16. Jaxson
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JAXSON
The roar of the crowd is a physical weight against the plexiglass, a tidal wave of sound that usually centers me.
Tonight, it feels like a distraction. I glide across the crease, my skates carving rhythmic groans into the fresh ice, and try to ignore the way my skin feels three sizes too small for my padding.
The 'Ice Wall' is supposed to be cold, unyielding, and entirely devoid of anything resembling a heartbeat, but my pulse is currently hammering a frantic rhythm against the roof of my mouth.
Across the center line, Ryan Coleman is a blur of blue and white, his jaw set in a line so rigid I can practically hear it cracking from thirty yards away.
He doesn't look at the puck. He looks at me.
His eyes are dark pits of rage, and every time he touches the rubber, he isn't just trying to score; he’s trying to put a hole through my chest.
I drop into a butterfly, my pads hitting the ice with a thud that vibrates up my spine.
Ryan lets a slap shot fly from the top of the circle.
It’s a wicked, screaming thing that catches the edge of my glove and stings like a hornet, but I squeeze the leather shut.
The whistle blows, and for a split second, the arena holds its breath.
I don't celebrate. I don't even look at the stands where I know Harper is sitting, because seeing her would distract me.
"You're slow today, Thorne," Ryan sneers as he skids past the crease, the spray from his blades coating my mask in fine crystals of ice. "Distracted? Or just losing your edge?"
I don't give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. I just slide my mask up an inch, letting the frigid air bite into my damp skin, and offer him a stare that’s supposed to be granite.
This fucker isn’t going to come between Harper and me.
No matter what. I’ll even play nice with him if I have to.
The third period is a blur of violence and desperation.
Ryan plays like a man possessed, taking every hit and delivering ten more, his eyes never leaving the cage.
I stop everything he throws at me. A backhand from the slot.
A redirected tip. A desperate wrap-around that nearly catches me out of position.
Every save feels like a personal insult I’m hurling back at him.
The buzzer finally cuts through the tension, a sharp, metallic shriek that ends the siege.
Shutout. Thirty-eight saves. In any other world, this would be a career highlight, a masterclass in goalkeeping.
But as I lean my head back against the crossbar, my chest heaving, the victory tastes hollow while my girl is suffering.
I’m halfway down the service corridor toward the locker room, my gear still dripping, and my helmet tucked under my arm, when a shadow cuts across the fluorescent light.
Ryan is standing there, still in his Titans jersey, his chest pumping with the same frantic energy as mine.
He’s bypassed the post-game handshakes and the media scrum.
He’s here for the only thing that matters.
"Stay away from her," he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates in the narrow hallway. He doesn't move toward me, but the air between us is thick with the scent of ozone and unspent rage.
I stop, my skates feeling heavy on the rubber.
"That’s not fucking happening. Harper is mine.
I love her," I say. The words are quiet, but they fill the hallway, expanding until there’s no room for his anger or my fear.
It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud to someone who isn't Harper, and the weight of it is terrifying and exhilarating all at once. "I love her, Ryan. And I’m not letting her go because you can’t separate what happens on the ice from what happens in the real world. "
Ryan lunges. It’s not a calculated hockey hit; it’s a desperate, uncoordinated strike born of pure frustration.
He slams into my chest, the force of him catching me off-balance in my heavy goalie gear.
We hit the wall together, the sound of padding against concrete echoing like a gunshot.
His forearm presses against my throat, and for a second, I see nothing but the red-hot haze of his fury.
“She’s my sister.”
“She’s my everything.” I don't fight back when he punches me in the face. I’m bigger than him, and I have the leverage of the wall, but I just let him have his shot.
He throws another punch. I don’t even blink.
I take it. Hell. I probably deserve it. But then, right as Ryan cocks his arm back for round three, a streak of green and blue mixed with pure, unbridled fury barrels down the corridor.
“RYAN! What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” Holy shit. Harper’s voice could shatter reinforced glass. She’s standing there wearing a Knights’ jersey with my goddamn number on it. Fuck me. Just the sight of her turns my insides to mush while my cock turns to stone.
Ryan actually freezes, his fist stopping midair. He looks like a six-foot-five little kid caught with his little paw in the cookie jar. “Stay out of this, Harp,” he snaps, but it sounds weak even to my ringing ears.
“No!” she barks, wedging herself right between us like she’s invincible. “You’re being a complete asshole! This ends now, or I swear to God I’ll never talk to you again.”
He glares, but Harper doesn’t budge. She’s in firecracker mode, chin high, eyes blazing, practically vibrating with protective rage. I’ll be honest. I’m kinda turned on. And maybe a little terrified.
Her gaze darts over my face. “Are you okay?” She brushes a thumb under my eye, gentle, and so goddamn sweet. “You let him hit you!” she accuses, whirling back on her brother, all five-foot-nothing of her bristling.
I shrug. “Figured he needed to get it out of his system.” My eye’s swelling. Shit. Ryan’s got a hell of a right hook.
“Unbelievable,” Harper mutters, turning to Coleman.
“Get over yourself.” He winces as she pushes her finger into his chest, and I almost feel sorry for him.
“You can get pissed at Jaxson for kicking your ass on the ice.” Ouch.
That reminder is downright mean. “But you have no right to punch him because he’s dating me.
It’s none of your business.” By the time she’s finished her tirade, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
The corridor fills with players from both teams, and I realize our family drama is now out in the open.
Everyone and their brother is in the damn hallway now.
Guys from both teams. Trainers. Random game staff.
Even a couple of security guards who look like they’d rather eat thumbtacks than referee this fight.
Shit. If this circus makes it onto social media, every sports show on the continent is going to have a field day.
Ryan opens his mouth again, but my girl is faster. “Say one more word, and I’ll punch you in the face.” She’s got her finger poked into his chest, fire in her eyes. I swear to God, Harper should come with a warning label: Do Light the Fuse.
Ryan actually backs down. Just a fraction, but I see it. The big enforcer, terrified of his pint-sized sister. Honestly? It warms my heart.
“Jaxson’s part of my life now. Deal with it,” Harper says, voice cold enough to freeze the pipes in the whole damn arena.
“You get one warning. That’s it. Next time you even think about laying a hand on him, I’ll kick your ass.
” She’s not bluffing. Never seen her this pissed. It’s honestly a little terrifying.
Ryan looks like he’s about to blow an artery in his neck. He stares at me, then at Harper. Then mutters, “You’re embarrassing me in front of the guys.” All the rage, the bravado, the rivalry—it drains right out of him. Like he finally sees the truth.
“Damn, Caveman, your sister is ready to kick your ass,” One of his teammates calls out.
“Yeah, man.” Mick walks by, shaking his head. “That shit is downright embarrassing.”
“Fuck off and mind your own business,” I tell my captain, shocking all the fuckers in the corridor. I know. I just came to my biggest rival’s defense. It’s crazy what the love of a good woman does to you.
“I don’t fucking need your help,” Coleman growls and takes another step toward me.
“Not this again,” Harper growls, stepping back between us.
She turns and points at me. “Stop defending my brother.” Then she spins around to Coleman.
“And you stop being such a whiney brat.” She isn’t done.
Not even close. “When you’re ready to talk like an actual adult, you can call me. Until then, stay out of my life.”
My girl is a savage. Hell, I love her.
Ryan opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. That’s what I call victory. He looks like a pissed-off toddler about to throw a tantrum.
Harper straightens her jersey, brushes imaginary lint off her sleeve, then turns to me like nothing just happened. “I’ll wait for you by the exit. Don’t keep me waiting.” There’s steel in her eyes—and yeah, fuck, that smile turns my cock rock hard.
I don’t say a word. I just follow her down the tunnel, past the entire peanut gallery of players and staff. My fists are clenched, and my face is throbbing from where Ryan clocked me, but all I feel is pride. And love.
Behind us, Ryan stands glued to the spot, watching with a look on his face like he can’t believe what just happened. Honestly, I’m shocked, too. I never expected to have someone like Harper take my side, not against the world, and definitely not against her brother.