28
ETHAN
Jax gazes up at me from the bench, his damp hair falling onto his face. He’s shirtless, with the lower half of his gear still on.
His best friend sits beside him. I interrupted their conversation about riding. Grant was offering to go to Kyle’s with Jackson to get his Ducati. It’s not a good idea. Jax doesn’t need to be on a motorcycle or at Kyle’s right now, and I make a mental note to discuss it with him later.
Jax lifts his chin. “Hey, what’s up?”
“PR wants you.” I nod toward the door. “You up for media?”
They wanted an interview in the locker room, with him breathless from a hard practice, sweaty and half-naked, but I held them off. I’m not about to let them bombard him.
PR hasn’t granted reporters access to him since he relapsed—well, besides the tunnel incident, which was outside our management. After his suspension, they did a photo shoot but wouldn’t allow any Q I feel it.
He rakes his fingers through his wet hair. “Will it get them to leave me alone? My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing.”
“I make no promises. Might as well get it over with.”
He snatches a towel from his cubby, wipes his face, and changes quickly.
We exit the locker room, and the PR team swarms in. A girl I don’t recognize smiles at Jax and reaches to fix his hair.
He knocks her wrist away. “Don’t touch me.”
Her face flushes bright red, and silence descends among the group. No one seems to know how to handle him.
I clasp his shoulder. “What’s wrong with his hair?” I glance between him and the girl.
She shakes her head, her eyes glassy, and everyone averts their gaze.
I shrug and tousle Jax’s hair. “Be nice.”
“Do they play with your hair before you go out there?”
“My hair isn’t wet and in my face.”
“Still, they know better than to touch me.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. This is going to be a disaster.
Jax steps up to the mic, and the cameras flash. I stand to the side with my arms crossed over my chest. I rarely hang around when players are interviewed, but my presence may ease his agitation.
Patty, head of PR, signals a reporter to begin.
Some sports journalist gets to his feet. “Hi, Jackson. Congratulations to you and your fiancée on your engagement.”
“Wife.” Jax clears his throat. “We’re married.”
“Wow!” More cameras flash. “Congrats.”
He offers a sharp nod. “Thanks.”
“You were double-teamed against Boston. During your last breakaway, what made you think you could waltz through the defense like that?”
Jax glances my way. “Is this a trick question?”
Laughter rings through the room. They want a cocky, provocative sound bite from him, ideally a jab at the opposing team.
Instead, he says, “There were three or four defensemen, if you count the goalie. It’s my job to get past the defense, and it’s the defense’s job to try to stop me. If I balked every time I was guarded, Coach wouldn’t be very pleased with me.” His lips curve into a crooked smile full of secrets.
“You seem to have a close relationship with Coach Blackwood,” says the next reporter.
Jax doesn’t even attempt to hide his devilish grin. “You could say that.”
More laughter. The tips of my ears burn, and I clench my jaw. I’m about to have a heart attack. Someone needs to shut this down—immediately.
I glare at Patty, and she shrugs.
There’s a list of subjects reporters are instructed to avoid, such as Jackson’s relapse. They’re not invited back if they don’t, so they’re obliged to meet our demands. Why am I not on that list?
Because you’re his coach, and he’s a player. How would they restrict questions involving that relationship?
I’m on the verge of calling this whole thing off when Jax says, “Coach would go to bat for any of his players. That’s the man he is. You don’t get any better than him.”
My gaze connects with his. He gives me that longing look again, and I lose my breath. My world tilts. Panic must be written all over my face, because his expression sours. During the rest of the interview, he remains short and dismissive.
On the way home, it’s quiet in the car, and I can tell he’s annoyed with me. He stares out the passenger-side window, his knee jumping. I release the gearshift and grab his leg to stop him from fidgeting. “We’re fine. Just be careful of what you say. I don’t need to be fired.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Like that’ll ever happen.”
“I’m serious. Not all of us have unlimited money. This is an opportunity of a lifetime for me.”
A cocky smirk plays on his lips. “What? Being with me?”
My God, I nearly roll my eyes. “Coaching you. We’re heading to the playoffs.”
“You’ll always be my coach. You’ll be the only coach I ever have. If they fire you, I walk. It’s that simple. We’ll be sitting at home doing whatever the fuck we want with the unlimited money we have.”
Well, shit. What do I say to that?
A notification dings his phone, and I remove my hand from his thigh as he pulls it free of his pocket. He scrutinizes something on the screen while I make my way down the Pacific Coast Highway. The ocean view is unlike anything I’ve seen in New York. I can understand why they love it here.
“Motherfucker,” he mutters.
“What is it?” I lean out the window and punch in the code for the gate, getting it wrong the first time. What was the date the baby was conceived? June? Only Jax would set this code. On the third try, the light turns green.
The garage is full of boxes delivered from Jackson’s downtown and Laguna penthouses that neither he nor Aurora wants to go through, and I park in the driveway. The car doesn’t even come to a complete stop before he jumps out and storms into the house.
I’m hot on his heels. “What the hell is going on?”
He passes the entrance, strides through the kitchen, and hangs a right to Reece’s side of the house. Fuck, this can’t be good.
“Motherfucker erased the security feed.” He doesn’t bother with the handle. He lifts his leg and delivers a powerful kick to the bedroom door.
The impact echoes through the hall, the splintering wood filling the air with a sharp crack . My brain must be tripping, because the only thought that comes to mind is shit, we’ll need to get that fixed.
My sight is instantly drawn to Reece’s bed, where Aurora jolts awake.
She was asleep in his bed. I have no time to process what this means because Jax is rushing at her, eyes blazing with murder.
He towers over her, his fists clenched into tight balls. “Where the fuck is he?” Fury reverberates in his growled words.
She clutches the blanket to her chest and scrambles away from him. “We didn’t… I…I was having a panic attack and fell asleep here.”
He thrusts his phone in her face, and she flinches.
“Then why the fuck did he erase the security feed? Hmm? Tell me that, Aurora!”
The harshness of his raised voice brings tears to her eyes, and once he’s in reach, I grab the back of his shirt and yank him to me. He’s in a rage, and he’ll never forgive himself if he hurts her—and neither will I.
Her pleading gaze connects with mine. “Nothing happened,” she sobs.
Reece comes barreling through the door, Charlie behind him, and Jax struggles against me.
“Calm down.” I get an arm around his throat. “They didn’t do anything.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Reece glances from Jackson to Aurora. “Ven aquí,” he tells her, which must be Spanish.
She rushes out of bed, fully clothed in the same leggings and T-shirt she was in when we left today. I highly doubt they slept together. She hides behind him, using him as a shield, and clutches his shirt.
He interlaces their fingers, drawing her arms around him. “You’re lucky she’s still here.”
I freeze. “What did you say?”
Jax fights against me, struggling to shake me off. “He’s trying to take her,” he chokes out.
I loosen my grasp on him, ready to intervene with Reece if necessary. “You won’t make it out of this house.”
Charlie steps beside Reece, his hand at the small of his back. He’s in uniform—black tactical pants, a black shirt with HSI on the sleeve, black combat boots. He’s a smaller guy, but it’s clear he’s prepared.
Reece throws his hands up. “I’m not trying to take her. I brought her back. She wanted to leave.”
“Why?” Jax and I say in unison, both of us aghast.
He scoffs. “You watched the footage.”
Jax tenses in my hold. “You deleted the footage.”
“What? No, I didn’t,” Reece says, taken aback, before his head whips to Charlie. “You’re a real fuck-up today, you know that?”
Sorry , Charlie mouths with a grimace.
“Can you fix it?” Reece asks.
His partner presses his lips together and shrugs.
Reece releases a heavy sigh. “Aurora overheard Charlietalking shit and decided she was leaving.” He gestures toward the beach.
“I picked her up and brought her back with her literally fighting me. I might have bruises. I nearly caught a knee to the chin for your videos.” He fixes Jax with a pointed stare.
“I brought her to my bed to watch her. She started panicking, and I stayed with her until she fell asleep.”
Jax’s heart hammers against my chest. “My videos? You told her about the videos.”
“I…” Charlie falters. “I may have mentioned them…and said some things I was wrong about. I adjusted the security feed to make it up to Aurora.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Jax pushes away from me. “Were you two police academy dropouts? The feed stops at her standing outside his door and restarts when Reece leaves to go to the security room. That’s not at all suspicious.”
Reece pinches the bridge of his nose. “Charlie, get out.”