Especially not me. Not now. Not with Jaxon. Not like this.
Much.
25
Jaxon
I’m practically vibrating with the need to get home. Yeah, we just won our first two games, and yeah, skating onto home ice in three days has my blood humming. But none of that is the real reason I’m restless. The real reason is Rowyn.
Home is where she is.
And after days of nothing but rushed texts and missed video calls, I’m starved for her—her voice, her stories, her smile I swear I can feel even through a damn phone screen. I want to hear about her work, about the babysitting she took on, about the raccoon that apparently traumatized her enough to text me in all caps. And I want her in my bed. Under me. Around me. Everywhere.
The second my feet hit the jetway, noise erupts—cheers, squeals, laughter. The wives and kids are here in full force, signs in hand, excitement brightening the air like stadium lights. I told Rowyn not to bother coming. She’s been run ragged this week, and I didn’t want her dragging herself out just to stand around in an airport.
But when Ash’s wife, Gina, jumps into his arms and the kids barrel into him, I feel that familiar tug—the one that hits right where it hurts. Family. Home. Warmth.
Ash lifts Zoe and spins her, and that’s when I see her.
Rowyn.
She’s hovering just behind them, half-hidden, like she’s not sure she belongs here. Like she’s waiting to read the room, read me, read something in the crowd before she makes the wrong move.
My heart slams into third gear.
Then fourth.
Then full-blown breakaway.
She freezes when our eyes meet. Not fear—uncertainty. And I hate it. I hate that I caused it by telling her not to come. Because right now, seeing her, smelling her, knowing she’s here for me, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
Hell, I’m grateful as hell she didn’t listen.
I drop my travel bag without even thinking. Screw decorum. Screw pretending to be cool. I close the distance in a few long strides, grab her by the waist, and lift her clean off her feet. She squeals—this bright, gorgeous sound that goes straight through me—and I spin her just like Ash spun his daughter.
Zoe and Grant erupt in giggles, their little faces lit up at the sight of us. When I set Rowyn down, slightly breathless and flushed, the kids immediately swarm her.
She bends to hug them, and they spill everything in one breath—something about ducks at the park, the raccoon that ‘looked at them funny’, and how Zoe saved Grant from ‘actual danger’, which Rowyn nods solemnly at like she’s receiving a police report.
I swear my chest expands watching her with them.
“Come on, kids,” Gina calls, waving them over. Grant slips his hand into Rowyn’s, and the moment Rowyn’s eyes land on that small gesture—on that simple, natural family unit—something hits me hard. Right in the sternum. Sharp and unexpected, like a puck I didn’t see coming.
Longing.
Mine.
Hers.
Something shared.
Something dangerous.
“Can Rowyn come home with us?” Grant asks, looking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. The four of us laugh, and damn, it’s adorable.
“Not tonight,” Gina says gently reaching for him. “Daddy just got home. We have to hear all about his trip.”
“Okay.” Grant turns to Rowyn, serious as a judge. “You can’t come tonight, but maybe tomorrow.”