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“Everything’ll be all right,” I assure her.
“He’s going to relapse.”
Even as she says it, and I can’t deny she knows him best, I don’t believe it. I can’t fathom Jackson risking her.
And as much as I want him healthy and functioning, I can’t let her set aside her dreams to accommodate his dependency. It traps her and teaches him nothing.
“I’ll keep an eye on him. You can’t let this stop you. You deserve to shine.” It’s the absolute truth. No matter how badly I want Aurora with me or how much Jackson relies on her, we have to let her go.
The buzz of the crowd grows louder, and I sense a dominant presence approaching.
Ricky steps aside, revealing a frantic Jackson, still in pads and skates. He’s around 6’3” barefoot, 6’9” on skates. He towers over all of us and captures everyone’s attention.
“I knew I’d find you with her when you weren’t in the locker room.” He aims his words at me, but his fierce gaze remains fixed on Aurora.
Despite the taboo nature of our relationship and the prying glances, he leans in, takes her face in his hands, presses his forehead to hers, and closes his eyes.
She still clings to me, and I put an arm around his shoulders to provide them with some semblance of privacy.
“I’m sorry. Shit, I know that looked bad. My head’s fucked up.”
She trembles against me, and I hold her tighter.
“Don’t do it, Jax. Whatever he wants, don’t.”
He gives her a lingering kiss. “I won’t. I swear.”
I clasp the back of his neck. “You better not.”
He lets her go and puts an arm around us both. “Yes, Coach.”
We stay embraced in one another’s arms longer than we should. Longer than socially acceptable.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to pull away.
THIRTY-EIGHT
JACKSON
“What do you want?I can’t stay. We’re en route to Vegas.”
I guzzled a post-workout protein shake, hoping for some energy to clear my head, while I struggled to listen to Coach’s end-of-game speech. In a rush, I showered and changed then reluctantly went to find Kyle in his suite—mysuite.
He’s not drunk, but it’s early.
A group of men huddle around him, confidently sipping cocktails without a care in the world. Their voices ricochet off the walls, adding to my throbbing headache. It’s that loud, overly enthusiastic, arrogant cover that politicians seem to be bred with.
To Kyle’s dismay, it never passed down to me, neither through him nor my maternal grandfather, a prominent senator.
I’m an all-around fuck-up in his eyes.
“I know. That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss. We’re following you. We should hang out tonight. Remember the last time we hit Vegas? Huh?” He puts on a forced smile, projecting his words for all to hear.
He makes me fucking sick.
I shake my head, worsening the migraine, and I wince. “That’s not happening.” I lower my tone, not wanting to ignite an argument. “I’ve got an important game tomorrow, and you know Coach won’t let me play if I show up hungover.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m willing to bet,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “a beach house you do.”