Chapter 25 Jaxon
Jaxon
I’m practically vibrating with the need to get home. Yeah, we just won our first two games, and yeah, skating onto home ice in three days has my blood humming. But none of that is the real reason I’m restless. The real reason is Rowyn.
Home is where she is.
And after days of nothing but rushed texts and missed video calls, I’m starved for her—her voice, her stories, her smile I swear I can feel even through a damn phone screen.
I want to hear about her work, about the babysitting she took on, about the raccoon that apparently traumatized her enough to text me in all caps.
And I want her in my bed. Under me. Around me. Everywhere.
The second my feet hit the jetway, noise erupts—cheers, squeals, laughter.
The wives and kids are here in full force, signs in hand, excitement brightening the air like stadium lights.
I told Rowyn not to bother coming. She’s been run ragged this week, and I didn’t want her dragging herself out just to stand around in an airport.
But when Ash’s wife, Gina, jumps into his arms and the kids barrel into him, I feel that familiar tug—the one that hits right where it hurts. Family. Home. Warmth.
Ash lifts Zoe and spins her, and that’s when I see her.
Rowyn.
She’s hovering just behind them, half-hidden, like she’s not sure she belongs here. Like she’s waiting to read the room, read me, read something in the crowd before she makes the wrong move.
My heart slams into third gear.
Then fourth.
Then full-blown breakaway.
She freezes when our eyes meet. Not fear—uncertainty. And I hate it. I hate that I caused it by telling her not to come. Because right now, seeing her, smelling her, knowing she’s here for me, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
Hell, I’m grateful as hell she didn’t listen.
I drop my travel bag without even thinking.
Screw decorum. Screw pretending to be cool.
I close the distance in a few long strides, grab her by the waist, and lift her clean off her feet.
She squeals—this bright, gorgeous sound that goes straight through me—and I spin her just like Ash spun his daughter.
Zoe and Grant erupt in giggles, their little faces lit up at the sight of us. When I set Rowyn down, slightly breathless and flushed, the kids immediately swarm her.
She bends to hug them, and they spill everything in one breath—something about ducks at the park, the raccoon that ‘looked at them funny’, and how Zoe saved Grant from ‘actual danger’, which Rowyn nods solemnly at like she’s receiving a police report.
I swear my chest expands watching her with them.
“Come on, kids,” Gina calls, waving them over. Grant slips his hand into Rowyn’s, and the moment Rowyn’s eyes land on that small gesture—on that simple, natural family unit—something hits me hard. Right in the sternum. Sharp and unexpected, like a puck I didn’t see coming.
Longing.
Mine.
Hers.
Something shared.
Something dangerous.
“Can Rowyn come home with us?” Grant asks, looking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. The four of us laugh, and damn, it’s adorable.
“Not tonight,” Gina says gently reaching for him. “Daddy just got home. We have to hear all about his trip.”
“Okay.” Grant turns to Rowyn, serious as a judge. “You can’t come tonight, but maybe tomorrow.”
“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?” I swoop down and scoop him up before he can bolt. He shrieks with laughter as I tickle him.
“Ohhh, Uncle Jaxon,” he giggles breathlessly. “You can come too.”
“Well thanks a lot,” I deadpan, setting him back down. He sprints to Ash, and Ash lifts him effortlessly, spinning him once before settling him on his hip.
“Catch up later,” I say, and Gina and Ash wave as they head out—beautiful, messy, comfortable family of four. Something warm and aching twists deep in my chest as I watch them go.
Then I turn back to the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
“Ready?” I ask, stepping close, close enough that my hand finds the small of her back like it’s always belonged there.
She nods, soft and sure now, and leans into my touch like she’s been waiting for exactly this.
And just like that, everything in me settles. God, it’s good to be home, not because home is a place. But because it’s her.
She nods, and I guide her toward the airport doors, my palm warm against the small of her back. “You didn’t have to come,” I tell her softly.
That flicker of uncertainty flashes across her face again—like she’s still trying to decide whether she belongs in my world, whether she’s allowed to show up for me. I hate that she even doubts it.
I grin. “But I’m damn glad you did.”
Her smile tips into a wink that hits me square in the chest. “Please. How would it look if I didn’t show?”
“True,” I say, that reminder curling around my ribs, and reminding me what this is. What this isn’t. “But I was actually thinking about what it would look like if you weren’t wearing any of these clothes.”
She throws her head back with a laugh and presses a hand to my chest. “That can be arranged.”
The automatic doors slide open, letting in a gust of cool night air. I swallow a yawn, but she catches it anyway.
“You’re tired,” she murmurs, biting her lip like she’s trying not to say the next thing. “Maybe I should head home and let you get some real sleep.”
“The only way I’m getting a good night’s sleep is by putting my cock in you first.”
Her breath stutters, her body reacting before she even answers. I love that. Love that I can unravel her with one sentence. Love that she doesn’t hide what she feels.
“Do you mind if we stop at my place first?” she asks, voice a little shaky. “I need to grab some papers. I rushed out of work so I could be here when you landed.”
“No problem. Do you have to work tonight?”
Her shoulders slump—so subtle most people would miss it, but not me. The spark dims in her eyes. “No, but I’m watching Grant tomorrow morning so Gina can get through rush hour. I thought…”
“You thought you could squeeze in some work while he watches cartoons,” I finish for her.
She gives a small shrug.
“They love you, you know,” I say.
Her smile glows, quiet, real, full of something tender that grabs me by the throat. “They’re great kids.”
I let it go, even though I can tell there’s more beneath the surface. We reach her car and I toss my bag into the back.
“Want me to drive?” I ask.
“Nope. You rest. I’m taking care of you.”
“Oh, now that,” I say, dragging out the words, “sounds like something I can get behind.”
She smirks, and I slide into the passenger seat. “Feels weird being over here,” I admit.
She reaches over and lays her hand on my thigh—light, reassuring, way too intimate for the middle of a parking lot. “Relax, Jaxon. Take a nap. I’ll get you home safe. I mean…” Her grin turns wicked. “They wouldn’t have given me my license back if they thought I was still a menace on the road.”
My eyes fly open. “Oh, Jesus.”
She bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding. Mostly. Everything’s fine as long as I stay at least twenty feet away from Taco Bell.”
I stare at her. “What?”
She scrunches her nose. “Okay, maybe fifty feet. The ink on the order was smudged. But better safe than sorry, right?”
I shake my head, chuckling despite myself, and sink back into the seat as she eases us out of the lot.
Once we hit the highway, exhaustion catches me, but I reach out and rest my hand on her thigh.
She turns the music down, letting us fall into that easy, comfortable silence that feels like something rare.
I must drift for a bit, because the next thing I know, the car stops and she whispers, “I’ll just be a second.”
The hell she will.
I’m already popping my door open. Whether it’s how I was raised, or the fact that being away from her for three days was three too many, I’m not letting her walk up there alone.
“Jaxon,” she scolds as I join her on the sidewalk.
“It’s dark,” I tease, taking her hand. “Plus, I want to see your place.”
“You’ve seen it before.” She glances up at the narrow home wedged between two others, all tall and skinny like they’re trying to stretch enough to fit. “Small. Perfect for one.”
“I like small,” I say.
“I like big,” she counters, her voice low, playful, suggestive enough to make my blood heat.
I can’t help myself. “That’s what she said.”
She snorts. “Yeah. That is exactly what she said. I mean—what I said. Like just now, I said it.”
I pause, studying her. “You doing okay, Rowyn?”
She swats me with the back of her hand. “I’m fine. Focus on not falling asleep upright.” She starts up the walkway and I follow, watching the sway of her hips, the faint flush on her cheeks.
At the door, she jams the key into the lock and tries the knob. It sticks. Again.
“You still didn’t get this fixed?” I ask.
“Been busy,” she mutters.
“Yeah, you have.” I nudge her aside gently and give the door a hard shove. It finally pops open. “Let me take care of this tomorrow.”
“No way. You have hockey to think about.”
“I’ll make a call.”
“No, I’ll make the call.”
“Promise?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes. Bossy,” she grumbles as she steps inside.
Vanilla hits me instantly, soft, clean, unmistakably hers. She flicks on a light and I spot the diffuser glowing in the corner.
I step in behind her, closing the door with a quiet click, feeling the warm press of intimacy settle over us like a weighted blanket.
She glances toward the stairs. “I’ll just be a second.”
“You’re not going to show me around?” I arch a brow.
She freezes. Just for a heartbeat. A flicker of hesitation crosses her face, like she’s deciding whether letting me see her space again means letting me see too much of her.
Then she exhales. “You’ve seen my place before.”
“Not all of it.”
A beat. “I guess I can show you around.”
I shrug out of my coat and hang it on the narrow hook beside the door. “Living room looks the same.”
She nods, suddenly shy, and I take a slow step inside. Like the first time I was here, it’s cozy but still bare. This time I notice a sofa. A single chair. One throw blanket. Still no family pictures. No memories on the walls.
A heaviness settles in my chest. A place without echoes of a childhood. Without laughter caught in photographs. Without… warmth.
It makes me ache for her in a way I didn’t expect. If it were up to me, I’d toss her onto that sofa, kiss her breathless, and start filling this room with new memories—loud, messy, joyful ones.
“I haven’t done much decorating,” she says softly, almost apologetically, like she can feel what I’m thinking. “I haven’t been here long. And even if I had… there’s never time.”
I put my hand on her back again—because I can’t not touch her—and guide her down the hall. The smallness of the house makes everything feel closer, more intimate. We enter the kitchen, with an eating nook tucked under a window.
“This is nice,” I tell her, stepping up to the glass to look out at the tiny backyard, more postage stamp than yard. But it’s hers. And I can picture her sitting out there with coffee on a quiet morning, hair a mess, sunlight on her shoulders.
“Has your mom been by to see it?” I ask.
“Yes.” Her voice flattens. “She said it was a good starter home.” A pained, almost strangled laugh sticks in her throat. “Until I have a mansion, she won’t be pleased.”
I look at her sharply. “That’s what she wants for you? That level of success is the only thing that’ll make her happy?”
“It’s what she always wanted for herself,” she whispers. “And now she’s projecting. I kept her from having it, so I damn well better make it happen for me.”
That hits me like a check to the boards.
I step into her space and pull her into my arms. She comes easily, like she didn’t realize until this moment how badly she needed someone to hold her.
“Jesus, Rowyn,” I murmur into her hair. “None of that is right. Not one piece of it.”
“Yeah.” She exhales shakily against my chest. “I know.”
I ease back enough to see her face. Her eyes are tight. Guarded. Like she’s holding something heavy behind them. Something she’s terrified to say out loud.
“You have to do what’s right for you,” I tell her softly.
Her throat works around a swallow. Something flickers, vulnerability or fear or longing. But before I can name it, she slams the door on it. That bright smile—too bright, too quick—flickers back into place and she pokes my chest.
“I am doing what’s right for me. That’s what you and I are all about, remember?”
Remember?
Yeah, I remember.
I scrub a hand over my face as my heart thuds uncomfortably. “Right. Lessons.”
I spent years shielding myself, building walls, avoiding anything that could hurt. But with her? Something cracked open. She made me unlearn fear without even trying.
And now all I want is to help her unlearn hers. Help her see she doesn’t have to chase some impossible version of success to make someone else happy. That the WAGs, their kids, the team…me—we’re all here. She doesn’t just have one person to call family. She has a whole damn crowd.
“Jax?”
Her voice yanks me back. Her hand cups my face, thumb brushing along my jaw like she’s soothing something she can’t see.
“Yeah?”
“Where did you go?”
I huff out a laugh. “I think I just blacked out for a second.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I am.”
She frowns, guilt flashing across her features. “I should’ve taken you home and tucked you in bed.”
I grin, stepping closer until she has to tilt her chin up. “Well, you didn’t.” I brush my thumb across her bottom lip and nod toward the stairs. “But the tucking-in-bed part… that can still happen.”