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 herotherboyfriend.
“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’dwantto.”
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 rhythmicthump-thump-thumpof 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.
