Player on Ice (Boys of Winter Book 5)

by S. R. Grey

  He really is completely done.

  Great, now I feel worse than ever.

  Depressed, I curl up on the sofa. I’m still wearing the white shorts and orange tee I wore to dinner with Noelle. I should change into something comfier, like my pajamas, but I just don’t have the energy.

  At this point, I don’t think I’ll even make it to the bed.

  I stretch out, ready to fall asleep on the sofa and put another day without Jaxon behind me. But just as I’m tugging on the soft chenille throw from the back cushion, to cover up with, my phone rings.

  I pick it up and stare at it.

  It’s not a text coming in but an actual call.

  And it’s from Jaxon!

  Eek!

  My heart starts pounding like a little drummer has taken up residence in my chest. I’m afraid to answer, but I’m more afraid not to.

  Hitting the green button, I croak out a shaky, “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.” Good, he sounds nervous too. “I, uh, just called to let you know I got the text you sent.”

  “You did? That’s good.”

  I’m so smooth—not.

  Jaxon clears his throat. “Yes, I did. It’s good you made it back to town safely.”

  Annnd we enter completely awkward territory.

  “Yes, the flights back were nice and noneventful,” I reply.

  He chuckles, which I take as a promising sign.

  “Those are always the best kind.”

  “They are,” I agree, nodding like crazy. I’m so nervous. “Better than eventful ones, that’s for sure.”

  “Indeed.”

  This is so weird. It’s like neither of us knows what to say. He’s being nice, though, so there may be hope after all. We could at least be friends, right?

  That possibility prompts me to ask, “Would you want to meet up sometime?”

  Hesitating, he says slowly, “To do what?”

  “Um, maybe we could talk?”

  There’s this really long silence, and I expect him to say no.

  But to my surprise he utters a soft, “Okay. We could do that.”

  It’s all I can do to contain my enthusiasm.

  “Great, great, that’s good.” My heart is soaring and I can’t settle it down. “When would be a good time for you?”

  “What about now, Cara?”

  Yikes. “What?”

  There’s a knock at my door. But what’s weird is I hear it through the phone and in my living room.

  Crap.

  It’s clear what the situation is, even as I whisper, “Y-you’re here at my apartment?”

  “Yes, I am—”

  I don’t give him a chance to say another word. Or maybe he is still talking, and I just can’t hear because the phone is hanging half out of my hand as I jump up from the sofa.

  Three seconds later, I’m swinging open the door.

  And there’s Jaxon.

  I’m so glad I told him where I lived. I remember when it came up, during one of our long walks on the beach in the early days of getting to know one another.

  Ah, good times.

  I scan my gaze down the man I’ve missed like crazy.

  Damn, he’s still so freaking handsome.

  He must’ve showered recently, as his sandy brown hair is damp and slicked back. His body looks really good too. He has on faded jeans that hug his muscular legs and a graphic tee with some band name on it that fits him perfectly.

  His hotness is so all-consuming that I don’t even take the time to see who the band is. Why would I care about his shirt when his eyes are meeting mine?

  Wow, they look greener than ever.

  Were they always this vivid and bright?

  I think so.

  It’s just that they—and he—have been missing from my life.

  I’ve missed you, I try to convey with my own eyes.

  He smiles. And, Lord, that smile is utterly devastating. That’s what gets me right then and there. It hits me like a bolt that touches my soul—Jaxon is actually smiling at me.

  I almost start to cry. This is something I thought I’d never see again. Maybe there truly is hope for us.

  I pray that that’s true.

  I smile back at him and for this good long while we just kind of stand there, smiling at each other and not saying a word.

  I think his eyes are saying that he still cares, but that he’s hurt.

  I try to apologize with mine.

  I think we may be on the right track, but when I reach for his hand, he takes a step back.

  I act like I don’t notice and clear my throat. “Uh, do you want to come in?”

  I don’t want him to turn around and leave. I don’t think I can take him walking away from me a second time.

  To my relief, though, Jaxon says, “Yeah, sure.”

  He comes in, and I close the door behind us.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  I think about adding, Water, coffee, a shot, but I don’t.

  He replies, “Um, no, I’m good. I was practicing down at the arena with Dylan and drank a bunch of water before I left.”

  “Oh, okay. Then would you want to sit down?”

  I gesture to the sofa, and he nods. “Okay.”

  Clearly we’ve reentered Awkward Town. That’s reinforced when we sit at the same time and end up right next to each other, legs practically touching. Jaxon, though, hurriedly slides down to the other end of the sofa.

  Ouch.

  “All righty then,” I can’t help but snipe as my tension quickly turns to irritation.

  He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I wave my hand dismissively, muttering, “Nothing.”

  “No, you made the comment, so it must mean something.”

  Hmm, Bickering Town is much more preferable than Awkward Town. It’s where we lived for so long down on the island. It’s a comfort zone of sorts, so I’m more than happy to take up residence there.

  Digging in, I say, “Do you really want to know why I made that snippy remark?”

  “No,” Jaxon replies, sarcasm dripping like hot angry wax. “I’m just asking for my health.”

  “Okay fine, I’ll tell you. Like I didn’t notice how you scooted away from me…all the way down to the other end of the freaking sofa.” I gesture sharply to where he’s now smugly seated. “A bit of an extreme reaction, no?”

  Those previously happy greens flash in irritation now. “Under the circumstances, Cara, I don’t think so. A little space between us seems prudent.”

  “Like three weeks hasn’t been enough?” I snap.

  “Ha,” he barks out. “Not nearly.”

  Ugh, he’s so infuriating!

  “You want space?” I practically yell. “I’ll give you something better than space, buster.”

  I glare at him as I’m snatching two big pillows from a nearby chair. I then smack them down between us, creating a mini wall.

  “How’s a freaking barrier for you?” I narrow my eyes, challenging him. “Is that enough space now, Jaxon?”

  Narrowing his eyes right the hell back, he snarks, “Not even close. Let’s add one more.”

  Careful not to break our angry, dagger-throwing stare-off, he grabs a pillow from the floor and adds it to the pile.

  It’s a pretty big pile now, so big that I can barely see over the top.

  In a way, he just won.

  Bastard!

  Sighing, I mutter, “Maybe I should just go sit over there.” I motion to the big chair next to the sofa, the one from where I grabbed the pillows from.

  Jaxon holds firm, snapping, “Maybe you should.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” I growl. “Why are you even here?”

  “Hey, need I remind you that you texted me, sweetheart.”

  I rise to my knees on the sofa cushions so I can see over the damn pillow barrier.

  “That didn’t mean you had to show up at my door!” I yell.

  “Clearly, that was
a mistake,” he mumbles under his breath.

  Ouch, again.

  Hurt turns to ire and I stab a finger at him. “For your information, jackass, I texted you because I thought we could have a serious, adult discussion. I didn’t reach out to play stupid fucking games.”

  He hops up onto his knees and points right the hell back. “You don’t want to play stupid fucking games, eh?”

  “Nope, I don’t.”

  He laughs. “That’s rich coming from the biggest game player herself, Ms. fucking Hockeypants.”

  “That’s Mr. Hockeypants to you, bud! You can at least get the name right.”

  “Oh, I know the name,” he snorts. “Maybe I just don’t care what the hell your slimy blog is called. As far as I’m concerned, shit is what it is!”

  “Ugh, you, you…” I reach forward and with one sweeping motion, the pillows fly off the sofa.

  Now there’s nothing between us but hot, angry air.

  “Go fuck yourself, Jaxon. I worked hard to make that blog a success.”

  With no barrier between us, he inches closer, jaw twitching.

  “Like I haven’t worked hard to get where I am? And here you come along, with your little Hockeypants blog, bashing the shit out of me. To the point where I had to leave town.”

  I wince, instantly feeling bad. But I’m still just so damn mad.

  “I apologized for that!” I scream.

  “There was more, Cara. You called me a dog, for fuck’s sake!”

  “I only wrote that because you were hitting up strip clubs night after night. If the shoe fits…” I mock.

  “Hey, it wasn’t that often. Do you even fact-check, honey?”

  That catches me off-guard. “Wait, it wasn’t?”

  “No.”

  I get back to what’s really important, at least to me. “Have you gone to any since you’ve been back in town?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business anymore, but no, I haven’t felt like it.”

  “No?”

  “Are you having trouble hearing, Cara? I said no.”

  We’re both breathing hard, so hard, worked up from our screaming match. We’re also practically leaning into each other now. Jaxon is so close that I can smell his yummy, soapy skin.

  And it’s divine.

  This back and forth between us is driving me crazy.

  I just want to…push him or something.

  So I do—I place my hands on his chest and shove him as hard as I can.

  He doesn’t budge.

  “Damn hockey players,” I grind out, pushing harder.

  Finally, I knock him off-balance and he falls backward onto the sofa. Or maybe he chose to give in, seeing as he takes me with him.

  In any case, I end up on top of him and start scrambling to sit up. But that makes things worse because I somehow come out straddling him.

  “Jeez, how’d that happen?” I murmur.

  “I wonder,” he deadpans when I make no move to get off of him.

  He doesn’t seem to mind. His hands are at my waist, steadying me, holding me in place. Not that I’m bothered. I’m rather enjoying the feel of Jaxon’s hands on me. It’s been so long.

  I breathe out a jagged breath, and he slides his hands from my waist down to my shorts-clad ass.

  Groaning, he palms my cheeks and starts slowly rocking me back and forth against the growing bulge in his jeans.

  “You drive me nuts,” he rasps. “Do you realize that?”

  “Ditto, jackass,” I moan.

  “Fuck. Should we stop?”

  “God, no,” I gasp.

  I guess that’s all he needs to hear. He winds a hand into my hair and pulls me down to him.

  “Kiss me like you mean it, sweetheart,” he says.

  Hell, yes. I kiss him like I mean it, and it’s like coming home. He tastes so good and it feels so right to have his lips on mine, to feel his muscular body under me—to freaking dry hump him!

  I go to town on that massive bulge in his jeans. Meanwhile, his hands are all over me—in my hair, ghosting over the sides of my breasts—like he can’t get enough of me, either.

  I break away, panting a breathy, “Wait, wait.”

  “What now?” he groans.

  “Just… Does this mean we’re back together?”

  He looks at me blankly. “I don’t know, Cara.”

  “Wait, what?”

  It’s like he just poured ice water over me. I sit up. But I’m still straddling him, so I slide back so that my damn crotch isn’t all mashed up against his cock.

  I need to think straight, damn it.

  Shaking my head, I murmur, “If we’re not working things out, then I don’t think we should be doing this.”

  “Ugh.” He scrubs his hands up and down his face. “You’re killing me here, babe.”

  “I need to know something else too, Jaxon. Are you still mad at me over Mr. Hockeypants?”

  “No…yes… Hell, I don’t know.”

  “The blog is on hiatus,” I say, hoping to prove that I take him having been hurt by my words seriously.

  “I know, I heard.”

  Well, this is an interesting development.

  “Who told you?” I ask.

  “Dylan.”

  “So you were talking to him about us?”

  “I was. But don’t worry. He’s a good guy who would never say a word—”

  I wave my hand and interject, “I know, I know. It’s okay. I don’t mind. I talked with Noelle too.”

  He nods, and we’re both quiet for a beat.

  Finally, he breathes out a sad, “This is hard, eh?”

  “It is,” I agree, my heart skipping a beat.

  He rubs his hand down his face again. “Shit, I was so mad about Mr. Hockeypants that I thought about suing his…your ass.”

  My eyes widen as I exclaim, “Jaxon!”

  “Don’t worry.” He chuckles. “I’m not going to do that. Not now.” His eyes tell me he’d never hurt me that badly.

  I blow out a breath and offer, “Do you want me to just delete the whole thing? I’d do that for you if you really wanted me to.”

  I would. I’d pretty much do anything for this man. That’s what love is all about, making sacrifices when needed.

  He looks like he’s thinking about it, but at last he says, “No. You said yourself that you worked hard to make it popular. I can’t ask you to delete it. Besides, it’s your livelihood, right?”

  “Partly, but I really do have that trust fund I told you about. I could give up the blog if I had to. And”—I place my hand on his chest and peer down at him—“I would for you.”

  “Cara…” He places a hand over mine. “I told you that I’m not asking you to do that. But there is one thing I’d like to request.”

  “Anything,” I say, “just name it.”

  “I’d like for you to consider changing your approach, like the way you blog. Mr. Hockeypants has the ability to cause real damage.”

  I sigh heavily. “I realize that now. And I’m already on it, Jaxon. I’ve been softening Mr. Hockeypants’s image. Did you see the last post I put up before the hiatus?”

  “I didn’t,” he admits.

  “Well, it was about the Chidders trade.”

  “Oh, that dickhead,” he barks. “Good riddance.”

  “See, that’s my point. You don’t even like him. But I was careful when I wrote the post not to say anything mean about the man.”

  Nodding pensively, he concedes, “That does sound like progress.”

  “It is, Jaxon. It’s a real start.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  I sense he’s drifting away, like the initial excitement of our reunion is wearing off and reality is crashing in. I know now that this isn’t simply about the stupid blog. It’s not even the words that I wrote. What we’re down to now is that I lied to him. Not in the traditional sense, but in omitting an important fact. He had every right to know who he was getting involved with.

  S
liding off him and back to my previous spot, I murmur, “We’re not where we were, are we?”

  He sighs and sits up. “No. It definitely feels different.”

  “Do you think it’s because we’re not on the island anymore? Or is it because of what happened?”

  He shrugs and says, “Probably a little of both.”

  I then ask all that really matters. “Do you still love me, Jaxon?”

  He reaches for me but stops himself.

  “I do, Cara,” he breathes out. “But I think I need more time.”

  “Okay,” I murmur, looking away.

  Smacking his hand down on the arm of the sofa, he snarls, “Jesus, I sound like such a pussy.”

  “No you don’t.” I venture a peek over at him. “You need more time, I understand. I’m cool with that. Really, I’m just happy you don’t totally hate me.”

  “Aw, sweetheart…” He reaches for me again and this time doesn’t stop. “I could never, ever hate you.”

  I welcome his arm draped around me, even if it is just loosely. It reminds me of old times.

  “Jaxon, can I ask you a question?” I say.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever get back to where we were?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Cara. Maybe in time?”

  Time.

  I better learn to love it, since it looks like I’m about to have a lot of it.

  Welcome to the World of Love

  Cara gives me what I ask for—time.

  And I fill it with the same as before—24/7 hockey.

  That works out well when training camp starts.

  I’m all the way in too. I attend every practice. I arrive extra early and stay on the ice after all the other guys have left. Coach Townsend is so impressed with my newfound work ethic that he tells me he’s going to make me an assistant captain this year.

  “Wow, thanks,” I say.

  He replies, “You earned it.”

  I go at it even harder to prove he made the right decision. And then one day, after a particularly lengthy practice, he yells out over the boards, “Hey, Holland, get over here. I want to talk to you about something.”

  I skate over, noticing that I’m the only one still on the ice…as usual.

  When I reach the boards, I notice a rogue puck wedged against the base. Fishing it out, I flick it across the ice and it goes right into the net.

  Coach shakes his head and chuckles. “Nice shot.”