Page 183 of Cross the Line
***
Goodbye,Seattle!
I sink deep into my seat, my heart beating a gazillion miles a second. The atmosphere around me teems with anticipation. Every single person, from player to staff, is desperate to take off and get home.
After our shitshow against Chicago, we topped Vancouver—on overtime—and the adrenaline from the excitement and the anticipation of heading home this morning saw us shut out Seattle 2–0.
Thank God we get two days off before we’re back to practice, and then have a decent six-game home run. Meaning we get nine days where we go to sleep with our girl, wake up with our girl, and just be with her.
“Come on, assholes,” Dylan shouts from the front row, silencing all the chitchat. “Sit down, buckle up, and let’s fucking go!”
“Yes, Daddy!” Ansel calls from the back with one of the other guys hooting while the PA system comes to life with The Score’sGoing Home, our homecoming anthem.
One of Matheo’s better ideas. He used to play it so loudly in his headphones that half the team heard it, and Coach started playing it aloud. It’s a tradition now.
As always, when it comes on, Matheo sings it at the top of his voice. Unfortunately for our ears, it sounds like a cat is being murdered in time to the beat. Which makes everyone hurry into place so that the music will stop as we take off, and he’ll shut up.
“Thank fuck,” Jayden groans, curling into me.
Last night’s game against Seattle was fucking crazy, and he ended up in a hard fight with one of their fiery wingers. It’s not out of the ordinary for JJ and Ahlgren to butt heads. It would be more unusual if they didn’t, but last night, the tension was high, and the Swede got the better of him.
Doesn’t help that he was distracted because of me. After my headache in Chicago, I made sure to take pain relief before our subsequent games as a precaution—something that rattled him when he saw me pop a couple pills before the Seattle game.
It also didn’t help that a reporter started questioning our ability to play together on the same team when we’re in a relationship in the Vancouver postgame interview. Coach quashed the narrative right away, but it was still there, festering in the background.
“Fin’ll take care of the bruise for you,” I tell him, lifting his face so I can check the stitches on the bridge of his nose.
The cause of the blow-up—Ahlgren sticked him in the face andboom! We both ended up doing time. Me in the bin, with Reinhardt in Jayden’s place for a full five minutes while JJ got stitched up by our medic.
The situation only pronounced the reporter’s narrative, which is now a hot topic in the hockey press.
“I know you don’t want to hear it,” I tell him, stroking my thumb lightly across his cheek.
“Then don’t say it,” he groans into my hand. “You have my back, and I have yours. It’s what we’ve always done.”
“I know, JJ, but we haven’t always been…us.”
His gorgeous face falls into a stricken grimace. “Bullshit.”
“Don’t make this into an argument.” He’s been stewing since the damn interview.
“Then don’t say stupid shit.” Jayden tries to pull away from me, but I yank him closer. “I have always fucking loved you…”
“And I you. Always.”
“So there you go, we’ve always been us.”
“Not officially, to everyone… the world, JJ.”
With an audible swallow, he lowers his gaze to the armrest between us. “The world sucks.”
“Not all of it.” I say, lifting the armrest so there’s nothing between us as I add, “You showed me that. Like you always say, ‘you’re never wrong’…”
His surly stare meets mine, and when I smile, he rolls his eyes. “You can’t use my words against me.”
“I’m not using them against you. I’m reminding you of them.”
A begrudged smile twists his lips. He relaxes beside me, face so close I can feel his breath wisp along my lips as he murmurs, “I’ve ridden this wave before, Eli. It’s vicious. People are vicious. Cruel and uneducated, always waiting for you to put a foot wrong so they can prove their poisonous diatribe is right. That we’re less than they are… wrong…”
