Page 14 of Triple Power Play 3
“No.” Sitting sideways, my knees bent in his lap, I snuggle into him. His muscular arms wrap around me, providing the safety I need, and my breath gradually slows, my pulse no longer slamming against my rib cage.
Jax unbuckles his seat belt, sits next to us, stretches my legs over his, and rests his head on Ethan’s opposite shoulder.
He mouths, “Love you,” and I mouth it back.
Ethan reclines in his seat. “This is the last time we can stay together, fly together. I mean it.”
Jackson and I exchange a glance, neither one of us believing him.
6
JACKSON
“You shouldn’t be playing.” Doc gives me a hard stare before continuing to wrap my right hand.
The visitor’s accommodations are deplorable, with peeling blue paint and outdated equipment. I’m sitting in a worn chair, its stiff cushions cracked, yellow stuffing peeking through. I bet their facilities are lavish—cheap bastards—but I’m too high on life and adrenaline to let this depressing training room or Doc’s scowl kill my vibe.
My knee bounces with anticipation and boundless energy. “It’s not my first time playing with a broken hand.”
“That’s the problem.” Silence hangs between us, and I sense him holding back. “Your drug test was negative.”
“Never doubted it.”
His focus remains on my knuckles. “Did you complete the league’s therapy requirement?”
What do I need a therapist for? “I have Coach.”
Skeptical eyes surrounded by deep wrinkles lock with mine.
“Seriously, I’m fine. Coach takes good care of me.” Why would I turn to drugs or alcohol? My life is better than ever. I have everything I desire.
Doc snips the tape, and I flex my fist a few times. The pain is minimal, and my glove will add an extra layer of protection.
He straightens and pushes his glasses higher on his nose. “Want me to bind your ribs?”
“No, it’s annoying as fuck.”
An exasperated sigh escapes him, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “It’ll be a tough night. You know that, right?”
“Better than anyone.” There’ll be constant shit-talking. Players will be gunning for me, and then there’s Carmichael, their seven-foot enforcer.“Besides, what good is tape gonna be if I get hit?”
“Avoid fighting. Think about that pretty girl of yours and how far you’ve come. If you’re struggling, I’m telling Coach to pull you.”
Everyone suspects I’ve been doping. Everyone assumes without drugs, I can’t perform. Only a handful of people have faith in me—Aurora, Ethan, Grant, and Kill.
The latter two knew me before my addiction. Ethan believed in me, protected me, even when he hated me, and Aurora is my ride or die. For them, I’ll prove every doubter wrong.
“Doc, this’ll be my greatest game yet. Just watch.”
I haven’t played for me—for the thrill, for the challenge—since my rookie year. I dreaded playing once it became a job, a requirement for someone else, but that asshole won’t be looking down on me tonight or ever again.
Despite my setbacks, hockey is still the best thing for me, besides Aurora and Ethan. When my skates hit the ice, everything disappears. The harder I play, the faster I skate, the calmer I feel.
Not even Carmichael’s taunts provoke me.
He glides past me backward and juts his chin. “Your girl like my gift?”
The jersey in her dressing room. I fucking knew it.
