Chapter 11: CHAPTER 11
Julian POV
I didn't sleep.
I spent the entire night staring at the shadows on my bedroom ceiling, watching the red light of the digital clock tick forward. 3:14 AM. 4:22 AM. 5:11 AM. Every time I closed my eyes, I wasn't in my room anymore. I was back in the equipment room, smelling the rubber floor mats and the sharp, metallic scent of the gear racks.
I could still feel the weight of Jax against me. That was the worst part. My skin felt like it was buzzing, like there was an electric current running just under the surface that I couldn't shut off. I had initiated it. I was the one who lunged. I was the one who had practically climbed him like a ladder because I couldn't breathe without his mouth on mine.
I rolled onto my side and shoved my face into the pillow, groaning into the fabric. What is wrong with you? I was a Thorne. I had a path. I had a legacy. I had a girl who was currently texting me about table linens for a gala. And yet, all I could think about was the way Jax’s hands felt on my waist, rough, solid, and sure. He didn't look at me like a "brand." He looked at me like a person. A messy, failing, desperate person.
And I wanted it again.
The thought made me sit bolt upright in bed, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm. I didn't just want to kiss him. I wanted to go back into that dark room and let him do whatever he wanted to me. I wanted to stop being the Captain. I wanted to stop being the "Ice King." I wanted to be ruined, just like he said.
By 7:00 AM, I couldn't stay in bed anymore. I looked like a ghost in the mirror, dark circles under my eyes, my hair a bird's nest. I splashed cold water on my face, but it didn't help. The panic was a living thing in my chest, clawing at my ribs.
I cracked my door open and listened. The suite was quiet. I crept into the kitchen, desperate for coffee, hoping Jax was still asleep.
The pot was already brewing.
Jax was sitting at the breakfast bar, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. He was scrolling through his phone, a mug of coffee in his hand. He looked... normal. He didn't look like a man who had just had his world flipped upside down. He looked like he’d slept like a baby.
I froze in the doorway. My first instinct was to bolt back into my room and lock the door. But I was the Captain. I couldn't run.
"Coffee’s fresh," Jax said, not looking up from his phone. His voice was low and gravelly, sending a fresh jolt of electricity straight to my gut.
"Thanks," I muttered. I walked to the counter, my movements stiff and robotic. I felt like I was walking on glass.
The silence was suffocating. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a leaf blower outside. I poured my coffee, my hand shaking just enough that the spoon clattered against the ceramic.
"Julian," Jax said.
"Don't," I snapped, finally looking at him. My eyes were wide, pleading. "I told you. Stay away from me. That... what happened yesterday... it was a mistake. I was stressed. I was angry about the scrimmage. It didn't mean anything."
Jax finally looked up. He didn't look angry. He looked... sorry for me. That hurt worse than his insults. "You're still lying. To me, and to yourself. You think if you say it didn't mean anything enough times, it’ll become true?"
"It has to be true!" I hissed, leaning over the counter, my voice a desperate whisper. "Do you have any idea what happens if it’s not? I lose everything, Jax. My family, my career, my future. I am not allowed to be this. I am not allowed to want you."
"Who told you that?" Jax asked, setting his mug down. He stood up and walked around the counter. I should have backed away, but I was paralyzed. He stopped a foot in front of me. "Your dad? Riley?"
"Everyone," I breathed.
"Well, they aren't in this kitchen," Jax said. He reached out, his thumb brushing against my jawline. I flinched, but I didn't pull away. I couldn't. "And they weren't in that equipment room."
"I can't do this," I whispered, even as I leaned into his touch. "I have a dinner tonight. Riley... she’s planning a 'Victory Celebration' for the scrimmage. My father is coming. I have to go there and be the man they expect."
Jax’s expression hardened. He pulled his hand away, the warmth vanishing. "Then go. Go be their puppet. But don't come crying to me when you realize the strings are starting to choke you."
He walked back to his room and shut the door. I stood in the kitchen, the coffee cooling in my hand, feeling more alone than I ever had in my life.
The rest of the day was a blur of misery. I went to my classes, but I couldn't tell you a single thing the professors said. I sat in the back of the lecture halls, my leg bouncing nervously, my mind replaying the kiss over and over again.
Every time a guy walked past me in a hockey hoodie, I jumped. Every time my phone buzzed with a text from Riley, I felt a wave of nausea.
Riley: "Can't wait for tonight! The reservation is for 8:00. Wear the navy suit, it makes your eyes pop for the photos."
I stared at the message until the screen went dark. She was talking about "photos." She was talking about "navy suits." She didn't care that I hadn't slept. She didn't care that I was falling apart. She just wanted the perfect accessory for her evening.
I went to the rink for an optional skate, hoping the ice would clear my head. It didn't. I kept seeing Jax in the corner of my eye. I kept feeling the way his body had ground against mine. I missed a shot, a simple, open-net shot and slammed my stick against the boards in frustration.
"Thorne! Take it easy!" Coach Clain shouted from the bench. "Save the aggression for the season opener."
I skated off the ice, my chest heaving. I went into the locker room, but I couldn't stay there. It smelled too much like the equipment room. It smelled like the moment I had lost my soul.
I drove back to the suite, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white. I had to get ready for the dinner. I had to put on the navy suit. I had to smile and shake hands and pretend that I wasn't a man who was desperately, terrifyingly in love with the one person I was supposed to destroy.
As I walked into the suite, the smell of Riley’s perfume was already there. She had left a garment bag hanging on my door with a note: For the Victory Celebration.
I looked at the bag. Then I looked at Jax’s closed door.
The whole ice king facade was gone. There was only a man who was drowning in a sea of his own making, and the only person who could save him was the one person he was forbidden to touch.
The navy suit was hanging on the back of my door like a shroud. Riley had picked it out, slim-fit, wool-blend, expensive enough to pay for a year of Jax’s rent. I stared at it for a long time before I moved. My head was thumping from the lack of sleep, a dull, rhythmic ache behind my eyes that made the bright lights of the bathroom feel like needles.
I started to get ready. Every movement was a struggle. I pulled on the crisp white shirt, the fabric feeling like sandpaper against my skin. I fumbled with the buttons, my fingers feeling thick and clumsy. I kept thinking about the equipment room. Every time I looked at my hands, I didn't see a hockey player; I saw the hands that had been buried in Jax’s hair, pulling him closer.
I tied the silk tie, the knot feeling like it was tightening around my throat. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I looked perfect. I looked like a Thorne. I looked like a lie.
I walked out into the common area to grab my keys. Jax was on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, a box of lukewarm pepperoni pizza in his lap. He didn't even look up at first. He was wearing an old, grey hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, showing the faded scars on his forearms. He looked comfortable. He looked free.
"Going to the ball, Cinderella?" Jax asked, finally glancing over.
I froze. I wanted to snap at him, to tell him to get his boots off my table, but the words wouldn't come. I just stood there in my five-thousand-dollar suit, feeling like a fake. "It’s a dinner, Jax. You know that."
"Right. The 'Victory Celebration.' For the game you almost choked and I had to save." He took a bite of pizza, his eyes tracking the way the suit fit my shoulders. There was no smirk this time. Just a heavy, quiet sort of disgust. "You look like a doll, Julian. Hope you don't break when they start pulling the strings tonight."
"Shut up," I whispered. I didn't have the energy for a fight. I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door, the sound of his chewing following me down the hall.
The restaurant was one of those places where the menus don't have prices and the waiters move like ghosts. My father was already there, sitting at a corner table with Riley. They looked like a matching set, polished, wealthy, and utterly cold.
"There he is," Arthur said, his voice booming across the quiet room. He stood up and shook my hand, his grip like a vice. "The man of the hour. Sit down, son. We’ve been discussing the scouts' notes from the scrimmage."
I sat. I felt like I was vibrating. Riley reached over and squeezed my hands, digging into my knuckle. "You looked so handsome on the ice today, honey. Even if things got a little... chaotic."
"That’s what I wanted to talk about," Arthur said, leaning in. The waiter poured me a glass of red wine, and I drank half of it before the guy even finished the pour. "This Miller kid. He’s a problem, Julian."
My heart stopped. "What do you mean?"
"He’s erratic," my father said, his jaw tightening. "He was all over the ice today. He was playing out of position, showboating, trying to make himself look like the hero. It made the defensive unit look disorganized. I spoke to the Board of Trustees after the game. They’re worried he’s a 'cultural misfit' for Northwood."
"He was covering for me," I said, my voice sounding thin. "I was off my game, and he…"
"Don't defend him," Arthur snapped, his eyes flashing. "A Thorne doesn't need a charity case from Detroit to 'cover' for him. The narrative is that he’s a distraction. He’s a bad influence on the team’s discipline. Riley tells me he’s been... difficult in the suite, too."
I looked at Riley. She was sipping her wine, her expression perfectly innocent. "I just mentioned that he’s a bit unpolished, Julian. It’s hard for you to focus on your studies and the captaincy when you’re living with someone so... aggressive."
"We’re moving to have him benched for the season opener," Arthur said, as if he were discussing the weather. "And after that, a quiet transfer to a minor program. Somewhere he belongs. We can't have him tarnishing the Thorne name by association."
I felt like I was going to be sick. The room started to spin. They were sitting there, eating steak and drinking vintage wine, planning to destroy the one person who had actually tried to help me. They wanted to erase him because he didn't fit the "brand."
I drank the rest of my wine and reached for the bottle. "I... I have a headache," I managed to say, pushing my chair back. "I think the mountain trip got to me. I need to go."
"Julian, we haven't even ordered," Riley pouted.
"I’m going," I said, not looking at either of them. I stood up, my knees feeling like jelly. I walked out of the restaurant, hearing my father’s disappointed sigh behind me. I didn't care. I just needed to get away from the smell of Riley’s perfume and the sound of my father’s voice.
I don't remember the drive back. I just remember the feeling of the steering wheel under my hands and the way the streetlights blurred into long, yellow streaks.
I burst into the suite, my tie already pulled loose, my jacket hanging off one shoulder. The place was dark, except for the dim blue light from the TV. Jax was still on the couch, but he was asleep, his head tilted back, his mouth slightly open.
I stood there, watching him. This was the guy they were going to ruin. This was the guy who had nothing, and they wanted to take even that away from him because of me.
I walked over to the couch and kicked his foot. Not hard, but enough to wake him.
"Wh-what?" Jax sat up, rubbing his eyes, looking confused. He saw me standing there, disheveled and drunk on wine and panic. "Thorne? What the hell? It’s eleven o’clock."
"They're going to get rid of you," I said, my voice cracking. I dropped onto the coffee table in front of him, my head in my hands. "My father. Riley. They’re talking to the Board. They want to bench you. They want to transfer you."
Jax went quiet. The sleepiness vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, hard stillness. "Because of the scrimmage?"
"Because of me," I choked out. I looked up at him, my eyes burning. "Because you're a 'distraction.' Because you're not one of them. I tried to tell them, Jax. I tried to say you were helping me, but they don't care. They just want the Thorne name to stay clean."
I was shaking now. I wasn't just melting; I was a puddle on the floor. I reached out, grabbing Jax’s hands. They were warm and rough, a stark contrast to the silk and glass of the restaurant.
"I can't let them do it," I whispered. "But I don't know how to stop them. I'm a coward, Jax. You were right. I'm a goddamn coward."
Jax looked at me for a long time. He didn't pull his hands away. He reached out with one hand and cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek.
"You're not a coward for being scared, Julian," he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. "You're a coward for letting them decide who you are. But tonight? Tonight you're just a mess."
He pulled me toward him, and I didn't fight it. I let him pull me onto the couch, into his space. I buried my face in his neck, the scent of him, detergent and pizza and him instantly calming the noise in my head.
"Stay," I whispered, the word a echoes of the night in the tent.
"I'm here," Jax said.
We stayed like that in the dark, the navy suit getting wrinkled, the Thorne legacy feeling a million miles away. I knew that tomorrow would be a war. I knew that my father would be calling. I knew Riley would be hunting me down. But for tonight, the only thing that felt real was the weight of Jax Miller holding me together.