Chapter 45 – Jaxon
FORTY-FIVE
JAXON
“Jaxon! Jaxon!” Grant sprints across the blacktop, his class already outside for recess. He throws his arms around my waist, hands sticky with whatever's on his face. “Mrs. Clemens graded my test, and guess what?” He doesn’t give me a second to answer. “I got a fourteen out of seventeen.”
I rustle his floppy hair. “No way, dude.”
“Way.” He releases me, tongue swiping up jelly from the corner of his mouth. “Are you proud of me?”
Proud doesn’t even begin to describe it. Grant’s been working with a math interventionist twice a week and was approved for extra testing time.
“So proud.” I drop to my haunches, putting us at eye level. “Are you proud of yourself?”
He nods with a smile that reaches his ears. “An-and I didn’t even need that much extra time. Mrs. Clemens let me eat lunch in her room and play with Legos. That’s why I’m late to recess.”
I huff out a laugh, happy that the Lego idea worked. I suggested it a few weeks ago, and the next day, there was a container of them waiting for Grant when he arrived at her classroom.
Seeing first-hand results is encouraging.
Maybe this weekend I’ll finally take Jordan’s advice and show Coach the plays I drafted—at least our offensive assistant. The spiral notebook is tucked away in my cubby.
“Build anything cool?”
“Well,” he starts, a blush grows across his cheek. Grant quickly glances over his shoulder toward a new student, I think her name is Zoey.
Little Casanova. Pretty sure he had five different crushes this summer, and four the summer before. At least he’s moved on from his crush on Jordan.
“She’s cute.”
“Shhh. She’ll know we’re talking about her.” He covers the side of his mouth. Breath reeks of peanut butter. “Zoey’s really, really cute and loves Legos too. I asked her to my hockey game.”
“What did she say?”
We have to sidestep, a game of kickball gearing up behind us.
Grants turns the color of a tomato. “Yes.”
I offer him my knuckle. “Boom!” He touches his to mine, dragging them away in an explosive movement.
“Now, if there’s a kiss cam and it lands on her—”
“Kissing a girl? Ew. She has cooties.”
“Shoot, I forgot.” He giggles, urging me in the direction of the multi-colored playground.
“Do girls have cooties when they get older?” Grant gets in line for the monkey bars.
“Nope, and neither do boys.” I shift my jaw. I probably should say yes, and probably should change the subject. “How is hockey going? Did they ever find a new assistant coach?”
“One of my teammates’ dads has been volunteering when he can. Are you going to come to a game?”
“When I get back from our games in Cincinnati, I will.”
Coming off the ice, I’m on a high.
We won, but being back at the rink I grew up coming to is surreal. I spent countless summers on this ice for hockey camps and daydreaming about making it to the NHL. In high school, we played here against our rival. And the locker room is the first one I ever posted a video in.
I did a lap as fans were clearing the stands, and despite knowing they weren’t in them, I still looked for them.
Dad and Gran always made sure to be at my games, and now stream them however and whenever they can—besides Beckett, he probably knows our schedule best. If I had to guess, our schedule is taped to the fridge and in his office; probably as reminders on his phone too.
Dad called before the game to let me know they wouldn’t make it.
It was better than skating out onto the ice and searching the stands for him.
He’s watched me do it before, still holding out a child-like hope that Mom would be somewhere.
Tucked away in the nose bleeds or along the glass proudly sporting my number.
But she was never there. Never wanted to be there.
I think that’s what hurts most. At least Dad wanted to be here tonight.
Before his accident, Dad played on the firefighter team. They’d play against other first responders across the country. It was beer league’s finest.
It’s how I got into skating. I’d tag along with him to practice, barely able to stand on blades by myself. He’d let me latch onto his stick as he’d pull me around the rink.
Guilt quickly eats up the happy memories, a homesickness accompanies them. I could’ve played here; Cincinnati wanted me. I tried to stay, but Dad wouldn’t let me and even on the days I regret it, I know it was for the best.
On the bus, I check my phone, untucking it from the side pocket of my gear bag stuffed with extra socks and a random pack of gum.
“I’ll take one of those.” Coop snags a piece of gum, then another tossing it at his sister.
Dad
Great game. Sorry, I couldn’t make it.
Me
It’s okay!
I hit send on my next text before I think twice.
Me
We play tomorrow at two. Are you able to come then?
It takes him a bit to reply, but when he does, my stomach is filled with rocks sinking.
Dad
I’m really sorry, but I can’t, Jaxon.
Gran’s car is in the shop, and we don’t have a way to get into the city.
I swipe out of the text thread, needing a breather, and open my music app. Start up the first playlist without even looking at which one it is. Corded headphones are pressed so deeply into my ears, they could be a part of me. I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes.
Again, guilt creeps up my spine—this time with an unpleasant and old friend. I pull my hoodie over my head, hoping no one can see my facade slip. It takes silent affirmations, reminding myself that he at least wants to be there, to crush the seeds of anxiety inside me.
Cooper shifts in his seat, plucking a headphone out of my ear, the cord looped and dangling from his pointer finger.
“Geez, Jax. How do you still have eardrums?” He jolts back, hit with a blast of drum and guitar beats.
“It’s not that loud.”
He leans around the seat to tap Seb, a sophomore two rows ahead. “Horvoski, what song is Jaxon listening to?”
There’s a long pause, but he responds correctly.
“Fine,” I give in when Cooper pulls a face, head tilting. “But there’s no other way to tune out your annoying face.”
“Ha.” Cooper returns the earbud. “Chase found a sports bar near the hotel. Wanna go and watch the games? Or do you already have a house party I’m going to pretend you don’t sneak in from?”
Coach agreed to pizza and gave us a curfew of nine-thirty. But that doesn’t usually stop some of us from crashing a campus house party or two.
Too bad the only crashing I’ve been doing is in Jordan’s hotel room—which is exactly my plan tonight; she’s already texted her room number. Luckily, Cooper thinks I’m still sneaking in from parties, asking no questions because he doesn’t want to be an accomplice if I get caught.
“No party tonight.” I force a loose smile, try to make myself more believable. Really do up a yawn too. “I’m sort of tired and think I may just order room service.”
“Room service?”
“Tell me a hot shower and curling up in a robe with a burger and an extra-large side of fries in bed with a movie doesn’t sound awesome?”
“Who are you? My sister?”
Eyes that have been pinned ahead whip to him. “What?”
“That’s what Jordan does after games, but instead of a movie she’ll do crosswords.” Yeah, because she can’t stand my movie choices, but refuses to tell me. I shrug, playing it off. “Everything okay?”
“Tired, like I said.”
“Jax.” Cooper’s tone goes serious. “We promised—”
“It’s my dad.” He only needs those three words to understand. The disappointment cracks my carefully laid mask. Cooper isn’t a stranger to it. Living together in a room made for dolls, he’s heard the calls with my mom and seen her effect on me.
“You know he’d be here if he could.”
“I know.” I sigh, but knowing this doesn’t make a difference. I know Dad isn’t Mom. That her not coming to my games was deliberate. Her leaving was a choice, and Dad is limited by his surroundings. I know and believe this, but I’m failing from separating them.
Later, after our college pizza party, Cooper stays in with me.
We order room service, getting two extra orders of French fries and requesting every condiment they have in the kitchen.
Agreeing to watch a Marvel movie even though action movies aren’t his preference, we sit in our respective queen beds.
“Greene,” Coach calls from the double-door entryway of the conference room, where the team is stuffed in for breakfast after morning skate.
“Yeah?” I say mid-bite, the bacon of my sandwich slipping from my mouth.
Coach shakes his head. I always wonder if he thought coaching college hockey players would be so close to parenting.
“Chew,” he commands. “Then come here.”
I salute him, taking another large bite.
“Cooper’s my alibi if I’m taken for questioning,” I joke to my roommates, shifting to stand. The five of us, plus Jordan, all seated around a round table.
She’s been more talkative this morning, and as of late. Opening up, joining in on jokes—not just with us, but the entire team. However, her body stiffens and she starts chewing on the inside of her cheek. A tick she does when she’s anxious or nervous.
I circle the table, run a pinky finger along the back of her chair, catching a strand of hair. Her head turns in my direction.
You good? I mouth. She nods, but I don’t believe her. I’m about to sit back down or drag her out of the room when Coach calls my name again.
“Greene. The bench has an open spot,” he threatens. “Let’s go.”
Go, Jordan mouths to me, a nervous flip to her mouth.
I jog out of the conference room, Coach holding open the doors for me, gesturing for me to head toward the lobby.
“What’s u—” I’m lost for words. Behind Coach is my dad and Gran.
“You’ve got twenty minutes before I need you back in there for film.”
I open my arms to hug Coach, but he shakes his head. One of these days, I’m going to hug him even if it’s like hugging Oscar the Grouch. “Thank you,” I tell him, no clue how he pulled this off.
“It wasn’t me.” It’s all he says before spinning on his heels and disappearing back to where we came from.
I cover the distance to them in less than five strides.
“I’ve never seen someone do five splits in a row,” Gran jokes, and people wonder where I get my humor from. I pull her petite frame into a careful hug. “Oh, come on, hug me like you mean it.”
I hug her tighter. The top of her head barely comes to my chest. She smells like homemade cinnamon rolls and lavender. An interesting combo, I know, but one I love and usually means she’s been baking. Sure enough, she pulls out a container full of cinnamon rolls from the back of Dad’s chair.
I think my eyes fall out of my skull, replaced with two stomachs.
I’ve already had five, Dad signs, laughing.
Leaning down, I give him a side hug, snaking my arm around his broad shoulders. Before I straighten, I give one of his biceps a feel. “Is that why you’re so weak?” He laughs, knowing I’m kidding. Dad has done everything he can to combat muscle appropriation.
“Like my outfit?” Gran asks, arms splayed out wide.
She’s in a Lakeland jersey. The grizzly bear on the front growling and as ferocious looking as a cartoon animal can look. Doing a spin, my name is on the back with gemstones outlining each letter. Numbers too.
“Did you do it yourself?”
“Your father did.” Her brows do the worm. Dad rolls his eyes. “We’re coming to the game too.”
“How?”
They both shrug, but I know there’s something they aren’t telling me. We move to a sofa and chair in one corner of the lobby, and I take advantage of every minute I get with them.
On my way back to the conference room, across the lobby, sipping coffee and reading the paper, I think I spot Ryn Carmichael. My suspicion confirmed when his wife finger waves at me walking out of the elevator.