40. Jax
JAX
“There must be some sort of explanation.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them, shattering the silence that’s been weighing down the locker room like a fucking tomb since the rest of the team piled out, heading to The Stanley to celebrate our win.
Unsurprisingly, no one stopped to ask if we were coming, probably sensing that we weren’t in the mood.
Even Ethan didn’t try to muster the enthusiasm to go, even though usually, if the team is out, he is too, wanting to keep an eye on everyone and make sure no one celebrates too hard.
He hasn’t said a word since we got off the ice. Even now, his arms are crossed as he sits on the bench farther down from me, his jaw clenched so tightly I swear I can hear his teeth grinding.
Griffin doesn’t hesitate. “Of course there is.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for doubt. I glance his way, wondering how he can be so confident. He saw what I did—what the entire arena did.
I want to believe him, but my mind won’t stop churning. Dylan told us she had issues with her old team. That they didn’t get along. But she also dated Lucas. What if there were others? What if, once she burned bridges, she just started fresh at a new school—new team, new guys, new game?
All this time, I’ve been thinking we have something special—not only between myself and Dylan but between the five of us. I’ve sat back and watched as she got closer to my friends, catching glimpses of a future where she is ours . I’ve even accepted Griffin’s role in all of this.
And now I’m wondering if she’s done this before, with her old team. If it means nothing to her at all. If I mean nothing to her. It hurts. My entire life, the only thing I’ve ever had, the only thing I could call my own, was hockey.
Until Dylan.
I never had a stable home growing up, never a place where I felt like I truly belonged, but when I was around Dylan, I felt at peace in a way I never thought possible.
She was my home—the one I’d longed for as a kid, convinced myself I didn’t need as an anguished teen, had found the beginnings of in Ethan and Finn.
The thought that we—that I— didn’t mean the same to her…makes my stomach churn. Makes my blood feel like it’s burning under my skin. I liked Dylan. Hell, I was fucking falling for her. Based on how fucking wretched I feel right now, I’d go so far as to say I was nearly in fucking love with her.
And now, after weeks of watching her, learning her, getting pulled deeper and deeper into whatever this thing is between us, I’m starting to wonder if any of it was real.
There’s a swoosh as the door swings open.
Dylan walks in, skates digging into the floor, helmet dangling from her loose grip.
Her shoulders are rounded, her head low.
But the second she spots the three of us sitting there, her spine snaps straight.
There’s a sheen to her eyes that makes them sparkle beneath the bright overhead lights—a flash of raw, unfiltered emotion—before it vanishes behind a cold, unreadable mask.
Her gaze slowly sweeps over us before flicking around the otherwise empty room, looking for someone else. Looking for Finn.
“What are you still doing here?” she asks, returning her focus to us. There’s an edge to her voice, something wary, closed off. Like she’s suddenly realized she’s alone in an empty locker room with three guys who might not be on her side anymore.
Before I can say anything, Ethan steps forward, his expression hard. “We need to hear your side.”
Dylan scoffs, lifting her chin as she defiantly stares Ethan down. “You need to hear that I’m not a slut? That I didn’t make out with half the fucking NSU team? Or do you need to hear that I haven’t been playing you?”
Her gaze locks on to me, then Ethan, then Griffin.
“We’ve been living in and out of each other’s pockets for two months.
We live together. Train together. Play together.
One of you is with me every moment I’m on campus.
If a ten-second video is enough to make you think I’m someone else, then we never had a chance of being anything. ”
Silence stretches tight. Her words dig under my skin, planting themselves there like barbed wire.
Then Griffin moves. One step. Another. Until he’s standing directly in front of her.
With her skates on, it puts her at nearly the same height as him.
Her throat bobs as she waits for him to speak, but he seems content to drink her in for a moment, his gaze roaming over her face as though committing it to memory.
“I know exactly whose bed I’ve been sleeping in every night,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, but the words carry nonetheless.
“Whose lips I’ve been kissing. Whose body has been wrapped around mine.
Anyone who believes that amateur soft porn is an idiot undeserving of you. ”
Her gaze softens with hope, but she doesn’t truly allow herself to relax until his arm curls around her, pulling her against him. She buries her face in his chest, and a shudder rolls through her as she relaxes into his hold.
After placing a chaste kiss on the top of her head, he shifts, moving to stand behind her. One arm snakes around her waist, the other banding around the front of her chest as he pulls her flush against him.
They both stare at Ethan and I. Dylan with a shuddered, albeit slightly nervous expression, and Griffin with hard, unyielding eyes that promise pain and retribution. It’s clear whose side he’s on. Without a single moment of hesitation, he has chosen Dylan.
I envy him. I wish I could so blindingly move to her side.
Wish I didn’t have these questions and doubts.
And yet, seeing how resolutely he stands with her makes me wonder if he’s right.
What did that video on the jumbotron really tell us?
That Dylan has kissed a few guys? It would make each of us a hypocrite to say we hadn’t gotten around with other girls before her.
Some of us more than others, but there have been puck bunnies a plenty since we started at BSU.
There’s bound to be some reasonable explanation. Hell, even if it’s just that she hooked up with a few guys after a win or on a night out. That doesn’t have to diminish what we have. Her past shouldn’t be held against her.
My foot moves forward.
My weight shifts.
Dylan’s keen gaze zeros in on the movement.
And then the door bangs open, and we all turn as Kyle strolls in, Finn at his side.
“The gang’s all here,” Kyle sneers, his gaze landing on Dylan. “Even the whore.”
Griffin is on him in seconds, shoving him back against the wall so hard Kyle grunts in pain. However, he still finds it in him to smirk—cocky and sure.
My gaze catches on Dylan and Finn. The two of them are locked in a silent battle, seemingly oblivious to everything going on around them as they just…stare at one another. Even with his jaw ticking, Finn looks broken.
As for Dylan? She just looks resigned.
“Say that again,” Griffin’s menacing growl draws my attention back to his confrontation with Kyle.
A vein pulses along his temple, his hold on Reed’s shirt unrelenting.
“I fucking dare you.” A vehement snarl rumbles from his chest, his lip curling.
“ Please , do,” he taunts, voice low and deadly.
“I’m looking for any excuse to rip you limb from limb. ”
Kyle remains smug, quiet, satisfaction glinting in his eyes because he knows he’s getting under Griffin’s skin.
Griffin sneers, his rage only intensifying as he leans in closer. However, he doesn’t lower his voice as he snarls, “That jumbotron stunt, that was you, wasn’t it?”
Kyle’s smirk widens. “You needed to see who she truly was.”
Griffin doesn’t hesitate. His fist slams into Kyle’s face with a brutal crack.
Dylan’s gasp slices through the air as Kyle stumbles, clutching at his face.
Bent over with a hand on his knee, he breathes heavily before lifting his gaze to Griffin.
Hatred darkens his eyes. “You and Dylan are perfect for one another.” He spits blood onto the white floor, the bright red stark and offensive, before he stands up.
There’s a fresh cut along his lower lip.
“Crazy attracts crazy, I guess. But have the common decency to leave the rest of us out of it.”
“It’s laughable that you think you’re any part of this,” Griffin sneers.
Ignoring him, Kyle fixes each of us in his sights. “You should all walk away while you still can.” Focusing on Ethan, his voice is edged with insistence. “Don’t you see who she is now? She’s a user. She does this for attention, to divide the team. And you’re all falling for it.”
His accusations snap the last of Dylan’s restraint.
She surges forward, fury blazing in her eyes, ready to pick up where Griffin left off and land her own blow on Kyle.
I step in without thinking. My hand wraps around her arm, stopping her before she can throw a punch and hurt herself in the process.
The second our bodies connect, sparks ignite along my fingertips. My breath hitches, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how potently my body responds to hers.
She jerks her head toward me, eyes rounding in surprise.
I’m a little shocked, myself, that I intervened.
But I’m also pissed off at Kyle. He was behind the jumbotron stunt?
I should have suspected. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to question who was responsible.
To publicly humiliate Dylan so casually—it makes me murderous , even amidst all this chaos.
However, I don’t wish to see Dylan hurt. As entertaining as it would be to watch her give Kyle a black eye, the last thing she needs is to be benched for another game because she broke her hand on his smug face.
Ethan steps forward then, his face impassive. “I think it’s best if you go, Kyle. Before you end up with a broken nose to match your busted lip.”
Kyle smirks, glancing at Finn. “I’ll catch you at The Stanley.” Then, like a hurricane that leaves nothing but destruction in its wake, he’s gone.
However, with him gone, the buzz of tension that’s been residing in the air since she first walked in only escalates. Like the static that precedes a thunderstorm. You can’t see it, but you can feel the storm coming.
Whirling on Dylan, Ethan’s face is still set in that hard mask. “We need to talk about what happened tonight.”
As if realizing I still have her in my grip, Dylan glares at me, yanking her arm free before turning sharply to face Ethan. “Why?” she snaps. “What difference does it make? You’ve already made up your mind.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Ethan arches a brow in challenge. “Are you saying that wasn’t you in those clips?”
Her jaw tightens, her posture equally as stubborn.
“It was me.” A wound rips open inside me at that admission, so painful that I nearly double over.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself to breathe through my nose.
Out of the corner of my eye, Ethan stiffens, and Finn’s nostrils flare.
“But it wasn’t what you think,” she tacks on defensively.
“The photos were doctored. All of it, every single photo, was me with one guy— Lucas.”
“What?” That one word tumbles from my lips, hope and hurt clashing brutally inside me. Is she saying what I think she is? Was she set up?
Finn doesn’t seem to buy it, based on his derisive scoff. “And what about your old coach?” he challenges. “I’m guessing you didn’t fuck him either?” Dylan blanches, but Finn keeps going. “What’s your excuse for that one? Your long-lost twin did it?”
Advancing on her like a predator stalking his prey, Finn sneers.
“Was she the one sleeping with our coach too?” Holding his phone up in front of his face, Dylan’s face drains of all color.
“You can’t bullshit your way out of this one, Dylan.
You fucked your old captain. You fucked your old team.
And you’re pulling the exact same shit here. ”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ethan demands, snatching the phone from Finn. I move to look at the screen over his shoulder, brows pulling lower over my eyes as each strangely intimate scene with our coach unfolds.
I blink at the screen in confusion as I recall instances of catching Coach and Dylan standing closer than a typical player and coach. Times when it seemed as though Coach wanted to hug her .
My stomach twists dangerously.
Everything I’ve noticed—the way she and Coach interact, the familiarity, the looks—suddenly it all makes sense. The puzzle pieces slide into place with striking clarity.
Griffin snatches the phone from my grip, barely glancing at the screen before he scoffs, “You’re all fucking idiots. This video? The jumbotron? None of it tells you shit.”
And yet, Dylan is strangely quiet about the whole thing. Looking at her, she’s white as a ghost, her hands trembling. Unlike when she first walked in here, defiant and ready to take on whatever we unleashed, she now looks… guilty.
Yeah, that’s exactly how she looks.
And there’s only one reason why she’d feel that way.
At our resolute silence, Griffin shakes his head.
He turns to Dylan, easing her catatonic form onto a bench and removing her skates with fluid efficiency before helping her into her sneakers, not bothering to change her out of the rest of her gear.
Instead, he stuffs her belongings into a duffel.
Throwing it over his shoulder, he grasps her hand tightly and pulls her to her feet.
With an arm wrapped around her shoulders, he pulls her into the supporting strength of his body.
Leveling each of us with a ferocious glare that chills me to the bone, he escorts her toward the door.
Ethan just can’t help himself, though. “Where are you going?” he demands.
“Anywhere but here.” Griffin doesn’t stop as he closes in on the door.
“Fine,” Ethan harrumphs. “We’ll have this discussion at home.”
That garners Dylan’s attention. She goes rigid, forcing Griffin to stop. Slowly, her head turns, so she’s glowering at Ethan over her shoulder. Despite her pale skin, her eyes burn with a fire that looks nowhere close to being extinguished .
“I’m not going home .” There’s a terrifying calmness to her words. “I’ll be staying at Wren’s—indefinitely. And your bodyguard duties? Consider them no longer necessary.” Her gaze sweeps over all of us. “Outside of practice, I don’t want to see any of you.”
With that, she’s gone, whisked out the door and out of my life, leaving a cold, dark, gaping hole in my chest.