Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)
Chapter 27

“It’s really wonderful ice, Jaxon.”

“Oh, the best.” Angela, Lennon’s mom, nudges Devin. “Isn’t the ice Jaxon brought so good?”

Devin looks down at the ice floating in his drink. He glances at Serena, cocking his head with a what the fuck expression, and she stifles her laugh. “It’s just fucking ice?”

Mimi—can I call her Mimi? Grandma Hayes? Mrs. Hayes?—pats my forearm. “Wonderful ice. So thoughtful of you.”

I rub the nape of my neck. “I didn’t think anything I could pick up at a store would come close to comparing to your recipes.”

“Bless your heart, darling.” She smiles, broad and dimpled. “It really wouldn’t.”

“You just became Mimi’s favorite,” Serena tells me. “Every time someone compliments her cooking, another year is added to her life. We’re afraid she’s never going to kick the bucket at this point.”

“You’ll all be so lucky if I’m eternal.” Mimi loops her arm through mine. “Come, Jaxon. Let’s walk for a moment.”

“Mimi!” Lennon gapes after us, stomping a foot. “Don’t embarrass me!”

“Such a flair for the dramatics,” she murmurs. “I’ve always loved her spirit.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “It’s a great . . . spirit.”

She takes a seat on a cast-iron bench beneath one of the many weeping willows scattered around the property, patting the spot beside her. I sit in silence as she grazes her fingertips over her coils, cropped short, more silver than brown. She spins the gold bangles on her wrist and lifts her cocktail to her crimson-painted lips.

“It’s a . . . the weather is . . . blue sky . . . sunny sunshine . . .” I swallow. “You have a beautiful home.”

“I know. My husband purchased it for me as a wedding gift.” She squints up at the enormous home. “Used to be full of laughter, bickering kids, pattering feet. I remember dreaming about the day it would be quiet again.” She sips her drink. “Never dreamed I’d hate it the way I do. There’s something so inherently heartbreaking about silence, especially when you thought you wanted it and discover the hard way that you don’t.”

“Silence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I don’t mean to say the words out loud, but they slip out anyway, maybe because her pain is palpable, and I’ve felt it. I used to love being alone, the peace and quiet that came with it. But did I really? Or was I just used to it?

The summer Bryce died started loud. Shrieks of laughter, staying up too late, pucks against the old garage door, and Gran shouting at us to turn the music down. It finished in silence. Silence I hated, because it reminded me of everything I’d lost, and at the forefront was a friendship I’d never be able to replace, but I didn’t want to anyway. And somewhere along the way, I got used to the silence. Forgot there was any other way to live life.

And then Lennon walked into it, and life has never been quiet again.

“I’d do anything to have my granddaughter back in Augusta, Jaxon. I hate that she’s so far away, and when she hauled herself over there, I worried I’d never get her back. But today?” She watches Lennon from across the yard. When she smiles, I see so much of my favorite person. And in her deep brown eyes shines the same warmth, the same love that tells me family is everything. “Today, I have her back. Not because she’s here, but because somewhere along the way over the last ten years, we lost her. She lost herself. Lost her voice, her dreams, gave it all to a pigheaded dipshit—excuse the language—who molded her into his idea of the perfect housewife. I don’t think I realized how much guilt I was holding on to, being the one who set them up.” She sniffs, and when Lennon chucks a foam football at Devin’s head and then runs across the yard, shrieking at the top of her lungs while he chases her, Mimi smiles. “Today she’s my little girl again. Happy, laughing, and causing a ruckus. Thank you for that.”

“With all due respect, I didn’t do that. Lennon walked into my life knowing her worth and demanding I give it to her. I think that says more about the way she was raised than who she’s been spending time with.”

“Maybe, but don’t sell yourself short. She’s so comfortable demanding it with you because you give it to her without question. With you, she continues to elevate. That’s the way it should be when you replace the right person.”

I open my mouth to argue some more, to insist that’s all Lennon. I’ve never had that kind of effect of anyone.

“I see that mouth opening, Mr. Riley, and it best be to agree with me.”

I press my lips together. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me Mimi.”

“Yes, Mimi.”

Her playful gaze sparks. “You care about my granddaughter.”

“I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about her,” I admit. “It’s . . . scary.”

“The best things in life are scary. That’s why we close our eyes when we jump. But we still jump, don’t we?”

I’ve never jumped. Come to think of it, I’ve never even closed my eyes. I walk into everything with my eyes wide open, prepared for anything and everything that can go wrong. I wish I didn’t, but that’s just how you operate when everything has had the same result, year after year.

I want this to be different, though. This thing with me and Lennon. I want a name for it. I want to hold on to it, do things differently, because how can I keep hoping for a different outcome without changing the formula? That’s why I got on the plane one day early, flew to Georgia instead of Nashville. It’s why I texted Devin for Mimi’s address, and showed up here without telling Lennon. I wanted to see the look on her face when someone put her first. I wanted to be the one to do it. I wanted her to know that her family is important to me, because she’s important to me.

And as the day turns into evening, and the sunset paints the Georgia sky in stunning hues of orange and pink, with Lennon tucked into my side and her family surrounding us, I know I’ve taken a step in the right direction.

“Everyone wants to leave me,” Mimi complains after Serena’s through detailing her plans to backpack in South America this winter. “It all started when Angela stole my baby from me all those years ago.”

Angela rolls her eyes, exactly as dramatic as Lennon. “I did not steal him.” She looks to me. “He was the assistant hitting coach for the Braves in Atlanta, and I was living in a small town just outside Toronto. He was in the city for a series against the Jays, and I was in the city for a friend’s twenty-first birthday. We met at a bar after the first game, and⁠—”

“He was in love with her by the end of the week,” Mimi finishes for her with a soft smile, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “Hated the distance more than anything in his life. I’d never seen him so miserable.”

“Took a job in Toronto the next season, and we were married in the autumn,” Trevor, Lennon’s dad, says.

Angela smiles wistfully at the memory, and Trevor kisses the smile right off her face. “We moved back here when the kids were young. We wanted them to grow up surrounded by family, and not a day has passed that I regret it. And now both our kids are living in Canada. Maybe we should⁠—”

“Absolutely not.” Mimi waves off her words, swiping her cocktail. “You’ve had enough of this, young lady.” She drains the drink herself, and everyone laughs.

The party carries on around us, filled with introductions, talk of hockey and baseball and life in Canada. I get dragged onto the dance floor by no fewer than five women I don’t know, plus Mimi, Angela, and Lennon. Serena refuses to dance with me because I, apparently, dance like a white boy, which is a nice way to say I have zero fucking rhythm. Lennon thinks I’m cute, though, and every once in a while when no one’s looking, she backs her ass up against my cock and makes my brain short-circuit. When all three of her uncles catch us, lifting their brows, I panic, dragging Lennon off the dance floor and back to our seats. There, I look up to the sky, spotting Sirius, bright as always.

“Do you have stars like this in Vancouver?” Trevor asks me.

“It can be a bit hard to see the stars downtown, but Len and I get out to this little shore up the coast to watch them at least once a week. We’ve caught the Northern Lights a couple times, and a meteor shower last week. I can’t believe how much you can see on her telescope, and the shots she gets on her camera are just . . . wow.”

The murmured conversation around us comes to an abrupt halt.

Trevor’s gaze snaps to Lennon. “You doing your astrophotography again? And your telescope? What telescope?”

Her cheek warms against my shoulder. “Jaxon got it for me for my birthday. He took me to see the Northern Lights.”

Angela blinks at me, blue eyes glossing under the lights strung around the towering tree trunks. “You weren’t dating during Lennon’s birthday, were you?”

“They were certainly fucking,” Serena mutters under her breath, and Lennon jams her elbow into her side.

“No, ma’am, we weren’t dating.”

“Angela,” Angela cries, then promptly throws her arms around my neck. “Don’t call me ma’am, you sweet, thoughtful boy.”

“Oh, Christ.” Lennon buries her face in her hand before prying her mom off me, tugging me to my feet. “’Kay, well, Jaxon’s on a curfew tonight since he’s playing tomorrow. We gotta get going.”

I’m about to argue that I still have an hour, but at the mention of us leaving, the remaining fifty-plus people in the yard gather around to say goodbye. By the time we’re climbing into an Uber, Mimi and Angela are still crying about the telescope, and I’ve only got fifteen minutes to curfew.

I relay the name of the hotel to the driver, looking at the tiny clutch in Lennon’s lap, all she has with her. “I brought an extra toothbrush, and I requested silk pillowcases before I left.”

“And pajamas? What will I do about those?”

Wrapping my palm around the nape of her neck, I work soft, wet kisses up her throat, feeling the rumble of her moan beneath my lips. “Honey, the only thing you’ll be wearing tonight is my cum.”

“Mmm . . .” She captures my mouth with hers, her hand sliding over my thigh until she’s palming my cock beneath my shorts. “And they say romance is dead.”

I carry her clutch into the hotel.

I carry her clutch to hide the massive erection I’m sporting, because she kept her goddamn hand on my goddamn cock the entire ride home, whispering in my ear about how good boys deserve to be rewarded. And when a family of four hollers for us to hold the elevator, I pray for forgiveness as I hammer the close door button.

“Jaxon,” Lennon breathes, cornering me against the wall. She lowers my zipper, slipping her hand inside, squeezing me gently. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

My gaze flicks to the camera in the corner of the elevator. “Honey, if you don’t get your hand out of my pants, we’re about to give someone a show.”

“They can’t see.”

“Not from this angle, but it’ll be hard to miss when I flip that skirt up and bend you over in thirty seconds.”

“You’re right.” She sighs. “I’ll keep my hands out of your pants.” She withdraws her hand, and I’m both relieved and distraught. Then she takes my hand, guides it between her legs, dips my fingers into her sopping warmth. “But I’m not wearing pants.”

“Jesus, honey. You trying to kill me?” I mean to pull my hand back. I swear to God, I mean to. But she’s fucking drenched, and two of my fingers accidentally push their way inside, and the pad of my thumb accidentally replaces her clit, teasing it slowly. “Where are your panties?”

“In my purse,” she moans, rocking into my palm. “Took them off before we left.”

The elevator climbs closer to our floor, and I pull my fingers out. Lennon’s gaze hooks on them, and she licks her lips. I suck them into my mouth, smiling when she frowns. When the doors open, I step into her.

“Move it, before the security guard watching that camera has a chance to see how well you take my cock.”

I clap a hand to her ass, and she yelps, dashing into the hall. She pulls off her top the moment we step into the room, and her bra next, letting her perfect tits bounce free. When I’m stripped, she lays me down with her hand on my chest, then climbs aboard, her little miniskirt the only thing she has on as she sits that lush ass on my chest. I scrape my palms up her thighs, spreading her wide as she shows me that glistening brown pussy.

“What was it you said you wanted to do next time you saw me?”

“Eat this pretty cunt.” I dip a single finger, then smear it over her lips. “Make you taste your own honey.”

She shudders, tongue dragging over her lower lip. “God, that’s such a filthy word. I love it.” Pressing up on her knees, she straddles my face, pussy hovering above my mouth. “Ask nicely, Jaxon.”

“Please, honey.” I flick my tongue over her clit. “Gimme this delicious cunt.”

“Gimme gimme never g—oooh fuuuck.” Her head drops back as I jerk her down, latching my mouth over her clit. She buries her fingers in my hair, grinding her pussy against my face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Christ, I’d die for her camera. Die to capture her like this, desperate and whimpering, tugging at her nipples while I devour her sweet, wet pussy. She’s so beautiful, I’m not sure a photo would do her justice. So I just watch her, don’t dare close my eyes as she rides my face, chasing my tongue and her orgasm. She rides through her first one, then without missing a beat, she turns herself over, lowers her pussy back to my face, and takes my cock in her mouth. I dip my thumb, thrusting it in and out, soaking it, and then I push it inside her ass, smiling against her pussy at the way she chokes out a garbled cry around my cock. She finishes twice more before I chase my first, coming down her throat before I come inside her pussy.

It’s nearly one a.m. when we step out of the shower, her hair wrapped in my T-shirt to keep dry. She strips it away, following me into bed, curling into my side. As I smooth my hand over her thick curls, feel the warmth of her cheek pressed to my chest, everything feels right and good in my world.

“Thank you for coming today, Jaxon. It means a lot to me.”

“Thank you for giving me a minute to get there on my own.”

“I didn’t want to pressure you. What good is a decision if it’s not yours?”

I stare at the ceiling as she trails her fingertip over my chest, my arms, tracing the pictures inked into my skin, I love you in my parents’ handwriting, Proud of you in my gran’s, and 13, the number Bryce wore.

My mouth dries as it tries to form the words I’m looking for, give the thoughts in my head a voice. I’m struggling, which is no surprise. She wanted me here. I saw the way her face lit up, felt the way she wrapped herself around my body and clung to me. And yet I’m still nervous her answer is going to be no.

“Um, so . . . you know how Coach said he wanted us to sign that, like, love contract or whatever, if we were gonna keep dating?”

“Uh huh.”

“I was, um, wondering . . . doyouwannakeepdating?”

She props her chin on my chest. “You want me to sign the contract?”

“If that’s okay with you. Like, if you want to. No big deal if you don’t.”

“Where is it?”

I scramble off the bed, tripping over my feet when they tangle in the blankets. I don’t even care when I face-plant, and Lennon’s snicker chases me to the closet, where I tucked my weekender bag. With a shaky hand, I hold out the contract and a pen.

She flips through it, pausing on the last page. “You already signed it?”

I scratch my head. “Few days ago. But, um, like I said. No pressure. We can hold off. I can tell Coach we’re cooling things off for a minute, and then maybe, before the next season, if you wanna sign—” I snap my mouth shut as she scrawls her name right next to mine.

Something happens to me. Something wild and unfamiliar, like butterflies taking flight in my stomach. My pulse races, and my heart slams against my chest. I squeeze my fists, licking my lips, and try to contain my excitement. “Oh. Okay. You signed it. Cool.”

She sets the contract down and pulls me back to bed, settling into my side again. My heart won’t stop, galloping so loud, so hard, there’s no way Lennon can’t hear it. As she flattens her palm over it, I’m certain of it.

“So, like, does this mean you’re officially my, like . . .” I cough, burying the whispered word in my hand. “Girlfriend.”

She tilts her head, leaning her ear toward my mouth. “What was that?”

Another whisper-cough. “Girlfriend.”

She touches the shell of her ear. “Sorry, honey, you’re gonna have to speak up. I can’t hear you.”

My eyes roll to the ceiling with my groan, and I kick the blankets off my feet. “Does this mean we’re boyfriend-girlfriend?” Somebody in here sounds remarkably like a whining child, but it couldn’t be me. “God, you’re so annoying!”

Lennon grins, taking my face between her hands. “Annoying must be your type,” she whispers, right before her lips meet mine.

She kisses me soft and slow, her mouth moving with precision, wet and warm, her tongue gliding fluidly against mine. I cup the side of her neck, my other hand pushing her hair back from her face as I haul her closer. I’ll never get tired of this. Never get tired of tasting her excitement, her happiness. Never get tired of the warmth that rushes through me when she kisses me like I’m the air she needs to breathe. Never get tired of the feeling in my chest, the way it pulls taut, like there isn’t an ounce of space left inside me, because when she’s in my arms, I feel full. I have everything I’ve ever wanted, even if I’ve pretended I didn’t, and for once in my life, I feel like I’m everything someone else has ever wanted.

“Just for clarification,” I murmur. “That was a yes, right? You’re my annoying girlfriend?”

“I’m your incredible, exceptional, magnificent girlfriend. And you’re my annoying boyfriend.”

I punch a fist through the air, whooping. “A win is a win, baby!”

Lennon laughs softly, tracing the outline of the guitar tattooed on the inside of my right bicep, the cowboy hat that hangs off the headstock, the words below it. “The Stage . . . This is a bar in Nashville, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You played there?”

“They traded me to Vancouver.”

She traces the black stripes on the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse inked on my forearm. “North Carolina? Did you play here?”

“Traded me to Nashville.”

I close my eyes as she moves to the outside of my bicep, heart hammering as her fingertip glides over the LAX sign, the palm trees, the Hollywood sign in the mountains. Before she can ask me, I tell her, “Los Angeles signed me in the draft. They traded me to Carolina two years later.”

“And these mountains?” She touches my thigh. “Are these for Vancouver?”

I shake my head. “West Virginia. Home. My first tattoo when I was eighteen.”

“Do you have a tattoo for Vancouver?”

“Nah.”

Her eyes rise to mine, a crease pulling her brows together in question.

Why not? If I have a tattoo for every place I’ve called home at one point in my life, why don’t I have one for Vancouver?

It’s a loaded question, one I don’t feel like delving into right now. She’ll give me sympathy, and I don’t want it. I just want to lie here tonight with her in my arms and memorize the way she feels pressed against me, in case one day I don’t get to hold her anymore.

Her gaze searches mine, and instead of sympathy, she gives me understanding. Patience. She cups my cheek and touches her lips to mine. Then she turns over, pulls my arm around her, and I fall asleep with my face buried in her neck.

I wake up with her mouth on my cock, a good-luck gift, she says, and when we walk into the arena later after flying into Nashville together, it’s with her hand in mine.

The boys hoot and holler when she kisses me goodbye at the door to the locker room, and Coach can’t wipe the grin off his face when I hand him the signed contract.

Maybe this really is it. Maybe this is my line, where everything is better than it was before. Maybe this really can be where I make my home. Maybe I can finally let myself be happy.

The doctor checks me over once more and gives me the green light. I fly through warm-ups with ease, adrenaline racing through me as my body loosens up, as I pop a puck over Adam’s shoulder, as Lennon smiles at me behind her camera. I don’t even care when my old coach looks away when we make eye contact, or that my old linemate, the one whose son I held when he was only twenty-four hours old, doesn’t give me anything more than a nod of acknowledgment when I smile at him.

Okay, I kind of care. Only because that little boy is here, and now he’s a toddler, and I didn’t see him get there.

“You okay?” Adam asks me as we line up for the anthems.

“I don’t wanna miss them growing up,” I blurt.

“Who?”

“Connor. Lily. Ireland.” I swallow. “I don’t want to miss them.”

Adam’s brows pull together, and he follows my gaze to the little boy behind the glass, waving at my old partner. He claps his glove down on my helmet. “You’re not gonna miss a thing.”

That’s easy for him to say now, when we’re together more than we’re not. But what happens if one day we’re no longer all stuck together? What happens when this relationship is no longer convenient? Everything in me tells me this group of guys is different. That distance won’t change a thing in our relationship, except how much face time we get.

But that’s never been my experience with distance. Distance makes it hard for people to remember. Or maybe it just highlights your priorities. And the team I played with a year and a half ago? The one before it, and the one before that one too? Well, I guess I was no longer a priority once I was traded.

No, I wasn’t a priority. I was a memory.

I tuck the worries away, and I keep the emotion out of my game when the puck drops. I have a phenomenal first period, stay out of the penalty box, and manage to stay clear of any altercations, physical and verbal. When we’re heading out for the second, up by one, I’m alive with excitement. When Lennon grips my jersey, stopping me in the players’ tunnel, crushing her mouth to mine, I’m downright giddy.

Nashville shows up hard for the second period, trying to even the score. They’re shady and dirty, pulling sneaky shit every time the refs aren’t looking, slashing anyone within reach, cross-checking Adam, grabbing the backs of our jerseys. They’re grating my nerves, and everyone else’s, if Garrett reacting and taking a penalty is any indication.

They’re all over us during the penalty kill, running their mouths, trying to draw more reactions from us as they tire us out in our own end.

“Hey, Jason,” Huber, one of my old teammates, says as he lines up next to me for a faceoff.

My jaw flexes as I force myself to ignore him. He’s always been an asshole, and when I took a penalty in game seven of the third round two years ago, he made sure I knew I was the reason we were eliminated from the playoffs. My penalty cost us a goal, the game, and our chance at the cup. Two months into the start of the next season, I was traded to Vancouver, and Huber smiled for the first time I’d ever seen.

“How’s Vancouver treating you?”

The puck drops, and Carter wins the face-off, passing back to me. I circle around the net, then fire the puck up the ice as hard as I can, my teammates racing to the bench to change lines, desperate for a break. I’m heading there when Nashville’s goalie skates out of his net, intercepting the puck and firing it right back toward our end, where Adam is momentarily unprotected.

“Fuck.” Spinning around, I race toward the puck, cradling it on my stick behind the net as I wait for my team to join me.

“How long you been there now?” Huber wears a smug grin as he follows me left, then right, trying to scare me into giving up the puck before I’m ready. “Nearly two seasons, yeah? Oof. It’s about that time, huh?”

Adam shoves him out of the way. “Don’t listen to him, Riley.”

“Nobody ever keeps you longer than that.”

I grit my teeth, passing the puck to my left, where Charlie, my partner, fires it up to our left winger.

“You got a fucking cat now, huh?” Huber laughs, a patronizing sound that works its way under my skin. “Hey, when you need love, you need love.”

“Fuck off, Huber,” Adam growls, gliding to the right to follow the play. “Jaxon doesn’t need shit. He’s got us.”

“For now.” He pumps his brows. “Hey, what about your photographer? You fucking her? What’s the plan when you’re traded? Try long distance and wait for her to forget about you? Bet she replaces her way into the bed of your replacement within the month.”

Before I know what I’m doing, I have him pinned to the boards, my stick across his chest as mine heaves.

His eyes sparkle. “Hit me. I dare you. Remind everyone that fighting is all you’re good for. Be the reason your team loses today. They probably already have your trade papers ready to go.”

“Jaxon,” Adam barks as the whistle is blown, the play stopped. “Don’t fall for his bullshit.”

My gaze drops, roams as my fists clench and the officials shout at me to either let him go or get on with the fight. I see Lennon’s face behind the glass, camera clutched to her chest, panicked eyes set on me. I don’t want to be the reason for her fear. I want her to be proud of me.

My eyes come back to Huber, and I loosen my grip. Drop my stick and turn my back on his disappointed face.

“Not even good for that anymore, eh? What good are you, then?”

I skate toward the box, ready to serve my penalty for interference. It’s a reckless, useless penalty, but the soft smile Lennon hits me with tells me she’s glad I chose to keep myself safe.

It feels good, not letting her down. So when I step onto the ice two minutes later, I resolve to make up for letting my team down. I haul ass, hustle hard in our end, force the puck out, and use my body the way it was meant to be used, blocking shots and protecting my goalie.

Carter goes down on a missed tripping call, and the puck is turned over at our blue line, hurled toward Huber, who waits in front of our net.

Lunging forward, I intercept the pass before it can hit his stick.

“Me, me, me,” Emmett hollers, tapping his stick on the ice, waiting just past the blue line.

I pull my stick back, and the moment I let the puck fly, a body connects with mine from behind.

I soar forward, stomach hitting the ice as my body glides across it, and the last thing I hear is the sickening crunch of my neck as the top of my head connects with the boards.

When I come to, I’m laid out on an examination bed, surrounded by people poking and prodding me. There’s a pretty girl hovering in the doorway, stunning chestnut spirals spilling from the top of her head, a deep crease set between her dark brows. She’s got a big camera tucked beneath her arm, and she looks like she’s on the verge of tears as she wrings her hands at her stomach.

My head pounds as she gasps, big brown eyes landing on mine.

“Jaxon,” she whispers, dashing toward me.

I blink up at her as she takes my hand in hers. “Who are you?”