Page 8 of Side Out

God fucking damn it.

Bridget comes stomping into the living room, her brows pulled together in question at my slumped form in the chair, but she doesn’t say anything. The face she’s making is enough to know that she’s on the verge of an onslaught of questions.

Stopping her before she can start because, quite frankly, I don’t have the bandwidth for it, I say, “Drop it, Bridget. They turned it down. That’s enough.” And with that, I brush past her to start getting ready for bed. As I stare at myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth, I find myself trying and failing to cast what just happened across the street from my mind.

Because, based on the type of people that were occupying that party, there’s one thing I’m about ninety-nine percent certain of.

Jackson Baker is one of my athletes.

* * *

?*The hockey coach’s voice booms through the weight room. “This is our new athletic trainer, Mr. Young.”

“Please call me Theo. It’s very nice to meet all of you,” I awkwardly say to the thirty young men who make up the hockey team here at Palm University. This is my least favorite part.

The introductions.

I’ve slowly been introduced to each of my assigned teams as their seasons start up, and today is the men’s hockey team’s first official practice of the season.

My eyes immediately land on Emerson and Dom. I won’t lie and say it’s not nice seeing some familiar faces in a sea of strangers.

It’s been a couple of weeks since the night with Jackson. The moment he had me pushed up against the front of his house has been on repeat in my head—like a never-ending loop I can’t seem to escape no matter how hard I try. Some days, the memory of it feels like it has the ability to be my undoing, and some days, it feels as if it’s my saving grace.

Suddenly, Dominic and Emerson appear in front of me. “How did we not know you were the new athletic trainer?!” Emerson asks while Dom just stares at him. Emerson pauses a moment, and it’s like you can practically see the light bulb go on above his head. He smacks Dom on the chest and excitedly says, “Hell yeah. We’re neighbors with the athletic trainer!”

“I might have told you, but I can’t seem to get a word in edgewise when you two are together,” I answer with a grin.

Emerson wonders out loud, “We do talk a lot, don’t we?”

Dom starts to chuckle. “No, Em, you talk a lot… Enough for the both of us, actually.”

“I guess that explains you moving in,” Emerson says to me, ignoring Dominic’s remark.

“Yeah, I accepted the job over the summer. I’m excited to grow with the school,” I say honestly. “All the sports programs and coaches seem great. Palm University has a great athletics program.”

Dom jokes, “Woah there, big man, this isn’t a job interview. You can be real with us.”

Smiling, I answer, “I’m being serious. Every team, player, and coach here has been great to work with. It’s much tighter of a community than my last school.”

We talk back and forth for a minute; they introduce me to a couple of other players, and eventually, their coach whistles to head out to warm up before practice starts.

And just like I have been with every other team I’ve met so far, I’m excited to get to work.

* * *

I’ve been holed up in my office for most of the morning, making sure emails are caught up and that I don’t have any new patients I need to make plans for before tonight’s season opener. I have a few more minutes before I need to make my way toward the rink to tape up a couple of guys’ ankles and work through some stretches with a player who is having issues with his hip flexor and another who pulled his hamstring a couple of weeks back. Taking advantage of the last few minutes of silence I’ll have for the rest of the day, I’m going through my mental checklist and making sure I’m not forgetting anything I may need for tonight. It’s been a busy month leading up to the first game, and with Bridget being gone for most of it, I’ve had the chance to really get into the groove here at Palm University.

Feeling as ready as I can be, I shut my computer down and lock my office. I quickly weave through the endless corridors at the practice facility before making my way into the concrete hallways that lead to the hockey arena. Palm University has a top-of-the-line sports complex, and several of the school’s teams share this facility, including the volleyball and basketball teams. I give some smiles to the other staff of the hockey team that I, for the life of me, can’t remember the name of, and then I’m stopped in my tracks. I spot Emerson’s familiar build facing away from me, but that’s not who catches my eye… it’s his old brother standing there giving him what clearly looks like the big brother version of a pep talk before the game.

Jax has his hands on his brother’s shoulders, talking low enough that I don’t have a clue what’s being said, but it gives me the perfect chance to sit back and admire his features.Again.Jax’s jawline is something to truly marvel over, and those cheekbones… I’ve obviously never seen them, but I justknowhis parents have top-of-the-line genes. Despite being tall and lean, he fills out the charcoal-gray joggers he has on as if they were painted on his legs by Picasso himself. His stark black hair is just long enough to shag over his brows, and it’s always in a perfectly messy yet styled look.

Being pansexual, I truly don’t have a type. It’s a full spectrum of what I enjoy looks-wise in a partner, but what it truly comes down to is their personality and soul. However, I’d be lying through my teeth if I said Jackson Baker’s looks weren’t a major issue for me. I don’t think I’ve seen someone more attractive in my life.

I don’t know why, but I remain standing in the hallway with my phone in hand, surely looking like a moron, acting like something has my full attention, when I hear the door to the locker room open and close. Before I even have the chance to look up, I can feel Jackson spot me from down the hallway. And when I do grow the balls to pull my face from my phone, he’s staring a hole through my head with a shit-eating grin on his face.

He walks down the hall toward me like he owns the place. “Well. Well. Well. If it isn’t, Mr. Young.”

“Jackson Baker, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” I say, trying to keep the interaction as professional as possible.

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