Chapter 33 – Jaxon
THIRTY-THREE
JAXON
Our home opener is against Penn State, who reports are tagging as the team to watch this season in our conference. They had a solid run a decade ago, but not much luck since. With a new coach—a former NHL coach coming out of retirement—and a crop of five-star recruits, they’re looking good.
But we’re looking better.
I have a good feeling about this season, about the team, about Jordan. Cooper keeps referring to her as our secret weapon. Maybe she will be, but I see her as our biggest asset.
Skates laced, ready to go, I double check the analog clock hanging above the locker stalls. I make it look like I’m heading to the bathroom before dipping around the corner to head to the women’s locker room.
“You dressed, Jords?” I ask, door cracked.
“Would it matter?”
I swing open the door, and my guards tap against the tile before hitting carpet. Jordan’s leaning against her cubby, brushing back her hair. There’s a pile of elastics in front of her.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Fine.” I tilt my head, and she sighs. Releasing her cheek, she places the brush in her lap. “I’m nervous. I don’t want this all to be for nothing.”
“It’s not.” I straddle the bench behind here, reach around to pick up her brush. I start brushing her hair. “One or two?”
“Two,” she says softly. I find her part and split the hair in two. “What if this is was a mistake?”
“The only mistake was them cutting your team. Just think, you’d be out on the ice tonight either way. Playing the game you love—”
She butts in. “On the women’s team, Jax. Not with people that are double my size, faster, stronger, and are used to the physical caliber that you’re allowed to play with.”
“So?” I ask plainly, taking one half of her hair to start a French braid. Picking up small sections as I go. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t good enough. You know you are.”
I finish. Pinch the end and reach around her to pluck two elastics.
“Where’s the girl I found out on the ice, zipping through cones, determination etched into her every movement? The one who wouldn’t let herself stop, demanding to run and rerun drills, till she saw improvement? A fight that’s as hot as it is admirable.”
“She’s here.”
“Yeah, she is, and I can’t wait to be out on the ice beside her tonight.”
Jordan contorts her upper body to look at me.
There’s something I can’t quite read in her expression, but whatever it is, I’m drawn to it.
This soft side of her, the vulnerability that she’s comfortable to share with me.
People think I’m magnetic, but they’ve got it wrong.
She’s magnetic and the more I’m around her, the harder it is to pull away.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone as much as I’ve wanted her.
“I didn’t know you could braid.”
“You’re not the only one that’s been practicing.” I smile, flick my brows up. The back-and-forth pull that’s been there between us is no different than how we can slide from vulnerability to playfulness. It’s easy with Jordan. “Turn back around, I’m not that good that I can do this sideways.”
She obliges. “Madeline?”
Last time she was over, I may or may not have bribed her to teach me how to braid on her American Girl dolls. “She’s a feisty teacher, a little scary, and I’m not sure I passed yet.”
Jordan works her hands over my completed braid. “Could be a little tighter, but good job. No strands left out or fly aways.”
“I didn’t want to be rough.”
“Too bad, I like it that way.”
“Hmm.” She can’t see me nod my head. “Noted.”
I finish the braid, tying it off.
“You should probably get back,” Jordan tells me as I rise from the bench.
“I will.” I play with the end of one braid, admire my handwork, admire her. “Good luck, Little Carmichael.”
“You two, Greene.”
Back in the men’s locker room, I check my phone. No messages.
Dad called earlier to wish me luck. Gushed about Mr. Carmichael setting him up with a streaming link for this afternoon’s game. I had to talk him through how to AirPlay it on his smart TV, but either way, there’s a comfort and thrill to knowing he’s watching.
Gran sent a text. A kind fuck them up that had me spitting out my pre-game protein shake. It was followed up by a request to score a goal for her.
No surprise, it’s crickets from Mom. Luka’s home opener is tonight too. Would go all in betting she’s at his game, decked out in Wisconsin gear. Could she attend both games? Yes. Lakeland is barely an hour from Wisconsin’s campus, and our games start three hours apart.
But the better question is, does she want to come? The answer is simple: no.
I didn’t expect her to reach out or show up, but it doesn’t make it sting any less.
After morning skate and a quick shower, I popped over to student teaching.
Grant, in a Bear’s Hockey shirt, was champing at the bit to tell me he was coming to the game after school.
He’s becoming more patient with his dyscalculia.
Working alongside his teacher and a few support specialists at the school, we’ve incorporated new learning techniques and had him approved for extended testing time.
“Female incoming!” one of the guys shouts. Jordan’s beautiful RBF visible over his shoulder. Coach is behind her.
She takes a spot next to Cooper. Her hair color is extremely vibrant, the contrast against the navy cubbies is stark. I can’t look away—not that I’d want to.
“Last season we were victorious,” Coach starts, making it a point to make eye contact with every team member, “but that was last season. This is a new season, which means it is a fresh start. I know each of you has high expectations for this season—we all want to win again. But what I want more than that? For you to have fun and go out there playing the game I know is in each of you. Give it your all for yourself and for the person to your left and right.” He finishes by going over lines for tonight, a minor change to third and fourth line, before giving the floor to our captain.
Cooper is the first to stand. “Bring it in.” We all join him forming a circle, sticks in the air. “Bears on three. One, Two, Three.”
“Bears,” we all say in unison with a thunderous echo.
We won.
Three to zero, and that’s how you kick off another potentially badass season.
We pour into the locker room, and if I thought the energy earlier was electric, I don’t know how to describe this. I cue up music once Coach gives me the nod.
I glance around the room, and it dawns on me that someone is missing.