Chapter 23 Jaxon
Jaxon
The locker room is electric after our win against Edmonton—sweaty bodies, laughter, the metallic clang of sticks against lockers.
The air hums with victory. We’re riding the high, tossing gloves, giving high fives, shouting until our throats burn.
For a few perfect minutes, it’s pure adrenaline and pride.
Coach steps in, his face a mix of approval and that usual don’t-get-too-cocky warning. He gives us a quick talk, rattles off who the media wants. Since I scored the first goal—thanks to Noah’s perfect assist—we’re both up for interviews.
As I strip off my gear, I catch sight of Jaylynn across the room. She’s got her arms around Penn, laughing about something, and for reasons I can’t even explain, it hits me like a punch. That small, innocent hug twists something deep in my chest.
She’s the team’s PR manager and it’s her job to be here, yet, that simple show of affection reminds me of what’s missing. Of who’s missing.
Rowyn.
The thought of her slams into me out of nowhere, like it always does. She’s everywhere and nowhere at once—under my skin, in my head, between every breath I take. And it’s starting to get dangerous.
How much longer are we going to pretend this is just for fun? She’s not pushing to end it, and God knows I don’t have the strength to call it quits either. But every time I think about her leaving—about her maybe ending up with hot coffee shop guy—I feel this sharp, ugly ache in my gut.
I tell myself it shouldn’t matter. She’s free to do whatever she wants. We both knew the rules going in. No strings. No promises. Just heat, just escape.
She never did respond to my statement about what she wanted in life—family, kids, that white-picket-fence life—but I can’t ignore the truth I heard in her voice when she first denied it was what she wanted.
That her work was everything. But if she does want it, deep down, I know I’ll never be that guy for her.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Still, the thought of her with someone else—someone safe, steady, unscarred—makes my chest tighten.
You can trust her, dude.
Yeah. I can. I trust her with my body, trust that she’s not trying to snag herself a hockey player. I wouldn’t have taken her to my bed without protection otherwise. I’ve seen too much of what happens when trust is just a setup. Hell, I’ve lived it.
The memory still stings—finding out too late that the woman I’d dated through high school had her own agenda. That I almost built a life, had a family, around a lie.
Family.
The word slices through the haze, sharper than it should be. My pulse kicks up as I head for the showers, the noise of the room fading behind me. Ember tricked into believing I was going to be a father once. And when that illusion shattered, so did something inside me.
Maybe Rowyn is right, though. Maybe there’s a part of me that still wants that—someone to come home to, a kid’s laughter in the background, something real. Maybe the reason I can’t stop thinking about her is because she feels like the piece of me that I didn’t even know I was missing.
I turn on the shower, hot water pounding my skin, but it doesn’t wash away the weight sitting heavy in my chest.
Christ. We won the damn game. I should be celebrating.
So why does it feel like I’m losing something I never really had?
“Hey, coming out for a drink?” Brady’s voice cuts through my thoughts, yanking me back to the present.
I shrug, trying to seem casual, but my chest feels heavy in a way that’s hard to mask. “I don’t know. I’m kind of tired, and I’ve got interviews.”
“If you change your mind, we’ll be in the hotel lobby bar,” he says with a grin, leaving it there.
I scrub off the sweat and adrenaline, trying to shake the ache that won’t leave me. Once I’m clean, I make my way to the interview room. Questions fly, cameras flash, reporters scribble notes. And then, almost like magic, someone asks about my… ‘reporter’.
I freeze, a grin tugging at my lips before I can stop it. Talking about Rowyn lights something up inside me I can’t quite contain. Her laugh, her touch, the way her lips felt—every thought sends a thrill through me.
After the interviews, I board the bus. The guys are scattered, lost in phones or quiet chatter.
It’s late, and I don’t want to wake Rowyn.
She spent the day babysitting Gina’s kids and will be up early again.
We’re not a real couple, and while we agreed to talk when I’m on the road, it’s too late for that.
If we were a real couple, maybe it would be different.
I glance at my phone, fingers hovering over her contact.
I want to know how the babysitting went.
I know they’d have adored her. And maybe—just maybe—it’ll give her a glimpse of what she really wants, what life could be if she stopped living a life her mom built for her, and started living for herself.
I set the phone down, my reflection ghosting across the window as we drive through Edmonton’s streets. The city lights blur into streaks of yellow and white, but my mind isn’t on the skyline. It’s on her. Always her.
When we reach the hotel, I start for the elevator, but Gunther catches me, looping an arm around my shoulders and steering me toward the lobby bar. “One drink won’t hurt,” he mutters. “You look like you need it.”
I slump onto the barstool beside Brady. He signals for pitchers and some food, then leans in, voice low. “Something on your mind?”
I shrug, trying to appear unconcerned. “Just tired.”
“No wonder. You killed it out there tonight. Keep that up and we’ll be taking home the cup.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, the words empty because my mind isn’t on the game—it’s on her, on the way my chest tightens when I think about her, on how utterly fucked I feel.
Brady tilts his head, his tone softening. I know he’s borrowing a page from his wife, the group’s resident psychologist. “Dude, if something’s on your mind, I’m here. You need to be focused.”
“I’m focused,” I lie. “Nothing’s going to come between me and the game.”
Penn slides in on my other side, pouring me a glass from the arriving pitchers. “Hey,” he says gently, eyes sharp. “You good?”
I shrug again, taking a sip to keep my voice steady. “I’m good.”
He doesn’t buy it. “You and Rowyn…everything okay there?” His gaze pierces me like he knows something I don’t.
But I do know. Too well.
I’m falling for her. Falling hard. And she’s…using me. Using me to learn, to perfect herself for someone else. A guy she actually wants. A guy I’m not.
And it was all my idea…
“Everything’s fine,” I say, the words tasting bitter.
Fine. Isn’t that what people say when everything inside them is on fire and they’re trying not to burn down?
He nods. “The ruse is still going strong?”
I take a measured sip of beer, trying to swallow the frustration that bubbles in my chest. “Yup.”
Am I looking for a real relationship with her?
Christ. Even if I did, I’m not the one she’s after. Not now, not ever. And yet, my heart won’t stop hoping.
But there’s that niggling again. If it was me, could I leave the past in the past, and give her what she wants?
“I heard she was babysitting for Ash and Gina today.” I nod and he nudges me. “Maybe she’ll get baby fever.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Baby fever. Rowyn. Someone else. My stomach churns, bile rising uncomfortably. I down the rest of my beer in one gulp. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
I push myself to my feet, heart still hammering. Honestly, I don’t want to think about Rowyn pregnant with another man’s child—or even imagine the thought. The very idea makes my chest tighten and my jaw clench.
I stalk toward the elevator, trying to shake off the unease, when a group of fans intercepts me.
I sigh, forcing a smile, signing jerseys, taking selfies, trying to keep my mind from spiraling.
A couple of them join me in the elevator, chatting excitedly, and I glance back to see Penn slouching into a sofa, phone at his ear, watching me.
Something about it twists in my gut. Like I’m… cheating on Rowyn.
I’m not. Never have been. Never will be.
And yet…even if I did entertain one of these girls, it wouldn’t be cheating. Not really. Not in the way that matters. My heart is already somewhere else—somewhere that isn’t here, isn’t this hotel bar, isn’t these strangers pressing against me.
One girl leans close, brushing her hand against my arm. “Are you sharing a room?”
“No, I have my own,” I say, careful to keep my voice steady.
“That must be so lonely,” she pouts, pressing a little closer, her body brushing mine.
I stiffen, every nerve firing. “I’m tired. I’ll just be hitting the bed.”
The other one edges forward, hand on my shoulder. “You’re so tight after the game. I’m a trained massage therapist. I can help with…this hardness.”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
I inch back, trying to maintain some semblance of personal space. “I’m good. Just need a hot shower.”
They giggle, not backing down. “You sure you don’t want some company?”
“I’m good,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “I have to call my girlfriend.”
Their eyes widen, and one leans in. “Well, she’d never have to know about anything.”
The elevator pings open, and I don’t hesitate.
I slip out, forcing a polite smile. “You ladies have a wonderful night. Oh, and have you met Nicklas? He’s down in the bar.
I’m sure he’d love a massage.” Their faces light up with mischief as the doors close behind me, and I shake my head, muttering under my breath. Some things never change.
I head to my room, key card in hand, heart still hammering. Inside, I toss my gear onto the chair and fish my phone out of my pocket. The urge to call Rowyn is almost unbearable, but the clock glows beside the bed: eleven here, one in the morning back home. Yeah…no way.