The captain of the hockey team has a lot of responsibilities but when it’s just us, all he wants is to be my good boy.
Off Sides, an all-new steamy, one night stand to lovers, sports romance from bestselling author Andi Jaxon is now available!
Senior year should have been the same as the previous years: football, hook ups, and homework.
But after the season ended, somehow, Joey Carpenter happened.
He’s weaseled his way under my skin. Into my heart.
The strong, intimidating, hockey player melts so beautifully for me and I’m addicted.
He pretends like he doesn’t need anyone, but I see him.
See what he really needs.
The longing to be cared for is there in his eyes.
I desperately want to give it to him.
If I’m being honest with myself, I need to matter.
I need to save him.
Save him from himself.
Save him from his family.
Will I be able to convince him that he deserves to be loved without conditions or will they leave him ragged and broken?
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Joey
Banging on my bedroom door wakes me, just like it does every morning for the last few years. Since Dad died of cancer when I was fourteen and Mom had to start working overtime to make ends meet, I’ve had to take on the responsibility of raising my siblings.
“I’m up!” I yell and sit up when the banging starts again. Charlotte, my little sister, huffs and runs down the hallway. The floorboard outside her door squeaks as she hurries to get dressed.
I drag my ass out of bed, pull on the jeans I dropped on the floor last night, and grab a hoodie before heading downstairs to make sure Charlotte and Mathew eat before getting on the bus.
I grab some bread to pop in the toaster and scramble some eggs. Matt wants cheese on his; Char wants salt but no pepper.
“I get them plated up and on the table, when a cloud of perfume comes down the hallway.
“Charlie! Stop spraying that!” Matt yells from his room.
“Fuck off, Matty!” she screeches back using the nickname he hates.
“Both of you, come eat. You’re running out of time.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. I’m so tired.
Char drops down in her seat and eats the eggs but eyes the bread like she’s afraid it’s going to bite her.
“What’s your deal?” I lean against the counter and watch her push the toast off her plate.
“I can’t eat carbs, they make you fat.” She looks at me like I’m an idiot and it makes me want to punch something. I’m so tired of all these fad diets and social media telling everyone that you have to be a specific size and shape to be attractive. She’s sixteen, for fuck’s sake.
“No, they don’t. Carbs are fuel for your body. Eat things like bread and pasta in moderation and you’ll be fine.” Being an athlete means I know a lot about nutrition. Over the years, we’ve been taught how to fuel and condition our bodies for optimal performance, even as teenagers. I’m seventeen and I’ve been paying attention to how I fuel my body for years already.
Matt scarfs down his food so fast I don’t know how he doesn’t choke on it, then we’re grabbing backpacks and hoodies, and I snag the uneaten toast, before running out the door to catch the bus.
This is the last year we’ll all be in the same school since I graduate in June. Char is a sophomore and Matt is a freshman so I can keep an eye on both of them. Matt is a shithead but he’s my little brother and I have to try to keep him out of trouble. Every year it gets harder.
When I’m not at school, I’m at hockey practice. I don’t have time to raise my siblings but I still do it because I’m the oldest.
We make it to school and Matt disappears with a group of kids that are trouble. Great. I shake my head and sigh, knowing I’ll have to deal with it, but I don’t have the energy today.
“You know he’s getting into a fight at lunch, right?” Charlotte stops next to me, but her face is in her phone.
Exhaustion has my shoulders dropping.
“Who’s he fighting?”
“That kid with green hair and a spiked choker.” She clicks the gum in her mouth. “Hangs out with Darius and Mark.”
“Awesome.” I let out a breath and run my hand through my hair. “Get to class, I’ll see you later.”
“Yup.” She walks off toward her group of friends and I head to my first period, dreading what my day is going to bring.
I barely stayed awake through my first-period English class, was late to second-period history, and my stomach was growling loud enough to be a distraction through Algebra II, but I’ve finally made it to lunch. I have no idea where this fucking fight is supposed to happen, Char didn’t know, so I’m on the lookout for the group of dumbasses.
I’m so hungry, though. Hustling to the cafeteria, I grab a tray, not caring what’s on it as long as it makes the hunger pains stop.
I’ve barely sat down next to my best friend, Josh, when I hear it.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” being chanted.
“Fuck’s sake!” I throw my tray across the floor in my frustration and take off toward the noise with Josh on my heels. I’m so tired of dealing with my brother’s bullshit. We’re all struggling since Dad died but he’s the only one making it everyone else’s problem.
A crowd has formed around my dumbass little brother and Evan, the green haired kid with black eyeliner, a punk style, and a fuck-you attitude. Honestly, the two are pretty evenly matched and I’m not sure who would win but I’m not going to find out either.
Josh and I push our way through the students, all chanting and itching to watch the show. I’m almost to Matt when Evan pulls a switchblade out of his pocket and flicks it open.
What the fuck!
My heart starts to race as fear for my brother floods my system. He can’t get hurt. Mom will kill me. It’s my responsibility to keep him safe.
I’ve failed.
“Shit,” Josh mutters under his breath. “You grab Matt, I’ll get Evan.”
“You’re a fucking pussy!” Matt yells at Evan. “You’re so scared of getting your ass beat you brought a knife!”
Shut the fuck up!
If we make it out of this without getting stabbed, I’m going to beat his ass myself.
I’m to the front of the crowd and Josh is almost in position, but I can see the next movement before it happens. Evan’s body tenses and he lunges for Matt. I yell “No” and dive for my brother, shoving him out of the way, but I’m not fast enough.
Evan’s blade arcs through the air, slicing Matt’s arm open. Girls in the crowd scream, and there’s a wrestling sound behind me that I’m hoping is Josh getting the knife from Evan because I’m too focused on my stupid brother to check.
Blood trails down his arm, dripping onto the floor. Matt’s face is a mixture of fear and adrenaline. The pain hasn’t hit him yet, but it will.
I grab his arm and force him down the hallway away from everyone before turning to look at him.
“Oh my God!” Charlotte yells when she catches up to us and sees the blood. “Is he okay? What the fuck, Matt?!”
She smacks his other arm and I lift the bleeding one up to get a better look. It’s pretty deep.
“You might need stitches,” I sigh. That means Mom is definitely going to find out about this. We’re so fucked.
“No, just wrap it up. I’m fine.” His face pales at the idea of going to the hospital and since I’ve been playing hockey most of my life, none of us are shy about blood or wounds. We know how to take care of cuts and nose bleeds.
“You’re not fine.” I shove him into the boys’ bathroom so I can clean it up and get a better look. Charlotte apparently gives no fucks and follows after us.
“You can’t be in here.” Matt glares at her but all she does is lift an eyebrow at him.
“You’re an idiot,” she scoffs and pulls a first aid kit from her backpack.
I look at her, confused as to why she carries that around with her. It must show on my face because she rolls her eyes at me.
“Between hockey and this ass running his mouth, I never know who’s going to be bleeding or when.” She hands me the case and I set it on the sink, clicking the lid open. She has a point.
I get the cut cleaned up, listening to the teachers in the hallway yelling at students to break it up and hauling Evan and Josh to the office. A few people are loud enough for me to hear them say Evan was fighting Matt while Josh was trying to be helpful. It’s only a matter of time before they notice the blood on the floor and follow it in here. Matt is going to be suspended at best, expelled at worst. What the hell am I supposed to do if he’s suspended? I can’t miss that much school just to sit with his ass at home.
The cut is on Matt’s inner, upper arm and the edges don’t want to stay together.
“I don’t have butterflies, you need stitches,” I tell him, again.
“Please, Joey. I don’t want Mom to know.” He sounds like a little kid and it breaks my heart a little.
Glancing up at him, I see the tears welling in his eyes and the slight tremble of his lip. Charlotte puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at me for answers I don’t have.
“There’s no way we can hide this from her.” I find some antibacterial ointment and slather it on some gauze then wrap it as best I can, but it doesn’t take long for blood to seep through. “I’m sorry, man, you have to go. I can’t fix this.”
A sob escapes him and he covers his face with his good hand. I pull him into my chest and wrap my arms around him in a hug. Charlotte wipes a tear from her eye and I pull her into me too. For just a second, we stand there and the weight of the world is heavy on my shoulders. None of us want to burden Mom. She works so hard to keep us afloat, but she still has Dad’s medical bills on top of everything else. Cancer is not a cheap disease. It takes everything from you then demands more.
The door opens and Mr. Phillips stops in the doorway.
“Miss Carpenter, what are you doing in here?” he asks quietly.
She sniffs and straightens her spine, refusing to let anyone but me see her crumble. She wipes her face, turns to face him, and pops her hip.
“Making sure my brother was okay?” she sasses him and Matt snorts a laugh into my chest before standing up and wiping his own face.
“Go to class.”
She grabs her stuff and with one more glance at Matt, she leaves.
“Come on, Matt, we have to call your mom.” Mr. Phillips doesn’t sound any more excited about this than we are.
“He needs stitches.”
Mr. Phillips stops and looks between us, concern pulling his eyebrows together.
“Stitches?”
“Evan cut him.” I lift the arm in question and the gauze I put on is already starting to leak.
“Oh!” The teacher rushes forward and grabs Matt, rushing him to the office and the school nurse more than likely. I follow behind them. Evan is nowhere to be seen and Josh is sitting on a chair.
“You okay, man?” he asks Matt, then gets up and follows us when he sees the blood dripping down his arm.
Guilt churns my stomach until I’m ready to throw up but there’s nothing to come out. I want to punch something, pace, scream, but I can’t. I have to hold it together because that’s my job. Everyone is allowed to break but me. Never me.
Being the oldest means I have to keep it together when I want to fall apart. Char and Matt look to me to stand strong during the hard times but no one is ever there when I need it.
The nurse forces me and Josh out of the room and the vice principle, Mr. Clouse, calls me into his office to call my mom.
I tell Mr. Clouse the number to her cellphone and wait while he dials and puts her on speakerphone.
“Hello?” Mom sounds tired when she answers. She’s almost done with her shift and this is day five in a row of twelve-hour shifts.
“Mrs. Carpenter, this is Mr. Clouse from Hillsbury High School.”
She sighs and I can picture her shoulders dropping.
“I’m assuming you have Mathew in your office?”
“He is up here being treated by the nurse. Unfortunately, he needs medical attention that we can’t provide. We can either have him taken via ambulance or you can come get him but it appears that he needs stitches.”
She’s quiet for a beat.
“Stitches? For what? What happened?” she demands, the exhaustion of a few minutes ago replaced with fear.
“He got into a fight with another student who had a knife. Matt got cut on his arm.”
Movement outside the door of the office pulls my attention and I watch as two police officers come in and move past the door.
Is Evan going to be arrested?
“I’m on my way, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” my mother says and hangs up.
Mr. Clouse looks at me with his arms clasped on his desk.
“Is he going to be suspended?” I chew on my thumbnail even though it’s so short it’s bleeding and sore.
“Yes,” he sighs.
My head floods with schedules and how I’m going to get everywhere I need to, like practice and school, while Matt is at home. I don’t trust him enough to be left unattended for that long. He’ll get bored and leave the house, find trouble, and probably get arrested.
I scrub my hands over my face and wish I could disappear yet feel guilty for wanting to at the same time. Mom needs help. I get that. She didn’t plan to be raising kids on her own. She didn’t expect to lose the love of her life to cancer and be left with a mountain of debt.
But I also promised Dad I would look out for Char and Matt. I promised to do my best to help Mom because she was going to need me after he was gone. My entire future has been planned so that I can stay here and play hockey so I’m still around to help out after I graduate.
I want to break down. I want someone to tell me this isn’t my fault or my responsibility. Matt is a dumbass and acting out for attention because he didn’t process Dad’s death and feels abandoned by Mom. I had hockey to focus on and use to work my grief and anger out, Charlotte did dance, Matt had nothing.
“You can go back to class,” Mr. Clouse says. My stomach tightens as I force myself to stand.
“Can I check on him?” I pop my knuckles just for something to do, a nervous habit I can’t seem to quit.
“Sure, if the nurse says it’s okay.”
I’m out the door and down the hallway in the blink of an eye. With my hand on the doorknob, I knock as I turn the handle.
“I just wanted to check and make sure he’s okay,” I rush the words out when the nurse, Miss Beverly, looks over her shoulder at me. “Our Mom is on her way. Can I just sit in here with him until she gets here?”
She sighs and flicks her gaze to a box of gloves on the wall. “Put those on and come here.”
I drop my backpack and pull on the blue gloves.
“Hold your hand right here, keep pressure on it.” She shows me how she wants me to do it, corrects my hold, then steps back. “I’m going to need a statement from both of you, the police will too after your mom gets here.”
Matt’s shoulders droop and he drops his chin to his chest.
“I don’t want to go,” he whispers.
“You need stitches, you don’t have a choice. They had to call her.”
With his free hand, he wipes his face then leans forward to press his head against my chest. It’s the first time he’s reached out for physical comfort in years. Since both of my hands are on his arm, I can’t hug him back and it kills me. He may be fourteen but he’s still a kid. He needs his parents.
“I’m sorry I’m not Dad,” I whisper into his hair, and he lets out a little whimper like he wants to sob but won’t let himself do it.
Yelling comes from outside and we both turn to watch through the door. We know that voice and that tone. Mom is here and she’s pissed.
She’s never been physically abusive, never laid hands on us, but words cut deeper than a knife sometimes. I was younger than Matt is now when I had to step up and help raise my siblings while also taking care of my dad who was wasting away. It took two years for him to pass. Two years for us to watch and wait and wonder if today was the day.
I grit my teeth and square my shoulders as I wait for her to come in here and tell me what a fuckup I am. Matt is desperately trying to pull back the tears but all he’s doing is hyperventilating now.
Mom comes in, scared and furious with wide eyes and tension vibrating the air around her.
“What the fuck?!” she all but screams. The harsh sound bounces off the walls and makes us flinch.
“I-I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry.” Matt struggles to get the words out between the too fast breaths. My hands are still keeping pressure on his arm so I can’t even comfort him. Part of me wants to punch him, though, because he’s an idiot.
Mom’s cold eyes flick to mine like I hold the answers. But I don’t. I’m almost four years older than him.
“How could you let this happen?” she demands, shoving me out of the way and pulling the gauze back to look. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She looks around the space and points to the packets of gauze for me to hand to her.
Humiliation burns the back of my throat as she gives directions and I hand her what she needs. She gets a thick patch on and tapes it down to keep pressure on it until she takes him to the hospital.
She jerks him off the table hard enough that he stumbles. Turning those cold, exhausted eyes to me, she shakes her head before she says, “All I’ve ever asked of you is to keep him out of trouble.”
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