Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)

“I fucking hate them.”

“The literal only way this could be worse is if Jennie were here too.”

“Oh, fuck. Don’t say that. She might hear you and come running.”

“Well, hey.” Adam shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess that’s the positive, right? It could be worse?”

Emmett, Garrett, and I keep our eyes on Carter and Lennon a moment longer, the two of them shaking their hips, doing a spin, making up moves to some ridiculous song, before we twist our necks, in slow fucking motion, to glare at Adam.

“For fuck’s sake, Adam,” Emmett groans.

Garrett throws up his arms. “Can you not?”

I skate by him, shouldering him on the way. “For once in your life could you not look for the positive? Sometimes there is no posi—oof!” He silences me, sandwiching me between him and the boards.

“There’s always a positive.” He releases me, tugging me back with a fistful of my practice jersey. “Like right now, you’re complaining that your girlfriend and one of your best friends are currently choreographing a dance that you have to partake in, and sure, that’s shit. But you’re overlooking the positive. Wanna know what the positive is?”

“No,” I grumble, mindlessly waving my stick back and forth on the ice.

Adam pulls his mask back on, winking. “The positive is you get to work with your girlfriend and best friends every day.”

Okay, well, technically, Lennon hasn’t ever said girlfriend/boyfriend, and Carter once told me that’s a conversation you have to explicitly have, or whatever. Plus, like, I’m not trying to scare her with labels, so I’ll just wait until she’s comfortable enough to bring it up.

Because Lennon is totally scared.

Of labels.

And committed relationships.

Yes . . . Lennon . . .

“All right, boys.” Carter claps his hands. “We’re ready for you.”

The sharp zip of skates sliding along the ice sounds behind me as I shift a stray puck back and forth on the blade of my stick, head down.

“Jaxon.”

I glide aimlessly around one red circle, then head around the net backward, popping the puck in from behind.

“Jaxon Eugene Riley, Lennon said no more sex if you don’t get over here. Right. Now!”

“I did not say that. I’m having the best sex of my life. Don’t take that from me, Beckett.”

“Awww,” Garrett coos. “Did you hear that? Best sex of her life. Your girlfriend loooves you.”

Lennon rolls her eyes, planting her foot against Garrett’s ass, shoving him away. “Jaxon, for the love of God, get over here so we can teach you the dance before I off half your hockey team and you have to forfeit game six tonight by default.”

Well, I can’t have that. We swept San Jose in four games in the first round of the playoffs, and now we’re up three-to-two heading into game six against Edmonton in the second round. Plus, today is really special for Adam and Rosie, since they’re adopt ready and asked Lily to officially be a part of their family forever. So, like, I guess I’ll do the stupid dance, or whatever.

With a groan, I slouch over, skating toward the rest of the crew. When I stop next to Lennon, I tilt my cheek toward her, but keep my grump face on for appearances. She snickers, pressing a kiss to my cheek, and only then do I line up with the rest of the guys.

“Morning skate is done, you know,” Emmett mutters, toeing at the ice. “Could be at home, fucking my wife on the kitchen counter.” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Or in my back seat, parked somewhere off the road, ’cause she loves the thrill of possibly getting caught.”

“Oh my God! Can everyone just shut up and do the damn dance for once in their life?”

All of us turn, absolutely slack-jawed, to look at the person who’s shouting at us. Because it’s not Carter.

It’s sweet, angel Adam.

“There’s a little girl at my house right now who said ‘I love you, Daddy’ when I left to come here, only two hours after Rosie and Connor and I asked her to officially join our family.” He tosses his stick and gloves to the ice, and his mask follows quickly. “So let’s nail the damn dance so I can go home and be with my family before we come back here tonight, win game six, and seal our spot in round three against Nashville.”

“Adam.” Lennon presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth in a kiss. “Chef’s kiss. Can always count on you to get everyone in line, and I promise, Lily is going to love this little performance on ice tonight.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait.” I hold up my hand. “On ice? Tonight? Are we not just, like . . . videotaping it? For the socials, or whatever?”

Carter scoffs. “What kind of intimidation tactic is that? This is just rehearsal for the pregame performance tonight.”

“Intimidation tactic?” Garrett looks between them. “Why do we need an intimidation tactic?”

Adam sighs. “Great, now I’m skeptical. After my big speech and everything.”

Emmett crosses his arms, mimicking Adam from a moment ago as he mutters, “Can everyone just shut up and do the damn dance?”

Adam shoves him into the boards, then promptly deflects what appears to be Emmett’s attempt at a game of slapsies.

“Okay, boys, that’s enough. When I took this job, I was told I’d be working with professional athletes, not children.” Lennon snaps her fingers at the portable speaker sitting on the ledge by our bench. “Carter, will you let the team know what song they’ll be dancing to today?”

He scrambles toward the speaker, picking up the phone plugged into it. “The honor is all mine,” he breathes out, and as an unforgettable keyboard riff pours from the speaker, he grins at us. “What better way to say … ‘Bye Bye Bye’ . . . to the Oilers tonight than with a little . . . NSYNC?”

So, hey, is it too late to choose Option B, where Lennon offs half my team and we have to forfeit by default? Because I’m definitely not dancing to “Bye Bye Bye” by NSYNC in front of twenty thousand people.

I danced to “Bye Bye Bye” by NSYNC in front of twenty thousand people.

Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it.

“Lennon said he was practicing at home all day.”

“I didn’t wanna be bad in front of so many people!” I screech, waving my arms—and stick—in the air. I turn to my . . . Lennon. “Lennon! That was supposed to be our little secret!”

She winks, wiggling her fingers at me before heading down the players’ tunnel. “Uploading to Instagram as we speak! I’ll be tallying votes for the fans’ favorite dancer!”

“Okay, well, we all know who that’ll be.” Carter leans on the board ledge, pumping his brows as he squirts water into his mouth.

I swipe the bottle from him, quenching my humiliation. “Yeah. Me.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“Only one of us was practicing all day, and it shows.”

“I’m not sure we intimidated the other team,” Garrett murmurs, eying the players in blue and orange warming up—and still laughing at us—on the visitor’s side.

“Yeah, pretty sure they think we’re jokes now,” Emmett says.

“That’s the whole point,” Carter insists. “They think they’ve got this in the bag, ’cause all we’re good for is dancing.”

Emmett grimaces. “I’m not sure I’d say we’re good at dancing.”

“Speak for yourself.” Garrett spins, jutting his hip. “Did you see me shaking my ass out there? Jennie saw, I’ll tell you that much.” He leans over the boards, wagging his brows at her. “And something tells me she likes what she saw.”

“Lily loved it, huh?” Adam spreads his legs, slowly sinking down to the splits on the ice, leaning into the stretch.

I join him, bouncing into my lunge as Lennon emerges by the girls with her camera. She snaps pictures of the team as they warm up, but her camera never pauses on me. “Do you think she sees me?”

“Who?”

“Lennon. She’s taking pictures of everyone but me. Maybe she hasn’t spotted me.” I look at Adam when he doesn’t respond. He’s busy winking at Rosie. “Adam. Give me attention.”

“Huh?” His gaze snaps to me, and he grins, climbing to his feet. “Sorry. My attention’s reserved for the pretty lady with pink hair.” He grabs his mask—a brand-new one he had custom made for tonight, featuring a drawing Lily made of their family—and slips it over his face as he skates toward them. When he places his hand against the plexiglass and Lily and Connor touch theirs to the opposite side, the girls lose their shit, Carter whines because Olivia says something about Adam being a bigger DILF than him, and Lennon takes a picture.

I skate over, watching as she flaps at her eyes.

“That’s it. That’s the sweetest picture I’ve ever taken. The girlies are gonna go feral over this.”

I knock on the glass. “What about me? Did you get my picture?”

Huh. That’s weird. ’Cause I knocked on the glass to get her attention, but she’s not giving it to me. Instead, she’s taking a picture of Ireland and Carter, murmuring about perfection.

“Lennon? Did you get my picture? Look at this.” I shimmy backward, drop to my knees, and spread them as wide as I can, bouncing into the stretch, kinda like I’m humping the ice. “Look how low I can get.”

She flips through her pictures.

“Len?” I scramble to my feet, skating toward her, tapping the glass again. “Did you see me? Want me to do it again?”

“Yes, Jaxon,” she finally answers on a sigh, her gaze swinging up to mine. “I saw you. We’re all so impressed.”

I grin, lifting a shoulder, leaning on my stick. “No big deal or anything. Just been told I’m a pretty impressive guy, so, thought you might wanna see.”

She lifts a brow, and there it is. Right there in the corner of her perfect mouth, the curve that leads to the full, mind-blowing explosion across her face, the smile that lives in my head rent-free. And when she raises her camera, points it at me, I wink.

“Hey, honey?” she calls after me as I skate away. I stop, spinning back to her. “No fighting.”

I can’t make that promise, but I wish I could. I try, though, as hard as I can. I keep my body between Edmonton’s offensive players and Adam, protecting my goalie the way I’m supposed to. I pin them to the boards, steal the puck, pass it up the wing and watch my guys fly into their zone, dominate, put three pucks in their net. Hell, I even assist for two out of three.

I keep my hands to myself as much as I can, and it starts off easy enough, until Edmonton’s left winger starts chirping at Adam.

“Jesus, another one that’s not yours?” Number 12 makes a show of looking over Rosie and the kids. “Your girl just have sex with everyone but you, or what?”

Adam’s eyes flicker, but he keeps his eyes on the puck in the ref’s hand as we line up for a faceoff in our end.

I press my shoulder against 12’s as I crouch beside him. “Fuck off, Marshall.”

He turns his grin on me. “Funny you’re so defensive for guys who are gonna forget about you one day soon when you’re traded. Isn’t that what they all do?”

“Fuck off, Marshall,” Adam spits, and when the puck drops to the ice and the play explodes, he glides from one side of the net to the other. Never taking his eyes off the puck, he tells me, “Not worth it, Riley.”

“Your girlfriend doesn’t think so either,” Marshall says to Adam, chopping at my stick. “If she thought your dick was worth it, she’d probably ride it and make one of those kids yours.”

I shove him away from the crease with my shoulder, trying to ignore the urge to crack him in the face. He’s just mad because we’re halfway through the third period, and we’re up by one. If he’s about to wave goodbye to his chance at the cup, he doesn’t wanna leave without a fight.

But picking on the nicest guy in the league? For opening his home, his family, to kids who aren’t biologically his? What the fuck’s the point? How miserable do you have to be?

He nabs a pass from one of his defense, and I sandwich him against the boards the moment he winds up.

“Quit running your mouth,” I spit out as he climbs to his feet and the puck gets tangled up at the blue line.

“But I’m so good at it.” He slaps his stick against the ice, calling for a pass from his linesman. “Guess it’s better to be a stepdaddy, though, huh, Lockwood? That way, when your girl eventually cheats, you have no ties to the kids. Right?” He smirks, glancing at Adam as the puck glides across the ice. “Wonder if this one will fuck her way through the roster the same way your ex did.”

Adam blinks, and in the same moment, the puck hits Marshall’s stick, ricocheting off it. Adam’s catcher comes up a split second too late. The puck smacks the crossbar and sinks down into the net, tying the game at three goals apiece.

At the expense of Adam.

And it’s my job to protect my goalie, and my friends.

I drop my gloves and stick to the ice, grab Marshall by the neck of his jersey, and throw my fist in his face, just once, ’cause Lennon’s watching and she asked me not to fight. He swings at me, grabs for anything within reach, yanking my helmet off before the officials separate us. I grab my gloves and stick off the ice, sweat-drenched hair stuck to my forehead. “You need to verbally abuse the goalie to score? Disgusting.”

I turn back to the net, where Adam waits with my helmet. I press my forehead to his mask, clapping him on the back. “You’re an amazing dad, an incredible partner, and one hell of a goalie.”

He wraps his arm around me. “Thanks for having my back.”

I turn toward the penalty box, ready to serve my time.

“Hey, Riley?”

I glance over my shoulder, just in time to see Marshall hook his stick around my ankle and yank.

My feet go flying out from beneath me, and my ass hits the ice first.

The back of my head hits second.

Then my vision goes black.

You’d think hitting my head and waking up as I’m being lifted off the ice on a stretcher was the worst of it. Or the verbal beatdown Coach delivered after he stormed in here when the period ended—we’re going into overtime, by the way—and after he found out I’d be okay.

But no, the worst of it is the terrified voice shouting my name.

“Jaxon? Jaxon! Where is he? Is he okay?”

I look up at our team doctor with pleading eyes. “Please don’t let her in here.”

She holds my gaze as she opens the door and calls, “Over here, Len!”

Coach crosses his arms over his chest as Lennon rushes into the room, deflating when she sees me alive and conscious, lying up on the treatment table, naked from the waist up.

She lifts her phone to her ear. “Gran?” Damn it. “I found him. He’s alive. I’ll have him call you later.” She says goodbye, tucking her phone away, and I’m in so much trouble.

“Ah, Miss Hayes,” Coach drawls, and is his eye twitching? It’s definitely twitching. “You’re just in time. I was about to tell Jaxon that he needs to a) stay out of the penalty box, b) keep his fists to himself, and c) stay off my injured list, because this team needs him on the ice. He’s no good to them anywhere else.” The longer his sharp gaze stays on me, the more desperate I am to hide. “Is that clear, Riley? Cut the fights, unless absolutely necessary. You can’t be our number one enforcer if you’re not on the ice to enforce.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lennon wrings her hands, like she wants to touch me, but isn’t sure she’s allowed. I know it’s not Coach she’s worried about; it’s me.

“C’mere,” I murmur, hooking my finger toward her. Relief floods her face, and she dashes over, grasping my arm.

Coach looks between us, sighing. “All right, we’ve got an overtime to win. Riley, if you’re dating our photographer, I need a love contract signed and in my hands before you step on the ice for your next game.”

My heart stops at that four-letter word, attached to something as binding as contract. “A-a . . . a what?”

“Love contract.” He waves a hand through the air. “Consensual relationship agreement, whatever you wanna call it. Just a contract signed by the two of you stating you’re in a consenting, romantic relationship.”

“Oh.” That feels . . . big. Official. Scary.

But then Lennon twines our fingers, and I look at the way her hand fits in mine, so perfectly, like mine was always made to hold hers. And it doesn’t feel so scary.

Coach leaves, and Lennon looks to the doctor. “What’s the prognosis?”

“Just a minor concussion,” I half-lie, trying to get up. It just so happens that Adam, Garrett, Carter, and Emmett choose this moment to clomp through the door on their skates.

Carter takes one look at me trying to get up, points his glove at me, growls “Sit,” and I lie right back down.

“Jaxon thought he played for Nashville,” the doctor tells everyone.

I roll my eyes, scrubbing my hands down my face. “You misheard me! I said I used to play for Nashville. Plus, we’ll be playing them next round if we win tonight.”

The doctor blinks at me, and I keep my gaze on hers, because it’s easier than looking at the five people surrounding me right now, the ones wasting their energy being scared for me.

“It’s called post-traumatic amnesia,” she tells them, because she certainly already told me this in front of my coach, assistance coaches, Adam’s goaltending coach, and our fucking GM. “It’s temporary memory loss that happens due to an injury to the brain. It can last anywhere from a few minutes to a few months. Luckily, Jaxon was the former.”

She looks back to me, and I feel the weight of everyone’s gaze burning into me.

“He’s had too many whacks to the head in a short amount of time without a break. Next time, he may not be so lucky. Next time, the memory loss might not be temporary.”

I wanted to surprise her, but as it turns out, it’s incredibly hard to surprise someone who’s been hovering over you for four days straight. Apparently, my last surprise to her, ever, will be those custom Crocs I gifted her.

At least she’s wearing them tonight.

“Your Crocs look nice.”

“They’re ugly as fuck,” I huff, staring down at my blue Crocs in the passenger seat of my car while Lennon drives. Oh, did I forget to mention I, too, now own a pair of Crocs?

“But . . .”

I roll my eyes. “But they’re comfy as fuck.”

“Ha! I told you! I converted you! I knew I would!”

She could probably convince me to convert to temporary celibacy if she gave me those eyes, pushed out that lower lip, and murmured a please, but I’m not gonna tell her that. I wouldn’t put it past her to try, just for bragging rights.

Lennon glances at me, chin on my fist, elbow propped in the open window as we whizz along the highway, up the coast toward the spot we’ve been going to once a week since her birthday. “What’s the matter, grumpy boy?”

I huff.

“Aw, c’mon now.” She reaches over, tickles my chin. “What’s wrong, handsome boy?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise, but you didn’t even ask me for directions, you just started driving exactly where I wanted to take you, like you knew!”

She bites her smile back. “I’m sure I have no idea what you have planned, even though when I suggested going to bed so I could spend the night with Magic Mike inside me before I leave tomorrow for Nashville and Georgia, you freaked out and suggested a drive. At midnight.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I like midnight drives.” I like anything if I’m doing it with Lennon, but Bill Cooke from NASA’s Meteoroid Environments Office says the best time to start watching a meteor shower is at two a.m., and that it’ll just get better and better until dawn. I wanted to get there with plenty of time to get set up and comfy so Lennon doesn’t have to miss a minute of it. “I hate not being able to drive.”

Lennon gives me a beautiful smile. “You’re almost there, Jaxon.”

Yeah, I am. I’ve got a checkup tomorrow after the team leaves for game one of the third round in Nashville, and the doctor feels confident in my recovery so far. If I’m cleared, I’ll be allowed to drive, and to fly out to Nashville to play in game two.

Or Georgia, for Lennon’s family cookout, which just so happens to be sandwiched between game one and game two. She hasn’t tried to ask me to come again, but I know she wants me to; she’s just afraid of what my answer will be. Kind of like how she hasn’t come right out and asked me—in all seriousness—to stop fighting, but I know just as well that she wants me to. Is desperate for it, even, if the way she’s been watching me at nighttime while she thinks I’m asleep as any indication, like she thinks she’s at risk of losing me at any moment.

And I get it. I know well enough how hard it is to watch someone you care about get hurt. It’s one of the reasons Gran had to cut back on coming to my games once I was sixteen. Too many fights that led to injuries, and when she’d drive me home from the hospital later that night, she’d swear she nearly wound up in the bed next to me from a heart attack.

I don’t want to be responsible for someone’s pain, not in that way. So for my gran, for Lennon, I’m going to make a conscious effort to try. It doesn’t mean I’ll never fight again. It means I’ll try to keep my emotions in check enough so that I only fight when it’s truly necessary. After all, I’m a defender. My job is to protect my goalie, my team. It’s what I’m good at.

So I can do that. But I don’t know if Georgia is a step I’m ready to take.

Lennon pulls off the highway and into the parking lot at Porteau Cove. It’s far from empty, but our usual spot, tucked down on the pebbled shore, is as quiet as it always is. I help Lennon unpack her telescope, then watch as she gets lost in setting it up, the same way she always does.

“Just a quick peek,” she murmurs, peering up at the sky through it as I spread out the blanket. Wow, her lips mouth, and then she takes two steps toward me before pausing and dashing right back. “One more peek.”

That happens three times, and when she finally finds me, I’m lying on the blanket, watching her instead of the sky.

“Sorry,” she whispers, crawling toward me.

“No, you’re not.” I snake an arm around her waist, pulling her into my side, my hand behind my head as my gaze coasts the sky, looking for Sirius. When I find it, the same thing happens that has ever since Lennon told me to look for Bryce there: a warmth starts in my toes, climbing up my legs like a vine, wrapping me in a feeling so secure, so comforting, like a hug I’ve been needing for fifteen years. It creeps up my face in the form of a smile, small and a little sad, but in this moment, I see him here, smiling back at me, and there’s a strange sense of relief in that.

Lennon slides her palm across my chest, laying it over my heart as she sighs softly. “Hi, Bryce. Shining bright as ever, my guy.”

Christ, this girl. I blink at the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes, letting them get lost against her hair when I press my lips there.

I’m not someone who wonders what life would have looked like for the people we loved and lost. It’s too painful. Too fucking painful to think about Bryce filling out, eventually growing into his lanky form. To being the top goalie pick the year he should’ve been drafted. The trouble we would’ve gotten into in high school, the hearts he would’ve broken.

The voice who would’ve always been on the other end, only a call away.

I might refuse to torture myself with what could’ve been, but as I lie here beneath thousands of stars on a warm night in the middle of May, listening to Lennon tell the brightest star in the sky about all the trouble I’ve been getting myself into on the ice, I know with certainty that Bryce would love this woman.

And as the first meteor falls, then the second, and the third, as Lennon tells me all about the Eta Aquarids—like that they’re debris from Halley’s comet, or that they can travel as fast as forty-two miles in a single second—as she falls silent, staring with wide-eyed wonder out at the sky, her hand clutching tightly at mine, I can’t take my eyes off the stunning woman at my side.

How lucky am I that of all the fingers she could have her own twined so tenderly through, she’s chosen mine?

I watch with awe as a tear sneaks out of her eye, the starlight kissing the track it takes across her cheek. Her chin quivers, and she pulls her lower lip into her mouth.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

I catch her tear on my thumb. “Stunning.”

“Do you love it?”

My gaze traces the shape of her heart-shaped mouth, my favorite good-morning kiss. Follows the delicate slope of her jaw up to her high cheekbones, where the sunrise always paints her first. Takes in the spirals scattered softly across her forehead, the ones I love to twirl around my fingers when she’s lying against my chest at night. I settle on those deep brown eyes, as endless as the sky above us, dancing with the same dazzling stars, and I smile.

“I do.”