Leave it to Raiyne to stir the pot. “Seems like you’re pissed because someone almost broke your play toy this morning.”
My jaw clenches, a muscle near my eye twitching. I take a second to figure out how to play this, then keep my tone deliberately casual. “What can I say? Going against Reed always pushes me to be better—like a natural performance enhancer. Can't have him benched when we face off against the Titans.”
Yeah, they’re not buying my bullshit.
Trembley stands, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That the reason you damn near broke your hand? ‘Cause call me stupid, but thenyou’dbe benched, right?”
I put my sweatshirt on then flick him off. “Between hockey and my family I’ve got enough on my plate. Don’t need you two jackasses adding to it.”
Raiyne opens his mouth to say something but backs off. As mischievous and menacing as my friend can be, I pulled the low-blow card, aka the mom card. His face pinches together and he lets out a huff.
“We’re going for pizza. You coming?”
I shake my head. “Nah, gonna head back to the hotel. Ice my hand a bit.” I know they mean well, but the last thing I want is to be around anyone, so I give a small nod and smile, then turn and head out.
Back at the hotel, I spot Petrov and his boyfriend leaving as I arrive. Ishouldgo and ice my hand, but this might be the only opportunity to check on Jackson, and I need to see him.
Need to make sure he's okay. I just hope he’s back in his old room, otherwise I have no idea where to look.
The elevator ride to Jackson's floor feels like an eternity, my heart hammering against my ribs with every passing second. When I finally reach his door, I hesitate and stand in front of it for ten minutes, listening for any movement inside before I finally knock. A week ago, I’d be banging on it, cursing him out.
But now, I’m shuffling from foot-to-foot, talking myself up.
The door swings open and Jackson stands there, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and assessing. He's wearing a pair of gray joggers that cling to his muscular thighs and a maroon T-shirt that stretches across his broad chest. The sight of him makes my mouth go dry, my pulse picking up speed.
“To what do I owe this visit?”
I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “Can I come in?”
His eyes narrow, his head tilting to the side. “Why?”
“Wanted to see how you're doing after that hit this morning.” I shove my hands into my pockets, feeling awkward and exposed under his gaze.
“Why?” He leans against the doorframe, blocking me.
“Reed, stop being an asshole. I’m . . .”
This is a bad idea. But when I turn to walk away, he grabs my upper arm. The sleeve of his T-shirt shifts and I spot the bruises on his bicep, ones I left there from squeezing so hard the night before, and I damn near groan.
“Gonna come in your pants?”
My gaze shoots up and meets his, but he laughs and walks away, pushing the door open. An invitation. One I take.
“Guess you marked me with more than just your cum. Sneaky bastard.”
I rub the back of my neck, unsure of how to respond, especially because my cock is starting to swell. Sex isn’t why I came here, but goddamn if it’s not on my mind now.
He half sits on the dresser, eyeing me. “You good?”
I blink a few times, forgetting how to speak.
Jackson just laughs. “Since when do you get all flustered?”
Clearing my throat, I stand taller. “Just came here to make sure you’re okay. Don’t want to accidentally kill you on the ice.” He snorts, so I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “I said accidentally. Purposely killing you is still on the table.”
Jackson pushes off the dresser with a slight wince. “Said I'm fine, Killian. You didn't need to come check up on me.”
“I know.” I rake a hand through my hair, frustration welling up in my throat. “I just . . . I needed to see for myself.”
