Chapter 5: The Locker Room Cold War

The quiet safety of the café lasted all of twenty minutes. By the time they reached the Horizon Center, the news of Jaxson’s public statement had already exploded across every major sports network.

Liam hurried into the facility, deliberately walking three paces ahead of Jaxson to keep some distance between them. His lower back still felt bizarrely warm, the phantom imprint of Jaxson’s large palm lingering through his sweater like a brand. It was infuriating. He was a straight man who had spent his entire life chasing women, yet a simple corporate stunt with a brute of a hockey captain had his pulse acting completely erratic.

"Vance," Jaxson called out, his boots thudding heavily against the concrete corridor. "Slow down. I'm not chasing you through the halls."

"Then don't," Liam snapped without turning around. "Go to your locker room. I have to prep the agility mats before practice starts."

"The coach changed the schedule," Jaxson said, quickening his stride until he easily cut off Liam’s path, forcing the smaller man to halt. Jaxson looked down at him, his dark eyes intense and completely unreadable. "Miller wants a full team meeting before anyone touches the ice. He wants us both there to establish... whatever the hell this is to the boys."

Liam swallowed down the sudden knot of anxiety in his throat. Facing a dozen aggressive, hyper-masculine hockey players who had spent the last twenty-four hours watching their captain "date" another man sounded like an absolute nightmare. Especially since both he and Jaxson were completely straight.

"Fine," Liam whispered, shifting his gear bag to his other shoulder. "Lead the way."

The doors to the Warriors' main locker room were thick wood, painted in the team’s signature black and gold. When Jaxson pushed them open, the usual chaotic noise—the shouting, the loud rap music, the slamming of gear—instantly died out.

Every single head snapped toward the doorway.

The air in the room became incredibly thick. Liam felt a dozen pairs of eyes scanning him, judging him, trying to piece together the sleek figure skater from the viral video with the reality standing next to their captain.

"Cap," muttered Miller, a massive defenseman with a bearded face and a scarred eyebrow, breaking the heavy silence. He stood up from his bench, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Didn't expect to see you walking in with a boyfriend today. The guys on the sports forum are having a field day."

Jaxson’s entire demeanor shifted instantly. The easy, charming mask he wore for the paparazzi vanished, replaced by the terrifying, dominant aura of a team captain. He stepped forward, his broad shoulders squared, shielding Liam half-intentionally from the locker room’s collective gaze.

"Drop the smirk, Miller," Jaxson growled, his deep voice carrying a lethal edge that made the other players straighten up in their seats. "You all know the situation. The front office laid it out. It's a PR play to keep me on the ice and save this franchise from a league suspension. Anyone who has a problem with it can take it up with Mr. Sterling."

"Hey, we don't care who you pretend to sleep with if it keeps our top scorer in the game," a voice called out from the back, prompting a few low chuckles.

"Good. Because Liam is our new agility coach, and you're going to treat him with the same respect you treat Miller," Jaxson barked, his eyes sweeping the room until every player looked away. He turned slightly, looking down at Liam. "Sit by my locker. Don't touch the gear."

Liam didn't appreciate being ordered around like a pet, but he walked over to Jaxson’s designated stall anyway. The locker smelled strongly of leather, sweat, and the distinct wintergreen scent that seemed to follow Jaxson everywhere.

As Liam sat down on the wooden bench, his knee accidentally brushed against Jaxson's leg.

Both men froze.

The contact was completely accidental, just a brief touch of fabric through their pants, but a sudden, violent spark of tension snapped between them. Jaxson looked down at Liam, his breathing hitching for a microsecond. His dark eyes darkened significantly, tracking the movement of Liam’s chest as it rose and fell.

"Sorry," Liam muttered stiffly, pulling his leg back, his cheeks flushing against his will.

"Don't worry about it," Jaxson rasped, his voice dropping to that low, rough register that seemed reserved only for when they were too close. He cleared his throat, turning back to his gear locker to hide the sudden tension in his jaw.

"Hey, Cap!" Miller called out from across the room, tossing a roll of shin-guard tape toward Jaxson. "Since you guys are living together now, who handles the domestic stuff? Does the pixie make you breakfast, or do you have to carry him over the threshold every night?"

The locker room erupted into loud, boisterous laughter. It wasn't entirely malicious—it was typical, crude athlete banter—but it made Liam’s blood boil. He opened his mouth to deliver a biting retort, but Jaxson beat him to it.

Jaxson caught the tape effortlessly in one hand. He didn't laugh. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step toward Miller, his entire body radiating an incredibly dark, possessive aggression that stunned the entire room into immediate silence.

"Miller," Jaxson whispered, the quietness of his voice far more terrifying than a shout. He tossed the tape back, hitting the defenseman squarely in the chest. "Say another word about him, and I'll ensure you spend the entire playoff run watching from the press box. Am I making myself clear?"

Miller swallowed hard, his smirk completely vanishing. He nodded quickly. "Crystal, Cap. Just joking."

Liam stared up at Jaxson, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. The sheer, unbridled protectiveness radiating off the captain was overwhelming. Jaxson was straight. He didn't want Liam. This was all a business contract.

So why did Jaxson look like he wanted to tear down anyone who looked at Liam the wrong way?

Jaxson turned back around, his eyes locking onto Liam’s stunned expression. For a long, breathless moment, neither of them spoke. The heat between them was thick enough to suffocate, a strange, terrifying shift in the air that had absolutely nothing to do with hockey or figure skating.

Suddenly, the locker room door swung open, and Coach Miller walked in, breaking the spell. "Alright, ice is ready! Gear up, let's see what the pixie can teach us about balance."

Jaxson ripped his suit jacket off, revealing the tight white dress shirt underneath that stretched over his muscular chest. He didn't look at Liam as he reached for his pads, his voice strained. "Go get your skates on, Vance. Let's get this over with."