Chapter 34 – Jordan
THIRTY-FOUR
JORDAN
I think if you cut me open, this is what my insides would look like.
An empty locker room. Cubbies waiting to belong to someone.
Dimmed, sometimes flickering, lights that hide cracks in the walls and faults in the floor.
A leaky shower head, a slow drip that cannot be shut off.
Somewhere, locked behind a metal door, is old equipment and gear, jerseys lying lifeless in a pile on a dusty shelf.
I feel alone.
I feel so alone.
Inside myself. Inside this locker room.
It’s irrational; we beat Penn State. I should be happy. Should be proud of the way the team and I played, but as we cleared the ice, I watched the guys turn left while I turned right. Excitement trickled out of me, replaced by longing for camaraderie and someone to relish in this win with.
My loneliness dominoes from there. The feelings I fought off earlier while getting dressed returning.
Slowly—as if I could magically peel off my skin and change who I am as easily as it is to change clothes—I take off my gear. Unlacing my skates, one by one, slipping them off. Feet planted on the floor, digging in as I attempt to steady the intrusive thoughts pulling at me each way.
Jersey goes next. I run my fingers over the eleven, then CARMICHAEL stitched across the top. Beneath my pads, I peel the ribbed tank, taking my sports bra with it, over my head.
Before, I’d never do this. Never strip down, naked and exposed. I never wanted anyone to see what’s underneath—the girl that didn’t want the invite but wanted a friend, a place to belong—see the pointed edges I’ve tried to round, or see the scab that reopens whenever someone calls me ice princess.
Because I’m alone.
I feel alone.
I feel so alone.
I tip my head back; the end of the braid I had tucked up in my helmet skim the top of my pants. I undo the elastic, looping it onto my wrist before shaking out the blue strands.
Inhaling, I work to replenish the air in my lungs.
Fingers intertwine with the ties on my bottoms, but freeze at the sudden noise.
A door—not the one leading to the ice—is flung open, the sound ricocheting off the painted brick walls.
Footsteps follow, and I quickly shove my gear into the bag, desperately searching for my change of clothes.
Seriously? I can’t even get fifteen minutes after the game to change. God forbid take a shower or decompress.
Laughter, familiar and warm, drifts over my bare shoulders. I clutch my chest, spinning at the sound of Sutton’s voice. I can feel my eyes stretch wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“Now, that is a look.” She grins as Elliot and Xanie agree.
Mom’s behind them, looking a bit frightened, before her features soften. “I barely approved of your brother being in that shirtless holiday calendar. I may need a retirement home if you are also participating.”
“Or a fat glass of wine,” Elliot suggests.
“You mean a full bottle?”
“Do you wanna be my mom?”
“What are you all doing here?” I ask, hands still tucked into my armpits, arms pressed tightly across my boobs. I could have sworn I locked the door earlier.
“Well, you think I would miss my little sister’s first game kicking boys’ asses?
” Molly steps between them, her split jersey the opposite of Mom’s.
I knew my parents and Sutton’s parents were coming; they’ve always driven in for our first home games of the season, but I didn’t know about Molly.
She’s been busy with rehearsals for the new play she’s in that opens later this fall. “Never. Put on a shirt and hug me.”
My mockneck sweatshirt had fallen to the floor, and in my unneeded haste, I must’ve kicked it under the bench. I throw it on, spinning to hug my sister.
“How long are you in town for?”
“Till tomorrow morning.” She takes a step back and spins. “Like my jersey? Meave made them for Mom and me.”
One half is our home jersey, the other away. The front sports a growling grizzly, and the back is a combination of Cooper’s and my jerseys. Our name is perfectly split, slicing between the I and C. The three from Cooper’s number (#36) and the second one from mine (#11).
Elliot throws an arm around Molly. “They’re sick. I already asked Meave to make me one.”
“And whose jerseys are you combining?” I ask, lifting a brow sarcastically.
“Don’t let them get in your head too. Chase and I may have the same last name, yes, we all know it looks”—she tucks her sandy blonde hair behind her ears—“fantastic on my back and his, but I’m thinking Greene and yours.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I say through gritted teeth.
For whatever reason, I don’t like the idea of her wearing his jersey.
Honestly, anyone wearing Jaxon’s jersey.
I know it’s a fever dream to think that no one would be in it.
He’s a walking love potion. One look, accidental or not, and he’ll have you swooning over him.
There was a whole row tonight in the student section with his number painted on one cheek and what had to be homemade tattoos of him with his stupid grin on the other.
“We’re all team Jordan.” Elliot mimics a cheerleader, triangulating an arm on her hip, the other straight in the air.
Mom comes to hug me, squeezing life and warmth into me. The locker room feels less like a prison in her embrace. “I’m so proud of you, Jojo.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetie.” She presses a kiss to my head before coughing. “I think we should leave, and let”—she coughs again, and this time I’m pretty positive it’s fake—“Jordan shower. Dad made reservations at an Italian restaurant for tonight.”
“Non-family included?” Sutton rolls her eyes at her roommate.
It’s Mrs. Davis who responds. “Elliot, the minute you met Sutton, you became family.”
They leave, and I’m all alone again. Lighter, but still alone.
I strip out of the bottom half of my gear and slip on shower shoes. The only sound coming from them slapping against the tile. I pull back a curtain and turn the spout to the hottest setting.
Before climbing in, I pull up one of the playlists Jaxon’s sent me. They’re always unsolicited and sent to me when he’s supposed to be in class or on recess duty. I teased the other week, asking if all he can think about is me. His response, immediate and engulfed my body in an inferno, was yes.
I hit shuffle, a crime according to Jaxon. Playlists are meant to be listened to from start to finish, you can’t just listen to them out of order, he claims as if it’s bible. The music is amplified by its propped-up state.
There’s another sudden noise, the front entrance door opening and closing. I surmise it’s one of the girls; they forgot something or came back to keep me company. Ignoring who or whatever it is, I pull back the shower curtain and step under the spray.
Hot water relaxes my tender muscles. Playing against guys is exactly as I expected it to be, physical.
Already from practice, I come home sore and bruised, and those guys take it easy on me.
Our preseason games weren’t as physical, both teams playing cautiously before the regular season starts, not wanting to waste any players.
But tonight, it was as if Penn State was out for blood—I guess they have just as much as I do to prove. Can’t wait to play them again this spring. Shutting them out tonight is great for us, but you could see it in their eyes that whatever took place tonight wasn’t over.
A moan creeps past my lips as I shift, allowing the forceful spray to reach my lower back. I stand there and let each droplet melt away the soreness. Another moan sneaks out.
“Do I need to be jealous of whatever’s making you moan like that, Blue?” Jaxon’s voice filters into the shower stall. Low and husky, there’s hints of teasing and jealousy mixed in.
Shit. I forgot someone had walked in, and I can’t deny I’m not excited by the fact that it’s him. The heat that’s slowly enveloping the entire space isn’t from the shower, but him.
I curl my hand around the curtain to pull it back, only enough that he can see my face, but enough that I can see…all six foot, four inches of naked him.
“Showers were all taken over there. Thought I could sneak one in here.”
“There’s five other stalls.”
“Broken.” He smirks.
I shake my head at his ridiculousness, but the weird somersault my stomach did earlier when Elliot mentioned wearing his jersey, it’s back again.
Planting roots inside of me and spreading, filling the empty cavities inside me, coating my veins.
Working its way to nameless cubbies, a permanent marker in tow, scribbling over and over again.
“Come here, you fool.” I open the curtain to him, reaching out an arm to drag him under the water.
He immediately kisses me, lips fervent and eager against mine. Large hands press and pull into my hair, moving me back against the shower wall.
Jaxon drops to his knees, showing me just how magical and incredible his mouth is. I curse out his name in pleasure, not once, but three times, before he stands up. He kisses me, and I can taste myself. It almost drives me over the edge again, and down on my knees.