Broken Stick (Boston Bucks #11)

Chapter 1

Jaxon

I’m no knight in shining armor—or any kind of prince, for that matter—but when Rowyn Perry (a girl who once played Rapunzel in our school play) looks like she’s in trouble, there’s no tower too high for me to climb.

Or in this case, no crowded pub too loud or busy to stop me from sliding into the chair next to her and pretending to be her date.

Hell, just a few months ago, she waltzed into my disaster of a Christmas back home and bailed me out without blinking.

So yeah, I owe her. And judging by the way she keeps glancing at the door, chewing her lip and pretending not to check her watch every thirty seconds, she’s the one in need this time.

“Go ahead and order without me,” I tell the guys at my table, already pushing to my feet. My chair screeches across the wood floor, sharp enough to turn heads. Doesn’t matter. My focus is locked on Rowyn.

I’ve never seen her here before, which is saying something.

This place—Kilting Around with its dark wood, plaid booths, servers in kilts, the smell of fried fish and malt vinegar hanging in the air—is the hangout for the Bucks.

Tonight it’s burgers, whiskey, and post-road-trip unwinding for the team’s single guys, while the married ones bolted home to their families.

The guys start heckling the second I tug my coat from the back of my chair. “Another bunny, Jax?” Nicklas calls, like I’m out here collecting phone numbers. I smirk over my shoulder.

“Jealous?” I ask, even though I’m not looking for numbers or bunnies. It hasn’t been true for a long time.

Nicklas flips me off, which only makes me laugh. Then I thread through the crowd, my pulse ticking faster the closer I get to Rowyn. She’s at a table full of couples—everybody else paired off, her looking like Cinderella after the clock struck midnight.

I weave through the crowd, and when I reach her, I dip close enough that my breath ghosts against her ear. “Babe, I’m so sorry. We were late getting back.”

Her head snaps toward me, blue eyes wide as saucers when she realizes it’s me, her childhood friend crowding her. She doesn’t even get the chance to form a word before I lean in and press my mouth to hers.

Do I expect her to kiss me back?

Hell no.

I’m ambushing her, and Rowyn’s not the type to be caught off guard.

But does she kiss me back?

Uh, yeah, she does.

Instantly, fiercely, like she’s been waiting years for this moment, which couldn’t be further from the truth. But holy hell, if I didn’t know we weren’t together, I’d be convinced otherwise.

She breaks away first, lips curving into a slow smile that glitters with mischief. “No worries,” she says smoothly, slipping right into character. “We haven’t even ordered yet.”

That’s Rowyn Perry for you— a testament that she’s fast, fearless, and always three moves ahead—of me, at least. And damn if the only thing my brain wants to focus on is the way she tastes, like sweet wine and lazy Sundays snuggled in bed.

The latter, of course, is not my usual thing.

I smooth a hand down my shirt and pull out the chair beside her, momentarily ignoring the curious stares from around the table as I focus solely on Rowyn. I take my seat and it’s only then that I flash my best apologetic grin to the three couples watching me with intrigue.

“Sorry about that,” I say.

A woman leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you Jaxon Sheffield? From the Bucks?”

The guy beside her gapes at me like I’ve just skated straight out of a highlight reel. “No way,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” I answer, sliding an arm casually around Rowyn’s shoulders, giving all my attention to her, wanting everyone to know this is about her, not me. “I’m Jaxon.”

“Rowyn,” the woman squeaks, clutching her drink like it’s her last lifeline. “You didn’t tell us you were dating Jaxon Sheffield.”

“Lumber-Jax,” another woman pipes up, the nickname slipping out in a giggle. The attention makes me shift, heat crawling up the back of my neck. I’ve never loved the spotlight unless it’s on the ice.

Rowyn squeezes my hand and saves me. “Everyone, this is Jaxon. We go way back.”

“Snowberry Falls,” I add quickly. “Small town. Same playground.”

She rattles off introductions, and I nod like I’ll remember the names, though odds are I won’t see any of these people ever again. I do, however, wonder who this guy is who stood her up, and where I might find him.

Then the guy—Billy, I think she called him—leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We were beginning to believe Rowyn got stood up.”

“What kind of asshole would stand up a beautiful woman like Rowyn?” I ask, the honest words flowing easily from my tongue.

Billy continues, “One who is made up.”

What the actual fuck?

My murderous gaze slides to him, a warning hidden there.

He laughs it off. “I just mean we’ve never seen her with anyone before and then no one shows up.”

“I showed up,” I cut in, calm but lethal.

He eyes me like he’s suspicious. Yeah, she introduced him as a colleague, but my guess is he’s a sleazy reporter always looking for the angle to sell papers, whether that angle is true or not.

He opens his mouth, then shakes his head, like he’s going to go in a different direction.

“I can’t believe you’re dating Jaxon Sheffield. ”

Rowyn stiffens beside me. Her knuckles whiten on her napkin. My protective instincts kick into high gear.

“Oh yeah, why’s that now?” I ask, voice sharp as a skate blade, because yeah, I really don’t like this guy.

Billy shrugs, eyes flicking over Rowyn in a way that makes my jaw tighten. “It’s just… she’s not—”

His girlfriend elbows him hard enough to make his beer slosh. He cuts off, but I already know where he was going. Rowyn is not like the girls I’ve been seen with. Not the arm-candy bunnies who only ever cared about my jersey and paycheck, but not me.

I curl my arm tighter around Rowyn, tilting my head like the whole thing’s a joke.

“I get it. She’s a hard-hitting journalist who doesn’t waste time on dumb jocks or hockey players with more brawn than brains.

” I tap my temple. “Lucky for me, she gave me a shot because once upon a time, I carried her home after she fell off the playground swing and broke her arm.”

Rowyn’s eyes soften, glazed with memory as her smile blooms. “My knight in shining armor.”

The words hit harder than they should. The truth is, I always try to do the right thing, it’s the way I was raised. But a few years back, when I tried to do the right thing with the wrong girl…that ended in disaster. It was a reporter much like Billy who let the entire world know.

Billy shifts under his girlfriend’s glare. I grin, ready to steer the attention anywhere else. “So,” I say, squeezing Rowyn’s shoulder, “What were you all talking about before I got here?”

The table goes quiet for a beat, and I feel Rowyn tense under my arm. I squeeze her shoulder again, mostly to remind her—and maybe myself—that we’ve got this.

“Rowyn’s work,” one of the women offers brightly, like she’s desperate to change the subject. “Rowyn was just telling us about her latest story.”

Rowyn’s posture straightens as she launches into a polished explanation about corruption at City Hall.

I try to listen, really, but it’s impossible when her knee brushes mine under the table and stays there.

Her voice is animated, her eyes blazing with that fire she always gets when she’s on a mission.

I’ve seen her like this before, digging in her heels, chasing down the truth like a bloodhound.

It’s one of the things I respect most about her.

Also one of the reasons I’ve always told myself we’d never work.

Not that I’m looking for any sort of relationship.

Billy snorts halfway through her story. “Sounds dangerous.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Shouldn’t you be covering, I don’t know, Fashion Week or something?”

My grip tightens on Rowyn’s shoulder. “Funny,” I say, my tone anything but. “I didn’t realize being an investigative journalist came with a gender requirement. Guess I missed that memo.”

Billy rolls one shoulder, not even pretending to care. “Oh hey, I know. Maybe you could get the dirt on the Bucks.” He wags his brow, his eyes narrowing in on me like he’s trying to remember something he read from my past. I really hope he fucking doesn’t. “Now that you’ve got an inside guy.”

And that right there is why Rowyn and I would never work.

She’s a journalist. I know she’s not after a story on the Bucks, or me—but I’ve got scars from what happened last time.

Paparazzi tearing into my private life, every painful detail of my engagement fallout turned into clickbait.

My pain served up like hors d’oeuvres. No thank you.

Rowyn leans into me then, her lips grazing my ear. “Easy, Jax. He’s not worth it.”

She’s right. He’s not. But Rowyn? She’s worth a hundred broken knuckles.

Billy snaps his fingers at the server. I catch Rowyn’s eye, and she gives a small shake of her head, clearly as impressed with her colleague as I am. “Is that Penn?” she asks, nodding toward the bar.

I follow her gaze. Penn would normally head home to be with his fiancée after a game, but Jaylynn is now the public relations director for our team, so chances are she’s still working after our game.

“Want to go say hello?” I ask, already on my feet. I need her alone for a minute. Need to get caught up on what’s happening here.

“Be right back,” she says to the table, and they nod, distracted with their next round.

We weave through the crowd to the bar. After a quick hello to Penn, he heads back to the guys’ table, leaving us alone. Rowyn and I slide onto stools, the buzz of conversation and the low thrum of bagpipes from the speakers wrapping around us.

“Thank you,” she says, and puts her hand on my arm. Strange. She’s touched me before of course, but my body didn’t buzz the way it’s buzzing now. Maybe I’m tired after being on the road.

“Anytime. Besides, I owe you one.” I don’t want to say too much, yet can’t help but ask.

“Billy’s a friend of yours?” When her lips turn down, I hold my hands up, palms out playfully.

“No judgment. Okay, maybe some. But not much. Yeah, probably much.” I snort out a laugh, and from the corner of my eye, I catch the way Billy is watching us.

Good, let him see how good we are together.

Not that we’re together, but the fucking nerve of the guy to insinuate that she was faking a relationship—which maybe she was, and no doubt had her reasons.

She chuckles, the tightness in her face easing. “Colleague only,” she corrects. “His girlfriend Julie is nice, though.” Beneath the little black dress she’s wearing, her shoulders slump slightly as she glances back at the table, and I follow her gaze.

“Do you all quadruple-date often?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

“No.” Her brow knits, faint frustration there. “They’re basically all Billy’s friends. He wanted to set me up with a divorced friend of his. Actually, it was Julie’s idea. She thought we’d hit it off.”

I cock a brow, waiting.

She exhales. “I told him I was dating someone.”

Okay, I’m not the reporter here, but I sense a story. “Are you?”

A small, guilty cringe touches her lips. “Not really.”

“So that was a made-up story to get out of dating his friend?” I nudge her and tease, “Here I thought you were the only honest journalist in town.”

I assumed that would pull a laugh from her but instead she glances down, and for the first time, I catch a crack in her armor—just the faintest flash of uncertainty.

“Hey.” I tilt her chin up with my thumb until her gaze meets mine. “It’s okay if you made up a guy.”

“I didn’t. Not really.” She shifts closer. “There is this guy. I see him every morning. Same coffee shop. We chat while placing our orders, and he’s really nice. So I… foolishly asked him out.”

“Foolishly? Why is that foolish?” I ask, even as a completely irrational pang of jealousy tugs at me.

“Come on, Jaxon,” she huffs out. “You’ve known me since we were kids.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“Well, you heard Billy. Even he seemed surprised that we’d be dating. He knows I’m not your type. I don’t think I’m any guy’s type.”

“Because they’re intimidated by your brilliance?” I ask. Honestly, I’ve never seen a crack in this woman’s armour before tonight. She’s always exuded confidence, a woman who knew what she wanted and let nothing stand in her way.

She snorts softly, like I’ve broken through her defenses. “There’s a compliment in there, so thank you. But no. Because I’m not the kind of girl who could get a guy like you.”

I lift my head and find Billy still watching us. Something cold and possessive threads through me. I lean into her, slide my hand around her waist, tug her closer until her scent fills my head.

“Then let’s make him believe this.”

And before I can second-guess myself, I press my lips to hers—kissing her like it’s all I’ve thought about since I ambushed her table.

The problem is…it just might be true.