Page 9

Chapter Nine

Jackson

My days seem to blend together recently. It always does during the regular season. It’s a repetitive cycle of training, home games, away games, and being a dad. However, tonight is the annual Chicago Thunder Halloween party at Peyton’s house. Every year, the guys on the team compete for the most creative costumes, but this time, I think I’ve got the win in the bag.

“Daddy, you look funny,” Isabela giggles when I walk down the stairs and into the living room in my costume.

I look down at myself, feigning innocence. “What do you mean? I think I look awesome.”

Isabela falls back onto the couch and lets out a loud belly laugh that causes Ryan to look up from his Switch.

“Yeah, you do look funny, Dad,” he laughs.

I place my hands on my hips. “Geez, thanks. You two sure know how to make your dad feel good.”

They both burst into laughter, and I grin.

The thing is, would I have picked this costume if I was shopping alone? No, but the kids happened to ask what I was doing the other day while I was searching for a costume. It went downhill from there, and that’s how I’ve found myself in a blue Bandit onesie. Bluey is a big deal in the Wilde household, so it didn’t come as a surprise when they begged me to buy the Bandit costume. I can’t complain, though—it’s very comfortable.

I also managed to order the matching Bluey and Bingo versions for them too, but I’ll save those for Christmas.

I take a seat on the couch in between them, and they curl into me instantly. I wrap an arm around each of them and kiss the top of their heads. I might pull my hair out most of the time, but I do love them more than anything.

“Make sure you’re good for Gigi, okay? No fighting her when she says it’s bedtime.”

“I’m always good,” Isabela argues, and I give her a disbelieving look.

The tantrums have only increased recently, to the point her teachers pulled my mom aside the other day and expressed their concerns. She doesn’t want to share or get involved with the other kids during playtime, preferring to play alone. I have a meeting scheduled with the school during the week to discuss what they mean by her maybe needing “additional support.”

“Can we have ice cream after dinner?” Ryan asks, resting his head back against my shoulder.

“Sure, as long as you eat all of your dinner.”

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees easily and turns his attention back to playing his game.

“Daddy?” Isabela shifts until her feet are in my lap. “Can I come to the party? ”

I twirl one of her pigtails around my finger. “You can’t come, peanut, because it’s a party for adults. There’s going to be special adult juice there and loud music.”

She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout, and my spine stiffens on high alert, preparing myself for the tears. Luckily, my mom chooses that moment to walk into the room and claps her hands to get their attention.

“Kids, dinner’s ready. Say bye to your dad, and you’ll see him in the morning.”

“Have fun, Dad,” Ryan says. He wraps his arms around my neck in a tight hug, then jumps off the couch and goes into the family room, but Isabela doesn’t budge.

“Peanut, I’m only going out for a few hours. I’ll be home later tonight,” I reassure her, but she doesn’t loosen her hold on me.

I shoot my mom a panicked look. I don’t want to encourage this behavior, but I also hate the guilt that sits on my chest whenever I do things for me, such as spending a few hours at my teammate’s house and having a few drinks for our night off. We’ve had a run of home games recently, and this is the first night I’ve taken the boys up on their offer of hanging out.

“Your mac and cheese is getting cold,” my mom prompts, taking a step toward the couch.

Isabela huffs and glares at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Come on, don’t be like this. I won’t be long.” I shift to the edge of the couch, and my sudden movement causes her to lose her grip on me. My mom quickly scoops her up and tickles her ribs. Isabela tries to resist, but eventually, she’s giggling, and the bad mood disappears .

“Have fun.” Mom winks at me over Isabela’s head as she heads toward the family room. “Make sure you take photos of all the costumes, especially Ethan’s.” She lets out a contented sigh over her shoulder. “That man is beautiful. It’s unfair, really.”

For as long as I can remember, my mom’s had a soft spot for Ethan. I don’t blame her—he’s a good-looking guy.

“I will. I’ll see you later,” I say and slip out of the house before the guilt can claw its way further up my throat.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing on the step outside of Peyton’s house while he assesses me with quizzical eyes. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“Bandit. You know, the dad from Bluey .”

He blinks, a clueless expression on his face. He’s dressed as a spartan warrior, and the lack of fabric shows off his impressively strong body. The opposite to mine because I might as well be wearing pajamas.

“The TV show?” I add, then roll my eyes and shove the six-pack of beer into his chest. The movement causes him to stumble backward. “The kids picked it out, okay? Just roll with it. Bandit is cool.”

“O-okay. If you say so, dude,” he says in jest, closing the door behind me.

As always, Peyton’s gone all out with the decorations. There are banners and streamers covering the walls. Fake spiders hang from the ceiling, with carved pumpkin lanterns scattered around, and there are so many balloons I’m pretty sure he must have emptied out the store. Dance music pumps from the built-in speakers installed in every room, and the battery-operated candles create the perfect spooky party ambiance. Aside from me, he’s the only bachelor on the team with a house and usually ends up being the host for any parties.

When I walk into the kitchen, the countertops are covered in copious amounts of food, and I cough out a laugh when my eyes land on a tapped beer keg.

“Are we back in college or something?” I ask, pointing to the stacks of red Solo cups. “Who’s setting up the beer pong?”

“It’s Peyton, what do you expect?” Kendrick snorts, taking a swig of his beer. His wife, Maria, is tucked against his side. “I’m pretty sure he’d still live in a frat if he could.”

“That’s true,” I agree, then point to their costumes. They’re dressed up as Fred and Wilma Flintstone. “Original. I like it.”

I pour myself a beer and lean back against the counter to take everything in. There’s a lot of people here. All the players and their significant others are here, along with some of the front office staff. Some of the furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room to create a makeshift dance floor, and I almost choke on my beer when I spot Zach’s boyfriend, Carter, dancing with Elliot. Carter’s dressed in a tight white dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, a pair of white Air Jordans, and a Princess Leia wig. Zach stands to the side in a Han Solo costume, watching his boyfriend dance to a remix of ABBA’s “Gimme Gimme Gimme” with a loved-up smile on his face.

“Dude! You came as Bandit!” Elliot hoots after he’s finished dancing, tapping his cup against mine. “I fucking love Bluey .”

“Thank you!” I say, casting a glare at Peyton. “I’m glad someone appreciates my effort. ”

“Dude. You’re accepting praise from the guy who came dressed up as his crush,” Peyton quips, pointing to Elliot, who responds by flipping him the bird.

I take in Elliot’s navy tactical pants and matching navy T-shirt, then notice the Chicago Fire Department Engine 3 emblem on his chest and grin. “Got yourself a T-shirt, huh? How long did it take you to ask for that?”

Elliot’s crush on the lieutenant started last year during the annual Chicago Thunder family fun day when the local fire department was invited to bring along an engine and ladder. It was more for the kids, but Elliot, being the lovable guy he is, got really excited over the fire trucks. But his anxiety can often prevent him from putting himself out there, and while we tease him like we would a little brother, I always make sure he knows our teasing is playful because sometimes he struggles to differentiate.

“Fuck you both very much,” Elliot huffs. He throws back the remnants of his beer before mumbling, “I got it the other day.”

Peyton and I struggle to hold back our laughter as Elliot walks off in Blaine and Alex’s direction.

“I fucking love that guy,” Peyton proclaims, and I wholeheartedly agree.

Time passes by as I chat with some of the Thunder’s front office staff, talking about how the kids are doing at school and how they’re enjoying Chicago. I play a game of beer pong with some of the guys and manage to beat Blaine twice, then retreat to a corner of the kitchen to catch up with Jacob and Ethan.

“Who knew retirement for a hockey player would be like normal people’s retirement?” Jacob jokes, smoothing a hand up Ethan’s chest. My old teammate is due to have surgery on his knee in a few weeks. “I had to look up whether I needed to install a handrail in the bathroom.”

Ethan grabs Jacob’s hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “You make it sound like I’m having a double hip replacement or something.”

My mind instantly goes to Hayden and what he told me the other day. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if he ends up needing a knee or hip replacement, given his diagnosis. I ended up going down a rabbit hole when I got home from my game that day, reading up about the symptoms and restrictions it causes as it progresses into later stages. It made me feel something I didn’t think I’d ever feel for him again. A need to protect him. Then, I ended up getting pissed off with myself for feeling that way.

It’s fucking exhausting being confused.

“Jesus fuck. Don’t put that into the universe. Please.” I snort.

“Ha! Dude! Did you and Jackson plan to come in a couple’s costume or something?”

I turn at the sound of Peyton’s voice, and my breath hitches.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Hayden stands in the archway to the kitchen, a bottle of champagne in one hand and what I assume is a bottle of whiskey in the other.

And wouldn’t you know, he’s wearing a Chilli costume.

Chilli, who’s Bluey’s mom. Bandit’s wife. They are a couple .

Peyton’s head snaps my way, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. “This is hilarious. Did you plan this? ”

I shake my head, stunned speechless.

Hayden watches me cautiously. There’s a tense line in his broad shoulders. His eyes focus on mine behind his black frames, a silent question flashing through them: Are you going to freak out?

And that’s the thing. Maybe I should freak out because why is he here, wearing that? Does he know the significance of this? Of what it means to me? Or is this some kind of weird coincidence?

I took a photo of me and the kids earlier before I left, but I haven’t shared it anywhere, so it’s not like he could have orchestrated this intentionally.

“Hey,” he rasps when he finally pulls himself away from Peyton and Blaine and every other one of my teammates who monopolizes his time.

Jealous?

Ugh, fuck off, conscience.

“Hey,” I echo, suddenly feeling raw and exposed.

He retrieves a cup from the side and pours himself a drink before leaning back against the counter and watching me over the rim of his cup. He crosses one ankle over the other, and the movement causes my eyes to drop. I take in his long legs and trim hips. The costume is slightly big on him, but I can still make out the smooth lines of his body.

My mind begins to wander. I want to know if I pulled on the zipper of his costume, would he be wearing anything underneath? Would it expose inches of smooth, golden skin? And how far do his tattoos go? Is it only his arms that are inked, or is more of his body covered?

The fucked-up thing is, even after everything, I want him. Badly .

When my gaze meets his again, the glint in those slate-gray eyes tells me he’s witnessed me checking him out, and a smirk kicks the corner of his mouth.

I lick over my dry lips. I can almost taste him and the whiskey on his tongue.

This is bad. So very, very bad.

I’ve gone fourteen years without this primal need to taste him. To capture his lips with mine and steal his breath like I used to do all that time ago. Then he comes in here, wearing a fucking Chilli costume, and I’m folding like a bad poker hand.

He places his empty glass on the counter behind him and turns to look at me. With his eyes locked on mine, he runs his thumb over the corner of his mouth, and then he’s moving.

But he doesn’t come my way.

He walks right past me and heads toward the stairs, quickly glancing at me over his shoulder before making his way up.

I clench my fists at my side. Frustration replaces the heat coursing inside me. Frustration that his reappearance in my life is making me question everything.

Before I can think better of it, I make sure the coast is clear and take the stairs two at a time. I rest my hands on the doorframe to the bathroom, and when I hear the sound of the tap switch off, I’m ready. The click of the lock disengages, and the moment the door opens, a flash of surprise flicks over his face. Like he can’t believe I actually followed him.

“Jackson? What are you?—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because I grab a fistful of his costume and push him back inside. I flick the lock on the door behind me and crowd him against the vanity.

I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up over this. So he came in the matching costume to me? It doesn’t mean anything.

It can’t mean anything.

“Why?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Why what?”

“Why this costume? Did you know I was coming in this?”

His mouth opens and closes several times, and then he shakes his head. “No, I had no idea.”

“So, why , Hayden?” I demand.

I know I’m being irrational right now. I’m not thinking clearly. My body is trembling with frustration and need, and being in close proximity to his fucking scent again is making my cock thicken.

His gaze drops between us, and he takes a deep breath. “When I saw you that day at Zach’s apartment, I noticed your daughter had a backpack with these characters on it. Then you posted the other week on your Instagram about how watching this show with your kids is your favorite part of your morning.”

I blink at him.

Okay. I wasn’t expecting any of that. I should be pissed that he’s been keeping tabs on me, but the blood filling my dick tells a different story.

I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off.

“I… I guess I wanted to be part of your favorite mo rning somehow.” He chews the corner of his mouth with his teeth. “All I know is I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I can’t stop thinking about you either.

I can’t tell him that. I can’t let him know that since he has come back into my life, I’m suddenly off-kilter. I can’t go down this road again. I can’t let him in like I did before. I have my kids to think about now. They are my biggest priority. But I also can’t ignore the undeniable connection between us that’s still there. It’s tethered and frayed, but it’s still there, hanging on tight.

All I know is tonight, I might be making the biggest mistake, but I can’t bring myself to care.

So, I throw caution to the wind and worry about the consequences later and slam my lips against his.