Page 33 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

Chapter seventeen

~JACE~

I don’t know how long I stay there, breathing her in like I can make her stay with me if I hold on tight enough. But I feel the shift, the stillness, and the way her legs loosen from around me like her body’s catching up to what her brain found out.

She’s slipping, and I can’t stop it. This is the comedown, and now that she’s thinking clearly, I’m terrified of what she’ll say next.

The moment I move off her, she sits up.

“Mel,” I reach for her, gently brushing my fingers down her arm.

She shrugs me off and slips off the bed. Quickly, she grabs the towel off the floor and wraps it around herself like she’s ashamed to be naked in front of me. Like she wasn’t moaning under me a minute ago.

“Please, talk to me,” I plead, sitting up and tucking myself back into my shorts, still semi-hard.

“Get out.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but it rings louder than a tower bell.

She doesn’t look at me. Her hands are trembling, clutching the towel to her chest like it’s armor, and I see it in her eyes—the free-fall. I shoved her off the ledge.

“I don’t want to leave you like this,” I say, keeping my voice as soft as I can.

“I don’t care about what you want,” she snaps. “I want you out,” she says, final.

Fuck.

Her shaking hands and the way her body curls in on itself like she wants to disappear tell me that she really means it.

I stand up slowly, never taking my eyes off her, hoping that I’ll see some softness in them. All I see is anger and steel. And all I can feel is the ache and the loss as I turn and walk to the door.

I stop right in front of it, my hand on the handle. I want to say something.

Please don’t do this.

Talk to me.

We can fix it.

But I don’t. Whatever I say right now won’t help. I know how she operates.

She likes to be alone with her thoughts, think things through, and then talk.

So I don’t push. Instead, I open the door and step out, feeling like I’m leaving my whole world inside that room.

I shower, dry off, and throw on some clean clothes. I barely remember it.

Everything I do feels like it’s happening from outside my body, like I’m watching myself from a corner of the ceiling.

When I get downstairs, the guys are already setting the last plates full of food. Loud, obnoxious, normal.

Tanner tosses me a beer when I walk out. I catch it with a fake grin and sit down. Dom’s chair is empty.

“Is Melody joining us?” Matt asks.

Dom reappears a second later, grabbing a plate and piling it high.

“Migraine,” he says. “She’s staying in bed. I’ll bring this to her upstairs.”

Migraine. Right.

I take a long sip of beer I don’t even taste. The sound of laughter burns my ears. The music in the background might as well be white noise. Everyone’s talking about training, trades, pre-season plans—and I hear none of it.

I thought she was ready to know who Ghost is.

Maybe I should’ve waited more.

Maybe I should’ve told her right away.

Or taken it slower. Built a bridge.

Instead, I dropped her into the fire and fucked her in the flames.

The morning sun is brutal. Heat clings to my skin, heavy and wet like guilt.

I’m sitting on the edge of a lounge chair with a bowl of sliced mango in one hand, trying not to look like I’m seconds from throwing up.

Dom’s next to me, legs propped up, sunglasses on, chewing through watermelon.

“I’m telling you,” he says, “it’s going to be brutal once we get back.”

I grunt in agreement, stabbing another piece of mango.

“I want guys puking on the ice,” Dom adds, dead serious. “If they’re not seeing stars by week two, they’re benched.”

He says it with a smirk, but he means it. And usually, I’d be laughing right there with him, talking shit, planning drills, making bets.

But all I can think about is his sister and the way she said “get out” without raising her voice.

“You okay, man?” Dom asks, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

“Huh?” I say around the mango in my mouth.

Dom turns his head slightly toward me.

“You’re being weird.” It’s supposed to be an observation, but it sounds like an interrogation.

“Just really damn hot,” I lie.

“Hydrate, dumbass.” He shrugs, pops another piece of melon into his mouth, and tilts his head back. “Or go for a swim.”

“Yeah, I’ll get some water.” I push up from the chair, mutter something about water, and head for the outdoor bar near the back deck.

A few of the guys are there—half-drunk, half-sunburned, fully annoying. I grab a bottle from the ice bucket and crack the cap, but before I take a sip, I spot Tanner leaning against the post, sunglasses on, sipping a Budweiser.

“Tanner,” I say. “You seen Melody?”

“Still harboring hope, huh?” He lifts his brows behind the glasses and smirks.

“Her brother’s looking for her.” I lie and give him a flat look.

His smirk falters. He clears his throat, looking away fast.

“Uh... yeah, actually. Think she was heading toward the trail. The one through the trees.”

My grip on the bottle tightens.

She went to the cove.

“Thanks.” I drop the bottle on the bar and walk.

I hear Tanner say something behind me, but I don’t catch it. I don’t care. I’m already crossing the deck, cutting across the grass, toward the trees.

I reach her in less than a couple of minutes. She’s standing barefoot in the sand, her curls dancing in the breeze, wearing a short, white beach dress.

She doesn’t look at me as I approach, but I know she feels me coming.

Her voice cuts the air before I can say a word.

“If you came here to apologize, don’t bother. I already added you to my ‘Things That Emotionally Terrorized Me’ list.”

I pause a couple of feet behind her, almost cracking a smile. I love that mouth.

“I came to see if you’d calmed down enough to talk to me like a grown-up,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

She turns to me slowly, the sun making her hair look like it’s glowing. She looks like an angel.

Fuck, she’s so beautiful.

“I’m seeing red,” she says.

“You were seeing stars last night,” I say, tilting my head.

Her cheeks flare, but her expression doesn’t change.

“Right. You must be very proud of yourself. Congratulations on being the two most manipulative men I’ve ever known.”

“I’m just one,” I correct.

“Exactly.” She pauses, flicking a wild strand out of her face. “Do you have any idea what it felt like?” she says, quieter now. “Thinking I was cheating on you with… you?”

“I never wanted you to feel that way.” I exhale hard, stepping forward.

“But you let me.” She looks away. “I let myself fall for a man with no face. I gave myself permission to love Ghost because it was safe. Because it wasn’t real. And then you…”

She finally looks at me again, eyes glassy.

“You turned real. And you didn’t say anything.”

“You weren’t ready,” I say. “You described me as insufferable. How was I supposed to tell you?”

“Is that why you waited until you were inside me to drop the bomb?”

She’s not wrong. But I’m not either.

“You were picturing me underneath that mask,” I say, voice low. “You said it yourself.”

I move closer, relieved that she lets me in her space.

Hope isn’t lost. I never thought I’d find myself in a situation where I’m terrified of someone leaving.

I’ve been so used to the thought that I don’t want someone having control of my feelings anymore.

But now, standing in front of Melody, I realize it’s not just my feelings she has control over.

In ten months, she’s managed to get so deep under my skin, she’s made my heart her home.

“Are you mad because I didn’t tell you,” I say, stopping in front of her, “or because you’re disappointed it’s me behind those texts?”

“I’m mad because you took the choice out of my hands,” she says, shaking her head.

“You think I somehow set this up?” I ask, brows furrowed. “You wanted the safety net of pretending. And now that I am real, you want out?”

“I don’t want out, Jace,” she snaps. “I’m just angry.”

“But do you want me?” I ask, stepping in. “Even furious, even hating me, do you still want this?”

“You’re not tricking me into this again, Jace.” She shoves at my chest.

“I haven’t done anything you haven’t begged for,” I say.

We’re face-to-face. She’s seething, but she’s still here.

“Go to hell,” she breathes.

I lean in, our lips inches apart.

“Only if you’re coming,” I whisper.

She stares up at me with this wild look in her eyes that’s equal parts fury and want.

I let my hands slide to her waist and smile when she doesn’t stop me.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” I ask.

“Do you know how insufferable you are?” she fires back, breathless.

There’s that word again. Insufferable. Doesn’t necessarily mean bad, does it? Judging by the way she’s looking at me right now, it doesn’t.

“I was scared,” I admit, quieter now.

“Scared of what?” She frowns.

“That you wouldn’t want the real person behind the mask.”

“Why?” Her mouth parts slightly.

“Because I’m not exactly the guy people fall in love with, Melody.”

The breeze shifts, carrying a curl across her face. I reach out, gently tucking it behind her ear.

“It takes one Google search to see all the shit written about me online.”

“It’s just gossip, Jace,” she says quickly.

“It’s the truth,” I counter. “Every fuck-up I’ve made, printed in black and white. Suspensions. Ejections. Drunk videos. Bar fights. Women I’ve…” I pause, shaking my head. “It’s all still floating around. And I knew the second you saw it, you’d think that’s who I am.”

Her eyes stay locked on mine, searching.

“I wanted you to know me first. Really know me. Not the headlines. Not the name on a jersey. Just... me. Even faceless, you still didn’t want me outside of the little fantasy we created. Every time I asked for your name, you told me anonymity was better. That it made things easier.”

I lean in slightly, watching her face.

“The truth is, the world doesn’t see me as a real person. Not the fans. Not the women. Not the paparazzi hoping I’ll screw up again for a headline. And yeah, I get it—poor hockey player with fame and money, right?”