Chapter 27 Jaxon
Jaxon
Our mood is low but still holding onto some tiny flicker of hope.
Edmonton might have taken tonight’s game, but we’re still up two to one in the finals.
There’s still time to turn this around. The coach gives his speech—it’s the usual blend of motivation and technical breakdown—but tonight it lands heavier.
No one’s talking about post-loss beers. The energy in the room feels dimmed. We head to the showers in silence.
Normally, after a loss, we’d blow off steam and grab a drink, shake it off before it sticks.
But we’re all exhausted. Or maybe just spent in a different way.
I can practically feel the guys itching to get home to their families, to the people who help put the pieces back together when hockey tries to break us.
Families.
Mine are in Vermont, hours away. But Rowyn’s here. And technically she’s not family, but damn if she doesn’t feel like mine in ways I don’t think I’ve admitted out loud. Not even to myself.
“Hey, going out for a drink?” Tuck asks as he passes by, and I catch the way his shoulders droop slightly.
He’s down. Really down. And that’s not like him.
The captain is usually the one holding the glue, keeping our spirits together when the rest of us unravel.
For a long time, I thought he and Maria—the woman at the Nook—had something going on.
But lately he’s been alone. Quiet. Like a guy who thought he had somewhere to land and suddenly doesn’t.
I’m about to say yes, because he looks like he needs someone, and hell, I want to be that guy for him. But before I can answer, Nicklas slings his arm around Tuck’s shoulders.
“I’m in. Lumber-Jax here needs to get home to his girl. Look at him. Lovesick puppy.”
“Fuck off,” I shoot back, trying to make it light, but I can’t help noticing the way Tuck stares down, jaw tight. Hurt. Something’s going on with him, and I hate that he’s pushing it away.
“I’ll come. I just need to shower.”
“No, it’s okay.” Tuck gives me a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You go home to Rowyn. Nicklas and I’ve got interviews anyway.” His voice dips. There’s sadness there I’ve never heard before.
Did something happen with Maria? I’m not even sure they were ever officially together, but I thought there was a spark. Still, she’s got two teenage boys who would fight off a whole NHL roster for her, so maybe that’s complicated. Maybe he gave up.
As he walks off with Nicklas, already halfway into some conversation he probably doesn’t want to be in, I pause. I should go with him. Be the friend he clearly needs right now. But there’s this pull inside of me, one I can’t help but answer.
Tomorrow, I promise. I’ll reach out. Maybe meet up at the Nook, see if I can feel out what’s going on. Maybe I’ll take Rowyn. Unless she wants to head to Golden Grinds to see the coffee shop guy.
The thought lands hard. A sharp pulse of jealousy flashes through me, followed by something hotter. Anger. Possession. Not exactly feelings I want to examine, but there they are, loud and uninvited.
Rip jumps up onto the bench and calls out, “Guys, don’t worry. We’re going to take Edmonton down, and then we’re going to party.”
The guys cheer. I join in, or try to. It feels thin.
“The girls are going to Vegas next month,” Rip announces. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do a guys’ trip at my granddad’s hotel. You’re all invited.”
That actually sounds good. A break from all of this.
And maybe…maybe some nights I can sneak into Rowyn’s room if she’d want me there.
I wouldn’t want to step on her girls’ trip—it’s important to her—but the idea of sleeping without her next to me, even for a long weekend, hits harder than I’d like it too.
Get used to it, idiot. This thing ends after Vegas.
Now that thought feels wrong. Too final.
Maybe it doesn’t have to end.
Maybe…maybe Vegas isn’t the end. Maybe it’s just the beginning of something I’m finally ready to want for real.
But where does Rowyn stand?
I hit the showers, the sting of the loss still fresh, but the thought of Rowyn waiting for me helps dull it.
Just the idea of her in the box, watching me through every play, every hit, every shift—knowing she’ll go home with me tonight, slide into my arms—that feels like something I can hold on to.
Almost like I won something better than the Cup.
Since I’m not scheduled for interviews, I wash quickly.
No lingering. No letting my head spiral back into what I could have done better.
I towel off, change, and head outside. There are a few fans waiting, so I stop, sign jerseys and hats, offer a tired smile.
But even as I’m talking, my eyes are scanning.
Then I see her.
She’s chatting with Dani, but she’s glancing around, searching for me at the same time.
A warmth spreads through my chest, making everything else fall away.
As soon as her eyes find mine, she gives Dani a quick hug and excuses herself.
We weave through the crowd toward each other, and when our hands connect, I hold on like I’m afraid someone’s going to make me let go.
That’s when the cameras start to flash.
I lean in and kiss her—not because of them, not to make some fucking guy stand up and take notice of her—but because I need it. Need her.
When I pull away, her expression softens, eyes tinged with empathy. “I’m sorry about the loss. You okay?”
The question wraps around my heart. My throat tightens. It’s one thing to have teammates pat your back, or parents remind you how proud they are no matter what. But this…this is someone standing right beside you in the moment. No delay. No distance. Just here, in the mess with me.
I think about all the years I could have had this. Could have let someone in. But I didn’t. Because of fear. Fear of being used. Fear of being hurt.
She’d never hurt you, man.
“Head home?” she asks gently, tucking herself closer like she already knows my answer. “Or are you going for a drink with the guys?”
“Home,” I say instantly. No hesitation. “I’m beat.”
She nods. She doesn’t push me to go be a team player tonight, doesn’t suggest I get rest alone. And I’m weirdly grateful, more than I know how to say.
“Are you hungry? We can grab something, or I can make you something.”
I pull her closer. “How about I make you something?”
She narrows her eyes. “No, I’m taking care of you during playoffs, remember?”
I let out a tired chuckle. “Okay. How about we order in?”
She lightly smacks my arm. “You don’t trust my cooking?”
I bend forward and exaggerate an ‘oomph’. “I didn’t say that. It’s late, and I don’t want you in the kitchen—”
“Oh, I remember when you did want me in the kitchen.” She shoots me a wicked wink as I slip an arm around her and guide her toward the car.
“Is the honeymoon over already, Jaxon? Tired of me?”
“Fuck no,” I murmur into her ear, low enough that only she hears it. “I definitely want you in the kitchen, and every other room in the house.”
She shivers slightly, smiling. “Good. But first, I’m going to feed you. You worked your butt off on that ice and need sustenance.”
My stomach growls in agreement. “You’re right.” I tighten my arm around her, absorbing the simple comfort of being looked after. A guy could get used to this. To her.
As we walk toward the car, my thoughts drift before I can stop them.
Me, coming home every night to Rowyn. Or her walking through the door after work to find me already there. Cooking together. Arguing over who over-seasoned the sauce. Laughing until our sides hurt. Sharing the good parts of our day. The bad parts too.
When I’m on the road, we’d text. Call. Video chat if there’s time. Trade pictures from our day and late-night wish-you-were-here, and maybe a little sexy talk. I know her work is demanding, deadlines always breathing down her neck. I’d never want to take her away from that.
But then…
Kids.
The thought comes quietly, but it hits with surprising clarity. She wants them. It’s obvious in the way she lights up around Zoe and Grant. But her career. It comes first. And I respect the hell out of that. But it’s clear she wants a family too.
Still…if we did have kids someday, and I was away for games, we could get help.
A nanny, maybe. Except she doesn’t like that idea.
She’d want to be there. Present. The same way she is right now—with me.
How can she have the two things she wants most, without sacrificing something?
I’d never ask her to do that. So how can she possibly have the future she wants, especially with a guy who is on the road as much as I am?
Maybe it just can’t work.
We reach my car and her eyes are narrowed as she glances up at me. “Something on your mind?” she asks.
“Yes, my kitchen,” I wink, not wanting to delve into my heavy thoughts tonight or ever.
That brings a smile to her face. “Good, because I have something special for you.”
I open the passenger side door. “Want me to drive?” she asks, her gaze searching my tired face.
“No, driving actually relaxes me, but I appreciate the offer.”
She slides into the passenger seat, and honestly while I like the idea of her taking care of me, I will always want to take care of her, even when I’m exhausted. I hop in and we drive home. When I reach my place, she gives me an excited look, and I can’t help but think she’s up to something.
I hurry in, anxious to have her alone and when we step inside my place, warm familiar scents greet me. “You cooked?”
“Don’t look so shocked.” She laughs and takes my hand.
“What did you cook?”
“Only your favorite. It’s in the crockpot.”
I stop halfway down the hall and she turns to me, her head angled. “When did you do this?”
“When you were getting ready for the game. I wanted to surprise you.”
My heart swells, warmth at her sweetness going through me. “Rowyn, you didn’t have to cook for me.”
“I wanted you to have something hardy when you got home. I know how hard you work out there. So I made a call.”
“You made a call? To who?”
Instead of answering, she pulls me along to the kitchen and I step up to the crock pot to see chicken and dumplings.
I stare at it for at least five seconds as my brain races. “You called Mom. Got her recipe.”
“Yeah, it won’t be as good as hers, but I tried.”
“Babe.” I pull her into my arms and kiss the living hell out of her. “It will be better than hers because you made this for me.”
She smiles and then steps up to the cupboard “No,” I say forcefully.
She spins, confusion on her face. “No, you sit, I serve.” She looks like she’s about to protest so I take her by the shoulders and guide her to the table.
Once she’s seated, I pour her a glass of wine and serve up the delicious meal.
My stomach growls at the amazing smell as I carry two bowls to the table.
We go quiet, the only sounds are moans of pleasure as we dig in and once our bowls are half full, I glance at her. “How was your day, Row? How’s the town hall story going?”
She shrugs. “It’s going.”
Funny, her voice lacks the enthusiasm I heard that first night I slid next to her at Kilting Around and pretended to be her boyfriend.
Since it appears she doesn’t want to talk about it, I ask, “Rowyn, how did you manage this meal after a full day of work.”
“I clocked out early.” She slides a spoonful of chicken into her mouth and goes thoughtful. After a moment, she sets her spoon down and looks at me. “I need to ask you something.”
My heart pounds a little faster. Are things going to get personal? Does she know how I feel? Is she going to call me out on it? Will it ruin things between us or is there a chance she feels the same way?
I take a fueling breath. “Ask away.”
“I was wondering about something,” she says as she stands. She flops one hand out to me and I take it. She tugs and I rise to my feet. Her eyes are full of innocence and mischief as she blinks up at me.
The next thing I know, she’s on her knees, and pulling my zipper down. My cock thickens as she releases it and takes it into her warm hands.
“Fuck me.”
She chuckles and says, “I’m wondering about technique.”
Technique?” I manage through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, do you like when I use my mouth only?” She takes me to the back of her throat and as she moans in delight, it reverberates through me.
“Row…” Fuck, despite the team’s loss, I love everything about tonight. The way she cooked for me, cared for me, and now…is teasing me with her mouth.
Yeah, I pretty much love everything about this woman.
I love this woman.
“Or do you like when I follow with my hand?” she glances up at me as she takes me deep again, and grips my girth, her fingers also working my shaft.
Jesus, I am so screwed here—in more ways than one.