Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
CHRISTOPHER
" L eave me alone!" Abby roars, slamming her bedroom door behind her for what feels like the fiftieth time this week.
I grip the edge of the frame of her bedroom door so hard my knuckles turn white, holding myself back from ripping the damn door off its hinges. And trust me, if I didn’t need a specialized screwdriver for it, that door would already be a memory. Don't get me wrong—I’m all about privacy. I don’t read Abby’s texts, I don’t snoop through her room, and I give her space when she asks for it. But I have one rule: respect. She can vent all she wants, but this door-slamming shit ends now.
Especially when the whole thing is over some punk kid named Ricardo, who, apparently, was her boyfriend until his new girlfriend dumped a tray of spaghetti on Abby’s head to make it official that he has moved on. I get it—being humiliated like that hurts. But slamming my door? That’s where I draw the line .
"Abby!" I bark, my voice cutting through the air like a whip. "If you slam that door one more time—" I stop, taking a breath to rein in my temper. "I will take that door off and toss it in the garage."
From the other side of the doorI hear her stomp around, and the distinct ripping of paper. And so fucking help me, if she is pulling the poster off her wall again, I am going to pull my fucking hair out.
"Come out here," I call from the other side of her door, keeping my tone calm but edged with steel. "We’re finishing this conversation. You’ve got school on Monday and that’s not up for debate."
It’s been a week. A whole week of sulking, hiding in her room, and refusing to face the mess at that fancy boarding school I am paying 55,000 dollars a semester for her to attend. I know she’s hurting, but I’m not raising a quitter. Abby’s going to have to face this girl sooner or later—and I’ve already offered to help her plot some creative payback if that’s what she wants. But instead, she’s convinced the only solution is to keep dating this Ricardo kid, someone I didn’t even know existed until now.
Fifteen. Just fifteen years old, and already she's dating. It feels like only yesterday that she was a small child, clutching onto my finger for dear life as we crossed the street. But now, she's yelling about how Ricardo was supposed to be her one true love, and it's all falling apart.
How could any fifteen year old be someone's everything? As a former teenage boy myself, I am trying to explain to her that boys are not worth it because for the most part we’re thinking with the wrong head, but I’m trying not to have the birds and the bees talk with her again. Last time, we both ran from the room screaming.
I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. I'm trying to meet her halfway, I really am. But it’s hard not to feel like the adult here, who has to draw a line in the sand.
"Listen, kid," I call out, my voice low but firm. "You have two options. You either transfer to public school and deal with life there, or you go back to that boarding school and handle things head-on. Either way, you're going to school. You can’t just hole up in your room forever."
I hear the floor creak from behind the door, like she’s standing there, deciding whether to come out or keep this battle going.
"And no more dating until you’re older," I add, crossing my arms over my chest. "Ricardo can wait. Right now, school comes first."
There’s a pause—a long one—before she huffs loud enough for me to hear.
"I'm serious, Abby." My voice dips into a quiet growl, the one I use when I mean business. "We're Jacksons, we don't run. We may take a beat to recover, but we get up, brush the ice off and tackle things head on."
Through the door, I hear a sniffle, followed by a grumble. "I don't even play hockey, Uncle Chris." Her voice is thick, weighed down with fresh tears, but I can tell she is one lame joke away from opening the door.
I lean against the doorframe, softening my tone. "I know. I tried, but you're too darn clumsy to stay upright on dry land, let alone ice. " A low chuckle rumbles from my chest .
There’s a pause, and then the door creaks open, just a sliver. "I get my clumsiness from you," she mutters.
I smile as her face peeks out from the narrow gap. Her light brown hair is dyed ginger. Her hair is messy, strands falling over her forehead in tangles from running her hands through it. Her freckled cheeks are blotchy from crying, and her brown doe eyes are red-rimmed and glossy with tears. She sniffles again, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie.
"You said you'd help me get back at her?"
I fight the smile tugging at my lips and keep my expression neutral. "Damn right, I will. We’ll come up with a plan so diabolical even she’ll think twice about crossing a Jackson. But first, you go to school on Monday."
She peers out through the small gap, still sulking but listening now.
"Deal?" I ask, arching a brow.
With a reluctant sigh, she mutters, "Deal."
"Good." I nod toward the table. "Now come eat. You're not plotting revenge on an empty stomach."
After Abby promises to start packing her bags again, I head over to the arena. It’s the first Friday night practice I’ve called in months, and judging by the grumbles I heard through the group chat earlier, no one’s happy about it. Tough. They can party when we’re champions. Right now? We’ve got a lot of work to do.
The improvement is there but it’s crawling along at a snail’s pace. Caleb, my assistant coach and longtime friend, is running speed drills with the team. Given that both of us are pushing forty, the fact that he’s beating half of these kids on sprints is unacceptable. They should be running circles around us by now, not the other way around.
"Move your damn feet!" I bellow. "This isn’t a retirement home, move like you’ve got someplace to be! "
Caleb blows the whistle again turning on his heels to start skating backwards, grinning like he’s enjoying himself way too much. The guy has always been an asshole, this is not new. “Come on, princesses!” he shouts. "Any slower and I'll make you do suicides."
I grin briefly, but it fades when I spot Isaiah trailing behind the group. "Isaiah!" I bark, my voice cutting through the arena like a slap. "Lift your damn knees. You're skating like you've got bricks strapped to your ankles. If I can catch you at my age, you might as well quit now."
Isaiah flushes but nods and digs in harder, pumping his legs, though it still looks like he’s running on fumes. I shake my head, muttering under my breath, " These kids wouldn’t survive ten minutes in a real game. "
If I was here to really be a coach, this team would demolish my ego, but if I'm not honest with the world, I'll be honest with myself when I say: I am here for Josie. I want Josie. This is a facade, but it's one I have to keep up with for now. I make my way down the line, checking form as Caleb pushes them through more laps.
"Thomas!" I shout when I spot him lagging behind again. "If you skate any slower, I’m putting a milk crate under you and calling it a sled. "
I cross my arms, rolling my shoulders back and nodding to Caleb, signaling that I’m done for now. He blows the whistle again, calling the team in .
"Alright, mock game. Second line, your team two. Grab the jerseys." Caleb shouts.
The players groan and start shuffling off the ice, sweat dripping from their brows. I head toward the bench to grab my clipboard when something catches my eye near the boards—a scrap of fabric in the penalty box, white with strawberries.
Frowning, I stride over and bend down to pick it up, the material soft between my fingers, and this can't be what I fucking think it is.
As I hold the fabric in my hand, I can't help but feel a rush of desire tingling through me, a sudden surge of desire coursing through me. It can't be true, I tell myself, trying to push away the images of Josie’s flush cheeks and pink lips as she whimpered and rocked her pretty little pussy on my fingers. But the scent of vanilla hovers in the air and I know for a fact it is Josie's panties from that night. They must have fallen out of my jacket pocket when I gave it to her to wear.
My breath gets caught in my throat because this only makes me think about how Josie hasn't answered my calls in days and I have been giving all my attention to Abby to get rid of any misconceptions she may have about who Abby is. I was planning on cornering her tomorrow and forcing her to forgive me on my tongue, but this small taste of her has to do for now.
With trembling fingers, I bring the fabric to my face, inhaling deeply as I imagine her skin against mine. Fuck, the way her soft breast fit so perfectly in my hand. The way she throws her head back right before she comes. How sweet her pussy tastes. I groan silently to myself, fuck— what is this girl doing to me?
The sound of the guys hitting the ice again causes my back to straighten. I look out over my shoulder, and nod towards Caleb who is looking at me with a puzzled look. I bet if he was any closer to seeing what I am doing, he would never let me live it down. I signal over my shoulder that I am going to take a bathroom break as I stuff the panties into my pocket, and walk towards my office. The sound of his whistle follows me down the tunnel to the locker rooms, and all I keep doing is rubbing the panties between my fingers.
I pace towards my office, my cock stiffening in my pants, pressing painfully against the zipper of my jeans. I groan silently, my breath hitching as the image of emerald eyes locking onto mine, pleading for more flash across my mind.
I push open the door to my office, closing it quietly behind me. The room is dimly lit, the only sound is the rhythmic ticking of the old clock on the wall. I lean back against the door, my chest heaving as I slide the panties out of my pocket and take one last deep breath, savoring the scent of Josie, fuck . At this point, she is like a drug to me.
I close the blinds to the office, turn around against the door so I hold myself up with my forearm. I unbutton my jeans and slide them down enough to let my cock spring free, precum already beading at the tip. My thumb runs across the bead and I already know that I am going to punish Josie for making me want her this bad all the fucking time.
I fist her panties and wrap them around my cock, imagining Josie's delicate fingers gripping me, her nails grazing my skin as she strokes me slowly. The little moans she would make. How she would probably be a dirty little princess and lick her lips at the cum sliding down her fingers.
I groan, the idea of making her lick me like a popsicle, and daring her not to miss a single drop. “Fuck, Josie,” I murmur, my voice rough and low .
My thumb swipes across the head of my cock, smearing the precum down my length. I pump my fist, the friction makes my balls tighten and the thought of Josie’s full, pouty lips wrapped around my cock, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside, makes my hips buck involuntarily.
The pressure builds, and I can hear Josie’s soft moans, feel her warm breath against my skin as she takes me deeper into her mouth.
“God, yes,” I grunt, my grip tightening on my cock. “Suck me, baby. Take it all.”
My pace quickens and I can already tell Josie would want to touch herself, shifting her thighs from side to side as she takes me so deep she couldn't breathe. Her emerald eyes would lock on mine, filled with desire, heat, and fucking submission. "Fucking naughty girl." I groan.
My thumb circles the head of my cock, spreading the precum around evenly. I can feel the tension building in my groin, the pressure mounting until I think I might explode. I picture Josie’s tight, wet pussy, glistening with moisture, waiting for me to plunge inside.
"Oh shit," I growl as my release spills over Josie's panties. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me, and I lay my head against the door, Josie’s cum-filled panties in my hand, and my breathing so shakily it sounds like I just ran a fucking marathon. I slide my cock back into my jeans and turn to lean my back against the door.
The fucked-up part in all of this? Now all I want is more. Not just the idea of her. Not the fantasy I’ve built in my head. I need her . Now. Squirming beneath me, moaning my name, and looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters. I need her in a way that feels like a goddamn sickness.
I run my hand over my face, trying to get a grip, but my body isn’t listening. My cock is still hard, twitching against the zipper of my jeans like it has a mind of its own.
I grab the panties and stuff them into the back of my desk drawer, slamming it shut as if that could somehow block out the thoughts racing through my head.
No more waiting. No more second-guessing. I’m done pretending I can keep this shit under control. Done allowing her to think she has a choice not to choose me.
I shoot Caleb a quick text: "Finish practice. I’m out."
He’ll give me hell for bailing, but I couldn’t give less of a damn right now. The only thing on my mind is finding Josie— my little ice princess —and making her melt until she’s nothing but soft, needy gasps and broken whimpers, begging me to take her apart.
I grab my jacket off the bench and head for the exit, my boots echoing off the arena floor as I stalk through the hallways with a singular focus. There’s no hesitation in my step. No plan, no caution—just need. I’ll find her.
And when I do?
She won’t stand a fucking chance.