Chapter 4 The First Penalty

The Ice House wasn't just a home anymore; it was a riot.

Victory in the Seattle Vipers' world didn't mean a quiet dinner and a good night’s sleep.

It meant three kegs tapped before the bus had even cooled in the parking lot, a playlist so loud it made the windowpanes rattle, and enough adrenaline to power the entire city block.

I stood on the second-floor landing, looking down at the sea of bodies. From up here, the players looked like titans, their broad shoulders cutting through the crowd.

Cooper was currently standing on the coffee table, reenacting his game-winning save with a crumpled beer can, while Mason and the other sophomores cheered him on like he was a god.

“Tell me everything. Right now. Don’t skip a single sweaty detail.”

I turned to see Chloe weaving through the hallway, looking effortlessly cool in a vintage leather jacket and a Vipers beanie. She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the bathroom—the only room with a lock that people actually respected.

Once inside, she hopped onto the vanity, her eyes wide with a mix of envy and genuine concern. “How is it? Living in the lion’s den? Is it all protein shakes and towel snaps, or is it a literal nightmare?”

“It’s a construction site for the ego, Chloe,” I sighed, leaning against the door. “I haven't slept in forty-eight hours. Between the morning skates at 5:00 AM and the parties at midnight, I’m pretty sure I’m developing a permanent twitch.”

“And the roommate?” Chloe wiggled her eyebrows. “The hotheaded rookie with the dark eyes and the ‘don’t touch me’ aura? Tell me he’s at least walked around shirtless once.”

I thought of the bandage I’d wrapped around Jaxson’s knuckles the night before. I thought of the way he’d looked at me, broken and human before the mask had snapped back into place.

“He barely looks at me, Chlo,” I lied, the words tasting like ash. “We have an unspoken agreement: he pretends I’m not there, and I pretend I’m not losing my mind. Leo treats him like a project, and Jaxson treats everyone like a threat. It’s… stagnant.”

“Stagnant is boring,” Chloe pouted, checking her lip gloss in the mirror. “But be careful, El. Leo is in full Captain-mode tonight. He’s been asking everyone if they’ve seen you. He’s like a hawk when it comes to you and this team.”

“I know,” I muttered. “I’m the ‘Golden Rule.’ I get it.”

“Just don’t get caught in the crossfire,” she warned, hopping down. “Now, come on. One drink. To celebrate the win. Then you can go back to your cave.”

-------

I didn't stay for a drink. I couldn't. The smell of the party was starting to feel like it was coating my skin.

I headed for the laundry room in the basement, carrying a small bag of clothes I’d salvaged from the dorm flood. It was the only place in the house that was usually empty during a bash. I needed the mundane hum of a washing machine to drown out the roar of the Vipers’ victory.

I pushed the heavy door open, but the room wasn't empty.

Jaxson was there. He wasn't sitting on the machines this time. He was standing by the back utility sink, his head bowed, cold water running over his injured hand. He still had his game-day suit on, but the tie was gone and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar.

He didn't look like a victor. He looked like a man who had just survived a car wreck.

I hesitated in the doorway, my laundry bag feeling suddenly heavy. “I didn't think anyone would be down here.”

Jaxson turned his head slightly, but he didn't turn off the water. The bandage I’d meticulously applied the night before was gone, replaced by raw, red skin that looked even worse under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“It’s the only room that doesn’t smell like cheap beer,” he said, his voice flat.

“You’re supposed to be upstairs,” I said, stepping further into the room. “You’re the man of the hour, Jaxson. The scouts are calling you the future of the league.”

He let out a short, jagged laugh that didn't reach his eyes. “The future. Right. They like the way I hit. They like the way I take penalties. They don’t care that my shoulder feels like it’s held together by duct tape and prayers.”

He finally turned off the faucet and grabbed a paper towel, wincing as he patted his hand dry. The silence between us was heavy—not the electric tension of the night before, but something cold and awkward. The distance I’d tried to maintain felt like a physical wall.

“Leo’s looking for you,” I said, focusing on the washing machine. “He wants you to meet some donors.”

“Leo wants me to be a billboard,” Jaxson snapped, his temper flickering for a second before dying out. He looked at me, his gaze scanning my face with a strange, searching intensity. “And what do you want, Elena? You’ve been in this house for two days and you still look at me like I’m a bomb about to go off.”

“Aren't you?” I asked softly.

He didn't answer. He stepped closer, and for a second, I thought he was going to say something, something that would bridge the gap. But he stopped three feet away. The space between us felt miles wide, filled with all the things we weren't allowed to say.

“Elena?”

The voice came from the hallway, echoing off the concrete walls.

Leo.

Jaxson’s eyes widened. The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by the guarded, sharp-edged rookie. He grabbed my arm—not gently, but with a frantic sort of urgency—and pulled me behind the row of industrial dryers.

He didn't cover my mouth this time. He didn't have to. I was too shocked to speak. He stood in front of me, his shadow blocking the light, his chest heaving as he stared at the door.

Leo walked in, his boots echoing on the linoleum. He sounded out of breath, his "Captain" voice strained.

“Elena? You in here?”

He didn't see us. He paced the small room, his shadow dancing across the floor. He stopped near the sink where Jaxson had been standing seconds ago.

“Jax?” Leo called out. “Miller? I know you like to hide in the dark, man. Come out.”

Jaxson stayed perfectly still. I could see the sweat on his temple, the way his jaw was clenched so hard it looked like it might break.

“Look,” Leo said, talking to the empty air. “I know you’re around. I just wanted to tell you… good game today. But stay focused. I’m worried about the house. It’s getting chaotic.”

Leo let out a heavy sigh, the sound of a brother who was losing his grip on his roles.

“I’m worried about my sister, Jax. She’s acting strange. Distracted. I think she’s got a crush on someone on this team, and if I find out which one of these idiots is looking at her, I’m going to lose it.”

My heart stopped. Jaxson’s eyes met mine in the dark, and there was no romance there—only a sharp, jagged terror.

“Do me a favor,” Leo continued, his voice turning into a command. “You’re the only one who won’t try to flirt with her. Watch her for me. Find out who’s sniffing around. Because if a player breaks the Golden Rule with my sister, I’ll make sure he never touches a puck again. I’ll end him, Jax. I mean it.”

The door shut. The silence that followed was louder than the party upstairs.

Jaxson stepped out from behind the dryer, his face grim. He didn't look at me.

“He wants me to spy on you,” Jaxson scoffed, the weight of the irony crashing down on us.

“Jaxson—”

“No.” He backed away, his eyes wide and panicked. “He’s right. I’m the only one who wouldn't flirt with you. Let’s keep it that way, Elena. This isn't a game. This is my life.”