Breakaway for Love (Hockey & Love #1)

4. Inappropriate Thoughts

4

INAPPROPRIATE THOUGHTS

Daniel

Our next training session is awesome! Our little game in the woods and our conversation afterwards flipped a switch. We were like two different people on the ice this afternoon. The puck flies into the goal too many times to count and every pass lands. The D-men are chasing their tails!

I grin as I soap my naked body in the narrow shower of my hotel room.

The looks on the others’ faces! There was hardly any reaction to the first two goals. Everyone thought it was just coincidence, but I knew better.

Despite this, Hovenberg's behavior was still restrained. He did manage to give me a high five after the second goal, and he relaxed enough to let Gabriel, our third linemate, hug him toward the end of practice. But the way those two tricked the goalie for that particular goal was downright spectacular.

Why am I showering a second time in as many hours? On the short walk from the rink to the hotel after practice, Gabriel, still high on endorphins, started a snowball fight. By the time we stepped through the hotel's front door, we were all soaking wet.

But even without a snowball fight, I would have ended up in my own hotel shower at some point this afternoon. I love taking the time to enjoy the hot water on my skin, and in the locker room with all the others around me, I can't really do that.

My thoughts wander while the sound of the water creates a delightful background vibe. My mind starts to flash with images of earlier. Images of Hovenberg on the pond, his cheeks rosy, glancing at me just before passing the puck exactly where I need it, his shy smile when we played together so well in the arena this afternoon. The surprise in his eyes when Gabriel threw a snowball at him — as if he never expected to be included in any team shenanigans.

I can't get that damn Hovenberg out of my head.

He was always an attractive man, even I recognized that, but something is different now. Is it because we’re working together for the first time since we met? Or perhaps because we’re engaging with each other after burying the hatchet? Okay, maybe it’s not buried. Not yet. But you could metaphorically say it's on the ground and I've thrown a few handfuls of dirt on it.

I grin at that thought, but the smile quickly fades as a small voice inside me quietly but unmistakably says, Or is it because you're both single? Although I immediately scoff at the idea. What difference does it make if we’re both available?

My thoughts wander to Claudia. It's been over a week since we broke up. She hasn’t contacted me since and I haven’t contacted her either. The depressing thing is, that a week without contact wasn’t even that unusual. The last two years have been like that — pretty much. And if I'm being completely honest, over the past few months we’ve both done our thing without even touching base with each other. It gives me a little stab in the heart when I admit that. It’s sad, but true ...

I think Claudia was totally right to end our relationship — it’s not like we’d really had one for a long time. I’d probably have kept the whole thing artificially alive forever. I have no idea why. Maybe out of habit. Maybe misplaced loyalty. Or maybe just to avoid any drama.

I once loved Claudia, but when I think of her now, there’s nothing left of that feeling. Even the pain of the separation has faded in way too short a time. I won’t deny she was a very important person in my life, and I’ll always feel connected to her, but ...

Nico’s face reappears in my head and my stomach flutters. I’m curious about him, and I can definitely feel that excitement that comes with something new. And there’s —desire. At school, I never gave Hovenberg a second glance, but our meeting today in the forest changed everything ...

I let my hands wander down my body, moaning loudly when I reach my cock and balls and rub them with shower gel. It feels so good! I spread my legs a little more, swipe my fingers along the tender flesh behind my balls and across my hole. I throw my head back in ecstasy and almost choke on the water that suddenly floods my face.

When I catch my breath, my imagination takes flight.

Nico is looking down at me and I’m kneeling in front of him. His expression is determined as he thrusts his cock deep into my mouth and throat. I feel his thick length — he’s got to have a thick cock — forcing my mouth to open wide. My lips enclose him, my tongue flicks his plump head, and then salty taste explodes on my tongue.

Hot damn! I almost come myself, but a new fantasy is hot on the heels of the last.

This time it’s Nico kneeling in front of me and looking up. Nico, whose eyes show an openness and vulnerability that I’d never seen before today. I’d love to take him in my arms and never let him go. There’s something about him that resonates deep inside me. I want to take him by the hand and protect him.

Safe in my little shower fantasy, I rub the tip of my cock over his narrow lips as if I were applying lipstick. The Nico in my head seems to be just as crazy about the taste of my precome as I am about his. A tremor runs through his body as if he’s barely holding himself back, as if he can't wait to lap up the slick which I’m spreading so lovingly on his lips, but he holds completely still, letting me finish.

A moan echoes around the bathroom and my balls tighten. This will be quick.

I’m flipping between the two erotic images in my head unable to decide which one turns me on more, which fantasy I’d like to experience, when suddenly there’s a third image.

We’re lying in bed, Nico under me, my cock buried deep in his ass. His gaze is fiery, his white-blond hair tousled, his pupils dilated. He looks like I've been edging him for hours. There’s a tension in his body, a desperation that speaks of the height of pleasure.

Relentlessly, I thrust into his willing, hot body. Nico seems to disintegrate a little more with each grind. His hand shoots to the back of my neck, clawing desperately.

"Daniel." His whisper is so clear that it sounds as if his mouth is right next to my ear. His tone begs me to bring him to climax.

That’s so hot!

My grip around my cock tightens and I imagine that instead of my hand, it’s Nico's tight hole that squeezes it. This image of Nico beneath me takes me over the edge. Each pump of hot jizz that splashes over my fingers and is washed away by the water, is immediately replaced by a fresh jet with each jerk of my hand. Eventually, I have to support myself against the wall because my legs are shaking so badly. I can't remember the last time I came so intensely!

As the waves of euphoria wash over me, my body and mind calm. I simply enjoy the warm water on my skin as I catch my breath. When my brain returns to normal, I hang my head.

"Shit …" spills barely audibly from my lips.

Maybe that was a bit fucked up.

Hovenberg and I have only just managed to be polite to each other. He didn't accept my offer to be friends. My concession to be teammates who trust each other was the only way to get him onside.

And then what do I do? Have him naked and writhing around in various sex poses in my best erotic fantasy to date. My exhausted cock twitches at the thought of where my imagination took me.

I shake my head.

Get a grip! I hiss at myself.

There’s so much more at stake than satisfying my lust. The most important thing is to get him to trust me on the ice — it's the Olympics!

Why now, of all times, do I have to notice how hot Hovenberg is with his platinum hair, pale skin, and light blue eyes? We’ve known each other all our lives! The worst thing is he's not even into men — that much is obvious.

I sigh. Somehow, I’ve got to rein in my renegade libido if we're going to live up to our promise in the woods for the next few weeks — teammates who trust each other.

Nico

The afternoon training went well. Really well. Amazingly well.

Butterflies are flitting around my stomach — and not because I'm in love. Okay, maybe I’m a little in love. Actually, let’s be honest, when Daniel looks at me so intensely with his green-gray eyes across the ice, it’s lust, not love I feel.

Me falling in love with a Miller? What a ridiculous thought!

Can we work together for a while and put our country before our families’ beef? It looks like we can.

Do I enjoy looking at his perfect body? Obviously!

Enjoy? The little angel and the little devil on my shoulders are both laughing fit to bust when that thought crosses my mind.

I can almost hear the little devil chuckle, saying, You’d like to rip his clothes off and jump him. Or better yet, catch him in the shower, then you won't have to worry about getting naked!

If these two represent my subconscious — they’re not helping!

I shake my head. It shows how far I’ve sunk that imaginary characters are sitting on my shoulders laughing at me, even though the thought of them amuses me. I can't remember the last time I was in such a good mood.

This season’s been hard for me. When I tore the ligaments in my knee at the training camp before the hockey season had even started, I could have cried with rage and pain. Not that I did. I couldn't show any weakness in front of my teammates, so I stoically endured it all despite falling apart on the inside.

All summer I’d trained like a man possessed. I was so sure that this would be my season. The season I would get one of the coveted spots in the NHL and lead my national team to victory in Beijing, and it looked like it was coming to nothing — before it had even started. The season hadn't even begun and I was out for several weeks. Added to that, I’m not in my first flush of youth either. And to make matters worse, my three-year contract with the Toronto Marlies was set to expire at the end of the season.

When I was in hospital, I couldn't sleep. My mind was spinning because I assumed the coach wouldn't take me back and my career would be over. The fact that it wasn’t is down to an incredibly talented physiotherapist, and I was back on the ice faster than anyone thought — playing better than ever.

Not that the whole episode left me unscathed. In September, just ten days after my injury, the squad for the Terengian national team was announced, and I wasn’t selected. Instead, they chose two junior players who, incidentally, aren't even old enough to drive.

I was so devastated that I refused to answer the phone for three days. It took my best friend, Vincent, to barge into my apartment and talk me into flying back home. He convinced me that I’d recuperate better and avoid getting down in the dumps over the Olympic period too. And anyway, he's getting married in a few months and I'm his best man. He said I was the only one who could make their big day happen exactly the way his fiancée Penelope imagined. Which was a bit of a weird thing to say really, considering back in high school Penelope and I dated for almost two years. Nothing happened between us — for reasons I couldn't acknowledge at the time, but which were obvious even then.

I sigh and bury those difficult memories. I was in such a good mood — my first good mood in ages — and I won't let thoughts of my first and only girlfriend spoil that.

In any case, there was one good thing to come out of it. Because Vincent dragged me back to Terengia and dumped a load of wedding tasks on me, I was handily in the country when the head coach called and asked me to join the national team. If I’d still been in Toronto, I wouldn’t have made it to the first practice on time. Although, given how poorly we played, maybe that wouldn’t have been such a bad thing …

But today’s training was completely different!

It's a mystery to me what changed between Daniel and me on that scrubby patch of ice in the forest, but that magical little pond made everything different — no question.

I smile when I think of the stupid snowball fight that Gabriel started on the way back to the hotel from the ice rink. He’s always up for a joke. Even when he was a school kid you could count on him to get up to stuff, and that doesn't seem to have changed. But what delighted me about the whole thing was that I got a few snowballs thrown at me. If the snowball fight had happened even a few hours earlier, not a single ball would have flown in my direction. It somehow made me feel that I belong. Almost anyway ...

Before I get caught up in thoughts about balls of frozen water, my phone rings.

"Hi man!" I say to Vincent.

A surprised silence follows my announcement. Then a clearing of the throat.

"So, I guess I can tell Penelope she doesn't have to worry about you anymore," Vincent states instead of a greeting.

He fails to wipe the grin from my face. I'm in such a good mood that not even Vincent's lame excuse for checking up on me can bring me down. Penelope is definitely not worried about me. She just about tolerates the fact that Vincent and I are friends. I’m pretty sure she’s never forgiven me for how our relationship ended. Not that there was loads of drama. Everything just sort of petered out because ... because I couldn't love and desire her the way she deserved. She couldn't put into words what was wrong at the time, and I was too cowardly to be honest.

You still are, I think before pushing that thought aside. I won't let anything ruin my good mood.

Instead, I tell Vincent about the team’s training sessions, and when he pesters me for more information, I tell him about the game at the pond and how it changed things.

There’s a beat of silence at the other end of the line before he says, "Be careful, Nico." It sounds like a warning and completely takes me by surprise.

"What do you mean?"

I hear a deep sigh. "You and Miller ... There was always something between you two."

I can't believe my ears. I’m so shocked, my knees give way and I fall back onto the bed. Then I let out a yelp. I threw my hairbrush onto the bed earlier and now its small metal bristles have pierced my thin T-shirt and are pronging my back.

"Are you okay?" Vincent asks concerned.

"Yeah, yeah!" I roll onto my side and angrily swipe the brush off the bed. There's a surprisingly loud bang as the thing hits the floor.

"Nico?" There’s a hint of panic in Vincent's voice.

"I just dropped something," I placate him.

Silence descends again and it’s not a comfortable one. It’s charged, but I have no intention of breaking it. I’ve asked a question and I expect an answer. Vincent can stew in his own juice for a bit. I don't have to wait long.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he murmurs, and my stomach clenches.

Now, I have absolutely no idea how to handle the situation. Vincent is my best friend. More than once he’s saved me from myself. When he flew across the pond only a few months ago just to get me out of my funk, I knew how much it cost him — he hates flying, and for a good reason.

After we graduated high school, a group of my friends went traveling. I couldn’t go because I’d started my AHL training camp. But they had a terrible experience on a flight to Brazil. As they were flying over the Amazon, one of the turbines on the plane failed and they had to make an emergency landing. Luckily, no one was badly injured but they were all shaken. Vincent hasn't exactly been afraid of flying since, but his enthusiasm for it has definitely declined.

Knowing all this, I was doubly impressed that he got on a plane just for me. And it’s probably why he so easily persuaded me to come home. Despite this, there’s so many things I haven’t shared with Vincent. Things I've always kept secret from everyone — including my best friend.

Are we ready to have that conversation? He’s given me an opening after all. Keeping this many secrets is threatening to suffocate me. The biggest? My sexuality. But would revealing the truth mean I’d lose Vincent? What if he has a problem with it? He’s one of the few people in my life that I trust. He’s seen me at my worst, seen me weak and vulnerable, and hasn't taken advantage of that.

"Look, I’m going to go," Vincent says quietly.

I swallow. I can't let the conversation end like this! Maybe he meant something completely different and my stupid brain is just twisting everything.

"What did you mean?" I demand an answer, but when Vincent doesn't answer immediately, I add vaguely, "Before ... When you ..." I don't manage to finish the sentence and hate myself for it.

I hear him sigh deeply again, and I hold my breath.

"Honestly, I don't know, Nico. Just forget I said anything."

I’m infinitely disappointed.

"What if I don't want to forget it?" The sentence slips out of my mouth before I can second-guess myself.

"Well," Vincent swallows audibly, "in school you two were very … aware of each other. You always knew what Miller was doing … where he was. And he was the same. You were like two magnets that couldn't help but be drawn together. And I mean, for two boys who supposedly can't stand each other..." He falters.

I say nothing. My throat is tight.

Does he suspect something? But that's not the only thought that shocks me.

Is he right about Miller? Was he watching me too? Couldn't he take his eyes off me either? He was attractive back then, sure, but I was still in such denial about who I was that I ... What? Hated him with every fiber of my being — and not because he's a Miller. It was because while he was around, I couldn’t fool myself into thinking I was into women.

So, is that what Vincent means? Did my best friend notice how I felt even then?

The color drains from my face when I think, Have others noticed too?

Vincent clears his throat.

"Keep talking," I urge him. I have a desperate need to hear what he knows. I've never told anyone how I feel. Never said the words out loud, perhaps hoping against hope that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have to face the truth. But now, Vincent has tugged at an old wound. It's almost like overlooking an accident on the highway. You can't look away. You know you should accelerate and just keep driving. But you drive past at a snail's pace so you can see better, causing an even bigger traffic jam, if not more accidents.

"You haven't had a girlfriend since Penelope," Vincent's voice sounds raspy. Unlike my mother, he never bugged me about my lack of girlfriends, never questioned it. I always thought it just wasn’t on his radar — how wrong could I be!

"And ..." This time he hesitates for quite a long time. I can imagine him standing in front of me, nervously plucking at his lower lip, and a slight smile plays around my lips at the thought. There’s something reassuring about seeing this familiar gesture — even if it’s just in my head.

Then he must give himself a push, because when he continues, he speaks in a rush despite his subdued voice, "And Penelope once hinted that you weren’t … overly physical, even though you were together for so long. So, I started thinking, maybe ..."

I feel sick, but I force the nausea down.

"What did you start thinking?" I startle myself at how cold my voice sounds.

Immediately, Vincent backtracks, "Like I said, forget I said anything."

"No!" My voice is like a weapon, like a knife. It cuts through marrow and bone.

I'm shaking all over. "Say it," I challenge Vincent. What am I doing?

"Nico ..." Vincent sounds as if he’s talking to a wounded animal.

"Please!"

I have no idea why I am forcing this, forcing him, especially in such a twisted way. Vincent has given me the opportunity to brush this whole conversation under the carpet so I can continue lying to everyone — including myself.

"Why?" Vincent’s question is hardly surprising, but I can barely hear it through the buzzing in my ears.

"Because ... because ..." Fuck it! "Because I can't do it myself," I blurt.

My cheeks instantly flame, and when I raise my hand to them, I find they’re wet. Furiously, I rub away the tears although they’re long overdue.

"Nico ..." Vincent's voice sounds tender — he’s all compassion, friendship, understanding, and I know that I made the right decision, even if it wasn't conscious.

"You've been carrying this around for so long," he says gently.

I nod, even though he can't see it. It's such a relief to hear those words. To hear someone see me. The real me. Do I have the courage to say it? To be accepted for who I am? I hate myself for needing outside validation, but I want it so desperately.

"You know it won't change anything between us, right?" Vincent then says softly.

I take a deep breath. That means the world to me. It’s as if I had been underwater for the last few years and the pressure has almost crushed me. His words are a lifeline.

"Vincent," I murmur.

"Yes."

"I'm gay."

The words barely pass my lips. I feel so vulnerable that my voice breaks and I feel dizzy.

"You’re my best friend, and you're perfect just the way you are," Vincent replies.

His answer seems strangely rehearsed, but it’s honest. There’s so much more to say, but I feel drained. In fact, all I want to do is curl up in my bed and drift off. No chance of that! I have to go down to dinner in a few minutes, and no matter how well we played this afternoon, Coach would be pissed if I missed the communal meal again.

So, after a brief goodbye, I hang up and stare at the ceiling. I spoke my truth out loud for the first time in my life, and it was the hardest thing I've ever done.

So, how do I feel?

Lighter than ever.