48. Dylan
DYLAN
I wake slowly, the kind of lazy, drifting wake-up that makes it easy to forget where I am. For a second, I think I’m back in my room on Athletes Row, sunlight warming my comforter, and a practice I’m probably running late for waiting in the distance.
A knock sounds at the door, soft yet persistent, and I realize that’s what woke me up. “Menace,” Jax says through the wood.
“Jax?” I murmur, brain foggy from sleep. I reach up to rub my eyes. “What time is it?” I go to grab my phone from the bedside table, but something tightens around my middle, preventing me from moving.
Glancing down, a heavy arm is slung over my waist, warm breath ghosting against the back of my neck, and the solid weight of a body curled protectively behind me.
At first, I assume it’s Griffin. I’m so used to him sneaking into my room at night that I don’t think twice about it, but then memories of last night creep to the forefront of my mind. Being out at the club. Dancing with Griffin and Jax. Ethan knocking on my door…
Twisting carefully, I glance over my shoulder.
Ethan’s face is relaxed in sleep, mouth slightly parted, lashes fanned over flushed cheeks.
The golden morning light drips over the high angles of his cheekbone and the strong line of his jaw.
He looks…soft. Human in a way he rarely lets himself be.
Not the overprotective, broody captain he so frequently is during the day.
My heart does a little flip.
I’d been surprised to see him on the other side of my door last night. He claimed he was just checking on me. Making sure I had everything for the night, but even after I confirmed I was fine, he lingered, like he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.
So I invited him inside.
I thought we’d maybe watch TV for a bit, then I’d pass out and he’d leave, but we ended up talking for hours—about nothing and everything.
He didn’t make a move or try to touch me, but he made an effort to get to know me, to connect.
I learned more about the enigma that is Ethan Maddox in one night than I have in several months of living together.
He’s so reserved, keeping to himself, that it can make it difficult to get to know him.
Truthfully, all of the guys are a little like that. Jax would be the most forthcoming.
In the predawn hours, we must have passed out from exhaustion.
I don’t even remember climbing beneath the covers.
I hadn’t intended for Ethan to spend the night sleeping beside me, but then again, I hadn’t intended to nearly mount Finn yesterday or get hot and heavy with Griffin and Jax on the dance floor like some kind of reckless exhibitionist.
My brain might still be guarded, but my body’s clearly staging a rebellion.
It’s just…when they touch me, I melt. When they look at me like that, I lean in. Every time I tell myself to hold the line, I find myself caving anyway.
And then there are the letters.
For weeks, I’ve been wondering who’s been sending them. Leaving folded words of color and quiet devotion tucked inside my locker or slipped into my notebook. I thought maybe Ethan. Jax, even. But never Finn. He was last on my list of potentials.
He’s the one who’s pushed me away the most. Who’s been hot and cold like it’s a sport. And yet I saw the resignation on his face when Kyle outed him yesterday.
All of them came from him.
Every note that has made me smile after a long practice or preen after we’ve won a game, that has picked me up when I’ve had a crappy day…every single one came from Finn.
From the boy who fought tooth and nail to keep me at arm’s length. To push me away at every turn.
Kyle claims he’s incapable of sticking to one girl, but those notes, the things he said to me in the hotel room yesterday, they paint a picture of a very different man from the one Kyle claims to know.
Maybe Kyle never knew Finn at all.
The real Finn.
The one who’s been trying to protect me in his own maddening, roundabout way.
Another knock on my door, this one more persistent, jolts me out of my thoughts, and I scramble out of bed, careful not to wake Ethan. Creeping across the carpet in my bare feet, I crack the door.
Jax is right there, arm resting above the doorframe, pools of brown instantly pulling me in. His gaze rakes over me, a crooked smile lifting his lips. I immediately lift a hand to try and flatten my obvious bedhead.
“How can you look so…alive this early in the morning?” I grumble, glaring at him.
He chuckles. “I know it’s early, but I wanna take you somewhere before the bus leaves.”
My eyebrows hitch. “Where? ”
“It’s a surprise,” is all he says, still smiling.
My eyes narrow on him, but he simply shoos me away to get changed. Closing the door on him, I hurry to grab my clothes and change quickly in the bathroom, before slipping back out of the room and leaving Ethan asleep in my bed.
“Musical beds?” Jax muses, noticing me silently closing the door behind me before we take off down the hall.
“Mm?” I’m still only half awake. I couldn’t have gotten more than a handful of hours’ sleep last night, and I’m already hoping I can conk out on the bus on the way home.
“Griffin keep you up all night?” There’s a velvety undertone to his words, and I wonder if he’s remembering our tryst on the dance floor.
“Now I’m regretting being a gentleman and not joining you, but I wanted to show you what I have planned for today before we go any further.
” Slipping his hand into mine, he says softly, “I’m hoping today helps show you how serious I am.
That I want you in my life, as a part of my future. ”
My eyes widen, but I can’t deny my hand feels perfect in his.
I love how easy it is to be around Jax. He’s closed off to most of the world, but he’s never really been that way with me.
Not since that night we first played video games together.
He dropped a wall that night, and it hasn’t been erected around me since.
“It was Ethan, actually, in my bed last night.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? I assumed he’d slept in Griffin and Finn’s room to keep an eye on Finn.”
I shrug, stepping into the elevator. He follows, pushing the button for the ground floor. “He just crashed. We talked.”
“Talked .”
The way he says it—the obvious connotation. I roll my eyes.
“It wasn’t…like that.”
“So, no shirtless cuddling? No spooning with benefits?”
Thankfully, there’s a soft ding followed by the opening of the elevator doors saving me from having to answer that. While there were no benefits , considering I woke up wrapped up in Ethan, there was definitely cuddling and spooning.
It’s early morning in November, and the city’s just starting to stir as we step out onto the street.
A cool breeze nips at my cheeks, and golden sunlight stretches long across the sidewalk.
The trees are on fire with color, red and oranges and dusky golds that shimmer in the breeze.
A couple of joggers pass us, earbuds in.
A man with a shopping bag and a coffee gives us a nod as we walk by.
My hand is safely tucked in Jax’s, our shoulders brushing as we walk side by side down the sidewalk.
It’s peaceful. Normal. In a routine where hockey trumps all and any moment we’re not on the ice or in the gym is spent cramming or studying, there’s very little time for chilled Saturday morning walks.
“So, where are we going?” I ask when we’re a couple of blocks from the hotel.
He glances down at me and winks. “You’ll see.”
“So cryptic,” I murmur, making him chuckle.
“Not a fan of surprises, huh?”
I shrug. “I don’t mind surprises. I guess I’m just more like Ethan—I prefer to be in control.”
“I get that,” he says, voice softer now.
“Growing up, control was something I never really had. I was at the mercy of someone else’s decisions—bounced between my aunt and uncle, whichever one was willing to deal with me that year.
Shuffled between houses without any say in what I wanted.
” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.
How lonely. “I guess I got used to the chaos. Learned to roll with it. It taught me to let go a little. Not everything has to be planned or perfect—although don’t tell Ethan that, he might have an aneurysm.
” He huffs a laugh, and I smile in reply.
Holding my gaze, he finishes, “Sometimes the unknown is where the good stuff happens.”
I can feel my cheeks heat. “I can’t say I disagree with that. I thought I had everything worked out when I moved here.” I make a gesture with my hands. “Hockey was the focus. The only focus. No relationships. No boys. No distractions.”
He smirks. “That’s because you like your lines clear. Your decisions measured.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m uptight?” I shove his shoulder, quirking a brow at him.
“No,” he says with a slow grin. “It’s my way of saying you’re brave enough to try and steer the storm. Me? I just lean into it.”
As we walk past a cute corner café, the scent of fresh coffee curls out into the morning air, and I moan aloud, making him laugh. “Need your morning fix?”
“Please.” I practically groan as he tugs me inside.
We order our drinks, and not long later, we’re back on the sidewalk, warm drinks in hand as steam curls into the crisp air.
I can’t keep the smile off my face, and tilting my head toward the sky, I let myself enjoy this—just being with him.
No drama. No rushing. Just us. Our footsteps in sync, and his fingers laced through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Eventually, we stop in front of a quaint little boutique with display shelves full of handmade pottery and delicate ceramics.
“A pottery shop?” Confusion colors my voice as I glance up at him.
“C’mon.” He drags me inside before I can question him further. We’re met with soft music and shelves upon shelves of silty-toned mugs, quirky bowls, and tiny ceramic creatures line the walls. It smells like clay and something earthy, and a friendly woman waves from behind the counter.
“Just let me know if you need anything.”
We wander the shelves for a few minutes. I run my fingers along a glossy, deep blue mug with little gold flecks. Jax picks up one shaped like a fox’s face.
I raise a brow at him. “This is adorable but…why are we in a pottery shop?”
Setting the mug carefully back in its place, he turns to face me. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks…nervous. My head cocks as I watch him, trying to understand why he seems so uncertain all of a sudden.
He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flitting to the window. “I just… I had this idea that we could keep your dad’s tradition going.”
I freeze. My heart skips, and my ears ring.
He pushes on, voice even more hesitant and slightly panicked sounding. “Not the same, obviously. But, like…our own version. You and me. Every away game, we pick out a mug together. Something dumb or weird or cool. Keep the memory of your dad alive but…but make it ours too.”
I stare at him, emotions a chaotic storm in my chest. My throat tightens. I don’t even know what to say. If I can even speak.
Words can’t describe…
Fisting the front of his shirt, I yank him toward me.
He’s so surprised that he comes, eyes wide as I plant my mouth on his.
His lips are hard beneath mine, but only for a second before he caves to my touch.
I run my tongue along the seam of his lips, and he parts, granting me entry.
I don’t deepen it. That’s not what this is.
It’s a thank-you. For seeing me. For listening. For…everything that I can’t put into words.
My lips tingle and his are swollen when I let him go, and his eyes shine as they dart over my face. “I don’t know what that means…” he confesses, voice thick. “Is it a dumb idea or?— ”
“Not a dumb idea.” My vision is blurry before I blink the sheen of tears away. “I love it.”
He hesitates, gaze meeting mine. “Yeah?”
I nod, trying really hard not to cry in the middle of the shop.
“Losing that tradition has been one of the hardest parts.” My voice catches, and I take a moment to inhale.
Smiling wistfully, I share with him, “I used to get excited every time he came home with a new mug. It meant more than he probably ever knew to know that he thought of me when he was away. That I was a part of his life even when he couldn’t be a part of mine. This…this means a lot.”
Jax brushes his thumb across my cheek before cradling my face in a soothing gesture that I lean into.
“I’d love nothing more than to bring back his tradition and make it our own,” I tell him in a thick rasp.
“Thank you.” My voice cracks over the words, and in the next instant, Jax has hauled me into his chest, his large arms banding around my back, his hand cupping the back of my head and holding me to him like I’m something precious to be safeguarded.
Time ticks by, but we don’t move. His arms remain securely wrapped around me while I bury my nose in his chest and inhale his cedarwood and mint scent.
He remembered.
As if it wasn’t enough that he fixed the mug Kyle broke, he’s gone and brought my dad’s tradition back to life. Breathed fresh air into it. Thought about it. Planned it. Risked my reaction to suggest it. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
The ache in my chest grows sharp and full.
It’s not just grief this time—it’s the sudden, startling realization that I care for him.
That maybe I’m already half in love with him.
But this, Jax’s kind of love? That’s the kind that sneaks up on you.
That seeps in slowly and then suddenly, all at once .
Eventually, he bumps my shoulder. “Let’s find the perfect mug.”
We browse the shelves together, holding up mugs, debating colors, shapes, and ridiculous designs. I snort when he shows me one shaped like a cat, and he laughs when I hand him one with a misshapen handle I can barely fit my fingers through.
After pointing out a few other ones, we both reach for the same mug—a hand-thrown one with a deep indigo glaze that catches the light like a lake at twilight.
“This one,” we say at the same time before both bursting out laughing.
Jax pays, ignoring my protests, and as we walk back to the hotel, his fingers laced with mine and a paper bag swinging gently between us, something unfurls in my chest. A tiny seed of hope. Maybe I can trust him—all of them, even.
Fuck, I hope so, because I’m pretty sure this is what falling in love feels like.