping back into that place. “So, what am I looking at here, Jay? Pretend I have no clue. Explain this to me—what’s with all these lines and circles?”
Jay pulls his eyebrows together; his eyes still carry that quiet sadness but with a hint of playfulness behind them. “You’re serious? You want me to explain hockey to you?” he asks, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips now.
“Let’s see if talking about it helps,” I say, trying to make him laugh, hoping it takes his mind off the heavy stuff. “If not, we can always switch to something else…like, I don’t know, line dancing or something.”
He chuckles, but he turns around again. “All right, those lines mark different zones of play, and the center circle is for face-offs.”
I nod along, even though I’ve heard this stuff a thousand times. Hockey’s been my life since Dad and Riley dragged me to every game. But I keep going, pretending I’m clueless. “And what’s a face-off again?”
Jay laughs, his breath warm against my thigh. “It’s when the ref drops the puck between two players—one from each team—and they battle for possession.”
I watch the blur of bodies, sticks, and skates. “Okay, but why are they all bunched up like that?” I ask, trying to focus on the game but mostly on him.
Jay turns his head, those bluest of blue eyes locking onto mine, and I get lost in them for a moment before he answers. “They’re fighting for control in the corner. Rosie, you already know this.”
I smack him playfully on the arm. “I know, but look at you, all relaxed and talking about it. Come on, help me out. You guys love it when women need help.”
“I don’t—”
“Come on, play along just once.”
He laughs again. “See how Riley’s trying to dig the puck out?”
“Typical Riley,” I say with a smile. “Digging himself into trouble.”
“I still don’t get why he’s not using this new guy to help keep control. He’s drowning out there.” Jay’s voice carries frustration, but there’s also this subtle ache beneath it. He misses it—the strategy, the camaraderie, the way he and Riley and Colton used to sync perfectly. The wall they made together, impenetrable. It’s clear he feels like Riley can’t be replaced so easily.
I twirl a lock of his hair around my finger, mesmerized by how soft and shiny it feels. “Well, you know Riley. Thinks he can handle everything on his own.”
Jay’s gaze softens, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You two are more alike than you realize, Rosie.”
“I know.”
“How was your day, by the way? What’s up with the lawyer? Oh fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t ask until now.”
My cheeks burn. After all he went through, he’s still thinking of me.
So I tell him everything that went down with my dad and my lawyer and why I need to keep investigating.
“And what did you say to Ethan?” Jay asks later, his voice low as we lie tangled in his bed. His warmth surrounds me, my fingers tracing the inked lines on his skin, memorizing every curve and edge like they’re some kind of map—one I never want to stop exploring.
“That I don’t want to communicate over text anymore,” I murmur. “We never know who’s listening.” Even my own father could be reading along.
Jay hums in agreement, his fingers lazily stroking my back.
“And that he shouldn’t listen to my father if he tells him to stop digging.” I swallow, pressing my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Because I need to know what happened, Jay. The idea that I could’ve hurt someone…that I don’t even know what those people did to me —it scares the hell out of me. I need closure. I can’t let it go otherwise.”
Jay presses a lingering kiss to the top of my head. “Then we’ll find the truth. I promise you, we will.”
I exhale, letting that promise settle into my bones. “So, I asked Ethan to check Charlotte’s phone, see if he finds anything, and she googled the Club Melrose. I think we went there.”
“That bitch is hiding something from you. So, when are we going to the club? Investigating?”
“Friday? There’s a party happening again.”
“Perfect.”
“Stevens wants me to contact Vaughn,” I add hesitantly. “I guess I have to do that. Maybe we can combine the party with confronting him, asking what he knows.”
Jay goes completely still. Like, completely still. No blinking, no shifting, no casual little breath that tells me he’s still with me in this moment. Just…frozen. A human statue made of tension and sharp edges.
Unease curls in my stomach, pressing against my ribs as I tilt my head up to check his face. He’s staring straight at me, jaw tight, lips pressed into a line so thin it might just disappear.
When he finally speaks, his voice is calm—too calm. Shit. What did I do?
“You don’t…have feelings for him still, do you?” he says, and I bite back a smile. Oh . Oh. That sounds a hell of a lot like jealousy. And maybe I shouldn’t enjoy it, but I do.
“No,” I say. “I don’t think I ever did. It was just fun…until it wasn’t.”
Jay moves so fast I barely process it—one second, I’m curled against him, the next, I’m flat on my back, his body caging mine against the mattress. His hands are planted on either side of me, muscles taut, breath slow and measured like he’s holding something back, and I can’t breathe anymore. His blue eyes, usually warm, darken into something else entirely. Something dangerous . Something that makes my stomach flip and my skin buzz with excitement.
He stares down at me, gaze raking over my face like he’s searching for something—reassurance, maybe. Or possession?
“I don’t like it when you talk to your exes,” he says, his voice sounds like gravel rolling over silk.
A slow, knowing smile tugs at my lips as I reach up, my fingers tracing along the sharp edge of his shoulders, feeling the tension there. “Good thing I only have eyes for you, then.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and…he’s getting hard. Again.
“Do you?”
I nod, biting my lower lip just slightly, and his eyes track the movement like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. My breath catches and his weight shifts, his dick pressing into me, heat radiating from every point of contact. Jay’s expression hardens, something unreadable flashing through his eyes—something hungry .
And then—
Then he gets rid of my pants.