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Chapter Two

Hayden

If you had told me a few years ago that I would be sitting here today, watching Blaine Olsen getting all misty-eyed while reciting his vows on his wedding day, I would’ve gotten a cramp from laughing so hard.

No, seriously. He was the last person I expected to get married. As his agent, I’ve spent many years having to put out metaphorical fires. Whether it be keeping his place on the team and keeping his sponsors happy or on the internet after he thought with the brain in his pants instead of his head, but here he is. So fucking in love it’s almost sickening.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am happy for him. His soon-to-be husband, Alex, has brought the best out in Blaine—and saved me from prematurely getting more gray hairs before I hit the big four-oh—and while today is filled with happiness and love, it’s a stark reminder of everything I’ve failed at.

One of them being the man sitting next to me, and it’s safe to say I failed him big - time .

The tension has been rolling off Jackson in waves from the moment I sat down next to him. His jaw remained clenched up until the happy couple started reciting their vows, and then he must have forgotten I was there because he finally relaxed. My attention should have been on Alex and Blaine, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him as a million and one thoughts ran through my mind.

Was his blond hair as soft as it used to be? Was he still ticklish beneath his ribs? Did he still eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off before every game? Was his mouth still his biggest erogenous zone?

I wanted to know everything about him, but my questions would remain unanswered. Because the moment he noticed I was watching him and not the ceremony, the tension returned to the broad line of his shoulders, and his jaw snapped shut so fast I heard his teeth audibly click.

It’s kinda fucked-up to think his scowl is one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen in a long time, but I don’t blame him for feeling this way toward me.

I deserve it.

This is only the second time I’ve seen him in almost nine years, and I don’t really know what I was expecting to happen when we saw each other again. I’m not delusional enough to think he was going to greet me with a ‘ hi, it’s been so long, I’ve missed you ’ hug. But regardless of the time that’s passed between us, I would be lying if I didn’t admit the guy still makes me weak in my already very weak knees.

Jackson Wilde has always been the one who got away. The one who was the reason why I could never completely hand my heart over to my ex-wife, Zara .

It was because he still owned it. Even now. Almost fourteen years later, he still has a tight hold on me.

And I have no idea what to do with that.

“Alex, do you take Blaine to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the officiant asks, finally pulling my attention away from the man next to me.

Alex flashes a wide smile and nods. “I do.”

When she turns to Blaine, his chin wobbles. He presses his lips together like he’s trying to keep a lid on his emotions. “Blaine, do you take Alex to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Blaine’s eagerly nodding his head before she’s finished speaking, causing a ripple of laughter among the guests. “I do. I really fucking do.”

Her mouth twitches at his slip of the tongue, but she manages to stop herself from laughing. She looks between them with a fond look on her face. “By the love that has brought you here today and by the vows you have pledged, it is my great honor from the state of California to now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss one another.”

Blaine grabs Alex’s face with both hands and slams his mouth over his husband’s. We all stand up, clapping and cheering in applause. Some of his teammates are hollering like hooligans.

Hockey players, you really can’t take them anywhere.

Alex cradles Blaine’s face, swiping his thumbs under his eyes to wipe away his husband’s tears as they laugh into the kiss. The love they share is so palpable and pure. I could sense it the very first time I met Alex that they had a special kind of love, and it has only grown over time .

I had that once. That intense kind of love where you are everything to each other. The ability to communicate with a simple gaze. A deep-seated need to be together constantly. To have a level of intimacy that goes beyond just sex.

Twin flames, some might say.

Now, he can barely look at you , that small voice in my head reminds me.

I don’t have many regrets in life. I like to think I’ve been pretty fortunate and made the most of the opportunities when they presented themselves, but there is one thing I regret. One thing that I’ve had to keep locked up and buried deep because our relationship during those three years was private. So private even our teammates didn’t know.

My one regret was hurting him, and it’s haunted me ever since.

I swallow down the thick knot that’s crawled up into my throat and slip the mask back on, smiling as the happy couple heads down the aisle and into the villa. We follow, making our way inside to where the cocktail hour is being held while they convert the courtyard for the dinner and evening reception.

“Who woulda thought, eh?” Peyton says, draping his arm around my shoulder. “Blaine Olsen, married . Gag me. I’m thinking about setting up the divorced hockey players association. There’s so many happy couples around me, and it makes me kinda nauseous. What do you think, eh? You in?”

I choke out a laugh. “Jon, you haven’t been divorced for a year yet. You should be out there, reaping up the rewards of being the next potential captain of the Chicago Thunder. ”

“Dude! Shut your mouth! Don’t jinx me like that!” he hisses, waving his hands between us like he can bat away the comment from the air.

I grin. Now I’m on the other side of it, it’s fun to joke about hockey players and their superstitions. But I’m not kidding. He’s in contention to be the next captain of the Chicago Thunder now Ethan Parkes hung up his skates at the end of the season.

He leans closer, his hulking frame casting a shadow over me. He wiggles his brows playfully and lowers his voice. “The ladies are gonna love me even more if I get the C, am I right?”

Jonathan Peyton is like an overgrown frat bro. He’s in his early thirties and is a big puppy dog of a guy. He has the All-Canadian good looks down to a T. Blond hair, blue eyes, athletic build, and over six feet. He has a heart of gold, if you ignore the fact he cheated on his ex-wife every time he was on the road. They tried couples counseling, but ultimately, they decided it was best to call it quits. Sometimes people are not made to be monogamous.

But Peyton and I go way back. We played one season together in Boston after he was traded from New York, but then he went on to sign with the Thunder during the off-season. It was after Jackson was traded to Los Angeles, and Peyton became the unexpected friend I didn’t know I needed. He helped me keep my mind busy while Jackson was tearing it up on the West Coast, being my wingman in bars and partying it up in whatever city we were in.

Not that I ever told him the real reason why I was drinking, dabbling in drugs, and fucking my way through North America, but we’ve remained good friends despite our short playing time together.

Taking a step back, I run my gaze over him from his head to his feet, then let out an unenthusiastic noise. “Eh, maybe.”

His jaw drops, brows lifting so high they almost touch his hairline. “Fuck you.”

“Nah, you’re not my type, but thanks.” I clap him on the shoulder and steer him toward the bar. “Can you spot the hors d’oeuvres? I skipped out on breakfast this morning.”

He follows me, ignoring my question.

“I can’t believe you don’t think I’m hot,” he chides, sounding genuinely upset.

I have to swallow back my laughter. “Hey, I never said that. I said you’re not my type. Plus, you’re straight, if you’ve forgotten.” I smirk.

He splutters, and I can’t hold my laughter back any longer at the sight of his put-out expression. “Well, yeah, I am, but I also have feelings, and that kinda hurt, Cassie.”

“Aw, I’m sure you’ll get over it.” I wink, pinching his cheek like my grandma used to do with me when I was twelve before heading in the direction of the waiter holding a tray full of food.

The rest of the afternoon and into the early evening passes by in a blur. The dinner was incredible. I’ve caught up with people I haven’t seen in years. Now, the drinks are flowing, the vibe is vibing, and the fairy lights have been turned on, adding a soft glow to the sky as the sun sets behind the mountains.

Standing by the makeshift bar in the courtyard, I sip on a whiskey as I glance around. Throughout dinner, I had the perfect view of Jackson. Every time he laughed, my heart lurched in my chest. The need to talk to him has become borderline desperation. But I don’t know what I would say. It isn’t the right time to say I’m sorry for everything I put him through, but I need to speak to him. About anything or everything, regardless of the inevitable rejection that will come my way.

But I’ll take anything he’ll give me. Whether it be him telling me to fuck off or a tiny scrap of his time. Anything .

I spot him standing next to Blaine, Alex, and Peyton. His head tips back as he laughs at something Blaine says, and I realize this is the perfect opportunity. Jackson’s too nice of a guy to tell me to fuck off in front of his teammates.

Right?

I place my empty glass down on the bar top, my body humming with anticipation and anxiety swirling in my stomach as I make my way over. Taking a steadying breath, I remind myself I’m confident and charming. I can do this.

Who am I kidding? I’m neither of those things. But I sure as hell can put on a convincing front because nobody knows what I’ve been dealing with in the almost nine years since I had the decision of my retirement taken away from me, except for two people. One of them being my ex-wife, Zara.

Jackson’s laughter trails off as he sees me approaching, his face slipping into a frown.

Okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe he will tell me to fuck off in front of his teammates.

“Hayden! Thank you for coming!” Alex beams. He wraps his arms around my shoulders in a welcoming hug. The move earns me a scowl from Blaine, so I wink at him and give a cocky smirk over Alex’s shoulder.

The first time I met Alex, he let it slip that he used to have a poster of me on his bedroom wall when he was growing up and how he had a crush on me. Something I like to tease Blaine about at every given opportunity because he’s a possessive bastard.

Plus, if I’m teasing him, I’m not thinking about how old the comment made me feel.

“Thanks for inviting me. I can’t believe I missed my chance,” I sigh jokingly, placing a hand over my heart when Alex takes a step back. “We could’ve had such a fun love story.”

Blaine wraps one protective arm around Alex’s stomach and flips me off with his free hand. “Fuck off, Cassidy. You might be my agent, but I’m not afraid to punch you in the nuts.”

I laugh. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

“You’ve met Jackson, right?” Alex asks, leaning back into his husband.

I risk a glance at Jackson. His blue eyes are hard with his glare. There’s a deep crease between his brows, and the muscle twitches in his jaw when he gives a tight nod.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, I have.”

“Wait!” Peyton blurts, his outburst causing me to flinch. “You go way back, eh? You played in Boston together before I was traded? I remember now! The power forward duo.”

“That was a long time ago now.” Jackson’s voice has a cold edge to it, and a chill washes over me when he holds up his empty glass. “Excuse me, I need a refill.”

I drop my gaze to the floor as Jackson walks away. Every ounce of courage I managed to build up drains from me like liquid as silence falls upon the four of us.

“Huh,” Blaine says, confusion lining his brows.

I lift my head, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. “What’s up, Olsen?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ve just never seen Jackson be so…” He waves his free hand like he’s trying to think of the right words.

“Standoffish,” Alex supplies.

“He did get a phone call from the kids earlier. Not sure what happened, but maybe it’s playing on his mind?” Peyton suggests with a shrug.

Or maybe it’s me.

But I don’t say that. That would mean explaining why , and that’s not a box I want to open right now.

Plastering on what I hope is a convincing smile, I let them know I also need a drink, but instead of heading to the bar, I walk to the edge of the courtyard as numbness takes over my insides. A feeling that has been consistent since being forced to hang up my skates before I was ready.

When I stepped out onto the ice every night, I was loved. Adored. But the moment I retired, it was like I was forgotten. I became just another player to come and go from the sport. To have their career end earlier than expected. I went from spending a majority of my time with a group of guys to having multiple surgeries and nothing but my own mind for company while I recovered.

Nobody really understands how fucking lonely it is.

You’re in the limelight, at the pinnacle of the sport that you’ve devoted your life to since you were a kid, then that’s it. With a snap of the fingers, it’s gone in a puff of smoke. Now, you’re someone who’s only remembered on “hockey’s worst on-ice injuries” clips online. Even the players’ association didn’t care once the doctors confirmed I wouldn’t be returning to the ice.

I was brushed aside like a dirty alley cat, left to fend for myself with the constant reminder that I failed.

I failed Jackson.

I failed Zara.

I failed my career.

As I watch Jackson’s retreating back disappear into the crowd, I can’t help but wonder if he would look at me differently if he knew about the inner demon that’s been living inside of me for so long. That I’ve allowed it to eat away at my life, stopping me from living. To just be… existing. Now, I’m living the life I loved so much through my clients instead.

Or would he see me as the weak man that I am underneath the facade I try so fucking hard to keep up?

Or would he be glad that he cut me out of his life when he did?

I guess I’ll never get the chance to know.