35. Jax
JAX
“Carter, a word,” Coach calls as practice ends and the rest of the team head toward the lockers to change.
It’s Monday, and after a team meeting yesterday to discuss Saturday night’s game, we’re back on the ice this morning, focusing on the next one.
That’s just how the season is. A moment of reflection before you move forward.
Always improving, always adapting. I like the fact that you’re constantly moving, never sitting still for too long.
But right now, I frown as Dylan stomps over to Coach in her skates.
It was her first practice back on the ice, and although she did amazing, I can tell from the slump of her shoulders that it’s taken it out of her.
Her skin is still stained yellow from lingering bruises, and her muscles must be stiff despite her doing a few warm-up laps last night to loosen them ahead of today.
What she needs is to stop moving and sit down. Maybe a warm bubble bath and a massage.
Still, I can’t exactly snap at Coach for keeping her on her feet longer than she should be.
“You coming?” Finn asks, stopping beside me to pull off his helmet. His sweat-slicked hair sticks to his head, and he runs a hand through it .
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a sec.”
He glances between me and Dylan, but makes no comment before heading toward the locker room. I should go, too, but I can’t seem to make myself move.
I want to ensure she makes it back okay. Her legs are probably sore and weary. She pushed herself to the max out there, and in her exhausted state, it would be easy for her to trip and injure herself further.
So while the team changes and heads out, I stand at the side of the rink and wait.
I do my best to not stare at her the entire time she’s talking to Coach, but it’s hard.
My gaze keeps inadvertently focusing back on her.
I’m too far away to hear what they are discussing, but I can surmise Coach is checking in, making sure she’s recovering okay, and assessing how she got on tonight.
He’d do the same with any other player on the team.
On one of my passing glances, he reaches out to squeeze her upper arm.
It takes me by surprise initially. Coach isn’t a touchy-feely kinda guy, and I’m especially surprised when his touch lingers.
It’s not an awkward pat or reassuring clap on the shoulder—his typical go-to moves with the team.
It’s something more. He says something to her, and she nods, his hand falling away before she smiles at him and turns away.
I watch as she stomps toward me in her skates.
Coach watches her a moment longer before he moves away to talk to one of the assistant coaches.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Dylan says as she approaches.
I smile, shaking off whatever that was. It’s probably because she’s a girl. Sure, we’re supposed to look past that, but it’s hard, especially when she’s hurting. With the attack happening right outside the arena, Coach is probably feeling particularly guilty, even though it’s not his fault.
“Wanted to make sure you got to the locker room okay. ”
Shaking her head, she grumbles something about overprotective boys as she moves past me. The locker room has mostly emptied out by the time we get there, and Dylan practically collapses onto the bench, groaning as her head falls back to rest against her locker.
“You overdid it out there,” I chastise. Of course, she couldn’t have just eased herself back into practice.
She had to give it her all, as though proving to everyone out there that she’s as strong as the rest of us.
Like we’d ever doubt that. She’s more than proven how tough she is.
Fierce and dedicated. Hell, she’s more driven than half the guys on the team.
“I’m fine,” she grumbles, without bothering to open her eyes.
“Yes, clearly.” I roll my eyes, not that she sees. “Need help with your skates?”
“I’ve got it. Just give me a sec.”
Lowering myself to the bench in front of my locker, I take off my skates and begin shedding my layers of protective gear.
A shadow falls over me, and I look up to see Ethan standing beside me, a towel wrapped around his waist. However, his gaze is focused on the brown-haired spitfire. “What’s wrong with her?”
I shake my head. “She overdid it.”
Once I’m stripped down to my boxers, I wait until the last of the guys have headed out before I approach her.
Ethan is changed but is clearly refusing to leave until Dylan does.
Finn has just emerged from the showers, and Griffin, who has become Dylan’s personal shadow, has been sitting watching her from the second she stepped into the locker room.
“Come on, Little Menace,” I murmur, kneeling in front of her. “Let’s get you showered and dressed.”
“I can do it,” she mumbles, wrenching her eyes open. They’re dull with fatigue, the usual green hue and golden flecks dimmed from their usual flare.
She leans forward to start on her skates, but I swat her hands away, doing it myself. I ease her skates off her feet, setting them aside, before rubbing my thumbs into the arch of her foot.
“Mmm, so good,” she groans.
“There’s more of that once we get home,” I promise her. “Shower or no?”
She rubs at her eyes before stretching her arms over her head. “Shower. It’ll wake me up.”
I nod, helping her take off her protective gear until she’s left in just her sinfully tight shorts that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination and make me instantly hard, and her equally revealing tank top.
She has the attention of all four of us as she grabs her towel and shuffles into the showers.
Once he’s changed, Finn flops down onto the bench with a loud sigh, folding his arms across his chest and resting his head against the locker while he waits. Everything about his posture says he’s pissed off at having to wait, yet he doesn’t leave.
“We’ll make sure she makes it to class,” Ethan states curtly, eyes narrowed on Griffin.
“I know you will, ’cause I’ll be with you.” Griffin’s stance is equally confrontational as he squares off with Ethan from across the room.
Ethan’s teeth grind. “That’s really not necessary. I’m perfectly capable of looking after her.”
“ We are,” I correct.
“Pretty sure she’d have all your asses for making it sound like she can’t take care of herself,” Finn unhelpfully points out.
“Regardless, I’m staying,” Griffin states with finality. “Besides, I got her something.”
I sit up straighter. “You got her a present? Why?” Shit, is it her birthday or something?
He lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Because why not?”
What sort of non-answer is that ?
My jaw tics, but instead of sitting here arguing with him, I snatch up my towel and head to the showers myself. Steam billows from a nearby stall, and I can hear the water running as I step into the one next door.
Throwing my towel over the door, I strip out of my boxers and flip on the water and step beneath the hot spray. It’s heaven on my overexerted muscles, instantly relaxing them and easing the tension.
I don’t stand under the stream for long, turning it off and grabbing my towel to wrap around my waist when I hear Dylan step out of the stall beside me.
“Feeling better?” My gaze inadvertently rakes over her towel-covered body.
Even though it hides her delectable curves, it does nothing to ease the pull I constantly feel toward her.
I felt it from the minute she stepped into our house that first day, with her head held high and defiance glinting in those hazel eyes of hers.
And it’s only gotten stronger at every turn when she has proved us wrong. When she has shown just how much of a Steelhawk she truly is. It’s in her blood.
“Much.” She gifts me one of her rare, genuine smiles.
Something in me slips the moment I see it—that soft curve of her lips, unguarded and real. It hits me square in the chest.
I close the space between us.
My hand slides over the fluffy fabric of her towel, squeezing her hip as I press my lips to hers.
It’s not rough. Not urgent. Just…something I’ve been wanting to do all morning.
Her lips part, and my other hand finds the back of her head, holding her carefully—lightly—because I know she’s still sore, still recovering.
She melts into me anyway, and fuck if I don’t feel something shift in my chest.
My fingers trail up her side and over the edge of her towel until I’m met with warm, damp skin.
I seek out the tension I know is there, and when I find the tight spot just beneath her shoulder blade, I rub gently, kneading it with slow pressure.
She groans against my mouth, and it shoots straight through me.
I could easily lose myself in this. In her.
Which is exactly why I force myself to pull back, forehead resting against hers, both of us breathing hard.
I smirk at her as my thumb brushes her collarbone. “There’s more of that waiting at home, too.”
The tension is palpable when we walk back into the locker room.
Finn looks about ready to remove Griffin’s head from his shoulders.
I give Ethan a questioning look, but he simply shakes his head, lips pursed in a thin line.
Dylan either doesn’t notice the tension or pretends not to as she moves to her locker and starts to throw on clothes.
“First practice over with,” Griffin says, giving her one of his boyish grins that makes him look less like the unfeeling psychopath he is, and that frequently has girls going weak at the knees for him.
I don’t see it, but whatever. Pushing off the wall he was leaning against, he approaches once she’s changed and packed, and ready to leave. “You’ll be back in play in no time.”
She gives him a small, weary sigh. “Hopefully.”