Page 77 of Triple Power Play 3
Jesus, why does that give me goosebumps?
34
ETHAN
The kitchen falls silent, save for the clatter of dishes and the running water at the sink. It’s clear we just moved in. The house has that new-place echo.
Jax is clearing the table, Reece is loading the dishwasher, and I’m working on my phone, returning emails and texts. Aurora is in the bedroom, doing her nightly routine of God knows what.
It’s oddly…domestic.
“I remember the first time I played.” Jax breaks the stillness. “I got into a fight in the cafeteria, and the coach recruited me. I knew how to skate. I played a bunch of sports growing up, but nothing stuck. I was terrible on a team.”
Reece sets a glass in the dishwasher and mumbles, “Shocker.”
“I liked surfing.” Jax flashes him a scathing glare. “It gave me a chance to get out of my head. There wasn’t much to do at boarding school besides hiking, skiing, or freezing my balls off. So I said, fuck it. I’ll try hockey.” With surprising gentleness, he stacks dirty plates on top of each other. “The first practice, I got my ass kicked.” He chuckles. “I mean, these guys were gonna show me why their country was the best, you know?”
He brings the plates to the sink, and Reece shoots me a worried glance over his shoulder. Jax is talking more than usual—about his childhood. Maybe he’s filling the silence, or maybe he’s having a breakdown. Nobody knows yet.
“We were on the same fucking team.” He crouches and grabs a spray bottle and paper towels from under the sink. “I didn’t understand it. In my head, I was thinking, I’m gonna slaughter one of these motherfuckers and get into so much trouble. And yeah, I got crosschecked and snapped. Mitts and helmets came off, and we exchanged blows until Coach called it, but that was it. They hit me. I hit back. By the end of the week, I was sore as fuck, bruised, bloody, and damn happy. Happier than I remember. It was strange, like waking to a dream.”
I watch him, trying to gauge his mood, but his back is to me, his focus on cleaning the counter. He’s reminiscing about a time when he escaped LA, escaped Kyle, and found life worth living, and I wonder if he’s processing the idea of leaving.
He places a bowl in the sink, washes his hands, and organizes spices in the cabinet. “Eventually, I learned if I was fast, I could avoid getting knocked around, and people liked me since I could play. I fit in. I never did at any of the preppy private schools Kyle sent me to. There, I was only somebody ’cause I had money and designer drugs.”
“Another shocker,” Reece says under his breath.
I might punch him if he doesn’t shut the fuck up and let Jax trauma dump or whatever is happening here.
“Anyhow,” Jax draws out. “That’s where it starts. They use rich kids to push drugs and get others hooked. High school, college, raves—it doesn’t matter at first, as long as people can afford it.”
Reece pauses, both of us seeming to sense the direction this is headed. This is Jackson’s weird way of opening up.
“They set up lavish parties within their inner circle and sell a shit ton of overpriced drugs to trust fund kids, all while cherry-picking their victims.”
I sit back, my work forgotten. Reece dries his hands and leans against the counter.
Jax positions and repositions a brass pot on the ridiculous twelve-burner gas stove, ensuring it’s directly under the pot filler. “Kids wanna belong, feel special, you know? So they’d invite thechosen onesto their exclusive parties with celebrities, athletes, politicians, and sex workers. Some are predators. Some are prey. That’s what Kyle would tell me when I refused to fall in line—I was a predator, or I was prey.” His shoulders rise and fall with shallow breaths. “I chose to be a fuck-up. The kid who always got kicked out of school. The stoned guy at the party. The addict.”
My eyes sting. Kyle is lucky he’s dead. I might dig up his body and feed it through a woodchipper for my own peace of mind.
“I’m sorry, man.” Reece clears his throat. “Give me some names and places, something to go on. I’ll do the rest.”
Jax mirrors Reece’s posture and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’ll name who I recognize in the videos—pictures of faces; I’m not watching them. I’ll list those in the LAPD and any headmasters, teachers, and others I can remember. I’ll give you the locations I’ve been to, though my memory is spotty.”
“The text you received,” Reece prompts. “The jail cell. Do you know where it is?”
Adam’s apple bobbing, Jax swallows repeatedly. His eyes become glazed, and Reece glances at me in alarm, but I’m already out of my chair.
“Hey, it’s okay. Take your time.” I draw him into my chest, clasping his nape. “I’m so fucking proud of you. You did good.”
His arms come around me, and he buries his face in my neck. “I don’t wanna be like this. I just want it to end.”
I get choked up, and hot tears burn my eyelids. I weave my fingers into his hair and dip my head. “I love you. You’ve been strong for too long. Tell me who, and I’ll fix it. I swear to you.”
Right now, I’d do anything, hurt anyone, to take his pain away.
35
