Jackson
“Yo, asshole!”
I grind my teeth together because I was waiting for this.
Ever since breakfast at the hotel—spent with Claire at my side, feeling more settled, more secure and comfortable than I have in years, even though Smitty was glaring daggers at me—I knew this shit was coming.
I turn, snag the ball of tape out of mid-air before it smacks me in the face. “What?” I grit out, tossing it in the trash and moving to my station. I wish we were done with this road trip, wish I could bring Claire back to my place, spend hours kissing every single inch of her body.
But we have a hockey game and then a late flight home.
We’ll all be exhausted—not just us players, but also the support staff, including Luc and Claire.
I might be able to bring her home, or talk my way into her bed, but it’s going to be to sleep.
Because no way in hell is her first time going to be a quickie because we’re both running on fumes.
“What are you doing?” Smitty booms, dropping into the chair next to mine—another not fun part of being the away team? The shitty locker room digs.
I miss my cold pool and personalized cubby.
Thankfully, I don’t miss it enough to be daydreaming about that shit.
Instead, I’m aware and on edge and…
I duck when he throws the punch.
“She’s like our little sister,” he growls. “How dare you take advantage of her?”
One second, I’m half amused, half annoyed at the pushy asshole routine that Smitty’s displaying. The next, the words process, my temper snaps, and I’m on my feet, my hand around his throat.
Squeezing.
Squeezing very hard.
Squeezing until his face starts turning red.
“I would never take advantage of her,” I hiss, leaning up so that our faces are mere inches apart, so that he can see exactly how deadly serious I am. “I barely got my own head out of my ass enough to accept taking her on a date, let alone that I can have something more. It’s her,” I say. “It’s her and me, and you’re not going to do anything to fuck that up.”
If I was in my right mind, I might have noticed that all of a sudden, Smitty is smirking.
Even though my hand is still around his throat.
Even though I’m still squeezing the life out of him like I’m trying to get that last fucking drop of juice out of a crushed slice of lemon.
But I don’t notice.
Because I’m too fucking pissed.
“I don’t owe you a fucking explanation,” I growl. “But I know you care about her, so I’ll give you this. I like her—maybe too much and for far too fucking long. I just didn’t think I was good enough for her. Lucky for me, she disagrees and has decided to give my dumb ass a chance.” I bend, holding his gaze. “So, I’m not going to fuck it up. Not now. Not—”
A hand on my shoulder nearly has me whipping around and punching out whoever in the fuck thinks that they’re allowed to touch me right now.
“I get the urge to strangle Smitty,” Aiden says quietly, “but kill him and we’ll be down a defenseman tonight.” His mouth quirks. “I’d really prefer this big asshole block the shots instead of me.”
That’s just absurd enough to have laughter bubbling up in my chest…
And my hand releasing.
Smitty—who’s big enough that he likely could have easily broken my hold—coughs loudly (because he does everything loudly). “You’re not ready, dickwad,” he says. “You barely function with the rest of the team, barely let us in. How are you going to begin to take care of our Claire properly?”
My biggest fucking fear on display, but instead of making me retreat, I’m ready to dig in and push forward.
She’s too important to give up just because I’m scared.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m fucking ready.”
“No,” he growls. “You’re not.”
I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off but he, in typical Smitty fashion, can’t shut the fuck up.
“You’ll hurt her and then I’ll hurt you and—”
“Asshole,” I begin, stepping close. “You’d better watch your fucking mouth.”
“Smitty,” Aiden says on a sigh, moving between us, shoving us back so I’m out of choking reach. Assholes. Both of them. “Enough,” he says. “Claire can take care of herself, and Jackson isn’t going to hurt her—not on purpose, anyway. Because we’re all inherently dumbasses and are going to fuck up, but—” He looks at Smitty when the other man growls. “But,” he says again, “Jackson and Claire have us, have you and each other, and they’ll be good, yeah?”
Silence falls—a fucking shock, especially with Smitty around.
“And you,” Aiden goes on, turning back to me, eyes colder and expression more serious than I’ve ever see it. “We haven’t missed that you’ve been a dick to her more than once over the last months. I’m glad you’ve made your peace and seem to have gotten on board with how great she is, and I hope to fuck you got on your fucking knees and groveled for forgiveness—”
Groveling for forgiveness isn’t the worst idea.
Especially considering how big of an asshole I’ve been.
“But Claire looked happy at breakfast, and I heard about yesterday—”
Of course he had.
Fucking Gossip Train.
“—so I’ll just say, keep doing what you’re doing. Keep making her smile and spoiling her and making her happy.” His eyes cool further. “And so long as you do that, we won’t have to kill you.”
“Swear to God,” Walker says quips, “that’s more words at once than I’ve ever heard you say.”
Aiden rolls his eyes, nods toward my equipment, silently telling me to get my shit together and get ready for the game.
“I’m more impressed by the fact that Jackson managed to lift Smitty’s heavy ass at least two inches off that chair,” Raph chimes in.
“Superhero strength,” Cas says. “Only happens in cases of emergencies and extreme rage.”
“Or from the drugs,” Marcel deadpans.
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes—they heard my mom ask me one time about being high (blood sugar high, not high high) and the joke has continued.
It doesn’t help that I technically also take drugs multiple times a day.
The locker room laughs in appreciation of our captain’s joke, and I exhale, allowing the dredges of anger to fade away as I return Aiden’s fist bump with one of my own.
Then I start getting dressed.
And not a moment too soon.
Because Claire walks through the door barely a minute later, carrying our pregame snacks.
Including my sandwich.
I thank her for it with a kiss, with a murmured, “I’ll repay you later,” that has her blushing, and then I’m focusing on Smitty, glaring at him while he glares at me.
I’ll show him.
I’ll show them all.
But most of all, I’ll show Claire—
How fucking perfect she is.
“You don’t have to repay me,” she says quietly.
“And you don’t have to do what you do.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “But you do it anyway.” I lean close. “Plus, I think you have all sorts of interesting thoughts about how exactly I can pay you back.”
Her cheeks go redder, but she’s smiling when she pecks me on the cheek—thus earning a roomful of catcalls. “It’s forty-three minutes till game time,” she says, shoving my sandwich toward my mouth. “Get busy.”
She winks.
“Now and later.”
I grin.
Then she waves and slips from the room, hurrying off to make magic elsewhere.
My gaze catches on Smitty’s and I don’t miss that now instead of glaring at me…
He’s looking thoughtful.
Which is more than enough progress for today.
Especially—I take a bite of my PB&J—because I plan on making him block all the fucking shots tonight as payback.