Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)

When I was twelve, I burned two images into my head. Two images I’ve been unable to forget, no matter how hard I’ve tried. Two images I’ll forever be able to describe in detail.

Bryce’s face when he realized he’d been stung by a bee and he didn’t have his EpiPen. The terror drowning his wide brown eyes, the grief that twisted his face a moment later, like he’d already accepted his fate.

And his parents’ backs as they walked away from me for the last time. Draped in black, the same way the rest of my days would feel without my best friend, tinged in darkness.

Six days ago, I added a third image.

I never could’ve imagined that I’d be desperate to forget a single second in time with Lennon. Fucking Christ, I was wrong. What I wouldn’t give to wipe the memory of her face from my mind when she told me she was my girlfriend, and I told her I didn’t date. In that moment, I didn’t know her, but I felt her pain, felt the way she shattered when she pulled her hand back, forced herself away from me.

And then thirty minutes later, when my head cleared and my eyes met hers, it all came rushing back. She threw herself into my arms and sobbed into my neck, and I hated myself more than I ever have.

Still do.

“You’re all clear, but I’m going to recommend that you sit out for the rest of this round.”

“What? No. No fucking way.” I shake my head, moving to stand, and Coach puts his hand on my shoulder, shoving my ass back to the examination bed, where I’ve been every other day since my concussion in Nashville. I look between him and the doctor who basically just signed my trade documents. “I need to be on the ice. I-I-I . . . I need to do something. Be useful.” My gaze bounces back to Coach, and I’m ready to drop to my knees, beg. “Please. I promise I’ll be useful.”

He sighs, rubbing his forehead as he turns to the rest of the coaching staff. “Down our best fucking defenseman in the third round.”

“I’m sorry,” I sputter, getting to my feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I tried to—I didn’t hit him. Please let me play.”

“You let him get under your skin, Jaxon. Yes, you came to your senses before you could hit him, but you let him draw a penalty out of you first. He used your interference as justification for his retaliation, and you landed yourself right back on my injured list. Now we’re four games into the third round and they’re leading the series by three.”

It’s my fault. That’s all I hear. I let him get under my skin. I let him draw a penalty out of me. I’m injured, a-fucking-gain, because I couldn’t keep my cool when it mattered, and my team is down a defenseman in the third round of the playoffs.

I’ve let my team down. My friends. My family. My girlfriend.

Again.

“Doc said I’m all clear,” I argue quietly, because if I can’t be on the ice to prove my worth, what good am I?

“She also said she recommended you stay off the ice for the remainder of the round.”

“It’s a risk we aren’t willing to take,” my assistant coach adds. “Shouldn’t have let you play at all. All it did is exacerbate your injuries.” He sighs, scrubbing his eyes. “You’ll be no good to us in the final round—if we even manage to win the next three games to get there—if you go down again.”

There it is. I’m a risk. A burden.

I’ve heard that before, and I know how it ends.

Me, saying a goodbye I’m not ready for, getting on a plane I don’t want to get on.

Coach claps my shoulder. “We expect you to be at morning skates, keep yourself fresh, but take it easy. And if we manage to win this round without you, we’ll talk about the finals. Now go home, Jaxon. Get some rest.”

I stand there, fists clenched at my sides as they turn their backs on me, forget about me, talk about the replacement they pulled up from the farm team while I’m right there, how he’s stepped up in my absence. I stand there as memories run rampant in my head.

The click of heels against pavement as Bryce’s parents turned their back on me. The choked sobs that grew quieter and quieter, until they eventually disappeared right along with them as they climbed into their car and drove away.

The cold, blunt words LA used when they told me I was getting on a plane to Carolina the next morning. The same ones Carolina used two years later when they sent me to Nashville, and Nashville to Vancouver two years after that.

The unanswered texts that stared back at me every time I reached out, checked in on my former teammates. People I thought were family.

Me, two Christmases ago, sitting on my couch by myself all day, because Gran was sick, and I was too new in Vancouver, too nervous to ask my teammates for a spot at their table. The painful, hollow feeling in my stomach when I realized how alone I was.

How alone I’d always be.

“Hey, bud,” Carter calls as I walk down the hall, hands tucked in my pockets. “Glad to see you back this week. Haven’t heard from you much. What’s the verdict?”

His footsteps follow quickly behind me, and I close my eyes to his tenacity, forcing myself to the exit.

“Jaxon? You okay? Need a ride home? Need to talk?”

“I don’t need anything from you,” I snap before I can bite my tongue. “I don’t need anything from anyone.” My shoulders curl, and I pause at the exit, feeling the weight of my words as they hang around me, settle over Carter. Blood thunders in my ears as I fight with myself to apologize. For my words, for being a disappointment that only makes mistakes, that forces my team to have to push harder, leaves them hanging without my help when they need it most.

Instead, I push the door open, because if I’m going to say goodbye to Vancouver one day soon, if I’m going to lose my friends and my family all over again, I might as well put the distance between us now. If I control the narrative, maybe it’ll hurt less this time.

“Jaxon?” Carter’s quiet voice pauses me in the doorway. “We love you, buddy. We’re here when you’re ready to talk.”

I try to shake the words off as I walk through downtown Vancouver. They latch on to my thoughts, that four-letter L-word planting seeds in my head, sprouting roots when all I want it to do is die.

I don’t know what love is. It’s supposed to be eternal, isn’t it? But then how come it always leaves? How come I’ve watched it walk out of my life over and over, let it drown my peace and shatter my hopes?

If I had to guess what love was, it’d be fear. Sheer, dizzying, debilitating dread that everything good in your life will be gone in the blink of any eye. Ripped from your unwilling grasp, leaving you to sink to your knees, alone, desperate for the pain in your chest to dissipate, for the thoughts in your head to make sense.

And when I walk into my apartment to find Lennon cooking at my stove while my cat sleeps at her feet, it’s all I feel.

She smiles up at me, so bright and beautiful it hurts to look at her. It hurts even more when I look away. “Hey, you. How’d it go?”

“I’m out,” I mutter, busying myself in the fridge.

“What’s that?”

“I’m out for the rest of the round. As a precaution.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Jaxon. That’s probably for the best, though, right?”

I shut the fridge. “For the best?”

“Gives you a chance to recuperate.”

“I’m recuperated. I’ve been recuperating for five days. The doctor cleared me.”

She looks up from the bowl she’s stirring. “But suggested you sit out the rest of the round? They’re worried about you getting injured again so soon. You were only back for twenty-five minutes when you hit your head again, and it was worse this time because of the prior injury. They’re just being careful, Jaxon. You’re valuable to them.”

“I’m nothing but replaceable to them.”

Lennon stops, placing the bowl down. She wipes her hands on the baggy T-shirt she’s wearing, the one with my name and number on the back. “That’s not true, honey,” she tells me in that soft, patient voice she uses when she’s trying to fight with the voices in my head. But right now, I just want her to agree with me.

I want her to tell me they’re wrong, that I should be playing. I want her to tell me there’s a good chance they’ll trade me, because yes, I’ve disappointed them so many times this year, maybe too many, and there are piles of defensemen waiting for the shot I keep blowing, ones that could do it better.

Instead, she takes my face in her hands, thumbs sweeping over my cheekbones. “Your health is important. Your brain is important, and it’s fragile, especially right now. They want to give you the time you need to make sure you’re okay⁠—”

“I’m okay! I’m fine!” I spin away from her, tugging at my hair. “Why does nobody believe me?”

“You’re not fine, Jaxon.”

“The doctor⁠—”

“The doctor said you need to rest for the rest of the round.” She steps in front of me, forcing my eyes to hers. “Another week. One more week to protect your brain.”

I open my mouth to argue, and she shoves her finger in my chest, fire sparking in her gaze.

“Don’t you dare tell me you’re fine. You’re okay, yes. I get it. You are physically capable of playing hockey, and you feel better. But you took one blow after another to your head when you were barely healed, and they told you. They warned you, Jaxon. They warned you that it could be worse, and it was.”

“Barely. It was barely worse, and it was just bad lu⁠—”

“You forgot my name, Jaxon!” Her fists shake as she clenches them at her sides, tears brewing in her eyes. “You forgot my damn name, and when I said I was your girlfriend you laid there and told me without a care in the world that you didn’t date. The time before that, you forgot what team you played for. So don’t you dare tell me it was bad luck, that it was barely worse, because I can’t take another one of those. I can’t watch you get knocked down time and time again and wonder when will be the time that you forget me altogether, that you forget about us and never remember.”

“Nobody’s forcing you to be here!” My chest heaves, my heart seizing at the shock on Lennon’s face, the way she steps back, just slightly, like the words came up between us like a wall. My thoughts race, spiraling, and everything feels tight. I squeeze my fists to keep from clutching at my chest, right where everything hurts, where I’m struggling to get air.

“Nobody’s forcing you to be here,” I say again, quiet this time. “If you’re waiting for me to change, to be better, be good enough, you might as well stop wasting your time. I can’t change, clearly. If I could, I wouldn’t have pinned Huber against the boards, right? Wouldn’t have brought on his hit. I wouldn’t have ever forgotten your name, and then maybe I wouldn’t hate myself, because—” My throat squeezes, seizing my words. Lennon looks down, down at my trembling hands, and when she moves to take them in hers, I step out of reach. I don’t deserve her. “Because how could I forget your name? How could I forget you?”

Tears slide down her cheeks, and my fingernails dig into my palms to stop me from reaching out, taking her face in my hands, wiping her tears away.

“I’m not asking you to change,” she whispers. “That’s the last thing I want. I feel really sad for you that you think so little of yourself. That all these years, you’ve missed out on the incredible person you are, the person we all know and love. The only thing I’m waiting for, Jaxon, is for you to realize what we all already know, which is that you’re enough. Kind, passionate, loyal, patient, funny, sarcastic, and so damn thoughtful.” She sniffles, swiping at the tears streaming down her face, even though they just keep falling. “You’re enough, Jaxon, exactly as you stand here today. That’s what I’m waiting for you to realize.”

“You’re going to be waiting a long time.” The words are hoarse and fractured, hopeless. If I could do it, I would. Would’ve done it a hundred times over. “I’d do it for you if I could.”

Lennon shakes her head, her gaze swimming with tears. “I don’t want you to do it for me. I want you to do it for you. I want you to love yourself the way everyone else loves you. I want you to realize you’re worth it for you, Jaxon. Not for anyone else.”

I don’t know what to say. Telling her I’ve been loving myself exactly the way the people around me have loved me over the years doesn’t feel like the right answer. Neither does telling her that I feel exactly as worthy as those same people have made me feel. And I wish they didn’t matter, know they shouldn’t, but how do I convince myself that’s true? I don’t know how, and I’m so fucking tired of trying and failing over and over again.

“Do you want me to leave, Jaxon?”

My head snaps up at her whispered words. The heartache in her gaze is as heavy as mine, and I want nothing more than to take it away. But I don’t know how to carry both of ours when I can barely carry mine anymore.

“Because if you want me gone, you’re going to have to tell me. Open your mouth and communicate it to me. Tell me you want me to leave, and ask me to go. Because I’m not leaving otherwise.”

My head shakes frantically, my hands reaching out for her. I stop myself at the last second, pulling them back in, squeezing them into fists. The face of every person who’s walked out of my life and never looked back flashes in my mind, and my thoughts race, a dizzying mess of insecurities bubbling just beneath the surface.

And yet my heart roars the loudest, protesting the idea of her walking out this door. Of not rolling over in the middle of the night, pulling her into my warmth. Not having my hand on her thigh in the car. Not coming home to her in the kitchen, wearing her goggles and chopping onions. Not seeing the wonder and utter adoration that dances in her eyes when she’s gazing at the stars. Not feeling that same way when I’m gazing at her every moment of every damn day.

Because, Christ, I do.

Lennon is mine. My best friend, the hand in mine, the weight lifted off my chest. She’s the sunrise when I spent too many years in the dark, and breathing easier for the first time since I was a kid.

And I am terrified to lose her.

I don’t know how to ask her to stay, to wait for me. To help me. But, fuck, I want to.

Lennon’s eyes move between mine. She swipes away her tears and nods, like my silence is the answer she was looking for. “Then I’m not leaving,” she says with absolute certainty, no matter how quiet the words are.

She moves back to her bowl, wrapping it up while I stand here, watching her. She tucks it in the fridge, then lifts Mittens into her arms, kissing his forehead when he wakes with a yawn, then passes him to me. He licks my nose, nuzzles my cheek with his head, and then curls up under my chin.

Lennon pauses at the edge of the hallway, bloodshot eyes coming to mine over her shoulder.

“I’ll wait, Jaxon. I don’t care how long. Because this? This is a once-in-a-lifetime feeling. You’re a once-in-a-lifetime find. I’m not walking away.”