Playing Defense

I’ve been living out of hotels for the past three weeks, ever since the hockey season started. It’s been chaotic trying to balance practice and apartment viewings, and frankly, I’m over it. The thought of another night staring at a beige wall, smelling stale carpet, makes my stomach clench. So when Emma offers up their guest bedroom, I practically bite her hand off. It’s supposed to be temporary, just until I find a new apartment in Hartford. I picture the usual setup: a quiet house, maybe Emma and Chase’s kid, Ethan, making typical toddler noises, but mostly peace. A place to dump my bags, crash, and then get back to the grind of hockey and house hunting.

I haul my duffel bag through the front door, the familiar scent of Emma’s cinnamon candles hitting me. It feels good to be back, even if it’s just for a bit. “Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing a little. No immediate answer. They’re probably out with Ethan, or maybe Emma’s napping. She’s about nine weeks pregnant, after all, and already seems to be feeling the drain.

My first mission: a quick cleanup. The hotel bathrooms have glorified drizzles for showers, and I feel like I still have three weeks of dirt clinging to me. I drop my bag in the entryway, kick off my shoes, and head straight for the upstairs bathroom. I figure I’ll be in and out before anyone even knows I’m here.

The door is slightly ajar. A sliver of light spills out. I think nothing of it. Emma probably left it on when she finished, or maybe Chase. I push the door open a little wider, ready to step in.

My eyes land on her, and the air leaves my lungs in a violent rush.

Maya.

She stands there, completely naked, reaching for something on the counter. Her black curls, usually a wild halo around her face, are pulled back, glistening lightly. Her skin, that rich, warm brown, glows under the bathroom light, just like it does under moonlight or stars. “Stardust,” I think, a stupid, unwanted nickname that’s been stuck in my head for years.

My eyes trace the curve of her spine, the soft swell of her ass, the way her legs are braced. Every line, every shadow, burns into my brain in an instant. My cock, dormant for weeks, springs to attention, an insistent throb against my jeans. I shouldn’t feel this way about her. She’s practically family, and that’s supposed to mean she’s off-limits. But I can’t help it; I’ve wanted her for years. I’ve tried to keep her at arm’s length precisely because she’s Emma’s best friend. That’s why, when she kissed me over a year ago, I, like a fucking idiot, didn’t kiss her back.

She must sense me, or maybe she catches a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. She turns, slowly. Her eyes, wide and brown, meet mine. For a split second, she just stares, frozen, her mouth slightly open. Then a gasp tears from her throat, and her hands fly up, a futile attempt to cover herself.

“Fuck!” she shrieks. “Jackson! What the hell are you doing?”

My own mouth is dry. My tongue feels like sandpaper. “Maya! Jesus Christ, I... I didn’t know you were in here! I swear to God!” The words tumble out, a panicked, incoherent mess. My face feels hot, blood rushing to my ears. I want to disappear, to melt into the floorboards. But my feet are rooted, my eyes locked onto her.

She fumbles for a towel, her movements jerky and frantic. Her cheeks are flushed, a deep crimson against her brown skin. “Get out! Get out, you pervert!” she yells.

“I’m not—I didn’t—” I stammer, finally managing to tear my gaze away and take a step back, my hands raised. “I am so sorry, Maya. I thought no one was in here. I swear.”

Just then, Emma’s voice drifts up the stairs. “Jackson? Is that you?”

Maya lets out a frustrated groan, still trying to cover herself with the flimsy towel. I stand there, mortified, my cock still throbbing, a testament to my utter lack of control.

Emma appears in the doorway, a wide smile on her face that quickly falters as she takes in the scene: me, red-faced and apologetic, Maya, half-covered and furious, a towel barely covering her.

“Oh,” Emma says. Her eyes dart between us, slow realization dawning on her face. “Jackson, I am so, so sorry. I completely forgot to tell you Maya moved in.” She slaps a hand over her mouth.

Maya just shakes her head, a watery chuckle escaping her. “I can’t believe you forgot to tell him.” Her voice is laced with disbelief, but the anger seems to be deflating. She finally manages to wrap the towel around herself, tucking it under her armpits.

“I just... it’s been a crazy few weeks,” Emma mumbles, stepping into the bathroom. “Baby stuff, Ethan’s teething. I’m so scatterbrained.” She looks at me, then back at Maya. “Jackson, out.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I practically trip over my own feet backing out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me. I lean against the wall in the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. My face is still burning. I’ve just seen Maya Rivera, Emma’s best friend, the woman who haunts my thoughts, completely naked. And it isn’t some fantasy. It’s real, awkward, and utterly mortifying.

We haven’t really spoken since her birthday party over a year ago. That night, fueled by too much cheap champagne, she leaned in and kissed me. A soft, hesitant press of her lips against mine. And I, the biggest coward on the planet, froze. I didn’t kiss her back, just pulled away, mumbled something about Emma, and disappeared. She’s avoided me ever since, and I’ve let her. It’s easier than confronting the mess of emotions she stirs in me. Now, here she is, living in my sister’s house, and I’ve just walked in on her. The universe, it seems, has a sick sense of humor.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens again. Maya emerges, wrapped in a thick robe. She doesn’t look at me. She walks past, her shoulders hunched, and disappears into the guest room. The door clicks shut softly.

Emma comes out next, sighing. “Well, that was awkward. I’m sorry, Jack. I really am. My brain is just... mush these days.”

“It’s fine, Em,” I say, though it’s anything but. “I should have knocked. My bad.”

“No, it’s my bad,” she insists. “Completely. But listen, Maya’s been going through a really rough time. That’s why she’s here.”

My brows furrow. “Rough time? What happened?” I’ve been so focused on hockey, on the season starting, on finding a new place, I haven’t even realized. Guilt twists in my gut.

Just then, Chase comes up the stairs, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He takes one look at my face and Emma’s apologetic expression. “Ah, the big reveal, huh?” he says, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Jackson, Maya. Bathroom. Classic.”

“Shut up, Chase,” Emma grumbles, though she can’t hide her smile.

Chase claps me on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s get you settled. I’ll give you the rundown.”

We head downstairs to the basement. Emma and Chase renovated it when they first moved in, turning it into a surprisingly cozy space.

“So, what’s going on with Maya?” I ask, dropping my bag on the bed. “Emma said she’s been having a rough time.”

Chase sits on the edge of the bed, his expression softening. “Yeah, man. It’s... pretty bad. She quit her nursing job.”

My head snaps up. “Quit? Why? She loved being a pediatric nurse.”

“She lost a patient,” he says, his voice quiet. “A five-year-old kid. Lily. Cancer. Maya was with her right to the end. It really messed her up. She’s been having nightmares, can’t sleep, can’t even think about going back to work right now.”

My stomach drops. I remember Emma talking about Lily, how Maya adored that kid. How she’d spent extra hours with her, even on her days off. Maya, who’s always so vibrant, so full of life, so loud and messy and wild, reduced to this?

“Jesus,” I breathe, running a hand through my blond hair. “I had no idea. Why didn’t Emma say anything?”

“She probably didn’t want to bother you, man. You’ve been busy with the start of the season. And Maya’s pretty private about it. She just... showed up a few weeks ago, said she needed a place to crash, and Emma, being Emma, opened her arms. She’s been staying in the guest room ever since.”

“So she’s been here for weeks?”

He nods. “Yeah. Emma’s been trying to get her to talk, but she just shuts down. It’s hard to watch.” Chase pauses, then adds, “Emma’s hoping having you around might help. You know how much Maya looks up to you.”

The last part confuses me. Maya looks up to me? The guy who couldn’t even kiss her back when she finally made a move? The guy who’s been secretly pining for her for years but is too much of a coward to do anything about it because of some unspoken rule about best friends and brothers? The protective older brother who failed to notice his sister’s best friend, his own secret obsession, is falling apart?

“I feel like a real asshole,” I admit, staring at the floor. “I should have known something was wrong. I should have checked in.”

“It’s not your fault,” Chase says, standing up. “You were busy, we both were. And like I said, Maya’s good at hiding it. She’s a tough cookie.”

A tough cookie, maybe. But the Maya I just saw, naked and vulnerable and trying to cover herself, isn’t tough. She’s broken. And the thought nags at something in my chest. My protective instincts, usually reserved for Emma, flare to life. I want to fix it. I want to make her laugh again, to see that wild spark return to her eyes. But how? I’m the last person she probably wants to see right now, especially after my grand entrance.

“So, the living arrangement,” he continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “You’ve got this whole space down here. It’s pretty sweet, right? Got a big TV, good sound system. But no bathroom. You’ll have to use the one upstairs. Maya’s in the guest room, right across the hall from it. Ethan uses whichever bathroom he needs to; we’re potty training but it’s going slow at the moment. Emma and I have our own bathroom in our room, so we’re good. So... try to knock next time, yeah?” He winks, a playful jab, but I just grimace.

“Yeah, lesson learned,” I mutter. This is going to be an absolute nightmare. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s exactly what I need. A forced proximity that will either break me or force me to finally deal with the years of unspoken feelings.

I look around my new room. It’s spacious, with a queen-sized bed, a couple of armchairs, and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There’s a small desk in the corner, and a bookshelf filled with paperbacks. It’s a good setup, private enough.

Still, no amount of comfort or quiet can drown out the memory playing on a loop in my head.

Her dark curls pulled back, the soft curve of her ass, the way her hands flew to cover herself. Even through the shock and embarrassment, a part of me, a very small part, just wanted to stare. To memorize every inch of her. She’s beautiful. More beautiful than I remember. The past year of avoiding her, of trying to convince myself that my feelings are just a fleeting crush, has been a lie. Seeing her like that, vulnerable and exposed, only solidifies what I already know.

I’m still completely gone for her.

“Alright, well, I’m gonna go help with dinner,” Chase says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Emma’s making her famous lasagna tonight. You still like it, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Thanks again, man. For everything.”

“Anytime, brother,” he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze before heading back upstairs.

The silence feels heavy, filled with the echo of Maya’s scream and my own fumbled apologies. I walk over to my duffel bag, unzip it, and pull out a fresh change of clothes. I still need to clean up.

I sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand over my face. Maya. Here. In this house. Struggling. And I, the guy who’s supposed to be responsible, reliable, protective, the guy who doesn’t usually screw up, just screwed up spectacularly. I invaded her privacy in the most intimate way possible. How am I ever going to look her in the eye again? How am I going to pretend that the sight of her naked didn’t rip through me, didn’t awaken every suppressed desire I have for her?

My gaze drifts to the small, worn leather pouch I always carry with me, tucked into the side pocket of my duffel. Inside is my father’s Wolves pendant, a simple silver wolf head on a chain. It’s a good luck charm, a reminder of him, of family, of what mattered. I pull it out, the cool metal a comforting weight in my palm. My father always told me to face things head-on, to be brave, to protect the people I care about. And right now, the person I care about most, aside from Emma, is upstairs, hurting. And I have no idea how to help her, or even how to navigate this new, incredibly complicated living situation.

The scent of cinnamon and something savory, probably Emma’s lasagna, starts to drift down the stairs. It’s a comforting smell, a smell of home. But home, for the foreseeable future, is going to be a minefield of unspoken tension, awkward encounters, and a constant, agonizing awareness of Maya. My “Stardust.” The woman who is now just a few feet away, separated by a floor. This is going to be hell. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s exactly where I need to be.