“You have this amazing king-sized bed.” I spread my hand out, feeling the soft sheets. “Yet, we rarely make it up here.” I chuckle, thinking about sex in the kitchen and on the sofa. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Good because you need to experience sex in lots of places.”
I roll toward him. “Have you ever done it in public?”
He laughs. “I made out behind the bleachers when I was in high school, but not sex. Does that count?”
I shrug. “Beats me. You’re the teacher. I’m the student.”
“I don’t know. I think you might be the one teaching me things.” His brow furrows and for a minute, I can’t help but think he’s talking about something other than sex.
I lightly brush my finger over his hard jawline, and he exhales, clearly exhausted but before he falls asleep, there’s something I need to know.
“Can we do a truth?” I say, shifting closer.
He smiles at me, but then when he sees the seriousness on my face, he lightly brushes my hair back. “Is there something you want to know?”
What we’ve been doing is personal, but sometimes I think truths, speaking of things that have hurt us, is a whole different kind of opening up. “Only if you want to tell me.”
His brow furrows, his gaze moving over my face. “Okay,” he finally answers.
“She hurt you pretty bad, didn’t she?”
He doesn’t look surprised by the question. I guess from the seriousness on my face, he must have known my thoughts had gone to his past.
“Yes, she did.”
“Did you…love her?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “We were young and I’m not sure if we knew what love was. I liked her, sure.” He rolls to his back and I roll with him, putting my chin on his chest as I gaze up at him. “I wasn’t ready for fatherhood.” He shakes his head. “Not even a little. But I wasn’t just going to walk away.”
“You never saw a wedding or a future for you guys if there was no child involved.”
“No, but she said there was a child...”
A long beat of silence and then I press a kiss to his chest. “You’re a good guy, Jaxon.”
He gives a garbled laugh. “You know what they say about good guys…”
“That they finish last. But you’re not last, Jaxon, and I suspect you’ll finish first.’
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, you’ll get the future you deserve.”
“Oh, and what do you think I deserve?” He rolls, putting me beneath him.
“A wife, a family, the white picket fence. I know you don’t see that right now, but I think somewhere in here…” I poke his chest. “…that’s what you really want.”
“If we’re doing truths, Rowyn,” he says quietly, his eyes searching mine. “I actually think that’s what you want.”
23
Jaxon
The locker room is electric after our win against Edmonton—sweaty bodies, laughter, the metallic clang of sticks against lockers. The air hums with victory. We’re riding the high, tossing gloves, giving high fives, shouting until our throats burn. For a few perfect minutes, it’s pure adrenaline and pride.
Coach steps in, his face a mix of approval and that usual don’t-get-too-cocky warning. He gives us a quick talk, rattles off who the media wants. Since I scored the first goal—thanks to Noah’s perfect assist—we’re both up for interviews.