My Hockey Hearthrob

Midnight Talk

The door was open. Cold air poured into Cole's warm kitchen. And Jax Carter stood in it, looking like he'd driven through a snowstorm to get here, even though it was barely raining.

He wasn't looking at Cole. Cole was shirtless, tattooed, six-three and blocking half the doorway with his arms crossed, and Jax looked right through him, at me.

"Ella," he said again. My name in his mouth sounded wrecked. "Please."

I had not heard him say please like that since the night he got drafted. Since he sat on my bedroom floor at seventeen and said please don't break up with me, please, we can do long distance, please.

I stood up from the island. My knees shook. I was in Cole's too-big gray hoodie, my hair wet, no makeup, a bruise blooming on my knee from practice. I must have looked ridiculous. I felt ridiculous.

"Jax, it's almost midnight," I said. My voice came out small.

"I know. I know what time it is. I know where you are. I know you're wearing his jersey — his f*****g hoodie — and eating dinner at his place at midnight. I know everything, Ella, because the whole goddamn world knows everything since he posted that photo."

Cole snorted. "You came here to yell about i********:?"

"No. I came here to talk to her. Alone." Jax's eyes finally cut to Cole, and the look between them could have frozen the lake. "This doesn't concern you, Maddox."

"She's my girlfriend. It concerns me."

"She's not your girlfriend." Jax said it so flat, so certain, it made my stomach twist. "She's your PR stunt."

The kitchen went silent. The pasta went cold.

Cole stepped forward, just an inch, but it was enough. His shoulders rolled back. The enforcer stance. I'd seen him do it on the ice before he dropped gloves.

"Watch it, Carter."

"Or what? You'll hit me? Like you hit my winger last season? Oh wait, you did. He still can't feel two fingers." Jax's voice was low, shaking with anger he was barely holding. "You think you can just claim her? You don't know her."

"I know she cries when she's overwhelmed and pretends it's allergies. I know she chews her pen when she interviews people. I know she hates white leggings but wore them anyway because she wanted to prove she belonged. What do you know about her, Carter? You haven't spoken to her in five years."

I flinched. Both of them looked at me.

"Enough," I whispered. "Both of you, enough."

I looked at Cole first. "Can you... can you give us five minutes? On the porch? Please?"

Cole's jaw clenched. He looked like he wanted to say no. His eyes searched mine — are you sure? — and I nodded, just barely.

He grabbed a shirt from the back of a chair — finally, a shirt — and pulled it on, hard. "Five minutes. I'm in the kitchen. If he—" He didn't finish. He just walked past Jax, shoulder-checking him on purpose, and disappeared into the pantry, but I could hear him. He didn't go far.

I stepped onto the porch. Jax followed. I pulled the door half-closed behind us.

Outside was freezing. The pine trees around Cole's house swayed. The porch light made Jax's hair look darker, his eyes bluer. He was in sweats and a Wolves hoodie, no coat, and he was shivering, or shaking.

For a second we just stared.

"You cut your hair," he said, same as two days ago in the rink.

"You said that already."

"I know. I keep noticing." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You look good, Ella. Even in his clothes."

"Thanks."

"Are you... are you actually living here?"

"My apartment flooded. He offered the guest room. It's not — we're not — it's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you're his." The words came out rough.

"It's fake," I blurted. Then froze. s**t. Rule number... what rule was it? No telling anyone. Especially not Jax. Cole would kill me.

Jax's eyes snapped up. "What?"

"Nothing. I mean—"

"You said it's fake." He stepped closer. "Ella. Is it fake?"

I could lie. I should lie. The contract said no telling. But this was Jax. The boy who taught me to skate backwards. Who kept my prom photo in his locker, according to Cole.

I crossed my arms, cold. "What do you care? You told your GM you didn't want me here. You told me not to come."

"I told them to get anyone but you because I knew if you came, this would happen!" He gestured between us, at the house, at everything. "I knew I wouldn't be able to be professional. I knew I'd see you and—" He cut himself off, breathing hard, his breath puffing white.

"You'd what?"

"I'd remember!" he shouted, then lowered his voice, glancing at the door where Cole was definitely listening. "I'd remember what it was like before. Before the draft, before New York, before you decided I wasn't worth a phone call."

"I called you!" My voice cracked. "For a year, Jax. I called. I texted. You left me on read. You posted with other girls to make me jealous. Don't rewrite history."

"I left you on read because every time you texted, it hurt! You were at Columbia, at parties, with a new boyfriend—"

"One date! One date, Jax, and I told you about it because I didn't want to lie to you!"

We were both breathing hard now, inches apart, same as in the press room, but there was no table between us this time. No cameras. Just cold air and five years.

"I kept your jersey," he whispered. "Your high school jersey. Number 12. It's in my closet. I never— I never got over you, Ella. And then you show up here, in my rink, and you're wearing HIS name, and you're living in HIS house, and I have to watch it."

My eyes burned. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to show up at midnight and say you never got over me when you acted like I was a stranger for two days."

"I know. I know. I was an asshole. I was trying to protect—" He stopped. His hand came up, like in the press room, and tucked my hair behind my ear. His fingers were freezing. They lingered on my cheek. "You're cold."

"I'm fine."

"You're shivering." He took off his Wolves hoodie — the one that smelled like him, like rubber and ice and that cheap body spray he used in high school — and held it out.

"Jax—"

"Take it. Please."

I shouldn't have. I was wearing Cole's hoodie already. But I was freezing. And it was Jax's hoodie. Navy. FROST WOLVES. His number.

I took it. Pulled it over Cole's hoodie. Now I wore both of them, layers of rivalry.

He smiled, small and sad. "God, you look ridiculous."

"You make me ridiculous."

For a second, his old smile came back. The real one. The boy, not the captain. "I missed you," he whispered. "So f*****g much, Ella."

My heart stopped. Then hammered.

Behind us, the door slammed open.

Cole stood there, in his doorway, his face thunder. He saw the double hoodies. His hoodie under Jax's hoodie. Me, between them, wearing both.

"Time's up," Cole said, voice flat. Deadly flat. "Five minutes are up, Carter."

Jax didn't move. His hand was still near my face. "We're not done."

"You are." Cole stepped onto the porch, barefoot in the cold, and gently — but firmly — pulled me back by the elbow, away from Jax. "You said your piece. Now leave my property."

"Your property? She's not property!"

"I know that! Don't put words—" Cole laughed, humorless. "You want to do this here? In front of her? Like last time?"

Last time? What last time?

Jax went white. "Don't."

"What last time?" I asked, looking between them.

"Ask your captain," Cole said, eyes locked on Jax. "Ask him what happened to my best friend. Ask him why my friend can't walk without a limp."

Jax's hands clenched. "It was an accident. You know it was an accident."

"Tell that to his knee!"

They were chest to chest now, both breathing hard, old hate boiling over. I was still stuck between them, wearing both their hoodies, literally the physical manifestation of the rivalry.

"Stop!" I shoved them apart. "Both of you, stop! This is not about me, this is about whatever happened three years ago that neither of you will tell me!"

They stared at me, shocked that I'd yelled.

"Jax, go home," I said, voice shaking. "Please. Not tonight."

Jax looked at me, at Cole's hand on my elbow, at his own hoodie over Cole's hoodie. His face crumpled for half a second before he locked it down.

"Yeah. Okay." He stepped back off the porch, into the dark. "But Ella? If it's fake — if what you said is true — be careful. He'll break your heart and he'll like it. It's what he does."

He turned and walked into the dark, to his car, and drove away, taillights disappearing through the pines.

I stood there, shivering, wearing two hoodies that belonged to two boys who hated each other.

Cole's hand was still on my elbow. Warm.

"He's lying," Cole said quietly.

"Is he?" I whispered.

Cole didn't answer. He just pulled me inside, closed the door against the cold, and locked it.

"Come on, Goldilocks," he said, softer now. "You need to get out of those wet clothes."

And I realized I was wearing his rival's hoodie over his hoodie. I started to take Jax's off.

"No," Cole said. "Keep it. For tonight. You look cold."

He walked back to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the hall, wearing both their names, more confused than ever.