Chapter 7 His hockey jersey

Friday was the biggest game of the season. The air on campus felt like a live wire. Everyone was wearing blue and white, and the Vipers' Pit was a mess of energy.

I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, feeling the weight of the fabric on my shoulders. I was wearing a Vipers jersey. It was oversized, the sleeves reaching past my knuckles, and it smelled faintly of Jaxson’s soap.

I hadn't meant to take it. But this morning, in the rush of the laundry room, I had grabbed it from the dryer. It was soft, worn-in, and it felt like a secret hug. On the back, the number 27 was printed in bold white letters.

"Elena! You ready? The bus is leaving in ten!" my best friend, Chloe, shouted from the hallway. She burst into my room, wearing a tiny cheerleader skirt and pigtails. She stopped and stared at me. "Whoa. Since when do you wear jerseys? I thought you said they were itchy and masculine."

"It's a big game," I said, my face heating up. "I wanted to show support."

"Is that Leo’s?" she asked, squinting at the number.

"Yeah. Must be," I lied.

We headed downstairs. The living room was packed. Cooper was doing pre-game stretches on the rug, and a few other players were carbo-loading on pasta. Leo was standing by the door, looking like a true captain, checking his watch.

When he saw me, his face lit up. "Look at you! Finally supporting the family business." He walked over and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, squeezing me tight. "I knew I’d get you into a jersey eventually."

He looked at the sleeve, then at the collar. "Wait. This isn't my spare. Mine is a size 52. This looks... smaller."

My heart stopped. I looked toward the kitchen. 

Jaxson was leaning against the counter, drinking a protein shake. He froze when he saw me. His eyes went wide, his gaze dropping to the number 27 on my chest. That was his number.

"It’s just a jersey, Leo," I said, my voice high and tight.

"No, it’s about luck," Leo said, his voice turning serious. He was incredibly superstitious before a game. "I don't recognize this one. Cooper, is this yours?"

Cooper looked up from his stretch. "Nah, man. I wear 30. And I don't let anyone touch my game-day threads. Bad juju."

Leo’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the back of my jersey. I tried to turn away, but he was faster. He grabbed the fabric of my shoulder and spun me around.

"Twenty-seven," Leo read aloud. The room went silent. Even the guys eating pasta stopped chewing.

Leo looked across the room at Jaxson. "Miller. Is this your jersey?"

Jaxson set his shake down slowly. He looked like he wanted to bolt out the back door, but he stayed cool. "Yeah. Must have gotten mixed up in the wash. I was looking for that."

Leo’s face went from pale to a dangerous shade of red. "You’re wearing the rookie’s jersey? On game day?"

"I just grabbed the first one I saw!" I pleaded.

"It’s bad luck, Elena!" Leo barked. He was stressed, and his superstition was taking over. "The rookie hasn't even proven himself yet. You wearing his number is going to jinx the whole power play. Take it off. Now."

"Leo, don't be dramatic," I said, backing away.

"I’m serious," Leo said, stepping toward me. "Take it off. I’ll get you one of my old ones from the trunk. I’m not letting you walk into that arena wearing 27. I can't risk a loss because of a laundry mistake."

The tension in the room was suffocating. Chloe looked back and forth between us, her pom-poms rustling. The other players were watching like it was a movie.

"Fine!" I snapped. I was embarrassed and angry.

I reached for the hem of the jersey. Underneath, I was only wearing a thin, white camisole. It wasn't scandalous, but it was private.

"Everyone out!" Leo ordered the team. "Give her some space."

The guys scrambled toward the porch, but Jaxson stayed. He was rooted to the spot near the kitchen.

"Miller, that means you too," Leo said.

"I’m just waiting for my jersey, Cap," Jaxson said. His voice was husky. He turned his head away, looking at the wall, but I could see his reflection in the hallway mirror. He wasn't looking away. He was watching me through the glass.

I pulled the heavy jersey over my head. The cool air hit my skin, and for a second, I felt exposed. I stood there in my thin white tank top, my hair messy from the fabric.

I threw the jersey at Jaxson. It hit him in the chest.

Jaxson caught it. His hands clenched the fabric that was still warm from my body. He didn't look at me directly, but his chest was heaving. He looked like he was struggling to stay still.

Leo grabbed a different jersey, his own and shoved it at me. "Put this on. Number 10. The Captain’s number. That’s where the luck is."

I pulled Leo’s jersey on. It was huge and scratchy. It didn't smell like Jaxson; it smelled like laundry detergent and Leo’s expensive cologne.

Leo looked at Jaxson. Jaxson was still standing there, staring at the floor, clutching his jersey like it was a prize.

"Miller," Leo said. His voice was different now. The anger was gone, replaced by a deep, quiet suspicion. "You good?".

Jaxson cleared his throat. "Fine. Just focused on the game."

Leo stepped closer to Jaxson. He looked at the way Jaxson was holding the jersey. Then he looked at me. I was sweating, my heart racing, trying to act like nothing happened.

Leo didn't say anything for a long minute. He just watched the way Jaxson’s eyes flickered toward me and then back to the floor. My brother wasn't a fool. He knew his players, and he knew his sister.

"Right," Leo said slowly. "Let’s go. We have a game to win."

Leo walked out, but he didn't lead the way like he usually did. He stayed back, watching Jaxson walk to the bus.

Chloe leaned in close to me. "Um, Elena? Did you see the way Jaxson was looking at you in the mirror? I think your brother saw it too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, but my hands were shaking as I grabbed my bag.

We got to the arena and the game started. The noise was deafening. But every time Jaxson was on the ice, he played like a man possessed. He was hitting harder, skating faster, and he scored the first goal within six minutes.

After he scored, he didn't look at the scouts. He didn't look at the coach. He skated right to the glass where I was sitting and tapped his stick against the boards.

I cheered, but then I felt a chill.

I looked over at the rinks. Leo wasn't celebrating the goal. He was staring directly at me with a look of pure, cold realization.