Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)
Chapter 8

“Would it kill you to smile?”

My gaze slides to Adam, wide grin pasted on his face despite his sour tone, eyes moving around the room even though it’s me he’s speaking to.

I toss my arms over my chest, jaw tightening as I really solidify my frown, forehead crumpling. “Yes.”

Adam sighs, but the corner of his mouth quirks. “Thought we only had room for one drama queen in this group. You know Carter doesn’t like to share anything, especially titles.”

My gaze narrows on the man in question. He’s talking with my archnemesis.

No, talking is the wrong word. He’s laughing with my archnemesis.

“What the fuck are they laughing about?” My gaze tumbles down Lennon, from the top of her head right down to her feet, and for some reason, I think back on those awful fucking Crocs she was wearing that night in Cabo. Tonight, she’s in a pair of black leather boots and matching skintight pants, a baggy caramel sweater, with a white long-sleeve button-up peeking out. Her tight curls are pulled back from her face with a silk scarf the color of cinnamon, and she’s so effortlessly pretty it pisses me the fuck off. “She’s not saying anything funny. No way she’s saying anything funny.” I shake my head. “She’s not funny. She’s annoying. I’m way funnier. I’m arguably hotter too,” I lie, shrugging. “Dependin’ on who you ask.”

Garrett stops in front of us, looking from me to Adam, back to me, then settling on Adam. He thumbs in my direction. “Jaxon on about Lennon again?”

“No,” I answer at the same time Adam says, “Yes.”

“Look,” Adam starts, finally turning toward me. His gaze moves over my shoulder when Rosie’s laugh sounds behind us, and the corner of his mouth hooks up the way it always does. He’s head over heels, and it’s, like, whatever, ’cause now I’m the only single friend in the group, but I’m happy for him. Plus, I wouldn’t have Mittens if it weren’t for Rosie, since I found him at the shelter she works at.

Adam’s eyes come back to mine, and his brows lift the way they always do when he’s trying to convey how serious he is. “This is a community event. We’re supposed to be happy, smiling, and friendly. Can you do that?”

I grit my teeth and grin, because if I’m one thing, it’s a team player. Adam grimaces, and Garrett’s expression transforms to one that can only be described as horrified.

“What the fuck is that?” he mutters.

“I don’t know,” Adam breathes out. “But it’s terrifying.”

Garrett flaps a hand around. “Go back to frowning, please.”

Emmett strolls over, hands in his pockets, easy, crooked grin on his face. “What are we—ah! Jesus Christ, Riley, Halloween was three months ago. Stop trying to scare the kids.”

I drop the forced smile, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans, eyes narrowing on Lennon as she snaps a photo of Carter and a group of kids before pulling her phone out, frowning at the screen. “Whatever. I gotta go take a leak.”

I, in fact, do not have to take a leak. Instead, I swipe a water bottle from the snack table and shove a powdery doughnut in my mouth, suppressing a moan when it explodes, raspberry jelly coating my tongue. I lick my lips and fingers clean, slowly tracking the perimeter of the room. Lennon is focused on her phone, head down as she wanders aimlessly, looking up every once in a while to smile and offer an apology to anyone she nearly bumps into.

I don’t have a fucking clue why I’m watching her, why my eyes track her every step every time we’re in the same room. The guys think I’m obsessed with her because she’s acting like she doesn’t know me, but that couldn’t possibly be it.

She knows me. She knows that one of my fingers inside her makes her moan, two make her whimper, and three make her breathless. She knows that my hand wraps perfectly around her throat, leaves the most addicting marks on her ass. She knows the way my tongue tastes after it’s been soaked in her. She knows the shape of my cock, and the home it carved out in her tight, wet pussy.

She knows me.

So why is she acting like she couldn’t possibly care less? She should be pining over me, desperate for another dance with Magic Mike, and instead she keeps calling me Jason like she wasn’t screaming my name for hours on end, until her voice grew so hoarse I had to pause to get her ice chips.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, taking her lower lip between her teeth, gnawing it. Her fingers drum against her phone, and when she takes off down the hallway, my feet force me in the same direction.

“Any size bed will do,” she’s busy pleading into her phone when I catch up to her, pacing the dim hall, the heel of her palm pressed against one eye. “Please. No, I’ve called everywhere else. Everywhere is sold out. I need—” She huffs, hanging her head. “Okay. Well, thanks anyway.” She reaches into her top, shoving her phone in her . . . bra?

When she looks up, I spin away, reaching for the first door I come in contact with.

“Jaxon?”

“Huh?” I look over my shoulder, not missing the dangerous slant of her eyes when they narrow on me. “Oh. You.”

“Were you spying on me?”

I scoff. “Spying on you? Me? On you?” Another scoff, and I point at the door. “I’m going to the bathroom. Quit being so full of yourself. It’s not an attractive trait.” Propping the door open, I lean my hip on the frame, crossing my arms over my chest and smirking at her. “Plus, honey, you know if you want me to watch, all you have to do is ask. I’ll even be a willing participate if you want some help. I’m selfless like that.”

A slow smile spreads across her face, but it’s the way she drops her head and chuckles, a sound so much darker than this hallway, that really spikes my blood pressure. She stalks toward me, licking her lips, one hand on the camera that hangs from her neck. When she stops in front of me, my chest puffs, and I reach for the door frame above my head. I rarely swing and miss with women, and Lennon is no exception. She wanted nothing to do with me a week ago, and look how that ended for her. That Cabo hate-fuck was the best sex of my life, hands down, and I’m willing to fuck the hate out of her once more if that’s what she wants. I just hope she doesn’t get attached this time.

“So handsome,” she murmurs, fixing the button on my shirt. “Can I take your picture?”

“You gonna look at it later?”

Her grin widens. “You have no idea.”

She points her camera at me, snaps a single picture, and looks down at it like it’s her favorite thing in the world. God, she’s obsessed with me. I knew it. I can’t wait to fuck her later tonight, make her admit she’s been thinking about me all this time.

But then she pats my chest, turns, and walks away.

“Oh, Jaxon?” She glances back at me, batting her lashes. “That’s the women’s bathroom.”

“I fucking hate her.”

“Hate is a strong word, Jaxon.” Jennie shoves me out of the way, leaning over the tray the server offers us. She hums and haws before picking something smothered in chocolate.

“Well, I feel very strongly about my hatred for her.” I shake my head at the server, only because I accidentally got lost five doughnuts deep while obsessing over the attention Lennon refuses to give me even though I don’t really want it.

Jennie stares at me for a long, silent moment before snorting with laughter.

Carter looks me over, tossing a mini cupcake in his mouth. “I’m calling it.”

“Calling what?”

Another mini cupcake. “Lennon, at the end of the season, wearing your last name on her back.”

With a guffaw, I swipe his last cupcake, shoving it in my mouth. “Dat’s abso-wute-wee widic-a-wous.” I lick my fingers clean, gaze locked on Lennon across the room as she examines a tray of treats too. She picks one, our eyes meeting when she looks up. When she tosses the treat in her mouth, she gives me the finger. “I can’t stand her. She talks too much, and she has an attitude problem. Also, she wears Crocs.”

“Crocs are comfy,” Jennie argues.

“You fucked her even though she was wearing Crocs?” Carter shakes his head. “You’re a goner.”

“She lost the Crocs before I fucked her.”

“Was she wearing them when you first kissed her?”

I scratch my head, sifting through Bahama Mama–infused memories. “No, she took them off to feel the sand on her feet, and I carried them for her.”

Jennie and Carter share a look.

“What? What was that?”

“What was what?” Jennie asks.

“That look.” I point between them. “You two just shared a look.”

Carter avoids my eyes. “Did we?”

I roll my eyes, and because they’ve both pissed me off, I say, “Hey, Carter. Garrett’s fucking your sister.”

The flash in Jennie’s eyes is the only warning I get before she pulls her fist back and socks me in the shoulder. She’s fucking ferocious for someone whose dimples make her look downright angelic, so I clutch the sore spot, spinning away from her when she pretends she’s going in for a second punch. Carter looks like he’s considering doing the same thing, so when he takes a single step toward me, a tiny shriek escapes my throat before I dash away, replaceing safety with a group of kids playing ball hockey on the opposite side of the room. And also, Adam. Adam will protect me.

“Look who came to play!” He points at me from where he’s kneeling on the ground in the tiny hockey net. “Go get him! He loves to be tickled!”

“What? No, I—ah!” Tiny spawn attack my legs, going right for my weak spot—the backs of my knees. Shrieks of involuntary laughter come tearing up my throat as I struggle to protect myself. “Stop, stop! Adam! Adam! Help!”

Does he help? Of course not. Instead, he tells them, “I’ve heard his tummy is ticklish too.”

They don’t stop. They don’t fucking stop until tears are streaming down my face, until my throat is raw from all the pleas, until my limbs give out and the teensy semen demons drag me to the ground, piling on top of me.

“All right, all right.” Adam laughs, but it’s not strangled and high-pitched like mine was two seconds ago. “Let’s give Jaxon a break.”

The kids climb off me, and I continue to lie there, fighting for air and wondering why Adam wants a whole house full of these things. I mean, sure, Connor’s cute as fuck. And Lily, the reason Adam and Rosie are currently training to be foster parents, is, like, the sweetest little thing alive. But a whole house full? It seems like a lot of responsibility, nights in, and snotty noses. And plus, when are Adam and Rosie gonna replace time to fuck? He’s happier than he’s ever been since I’ve known him, though, and the dazed smile on his face each morning after returning from a trip says he’s extremely satisfied, so I think about asking him, but it doesn’t really seem like the opportune time.

I pull in a deep breath, letting it go with a long, loud huff, and sit up. There’s a small girl at my side, grinning widely at me, and I nearly shriek again, but manage an “Uh, hi” instead.

“Hi.” She snickers, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’re cute.”

Oh. Well, then. “I know.” I lift my shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Some might even say I’m the cutest boy here.”

“Hmm . . .” She glances behind me, batting her lashes at fucking Adam. When she looks back at me, her round cheeks are extra rosy. “Sorry, but he’s cuter.” She reaches forward, patting my head. “Don’t be sad. Someone will choose you to be their boyfriend.” She tosses another look at Adam. “Just not me.”

“Whatever,” I grumble. “I don’t wanna be anyone’s boyfriend anyway.”

She pins her arms across her chest, face scrunched. “Good, ’cause ain’t no one gonna wanna be your girlfriend with that attitude.” She scrambles to her feet, tossing another unimpressed look at me. “You’ll probably just be a lonely old cat man for the rest of your life.”

I gasp, looking to Adam when she scurries off. He’s got his head dropped between his shoulders, his entire body shaking with laughter.

“You already . . . are . . . a-a-a—” He pauses, scrubbing at the tears running from his eyes, “—lonely old cat man!”

I pick up the foam hockey puck, chucking it at his head. It doesn’t stop his laughter. In fact, it spurs more on. From him, as he collapses to his back, hands on his trembling belly. From the girls, watching us across the room. From Garrett, Carter, and Emmett, high-fiving my newest archnemesis—why are they all girls, by the way?

And from Lennon, who happens to be alternating among being keeled over with laughter, swatting at her tears, and taking pictures of me on the floor.

“It’s not funny!” I leap to my feet, scooping up more foam pucks along the way, chucking them at all my friends. “I gave Mittens a home! He needed me!”

“Lennon!” Carter points at me while he deflects a puck. “Did you get that one? Mid–hissy fit?”

“I got it!”

“Post it on Instagram!”

“I hate you!” I shout. “I hate you all!”

Rosie appears at my side, lips clamped tightly. She grips my elbow, gently leading me away. “Shhh. They tease you because they love you. Here.” She hands me a doughnut, then points at a board. “Does it make you feel better to know that you’re the top pick right now for ‘Who Would Win in a Standoff with a Moose?”

My breath evens out, the frantic rise of my chest slowing as I examine the board. Everyone’s pictures are up there, along with our names, numbers, and stats. One or two moose stickers fill the space beneath each player, but it’s my space that’s overflowing.

“Yeah. Yeah, that does make me feel better.” I sniff, stuffing the doughnut in my mouth. “I’d definitely win in a standoff with a moose, wouldn’t I?”

Rosie pats my shoulder. “You sure would, champ. You sure would.”

I shoot a narrowed look at my friends. “You guys wouldn’t last thirty seconds.” I shove a finger at the board. “Everyone knows it.”

Emmett dips his mouth to Cara’s ear. “Someone needs to get laid.”

And while I don’t necessarily disagree with him, I decide to take a break, escaping to the bathroom, washing all the powdered sugar off my fingers, checking myself out in the mirror. That little girl has lost it if she thinks I’m not as cute as Adam. I’m so fucking cute. Plus, the split down the center of my lower lip from my fight last night lends a certain je ne sais quoi to the whole look.

I splash some water on my face, waking myself up before I head back out there to be picked on by kids a quarter my size. Everyone has dispersed, interacting with kids and families throughout the room, and I’m just looking for a spot to fit in.

This isn’t new to me, these types of community events. Every team I’ve played for does them occasionally. But Vancouver, by far, gives back to the community more than any other team I’ve been a part of. I hated going to them at first. Hated looking around at a community I wasn’t really a part of, one I’d never fully fit into.

One I’d be forced out of someday, just like the last one.

Teams always want the enforcer. The defender who’ll stop at nothing to protect his goalie, to go to bat for his team.

But at some point, they become a burden. Someone who racks up penalty minutes, who sits helplessly by and watches as their team struggles to keep up with one less player on the ice. Someone whose absence becomes the reason behind one goal, and then another, and another, until the best plan of action is to trade them. Uproot their life, ship them off to another team, make them someone else’s problem.

That’s my experience, at least.

When I was first traded here last season, I was hellbent on hating these events. These guys have played together for years, built a family, and they’re embedded into this community. Why even bother trying to be part of it?

But then Carter turns around, his gaze moving around the room, lighting when it lands on me. “Jaxon!” he hollers, waving me over. “Come here!”

I meet Lennon’s gaze as I stuff my hands in my pockets and head over. She looks away quickly, rushing over to the snack table, giving it all her attention.

Carter tosses his arm over my shoulder, gesturing at the man in front of us. “Tim runs the Junior Vipers Training Camp. He wants to start a defense camp this summer.”

“Is that right?”

“We’re looking at developing an advanced program for elite players with a real shot of getting drafted,” Tim tells me. “Focusing on body contact and positioning, one-on-one play, defending against multiple attackers, gap control, that kinda thing.” He gives me a smile, half hesitant, half hopeful. “We could really use some help, though.”

“Told them there’s no better d-man than you,” Carter says. “They’d be lucky to have you hop on board.”

It’s funny what a few words of affirmation do, the way they lift an invisible weight off my chest, even if I’d never admit there’d been one in the first place. I’m a protector. A defender. I’ll always have my team’s back, every guy on that ice. I’m good at it, when it doesn’t lead to failed penalty kills or injuries that have me riding the bench, but that’s about all I’ve ever felt good at.

And no one’s ever said they were lucky to have me.

“I’d love to help out. Got lots of time this summer. As long as Vancouver doesn’t ship me off before then.” I add on a chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck.

Carter frowns, squeezing my shoulder. “No way that’s happening. You’re stuck with us, bud.”

Heat creeps up my neck and to the tips of my ears as I fight against the relief that wants my shoulders to collapse, the hope that inflates my chest like a hot-air balloon. It’s been . . . a long time, if I’m being honest. Since I’ve had a place, a real fucking place with anyone. These guys, their girls . . . they’re the closest I’ve come since I was a kid. I don’t fit, not really. I shouldn’t. They’ve got everything, the families, the houses, the love. They’ve got each other, and I just try to creep a little bit further in each day, because maybe they’d rather have me fill the spaces than deal with the gaps.

“I think I speak for all the Vipers fans when I say we sincerely hope you’ll be here a long time,” Tim says. He turns around, thumbing at the back of his jersey, where my name and number look back at me. “I’ve been a huge fan for a while now, even when you played in Nashville. My wife hates when I wear sixty-nine out in public, though.”

I bark a laugh, covering the sound of someone’s sudden, hoarse cough behind me. “My gran’s still mortified I picked that number. Refuses to wear the jersey.”

“Can’t believe I didn’t think to pick it,” Carter mumbles. “What a missed opportunity.”

“Ollie would make you change it,” I tell him distractedly, looking over my shoulder for the culprit of all that coughing.

“Ollie isn’t in charge.” He crosses his arms over his chest, then drops them just as quick. “Okay, Ollie’s a little bit in charge.” He frowns, head swiveling. “Who the hell is coughing so much?”

“I don’t know . . .” My gaze lands on Lennon, her hand splayed over her chest as she hacks up a lung. She waves off a server who approaches with a bottle of water, and I try to bring my attention back to Tim. “Uh, anyway, Tim, I’d love to, uh . . .” My eyes ping back to Lennon as her coughing turns to wheezing, and when she yanks her camera off her neck, clutching at her throat, wide eyes replaceing mine, my legs move without thought, eating the distance between us.

“Hey.” I grip her biceps, forcing her to look at me as color pools in her cheeks, staining her flawless copper skin a deep, furious red. “Breathe, Len. Breathe.”

She claws at my shoulders, gasping for air as people gather around us, but it’s the fear swimming in her rich brown eyes that brings the unwanted memories I’ve spent years trying to bury.

A shock of messy red hair. A face full of freckles he always hated but his mom always loved. A pair of Nikes he refused to take off, and blue jeans with perpetual dirt stains. Two brown eyes that begged for help.

Two brown eyes that begged for help.

My hand closes around Lennon’s wrist, feeling the cool kiss of her allergy bracelet. “Shit, Lennon. Fuck. What did you eat?” I grip her waist, then her hips, hands roaming, searching for a bag that should be here, housing what I need. What she needs. “Where’s your EpiPen?”

She opens her mouth, but the only thing that leaves it is the crackle of her quickly dimming voice. Frantic eyes pinball around the room, and she panics, clawing at her throat. “J . . . Jax . . .”

“Lennon.” I take her face in my hands, heart jackhammering against my chest as I force her eyes back to mine. “Where’s your EpiPen?”

“What’s happening?” Carter asks, laying his hand on Lennon’s back.

Adam squeezes my shoulder. “How can we help?”

“Nine-one-one,” I bark out. “Call nine-one-one.”

“Rosie’s already got them on the phone,” Olivia says softly. “What do you need, Jaxon?”

“I need someone to replace her fucking EpiPen. She’s going into anaphylactic shock.”

Olivia, Cara, and Jennie spring into action, racing around the room while Rosie’s firm voice tells the emergency operator on the phone that we need an ambulance immediately.

“Jaxon,” Rosie calls. “They want to know what she ate.”

“I don’t know,” I murmur, looking into Lennon’s eyes. “But she’s allergic to peanuts and tree nuts.” My gaze slides across the room, locking on a panicked server. “I need a list of everything that was served tonight, and all the ingredients.”

He nods, dashing into the kitchen, and I scoop Lennon into my arms.

“Clear the table,” I order, carrying her toward it.

Garrett and Emmett sweep it clean, and Carter whips off his sweater, shoving it under Lennon’s head as I lay her down. Her head lolls to the side, eyes going to her camera bag, sitting on a table in the corner of the room.

“Adam, hold her here.” I let go of her, stepping toward the bag, but her hand shoots out, fisting my shirt. Her chest heaves, tears pooled in her terrified eyes, and she shakes her head as she tries to drag me closer. Blood thunders in my ears as I take her hand in mine, clasping it tightly. “Okay, honey. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” I point at the bag. “Over there. The camera bag.”

Olivia gets there first, tearing the bag apart on her way over to us. She shoves the EpiPen into my hand, stopping at Lennon’s side, pushing her curls off her neck. “Jaxon’s got you,” she murmurs, but her voice shakes and tears gloss her eyes, like she’s not sure if she’s lying.

I guess that’s the thing, though. I failed at this once, so many years ago. And after you fail once, you vow to never, ever fail again.

“You’re doin’ so good, honey,” I whisper to Lennon as I pull off the blue cap. “So fuckin’ good.”

Tears spill from her eyes, streaming across her temples as she watches me, everyone in the room holding their breath as I slide my hand over her thigh. Her chest heaves, up and down, up and down, a vicious pattern that leaves me fighting the desperate urge to shake. Her eyelids dim and flutter, and fear wraps itself around my throat, squeezing until I can barely breathe.

“Hey.” I squeeze her thigh as I jam the orange tip against it. “Look at me, honey. You’re gonna be okay.”

I depress the EpiPen, holding it firmly against her thigh as I count to ten in my head. Sweat trickles down my brow, and I wipe it on my shoulder as someone shouts out the ambulance’s arrival outside.

Tossing the EpiPen aside, I clamp my hand over her thigh, rubbing the spot as the tremors win, making my hands quiver. I paste on a smile, pretending like I didn’t just nearly watch the life drain from another pair of brown eyes, and tell her, “So fuckin’ good, honey. Gonna be right back to annoyin’ me in no time.”

But she’s already passed out.