Chapter 16
Ethan
I’m with the entire team, so why is my phone blowing up? I glance across the private room of the hotel restaurant. Jax is staring down at his screen, snickering. Hoping it’s Aurora texting us both, I raise my phone discreetly, never knowing what I’ll find.
What I’m not expecting is a group chat between me, Reece, and Jax named Triple Power Play. Only Jackson would mess with my phone, change his name, and make a hockey joke about having two extra men.
Reece
No need to expand the pool house, only the bed.
Baby boy
Are they fucking? Seriously?
Jax always jumps straight to fucking. In his eyes, everybody is fucking.
Reece
Yes, and the twins are obsessed. Be prepared.
Okay, maybe everybody is fucking.
Baby boy
That’s awesome! Your partner gonna stick around?
Reece
I’ll let you know soon. He’s at a meeting with Bennett.
Holy shit, Jax and Reece are getting along, talking civilly. When did that start?
Baby boy
When do we leave for your sister’s wedding?
Reece
Tuesday. You don’t have to come.
Baby boy
And miss spending Christmas with my other boyfriend’s family? Never.
Three dots pop up and disappear. I stare at Jax until his head lifts and our eyes connect. I arch a brow, and he gives me that shit-eating grin.
My phone buzzes in my hand, a message from him outside the group chat.
Baby boy
Don’t give me that death glare unless you plan on doing something about it.
I type, “He’s your boyfriend now too?” then delete it.
Am I his boyfriend? He jokes about it, but do secrets really need labels?
We’re together as a unit, including Reece.
But…I don’t want him with Reece—not that Reece is interested in him.
I don’t want Jax with anyone other than Aurora… who I share with Reece.
What does that say about me? About Jax and me?
My phone vibrates in my hand, and my mental crisis is averted.
Reece
I know you’re only fucking with me, but you can’t say that shit around my parents. Not at my sister’s wedding.
Jax and I exchange a glance. Reece doesn’t talk much.
We know little about his past, except that he grew up in the South, played football, and joined the military at eighteen or nineteen.
When Reece was in surgery, Charlie called his family.
We weren’t present for the conversation, and they never visited.
A week ago, after I mentioned planning a Christmas babymoon, Reece brought up his sister’s wedding.
We were reluctantly invited, for Aurora’s sake.
Baby boy
Are you trying to tell me they’re homophobic?
Reece
My parents are, but my sister isn’t, and I refuse to ruin her day.
Baby boy
Dude, I’m bringing my boyfriend.
Despite this conversation—and our unconventional relationship—warmth blossoms in my chest, and I bite my lip to suppress my ridiculous smile. I guess that answers my question.
Reece
Again, you don’t have to come. I’m not causing drama at my sister’s wedding.
Baby boy
Drama? You’re bringing Aurora. My wife. How will you explain that? How will you explain she’s pregnant, and not by you?
So much for them getting along.
This is supposed to be a babymoon, remember? We’ll attend the wedding, be polite, do whatever we have to do, then vacation somewhere together.
Reece is slow to respond, and while Jax waits, his knee bounces, his lips pressed in a tight line. He has no patience, no tolerance for indecision or disloyalty.
Baby boy
I don’t want Aurora going to the wedding if she’ll only be hurt and disappointed.
She’ll be okay.
Reece will figure this out before we arrive, and if not, the first tear in Aurora’s eye will bring his world to a halt—guaranteed. He won’t allow anyone to upset her.
Reece
No one has to attend. I’ll take my partner. If you’d like, you can still meet my sisters.
Baby boy
Charlie? Who spent the night with two men?
Reece
His real name is Lucas and he understands my family.
Baby boy
Your family? You keep saying that word, but you can’t even be yourself around them.
Bickering is getting us nowhere. Let’s discuss this at home and come up with a game plan. We can pretend for a night.
Reece is trying, but Jax only has two options: in or out.
He throws his phone down, catching Grant’s attention. Huddled close, they whisper, and that prickly sensation returns with a vengeance. It’s a tremor beneath my skin, a tightness in my chest, a knot in my stomach.
Jax refuses to hide his true self. He’ll play it safe around the team, fearing I’ll be fired, but not elsewhere, certainly not with people who dare call themself family.
Strangely, I feel his frustration. I, too, want to show my love whenever and wherever the fuck I want, without judgment or consequence.
The crowd is a dull roar, the arena packed full—a sea of faces behind the glass, all buzzing with excitement. The music pounds, a visceral thrum vibrating in the air, and adrenaline pumps through my veins.
It’s surreal to be coaching after what we’ve been through. Puts things in perspective, you know? Winning matters, but it’s not the be-all, end-all. Losing won’t kill me. I’ll hate it, but I won’t be obsessively replaying the game in my head. I’ll be thinking about home…and Jax.
Since lunch, he hasn’t spoken to me. He’s been off somewhere with Grant, and my mind has been plagued with my incessant need to fix things.
Maybe sex with my captain wasn’t the greatest idea, but fuck, I’m not stopping now.
A pang of guilt hits me. Jax is giving more than I’m reciprocating, and he’s constantly forced to silence himself when all he wants is to shout his happiness to the world. He has every reason to be frustrated.
Still, Reece’s family is his problem, not ours. I’m unsure what Jax expects.
“Do you golf?”
I blink a few times, coming back to reality. “What?”
“Do you golf?” my equipment manager, Blayne, asks again, a bundle of hockey sticks piled in his arms.
“No. I injured my neck.” It’s an excuse. I could golf if I wanted, but it’s not worth the risk. It’s boring and a poor use of my limited time.
“That’s too bad. I find it relaxing.” He stacks the extra sticks in a row behind the bench. “You need something to help you relax, Coach.”
What makes him think I’m tense? Is it the tapping fingers or the hard gaze?
I’m staring at my relief—and my headache—six-three, two hundred pounds, the body of a god, and a smile straight from the Devil. He’s warming up on the ice without a helmet, chewing on his mouthguard like bubble gum, and making me twitchy. Jackson’s piss-poor mood and agitation are palpable.
“Maybe you need a girlfriend,” Blayne suggests, his voice filled with humor.
I scoff. “I have one, thanks.” And a boyfriend—both of them brats.
“You do?” He glances over his shoulder. “Does she come to the games?”
“Yup.” She’s just not here because she’s taking care of her other boyfriend.
“What’s she look like? Have I met her?”
“You know Aurora Embers, the model?”
He turns to face me with lowered brows. “O’Reilly’s wife?”
“Yeah,” I say with a curt nod and a smirk. “Her.”
Mouth open and a deep scowl etched onto his features, he studies my expression, searching for any sign I’m teasing him.
He must live under a rock. Certainly, everyone has seen me with Aurora or at least heard a rumor. Our house was broken into. Both Jax and I took time off. Someone must’ve connected the dots.
My mood shifts to amusement at his utter confusion. “What? You don’t think I can pull a twenty-two-year-old supermodel?”
His eyes widen. “What? No,” he stammers. “I didn’t think you’d want to.”
A chuckle escapes me. “See? Now you know why I’m stressed.”
Warmups end, and the game begins. Jax plays aggressively; he’s temperamental, drawn into every fight and spending too much time in the penalty box, leaving us down a player. At the end of the second quarter, the score is tied.
“We should be winning.” My gaze sweeps across the slumped figures, the silence in the locker room heavy and suffocating. The only sound is the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of my pulse in my ears. “What’s the problem?”
Fucking Jackson. That’s the problem.
Heads hung, nobody dares say a word. This, right here, is why having a close relationship with my captain was a horrible idea. No one wants to speak up.
I guess I’ll have to be the asshole.
“O’Reilly, how many power-play goals do they have? How many did they score while you were sitting on your ass in the penalty box?”
He doesn’t respond, and players shift uncomfortably.
“Check your fucking emotions at the door.”
His jaw clenches, the muscle furrowing, the only indication he hears me.
“They’re drawing us into penalties,” I tell the team, “and it’s working. Play smart. Rest, refuel, let’s go.”
The game goes into overtime, then a shootout. I’m tempted to bench Jax and not let him take a shot on goal, but that’d punish the entire team.
He scores, as well as Grant and the rookie, a last-minute decision that thankfully paid off, and we win by one, thanks to Kill’s ability to read the play.
With a fifteen-hour flight ahead, we leave straight from the arena for the airport, bound for Toronto.
Jax and I don’t talk—he doesn’t even glance in my direction.
My stomach churns. Apparently, he’s pissed at me.
For what, I have no clue, but it’s driving me crazy, my thoughts ping-ponging off one another.
On the private plane, he sits with Grant as usual. It gets late, players and staff fall asleep, and I wonder if he’s sleeping on Grant’s shoulder. He’s not. He’s probably not even sleeping.
Are they touching? Is he attracted to his best friend physically, even though he dislikes his playboy behavior? No, Jax doesn’t work that way. But Grant has changed. Does that change how Jax feels? He’d never touch anyone else; it’s unfathomable.
This is ridiculous. Someone put me out of my misery.