Watch Your Mouth: A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Kings of the Ice)
Watch Your Mouth: Chapter 33

Jaxson

I was a pathetic piece of shit for the first few weeks back in Tampa.

I wished I could channel Grace’s energy, that I could pop right back into the life I’d been happily living before I knew what it was like to lose myself in her. But it was impossible.

I went back to my house, to my vintage cars, to my books and my team and my routine — but it all felt off now.

The guys were desperate to go out as soon as I got home, all of them giving me shit for not being around for the off-season. Fortunately, they didn’t press past me telling them I had family stuff to take care of. I wasn’t sure how much more I could lie right to their faces.

I couldn’t act the same around them. Any time I was with Vince, I was caught between wanting to punch him in the throat and let him punch me for disrespecting him. He had trusted me, and I knew I was sitting on a betrayal so deep I wasn’t sure it was forgivable. It made it impossible to act normal around him, to laugh and joke like we used to when I was keeping such a secret.

Carter dragged me out to Boomers a couple times, the local bar that was more like a club where all the puck bunnies knew to replace us. He then promptly gave me shit for sitting in the corner and drinking alone. I laughed at his jokes about my dick being broken all while swallowing down the truth, which was that there wasn’t another woman in this fucking city — in the world — who could make me want them now.

Desecrated. That’s what I was.

I could feel the weight of Will’s gaze on me, too. He knew I wasn’t the same, but he didn’t press. Every now and then, he’d clap me on the shoulder and ask, “You good?”

A nod was all he got in return.

Driving my cars down Bayshore Boulevard didn’t give me the same rush as before. I couldn’t read more than a page in any book. I didn’t feel the usual excitement humming under my skin that I usually did with a new season ahead. I just felt… numb.

It was like I was playing pretend in someone else’s life, like I was trying to walk in shoes too big for my feet. I was off kilter in every possible fucking way.

I hadn’t been eating enough or working out enough on the road trip, so when I returned, I had to force feed myself to put on weight — which was especially hard considering my appetite was nonexistent.

My trainers had me lifting heavy every fucking day, and we were back to skating again, playing practice games and running drills as the preseason was just around the corner.

I was thankful at least for that — for hockey. The one place I felt mildly like myself again was on the ice.

Will was usually the first one to the arena when we had skate time, but I was beating him to it these days, and staying until my trainers all but dragged me away. The more my muscles burned, the more I had to think about where the puck was and where I needed to be…

The less I thought about her.

I didn’t know why, but now that we were thousands of miles apart, things between us just didn’t feel the same. Grace and I had texted a lot in the first few days, but then she went to Costa Rica, and her service was so unreliable, I didn’t hear from her for a week.

I couldn’t even talk to her on her birthday.

When she got back, she FaceTimed me, and I felt a little piece of my heart click back into place at the sight of her. She was sporting a fresh tan and a bright smile as she told me all about it — how she’d done yoga every day, how she’d tried her hand at surfing, how much she loved the sound baths and the days at the beach and the nights meditating.

She was doing okay. And fuck, I was so glad she was.

But I was also gutted — because I was at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Still, time has a funny way of pushing us forward whether we drag our feet and kick and scream against it or not. Soon, August slipped into September. Camp and preseason took over my life, and I jumped willingly into that pool, desperate to drown myself in anything that wasn’t the longing in my chest for Grace.

We still texted, almost every day. She sent me pictures and videos, and I hid my screen from Vince when I sent my replies. There were a couple nights when we were both alone and our video chats turned into her fucking her fingers while I stroked my cock and remembered the way it felt to be inside her.

But the longer we were apart, the more I felt the distance Grace was putting between us.

Soon, texting every day turned to every other day, and then just a few times a week. She was in and out of service, so our calls faded, too. We went from having everything to say to each other to only talking surface-level to eventually just sending a joke or meme in a text.

I knew it wasn’t because she didn’t care for me, or that she didn’t want things to be different. It was the opposite.

Grace was an expert at running from pain.

And right now — I was the source.

Our lives moved on.

Just like we both knew they would.

Except I still had this hole burning into my chest, reminding me of what once had been there, whispering for me not to let it go just yet.

On September twenty-seventh, our first preseason game at home, I had barely taken my pads off before my phone was ringing. Just like it did every time, my heart leapt into my throat, wishing for it to be Grace.

When I saw my father’s name and photo on the screen, I sighed, running a hand through my wet hair before I ducked into an empty training room and took the call.

“Well, I don’t know what to say, son, except you’re damn lucky Tanev had a monster night.”

The familiarity of his voice grated like nails on a chalkboard.

“Hello, Dad,” I said, leaning against the wall. I let my head fall back against it.

“What was that shit in the second? You were too busy puck-watching, and Hankin attacked like you were a fucking watch guard sleeping on the job.”

I pulled the phone from my ear, letting my father scream into the void of the empty room while I forced a calming breath. He raged and rambled and recited garbage I knew he was just pulling off the Internet from other trolls who loved to talk shit — all while I tuned him out.

This was nothing new.

But the more he went on and on, the harder my breaths came. I felt something stirring inside me, like I’d woken a sleeping giant and he was climbing up out of the depths.

I realized I’d had enough of this being my normal.

And before I could decide if this was really the fight I wanted to pick, the giant was breaking free.

“Enough, Dad!”

I brought the phone back to my ear, cutting him off mid-sentence in a baritone I knew surprised him — that was the only explanation for why he actually shut the fuck up.

“God, do you hear yourself? Aren’t you fucking tired of this?”

A moment of silence stretched between us, and I pinched the bridge of my nose on an exhale.

“Every fucking game, every game, since I was a kid,” I said, shaking my head. “Now that you can’t yell at me in the car ride home, you call me. And you know I’m going to answer. You know it. Did you ever stop to think why? Did you ever ask yourself, ‘why does my son always answer when he knows I’ll either be shitting on his game or asking him to send a check?’”

My chest was heaving.

Dad didn’t say a word.

“It’s because I love you,” I filled in for him when he didn’t dare to answer. “I love you, Dad. And I respect you. I’m so, so fucking thankful that you brought hockey into my life, and that you taught me everything you did. But I’m done with this.”

I shook my head, waiting for him to speak.

I was pretty sure he was having a heart attack, considering I’d never talked back to him before.

“I’m sorry about your accident, Dad. I’m sorry it took the sport you love from you. But that doesn’t give you the right to do the same to me.”

My chest sparked at that, and suddenly, I was picturing Grace in the room with me. I could see her nodding, encouraging me. I could feel her holding my hand and telling me to keep going.

“I am happy to help you and Mom. I always have been. I want you to be comfortable. But I also want you to call me without my stomach dropping when you do. I want you to ask about my life. I want you to be a part of it.”

“Is that a fucking joke?”

I reared back as if he’d slapped me — especially when he started laughing.

“You want us to be a part of your life, eh?” he asked. His voice was terrifyingly calm. “So much so that you spent a week in Canmore and didn’t so much as tell us, let alone stop by?”

Shit.

I swallowed, my throat tight. I’d wondered why I hadn’t heard from him before tonight. Usually, he was chewing my ass as soon as camp started.

I had my answer now.

“You’re right,” I said. “I should have come home. And I would have, under different circumstances. But as it stands…” I shook my head, searching for my strength. “I don’t want to fucking see you. Okay? I don’t care to receive my lashings in person. Or at all, for that matter.”

He puffed a laugh. “My son, a keener. You want me to pat you on the head and tell you what a good boy you are?”

“I just want you to be my dad!”

I screamed the words, chest heaving in the silence they left me in.

Dad sniffed on the other line, and I swore I heard the distinct sound of him slinging back a shot from his mickey. “Well, I am. Any good father lets his son know when he needs to do better.”

I closed my eyes.

This was never going to work out in my favor.

“Listen, I love you,” I said again, voice softer this time. “But I don’t want this energy in my life anymore. So, if you want to be a part of it, I’m going to need you to get on board. No more calls after the game. If I want advice, I’ll ask you for it. I’m happy to provide for you and Mom, but I want phone calls that don’t involve hockey. I want you to ask how I am, and tell me how you are. I want family holidays that don’t make me sick to my stomach just thinking about them. I want you two to come see a fucking game, for Christ’s sake. And then,” I said, holding up a finger. “Not say a fucking word about it after other than good job, great game. Do you think you can do that?”

The sounds on the other end were muffled. I thought I heard the TV. I also thought I heard Mom sniffling, which broke my fucking heart. But if she could hear the conversation, then she was also close enough to speak.

Neither of them did.

I swallowed, nodding. “Well, then I guess we have nothing left to discuss.”

I ended the call just as the training door swung open, and Will slid through it with one brow arched into his hairline.

“You good?” he asked — just like always.

“Not now, Perry.”

My hands were shaking as he stilled a breath, clapping me on the shoulder before he hopped up to sit on one of the training tables. He folded his hands together. “Not your best game.”

“Trust me — already heard it from my dad, don’t need to hear it from you, too.”

“Well, since I’m your goalie and your captain, you’re going to have to.”

I sighed.

“I know you’re fucked up, alright? You have been since August. And I know that because I remember exactly what it feels like to try to show up for your team when you’re fucking numb inside.”

His words sucked the air out of the room.

We all knew what happened to him. We all knew his wife had passed away and left him to raise their daughter.

But he never talked about it — not when it happened, not in any time since.

So to hear him even reference that time in his life felt like seeing a pig fly across the sky.

“Now, I may not know exactly what’s going on, but if I had to guess, my money wouldn’t be on your shit-for-brains father who you just cut out of your life — which I agree with, by the way,” he added. “No, I’d place my bet on the fact that you’re heartbroken over a girl you never should have touched to begin with.”

My jaw tensed, and I stared at the ground, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s none of my fucking business who you get involved with,” he said. “Except for when it bleeds into here.” He pointed his finger down at the floor. “I warned you in St. Louis, and from the way you’ve been moping around, I know you didn’t listen. That’s fine. You’re a big boy. You can make your own decisions.”

He hopped down from the table, walking over to where I stood.

“But the way you played out there tonight is not the Brittzy I know, and it’s not the one we need on this team — especially not while we try to navigate having new blood on the roster.”

I nodded.

He was right. Between the rookies who were still learning and adjusting to their first pro year, and that rumored trade of Aleks Suter to Tampa being true, we were in new and unfamiliar territory. We had the strength of last season with a dash of uncertainty. The rookies needed guidance. Suter needed to be tamed like a fucking wild animal.

We could either fine tune our new machine, or we could watch it break into shambles — and the latter was bound to happen if we weren’t all focused.

“I don’t have to tell you that Vince will have your fucking ass if and when he replaces out,” Will said. “But if that’s what needs to happen, then get it over with so we can move on. And if that’s not the option that’s on the table? Then we both know what the other one is.”

Let her go.

Those were the words he didn’t have to say.

And at this point, the first option he mentioned wasn’t even one to entertain. Grace was out living her life. She had already left me at that airport — right where she should have.

It was me holding on to the impossible.

“Life is unfair. It’s a kick in the ass more days than not. But whatever you think you’ve lost, I can tell you one thing you still have, one thing you will always have.” Will poked a finger hard into my chest. “You have this game. You have the ice. You have this fucking team.”

I nodded, over and over, letting his words sink in.

“We need you,” he finished, removing his hand. “So, either be here, or get out of the way so someone who wants to be can take your place.”

He left me on that note, and the quiet of the training room suffocated me the moment I was alone.

My head was spinning — from the shit game I’d played, from the boundary I’d set with my parents that I never thought I’d have the balls to, and now, from every word my goalie had left me with.

Everything inside me wanted to reach for my phone, to text or call Grace and tell her about it all. I knew she’d be proud of me for standing up to my father. I knew she was the only reason I had the strength to do it.

But Daddy P was right.

I was holding on to a dream, a fantasy, a life that Grace already knew we couldn’t live. And it was fucking killing me. It was murdering my game, my teammates’ trust in me, my spirit.

She was already letting go and moving on.

And it didn’t matter how badly it fucking hurt.

It was time for me to do the same.