Chapter 19

In the kitchen,the only sound was the quiet hum of the refrigerator and my own steady breathing. It had been two days since I'd last seen Jackson, and the sparse messages that passed between us did little to fill the silence left in his absence. The demands of his badge consumed his time—that much was clear.

Today, I'd made my way to the clinic, slipping in through the back to avoid any unnecessary attention. Seeing Lazlo back at work, his smile a little less bright, but just as determined, had been a relief. And Joe, although still visibly shaken, was holding up. I knew there was more to the story, details that Jackson held, but for now, I was thankful that the good guys hadn't lost. Not this time.

Jamie had turned in for the night after our customary check on the girls, who were sound asleep. Tomorrow promised a rare rest day for the team before the flight to New York in the afternoon—a trip that made me nervous, anxious, but also so damn excited.

I was just about to lock up when the gate buzzer cut through the stillness of the night. Moving to the intercom, I pressed the button, and the screen flickered to life, revealing Jackson on the other side. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

"Jackson?" I said, my voice betraying my surprise.

"Yeah, it's me. Can I come in?" His voice was the same, steady and sure, but I heard an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite place.

I opened the gate for him, then waited at the front door, anticipation coiling tight in my stomach. What brought him here so late without warning? Was it because he was as desperate to see me as I was him? His footsteps on the gravel announced his arrival, and then, he stepped into the light of the porch, and I was down the few steps in an instant, yanking him into a hug and breathing in the scent of him as he buried himself in my neck. We stood there for the longest time, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead on mine.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he whispered.

"I missed you."

"Not as much as I missed you," he deadpanned.

"Let's go inside, okay?"

He nodded, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, just… it's been a long couple of days. I was going to wait to get a shower, or… but I just needed to see you."

"Well, you've seen me," I replied, a half-smile forming on my lips, as I guided him into the hall and shut the door. He leaned against the wall.

"When you're not with me, it hurts," he blurted, and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm obsessed."

I blinked at him, not sure how to handle that statement—unless of course I told him the truth that I was obsessed right back. "You want coffee or something?"

Jackson's lips twitched in response, a shadow of his usual smirk, and his gaze locked onto mine. I felt that electric charge, that pull between us, that hadn't diminished one bit in the time he'd been absent. He reached out a hand to me, and I took it, closing the distance between us, reading the quiet plea written across his face for a kiss. The world outside faded into nothingness as I reached up to cup the back of his neck, drawing him closer. Our lips met, and it was as if we'd never been apart. His touch was at my waist, pulling me in until there was no space left between us, until everything was about the here and now.

"Missed you so much," he murmured, then slumped a little.

I held him up. "Missed you too."

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he whispered.

"Me too."

I tugged him to the stairs, and we climbed, and he leaned on me for support. I didn't think he was hurt, just plain old exhausted, and I guided him past the girls' rooms, where we met Jamie as he emerged from the family bathroom.

"Jackson," he acknowledged.

"Mmmm," Jackson said and yawned. I'm not sure he was entirely with us by then.

"Your boyfriend needs to sleep," Jamie observed. He had a point.

"Shower first," Jackson nearly whimpered, and Jamie winked as I tugged Jackson into my room, shut the door, stripped him and me, then took him into the shower. There was nothing sexual about this—he needed to be clean, he needed sleep, and I wanted to look after him. I dried him off with fluffy towels, rummaged for a clean pair of pajamas so he didn't end up walking naked around my house, then tucked him into bed. He pulled me down next to him, and after some wriggling, he turned to me and buried his face in my neck again.

"Are you okay?" I whispered and pressed a kiss to his damp hair.

"Hmmm."

"Do I need to set the alarm for you?"

"Nah… day off…" He yawned and buried deeper.

"Sleep then," I ordered.

"Love you," he said, and my heart leaped.

"Love you, back," I whispered.

He mumbled something, and sighed. "Yeah, pork…"

"What?"

But all I got was soft breathing and the occasional snuffle.

And it was perfect.

* * *

The chillof the New York Nighthawks ice was a welcome shock to my system as I waited in the tunnel, ready to step out and face my old team. I'd left Jackson at home playing Uno with Jamie and the girls. He'd actually slept through to eleven, and given I had to leave about then, we'd done little more than kiss, but he looked better, rested. His goodbye kiss was still warm on my lips, even now. Jamie had promised to monitor him, and the girls loved having him there. Jackson kind of fit, and it was good.

He hadn't repeated his declaration of love, but then, neither had I.

Until I was at the arena, and he was hip deep in games with the girls.

Jackson: I love you

Oli: I love you back

Jackson: Good luck out there, Superman

Luck wasn't what we needed against New York tonight. They were coming off a seven-game winning streak, their momentum a force to be reckoned with. We needed a miracle.

"We can do this," Charles summed up at the end of a rousing speech in the locker room, and there was no space for any of us to disagree. If a team went into a game thinking of loss, then it was almost a self-fulfilling prophecy. This was only our first game on this east coast stand; we were also playing the Rebels, the Railers, and Carolina all in their barns. It was intense, and I already missed the girls like a limb.

And Jackson.

"You okay?" Ash asked from my side, as the jumbotron showcased a montage of my years with New York—the saves, the assists, the body checks. The crowd roared for me, a sound that was familiar, but weird given I wasn't a Nighthawk anymore. A twinge of nostalgia mixed with adrenaline, but I tapped Ash's calf.

"I'm good."

"Get out there then. Take a bow!" Ash nearly shoved me through the gate to do a solo lap before the game started. As I took to the ice, acknowledging the cheers with a raised stick, I felt a surge of pride in the city, my old team, and in myself. These were my roots, but I was here to show the fans how much I'd grown. And then, with the roar still echoing in my ears, it was game on.

The puck dropped and instinct took over. We played hard, each of us knowing that against a team of New York's caliber, there was no room for error. Every pass, every shot, every check was deliberate, intense.

I skated with a ferocity I reserved for games like this. The Nighthawks guys were strong, but we had our own strengths. We were the Storm, and tonight, we would show them that we could be just as formidable.

"Watch Callahan," Coach warned. "He's all over Charles."

"On it, Coach," Ash and I chorused.

We were in sync, a defensive duo that had grown to anticipate each other's moves on the ice. Our skates carved deep grooves as we went over the boards and circled our zone, eyes on the Nighthawks forwards, weaving our way. They came at us like a well-oiled machine, their winning streak giving them a ton of confidence.

One of their wingers broke away, puck on his stick, charging toward our goal with the weight of the team behind him. I glanced at Ash, a silent signal passing between us. We tightened our formation, a wall of determination.

As the winger drew back his stick for a shot, I stepped forward. The timing had to be perfect. Too soon, and he'd sidestep me. Too late and the puck would be past our goalie before we could blink. I thrust my stick out, tapping the puck enough to throw off his shot. It skidded away toward the boards, the threat momentarily cleared.

But the Nighthawks were relentless. Another forward snatched up the loose puck, sending it back to their point man. The shot came in hard and fast, a blur headed for the top shelf where grandma hides the cookies, but Ash was there, body first into the line of fire. The puck ricocheted off his pads with a thud, and suddenly, we were turning defense into offense.

I scooped up the puck, adrenaline fueling my charge up the ice. Craig Beaulieu did his whole pirouette-to-avoid-getting-hit thing up against the boards, taking the focus away from Charles and gathering interest from the Nighthawks defense—he used his childhood skills as a figure skater to dazzle even the best defenseman. I know—I'd been on the other side of his antics too many times to mention. Charles was already breaking away, his stick raised in anticipation. I feinted a pass to the left, drawing a defender to me, before sliding the puck across to Charles with a crisp tap.

Our captain's speed was a blur, his focus absolute. He took the puck in stride, barely breaking form as he approached the Nighthawks' netminder. With a deke that sent the goalie sprawling the wrong way, Charles flicked the puck into the gaping net, the sound of it hitting the back music to our ears.

The arena erupted, the fans in purple screaming as the red light glared. Charles threw his head back, the relief and triumph clear on his face as we swarmed him, our cheers almost as loud as the crowd's.

"Goal!" Ash shouted over the din, his glove slapping my shoulder.

"Fuck yes!" I agreed, the grin on my face matching his. This was teamwork, this was the Storm, and we were more than holding our own against the Nighthawks. We were defining ourselves, one goal at a time.

I was fitting in. I was doing things right.

As the game went on, the score see-sawed. They were good, but somehow, we were matching them, play for play, and when the final buzzer sounded, it was our sticks raised in victory. We had pulled off the impossible, defeating a giant. And I knew, as the crowd's roar filled the arena, that we hadn't just needed a miracle—we were the miracle.

* * *

We landed backat Van Nuys after eight grueling days, two wins, two losses, and the mood in the Storm jet was a mix of exhaustion and relief.

The engines wound down on the Storm's private jet, and boy, was I glad to be back in LA.

Coach stood at the front of the cabin as the jet taxied to our hangar, his gaze passing over each of us. "Take tomorrow off," he said, his voice cutting through the murmur of tired conversations. "Rest up, spend time with your families, and forget about hockey for a day. I want you back in the barn on Tuesday, bright and early, ready to work."

A collective sigh rippled through the team, a mixture of relief and the remnants of fatigue. We had given it our all, every check, every shot, every save, but we were all so damn tired.

I nodded along with my teammates, already thinking of a quiet day ahead. No rink, no gear, just time to recharge and to think about… well, about everything. The thought of Jamie and the girls at the house awaiting me put a spring in my step, and I knew Jackson was coming over as well—he'd messaged he'd be there. As the cabin doors opened, we shuffled out, each man lost in his thoughts. Some had cars waiting, but I was getting a ride with Ash and his girlfriend, and didn't even register that I had someone there until Scarlett and Daisy threw themselves at me.

"Daddy!" Daisy yelled up at me, and I went to a crouch to gather them close and hug them hard. They smelled of cookies and home, and I'd missed them so much. Jamie stood back from them, grinning, but it was the man next to him who caught my eye.

Jackson was here.

Waiting for me to get home.

Charles stopped to chat with Jackson. They exchanged fist bumps and bro-hugs, and I went back to focusing on my girls. They peppered my face with kisses, talking over each other.

"… then we did pancakes, and we had cream and strawberries, and it was yum?—"

"… Jackson ate so many, and Uncle Jamie laughed…"

"… we made more, and they'll be cold, but you can have them…"

"… I dropped Annie-bear in the pond…"

"… We iced cupcakes…"

"… she got all wet, but Jackson fixed it for me…"

"… and then Jamie made scones, and we have more cream and jelly, and that was nom as well…"

I scooped both my girls up—Scarlett was maybe getting too big at seven to want her daddy carrying her, but I needed this right now, and she wrapped her hands around me and kissed me again.

They were everything.

Jackson pulled me and the girls into a hug, stealing the quickest of kisses. "You came," I murmured.

"I wanted to welcome the man I love home," he deadpanned. "Live with it."

And I realized at that moment, I'd do more than live with it. I'd take him and hold him close and never let him go.