Page 8 of Only for Tonight (Only For #1)

seven

Jaxon

T he whistle blows and I skate over to the corner where Coach is there waiting for us.

“We’re going to work on three-on-three.” He starts to talk as he explains the drill on the board hanging off the glass.

“Three defense on one side”—he looks up at me, giving me a motion with his chin—“start off on the right side of Mars,” he mentions the goalie.

“You get three forwards on the other side.” He moves his marker on the board to the left side.

“We’re going to drop the puck and see who gets to it first. If the D’s get to it first, the forwards have to play defense and vice versa. ”

“We all know the D’s can’t really play forward,” Owen says and I smirk at him.

“Stevie’s shot is harder than yours,” my defense partner, Kirby, says of me, he uses my nickname.

Stevenson is my last name, so he shortened it when we first started playing with each other.

“And we all know you can’t score unless you’re right in front of the goalie”—he winks at him—“or you get a rebound.”

“Okay, let’s go,” the coach says, blowing his whistle. We get into place: me, Kirby, and Knox standing next to each other and looking over at the other side seeing, Lane, Patrick, and Owen.

“Easy-peasy,” Kirby chides. “Let’s set it up with Stevie.” He holds up his stick to me. “And me at the line. Knox, go center.”

“You guys have all the fun,” Knox whines as we all get ready for Coach to blow the whistle. The puck is at the blue line, waiting to be claimed. He sets up the play on both ends of the ice, the idle players standing in the corner waiting for their own time.

“I really don’t want them to win,” I mumble as I look over at Patrick, who smirks at me.

“Losers buy dinner,” Patrick declares from the other side, “next time we’re out of town.”

“Deal!” the three of us yell, and because they are busy talking and not watching Coach, they start a second after the whistle blows instead of right as he blows it. Kirby gets there before everyone, skating the puck back a little to let us all get into place.

The forwards get into the defense positions.

One at each side of the goalie in the middle.

“Go!” Kirby yells and I move beside him as Knox skates into the center position, right in front of the goalie to block his view of the puck.

Patrick, playing up front, tries to stick out his stick to intercept the puck Kirby passes to me.

Kirby and I have been defensemen partners since we started here together.

We can read each other with just one look.

It’s why we are both plus eight in the standings.

I have twenty goals in twenty-four games and twenty-eight assists.

I’m now at number one in the defenseman category, with Kirby sitting at number four.

I see Kirby look back at me as I try to determine if I can get a shot on Mars and if Knox can pounce on the rebound, but both Lane and Owen are on either of his sides.

I pass the puck back to Patrick, who looks like he’s going to give it a one-timer, making the goalie go over to the side.

However, I can see his eyes flicker once, telling me he’s going to pass it right back to me.

The puck bounces off of his blade and it comes right back to me.

I wind my stick up and it hits my blade in the middle, as I hit it straight to the goalie.

It flies right up his shoulder blade in the top corner.

The top of his shoulder getting a piece of it but not enough to push it over the crossbar.

“I believe that means,” Kirby gloats, “defense one, forwards zero.”

“Lucky shot,” Patrick says and I just laugh.

“He got a piece of it,” I remind him as we skate to the bench to drink.

“You guys can go,” the assistant coach tells us as he leans on the boards watching the plays being done.

We skate off the ice, walking down the tunnel to the locker room.

We’re the first ones off the ice, so I place my stick in the hallway against the wall before walking into the locker room.

I take off my gloves before unsnapping the chin strap, taking off my helmet and placing it on the shelf right on top of my nameplate.

Guys start to trickle in as I get undressed and head for the shower.

“We play Dallas tomorrow,” someone says as I get dressed, “and they’re on a winning streak.”

“Great,” I reply, thinking about facing off with Michael and Dylan. “Well, they have to lose eventually, might as well be against us.”

“You think your father is going to come to town?” he asks me and I shrug.

“We didn’t really talk about it.” I pick up my phone and send him a message.

Me: You planning on coming down for the game or is it supposed to be a surprise?

“It’s always a blast when your father visits”—he smirks at me—“and tells us stories about the things in his days.” I can’t help but snort when he says that.

“I’ll let you know and if he is, we’ll get something to eat with him probably before the game, since he’ll most likely be in and out.”

“Count me in,” Kirby says, walking away from me and heading toward the gym.

“Going to get on the bike for a bit.” I nod at him as I reach for the baseball hat on the hook, putting it on backward before grabbing my keys, phone, and wallet.

“See you guys tomorrow,” I tell them, walking out of the locker room and toward the underground parking.

I push the black metal door as I look around, heading straight to my parking spot.

I pull open the handle to the door and hear the car doors unlock before getting in.

As soon as I roll out of the parking garage, I dial my father.

It’s a habit that started to form about seven years ago.

A habit he used to have, too, when he was playing.

He would always, and I mean always, call us.

As far as I can remember, he would always call us as he was leaving practice when we were home.

When he was on the road, the call would always come in at around five, right before he needed to lace up and while we were gearing up to eat dinner.

Now that it’s the other way, I make sure we speak all the time.

“Hey,” he answers after two rings and I can hear he’s out of breath.

“You never got back to me. Did you get my text?” I ask him as I make my way toward my house. “Are you busy?”

“No, just on the bike,” he says, “trying to get my cardio up.”

“It sounds like you’re dying.” I laugh at him and he also laughs at himself.

“It’s been almost a month since I’ve been on this thing, and it fucking shows. Yesterday, I had to take three breaks in an hour.”

“Getting old, Dad, you have to embrace it.” I try not to laugh while I say it.

“Eat shit,” he retorts. “Why did you text me?”

“We play Dallas tomorrow and I was wondering if you are flying in with Nico.” I know Nico goes to every single game with the team. He may not travel with them but he meets them there.

“I was going to,” he admits, “but Victoria has a game out of town and your mother doesn’t want to go by herself, even though she said she did.” My sister is playing hockey at school and he’s been to every single one of her games, just like he did with me.

“It’s fine,” I tell him when he starts, not wanting him to feel guilty about choosing one kid over the other, especially since I’m in my thirties. “Next time.”

“How you doing?” he asks me.

“Okay,” I answer, smiling. “I got an email from Erika’s replacement yesterday.” I pull onto the highway, right along the coast. “He’s going to come out on Thursday to have a meeting with me. Annoyed me that he emailed me instead of picking up the phone and talking to me.”

“I heard he’s a good kid,” my father reports, “been with Erika and Becca for a while.”

“I’ll meet with him and see how we vibe. It’ll be a waste of time for both of us if we don’t get along. Which could have been done on the phone before he flew out to meet with me.”

“You kids and the vibe test. Fuck the vibe. If he gets the job done, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, but if he doesn’t have the same goals as me or if he doesn’t really think he can do anything for me, I’m not just going to sign with him. With Erika, I knew she would go out there and fight for me, even if I was wrong. She would tell me to my face, but then smile and pretend I was perfect.”

“She’s fucking good at her job.”

“Exactly,” I say, “it’ll be an adjustment for sure. Plus, I heard this guy isn’t really a hockey guy. His clients are more golf and football, but he wants to break into the hockey clientele. I’m not going to be his test subject.” I sigh.

“Listen, give him the benefit of the doubt. Meet with him, check the vibes.” I can’t help but chuckle silently when he says that. “Then call me after the meeting.”

“Like I’m not going to talk to you tomorrow before the game,” I tell him. “I’m playing Dallas tomorrow.”

“I really wish I was coming out with Nico,” my father says. “I’m going to see if maybe?—”

“Dad,” I reply tightly, “it’s more than okay. If anything comes up and I need you, you can come out this weekend and we can hang together.”

“Fine, twist my arm.” He laughs. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Talk to you then, Dad.” I disconnect the phone at the same time I pull into my driveway. Pressing the button to open the garage door and watching it go up slowly, I drive in and shut off the car before closing the door again. Grabbing my phone, I get out of the car and head into the house.

I got this house, near LA, for six point five million dollars almost ten years ago and literally gutted it, putting in another three million in renovations.

The only reason I bought it was because it was right on the beach.

It had panoramic views of the ocean and I loved sitting out there andwatching the water.

There is something relaxing and therapeutic about sitting and watching the waves hit the shore with the rumbling sound.

After most games, you can usually find me sitting outside and just relaxing.

In the morning, I’m usually having my coffee looking out into the horizon.

Stepping into the house, I face the open door to the downstairs bathroom, which is right next to the spare bedroom my sisters usually stay in when they come to visit.

I head left past the formal living room I never fucking usebut, apparently, have to have.

A conversation that my mother and the realtor had with me when I was picking out the house.

Especially when I gutted it and then started to rebuild it.

Thinking of the resale value was the only thing that made me agree with it.

Ten years later, I still hate the room and I regret it, but if it wasn’t a formal living room, I have no idea what I would have made it.

I pass the staircase before taking two steps down into the family room in the back of the house. The back wall of the house is totally glass, opening out into the ocean.

The deep L-shaped couch in the middle of the room faces the fireplace and giant-screen television on top of it.

Walking over to the big square coffee table, I grab the remote and turn on SportsCenter.

I make my way toward the kitchen, pulling open the fridge.

I’m about to get out one of the prepared meals I have in there when the front door opens and then I hear it shut. “Jaxon!” I hear Tiffany’s voice.

I close my eyes and whisper out, “Fuck,” before I hear the sound of her heels on the floor. “In the kitchen,” I mumble as I look over and see her walking in.

Her blonde hair is perfectly styled and her face is in full makeup as she takes off her black sunglasses, placing them on the counter along with her little black purse.

“I was wondering if you would be home.” She walks around the island toward the fridge as I grab the pre-prepared chicken meal out.

She’s wearing a short tan skirt with a tucked-in white button-down shirt .

“I just got back,” I mention, moving around her toward the microwave.

“Do you mind if I go take a quick shower? I got my spray tan done this morning and I’d like to wash it off.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” I say, instead of asking her why she bothered to come here instead of her house.

She leans up and kisses my cheek as she turns to walk toward my bedroom.

The minute she’s out of my view, I close my eyes before my head falls back and I open them to look up to the ceiling.

She called a week ago, asking if we could talk.

I should have said no, but I didn’t. I said yes for the simple reason that maybe if I saw her again, I could see if she was the one.

You know, the whole thing with not seeing someone and then you see them and it all makes sense.

Or at least that is how it plays out in the movies.

I thought if I saw her, it would click something into place inside of me.

But it didn’t. It just made it even more clear that she is not the one for me.

I should have said something, but I left to go on a road tripfor three days and, somehow, she thinks we’re going to get back together.

Forget the fact I haven’t been intimate with her, or even kissed her, for that matter.

I’ve not called her, or even asked her to come over, she just simply shows up.

It’s blatantly clear she isn’t the one for me.

It’s also blatantly clear I’m not the one for her, and no matter what I say, she isn’t getting the message.

It’s time to pull on my big-boy pants and just come right out and say it.

She’ll be hurt now for sure but she’ll get over it in time and, who knows, maybe she is going to thank me.

I shake my head, knowing she is definitely not going to thank me, instead she’s going to literally want to burn my house down with me in it. “You have no choice,” I mumble to myself, “or else she’ll never stop coming by.”

I put the chicken in the oven before turning and deciding to make myself a protein shake while I wait for it to be done.

I’m gathering all the items I need to do this when the doorbell rings.

I walk out and head toward the door, only seeing the silhouette of a person standing there.

I pull open the door, and never in my wildest dreams do I expect it to be her.

Her back is to me, but when she turns around and I see her face, I can’t help but smile when I see her looking at me. “Ariella!”