14. Griffin
CHAPTER 14
GRIFFIN
Temporary backup goalie for the Nashville Rippers.
Even if I don’t see a lick of ice time, that doesn’t phase the excitement racing through my veins like a bottle rocket.
The coach wants me to sit in on a practice this afternoon to get a feel for the team before tomorrow’s game on the chance that they need me.
I don’t know if that’s a common courtesy when calling players up or if it has to do with the goalie mojo no one wants to fuck up, but I’ll take any opportunity given to me to play for an NAPH team.
For now, I’m stretching my legs at the hotel they’ve set me up in and trying not to crawl out of my skin while I wait.
Things have been so intense at home I’ve hardly had the time to be nervous. If we aren’t fucking, Riley is telling me stories about his childhood, about his little brother, and how they’re father is a former football hopeful turned coach who has kept the sporty tradition alive in them both.
If there’s a word for this kind of ethereal happiness, I’d love to know it, because nothing beats mapping out a path to the future with the love of your life.
Well, almost nothing.
Knowing in a couple of hours I’ll be in the Rippers locker room meeting Marek Hutton—Nashville’s prime line goalie for the last seven seasons—comes pretty close. He was the primary backup for nearly three years before that.
I grew up with the Rippers as my dream team. Mom would drive me out to every home game, and in the bottom of every bag I pack is the jersey I wore from game to game until I got it signed by every member of the team. From the first line players to the last to the PHL call ups who were only there for the day.
It’s my token. My charm that this is what I’ve worked for. This is what I spent years flailing from team to team to achieve.
I’m not after permanence—the concept and me never seem to stay on the same page—but a taste is enough to fuel me until I make it up again.
You can be damn sure I will.
“How can you have this much pent up energy at eight in the morning? And why did you have to call me to get it out?”
I would almost be convinced I’d just woken him up, but I know for a fact Locke is opening the shop this morning, so if he’s not there, he should be on his way.
“Think of it as a courtesy call. So your uncle doesn’t get a hair up his ass about you opening late.”
“I think if my uncle cared, he wouldn’t keep scheduling me to open. Besides, no appointments until noon.”
I’ve paced the span of the hotel room at least a dozen times, but every muscle in my body feels clenched tight in need of release.
I need to be on the ice.
Or in a fight.
Or something to ease this tension coiling through me like a spring.
“Why don’t you call your boyfriend?”
“Because he needs his rest.”
And because I may have kept him up way too late last night yammering on about my excitement. He may have found some real creative ways to keep my mouth occupied.
Sex with Riley never gets old. Never goes stale. It’s fucking phenomenal every single time.
“How considerate of you,” Locke grumbles, but I know as much as he might complain that he’ll always be here for me.
Even when we’ve been in vastly different time zones, Locke has always made time to talk me down or hear me out when I need it. He’s been more of a family to me than my real one—minus my sister. Her absence has nothing to do with me and everything to do with our piece of shit dad.
“Hey, listen,” I say as Locke’s jaw creaks on a yawn. “You might be off the hook soon.”
“For this phone call?”
I chuckle. “No. For being my cover.”
“Oh?”
“Riley and I are … we’re working on opening up to people. I think we might be ready.”
“You mean, you think Riley might be ready.”
My smile dips to a frown. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk down about him.”
Locke sighs, and I finally give my legs a break and drop down onto the bed.
“I’m not. But being his dirty secret was never your idea in the first place. If you had your way, you would have been dry humping his ass in the locker room for two years. Don’t pretend he hasn’t been holding you back.”
My throat burns, and I have to dig my fingers into my thigh to calm the anxious bouncing.
“This isn’t like the others. Riley isn’t playing games and stringing me along. He cares. He really fucking cares. There’s just some hangups he’s got to deal with—and he is. We talked about it after you brought him up to see me.”
“I just want the two of you to be happy.”
“He makes me happy, Locke. I love him.”
The line goes quiet, but I know he’s still there by the occasional sound of his breathing. I’d think he’s asleep if not for the jingling of keys and clicking of a lock down the line.
“I don’t mean to beat a dead horse,” he says. “You’re my best friend. You’ve had my back even when I was ready to throw down about it. Riley seems like a genuinely good guy who really fucking cares about you. I just know that sometimes, no matter how much you love someone … it isn’t always enough.”
As if the thought hasn’t crossed my mind enough times over the last two years.
“One day, you’re going to fall in love, and I’m going to have to be the protective one.”
“Call your boyfriend, Griffin.”
The line clicks, and I’m left with an ugly sense of apprehension that makes my stomach acid feel like sludge.
It takes ten minutes of feeding the guilt in my gut before I actually pull up Riley’s number and dial. It rings a handful of times—enough that it makes me think he might have fallen asleep with the ringer off—but then it picks up and Riley’s disgruntled ‘hmph’ blows through the speaker.
“Hey,” I say, wincing at the scratch in my voice.
“Something the matter, baby?” Even though his words are sleep heavy, Riley still sounds clear and attentive, and damn does it make my eyes water.
This is an emotional day; sue me.
“Nah. Just … wanted to hear your voice.”
He chuckles softly, and the bedsheets rustle through the phone, followed by a yawn. “Nervous?”
“A little.”
“You’re going to kick ass.”
“I probably won’t even touch the ice.”
It’s amazing how in-tune I am with every little sound. With his feet padding on the carpet of our apartment, the creak of the bathroom door, and even the echo of his morning piss.
“Tell me what you need.”
I crack a smile I wish he could see. “What? In a hurry to get me off the phone?”
He hums and audibly gulps down a glass of what I assume is water since I never heard the fridge open.
“In a hurry to calm your nerves.”
Riley lets out a content breath as he settles on the couch, grunting a bit as he props his injured leg up.
Should I be concerned that I know him well enough to discern his movements from the sounds he makes?
“I love you.”
His breathing hitches, and while it’s not the first or even one of the first handful of times I’ve said it, I try not to overdo it.
Right now, I need to say it. I need to feel it. Need him to feel it. Before I crawl out of my skin.
“Griff.” He hasn’t reciprocated in as many words, but I know it. I know it in the way he holds me at night and kisses me awake every morning.
“Get off with me?”
“Right now?”
I smirk and rub my hand up my thigh. I’m not hard, but an orgasm would force my body to relax.
“Not up for it, old man?”
Teasing Riley about his age is a special occasion quip, because he really doesn’t act like a man in his early thirties. At least, not when it comes to our bedroom activities. He’s still as much of a Mama Hen as ever, but I think that has less to do with his age and more just his personality.
“I know you have a morning wood situation going on.”
He chuckles, and it makes the mess in my chest flutter.
“You’re insatiable these days, baby.” A sigh leaves his lips, and it’s followed by a terse silence. “You know you can still talk to me, right? About hockey. It’s not a sore spot.”
It is, though. I’ve seen it in the far away look in his eyes this last week. He’s been holding something back, and the only thing that’s changed is that I got called up.
Something Riley has been secretly waiting for ever since he was sent down in the first place.
He played his ass off for this league, and I’m sure it’s hard not to feel resentful that they never gave him a second chance.
I don’t want him to resent me for taking this opportunity, so I’ve been trying my best not to rub it in.
“Griffin. I’m happy for you. You deserve this.”
“I wish this was something we could do together.”
It’s as close as I can get to admitting my biggest fear: that we’ll never play together again. That this is the end of this part of our relationship as we know it, and I’m not sure how we come back from it.
“Do you want me to drive up for the game? It’s not the same, but I’m here to support you, baby. If you need me there—want me there—I’ll be there.”
Riley’s surgeon cleared him to drive almost two weeks ago, but I don’t want to push him to sit in a car that long. At least on the planes or the bus he can stand up and stretch his legs. Sure, he can take breaks to walk around, but it feels silly to ask him to drive all the way out here just to watch a game I most likely won’t even get to play.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Riles,” I say, clearing my throat of the clogged emotions building up. “But if you’re here, all I’m going to be thinking about is jumping your bones the second we’re alone.”
“How did you ever survive before I got injured?” The hurt in his voice betrays the dry humored tone he was going for.
“Maybe, uh, you could come up just before I leave? Let me take you out on a date where no one we know will see us?”
I hate saying it, but he’s giving me an inch by opening up to his family; I don’t want to push him too hard until we see how that goes.
“I’d like that,” he says softly, and I realize that all the anxious tension in my shoulders is missing.
It’s not the sex that does it for me, it’s just Riley.
“So, I’ll see you in a few days?”
“Absolutely. But hey, Griff?”
“Yeah?”
“Call me anytime. Text me. Send me pics. I’m not just here for booty calls and pep talks, you know?”
I fall back on the bed and smile, desperately wishing he were here for me to wrap my arms around and press my face into his strong corded neck.
“I love you, Riley.”
He doesn’t say it back, but I don’t mind. As I close my eyes and listen to the rumble of his voice while we talk about everything and nothing, I know that this right here is what I want for us.
Being each other’s rock.
Our safety net.
As long as we’ve got each other, the rest can be figured out.
“You played a whole period of a game. I’d call that a win.”
Riley bites into a corn dog from one of the vendors littered around the park that we grabbed grub at, looking ridiculously hot in his white tank and red flannel.
“I knew the likelihood of them needing me would be slim, but when you have a slapshot from a very skilled winger going ninety miles an hour aimed at your chest, I’d say a single quarter is good enough for me.”
Riley slings an arm around my shoulder and chuckles into my hair.
“What do you want to bet it was some rookie younger than you?”
I shove him off and shoot him a glare, but he grins back and goes back to his food.
“You’re an ass. Wanna talk old? You’re in prime retirement age, buddy.”
Riley’s steps falter, but then he shakes his head and drags me back to his side, this time with his arm hanging loosely around my waist.
“You alright?”
“Yup. Lost my footing. Happens sometimes.”
I follow his lead and wrap my arm around him, slipping my hand into his back pocket and watching for the usual hesitation or refusal.
Neither is there.
“So is this like a festival or something?” he asks, looking around at all of the booths and tents.
“Or something. The team says it’s a regular occurrence for local businesses. Usually a couple a week, and they alternate. Did you know some of the guys on the Rippers set up a face paint station on weekends when they don’t have games?”
I may have gotten talking to some of the lower line players and found out all kinds of interesting traditions their team has. It’s given me way too many ideas to implement when I get home.
“I’m glad this was a good experience for you.”
“Better now that you’re here. This is alright, isn’t it? You aren’t uncomfortable or anything?”
I figured out and about like this with some casual affection would be lower pressure than going to a restaurant or something, but like everything in life, I barreled forward with my plans without running them by Riley first.
I literally hopped in the car, had the hottest make-out session of my life, and directed him here for our date.
“This is nice,” he says, tossing his corn dog stick in a trashcan we pass. “Though I am concerned about what you plan to rope me into now that we’re here.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior. Scouts honor.”
I hold up my fingers as an amused smile pulls at Riley’s lips, and he stops us with a hand on the side of my neck, tipping my head back so he can press his mouth to mine.
“Why don’t I believe you?” he mutters and nips at my bottom lip.
Probably because the moment we separate and I spot a very interesting banner on top of a tent, I’m grabbing his hand and dragging him in that direction.
The banner is an array of colors with splattered paint and messy brush strokes, the words ‘Bad Habits’ written in bold font with a curvy ‘Queer Strip Club’ just below it.
“If I ever give up hockey, this is the dream.”
“You’ve got the underwear for it.”
I knock my elbow into his rib, and this time I feel the arm around me falter. It doesn’t fall away but loosens.
Instead of worrying, I shake off the negative thoughts and slip under Riley’s arm to catch the attention of one of the men under the canopy.
“Hey. So, what exactly does a strip club sell at a festival?”
The man—an early twenties-ish smaller man with curly dark hair parted on the side and an assortment of sparkling colors decorating his eyes and cheeks—looks up with a bright but sheepish smile.
“Memberships, mostly,” he says, cocking his head and sweeping his gaze along my body. “Knox is usually around with the tablet to give virtual tours bar any innocent eyes present.”
It’s the kind of open attention I haven’t felt in a while, and it makes my skin prickle with awareness.
“You a dancer, then?”
The man’s smile grows, and his eyes dart from mine to the table in front of him. “Owner, actually. One half of. Kian.”
He offers his hand, and I shake it as Riley’s heavy presence appears at my back. His hands land on my waist, and he rests his chin on my shoulder.
“I’m Griffin, and this is …” Riley’s fingers dig into the skin above my hips, and his chest presses hard enough on my back that I have to lean some of my weight on the table. “My boyfriend, Riley.”
Kian slides his eyes from me to Riley with a faint pink blush. “Don’t worry about me. My hookups are strictly on the books.”
“What does that mean?” Riley’s husky grumble vibrates against my skin.
“It means—” says a big, bearded, lumberjack of a man who swings into the booth and taps Kian on the head with a tablet. “That Ki here is a sub-for-hire. Sex is his job, not a recreational activity.”
“What he said. If your boyfriend wanted to fuck me, he’d have to pay me.”
Riley growls and yanks my hips back into his hard enough to make my head spin. A possessive display wasn’t on my dating bingo card, but by the way my dick responds, I’m not against it.
“My boyfriend won’t be fucking anyone.”
All of this, and Riley calling me his boyfriend is the horniest part of this whole exchange.
Both of the men laugh as if this is an everyday exchange, and given their odd jobs, it very well might be.
“I kind of want to be fucked right now,” I whisper as Riley playfully swats my thigh.
“Say goodbye to the nice people, Griffin.”
Oh, he’s so going to bend me over the first counter he can get me in front of.
When he pulls me away and shoves me onto an unoccupied bench, my mind is swirling with very naughty things I shouldn’t be thinking in public, but then he drops down beside me with a massive hard-on jutting against his thigh, and I know I’m not the only one.
“You were jealous.”
He side-eyes me and grips his length as discreetly as possible. “Of you getting eye-fucked by a man whose job is to take dick? Maybe a little.”
I bark out a laugh and glide a hand to my own down south problem, giving a quick squeeze before leaning forward to make it less apparent. “It’s hot and kind of flattering. But I’m not interested in sex with anyone else.”
The thought alone is sobering, and when our eyes meet, a pang hits and echoes in my chest.
“You’re it for me, Riley. Sex. Love. I want to wake up beside you for the rest of my life.”
I can’t even pinpoint the exact moment this became true. It was gradual. Just like how we went from Riley leaving my bed after sex to him dragging me to his where we sleep every night.
One day, things were different.
Riley’s silence is unnerving, and I lean back to find him watching me with a tense, pinched expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“If I retire, how do we do this?”
“How do we do what?”
He licks his lips like he’s on a mission to rub them raw, then scrubs a hand over his eyes and drops his head back.
“Us. If you’re playing for the Hornets or the Rippers or some other team, and I’m on the sidelines. Where does that leave us?”
“Why would you be on the sidelines?”
He groans and pitches forward, anchoring a hand on my thigh. “Humor me, Griff. If I don’t get back out on the ice, what does the future look like for us?”
My throat dries in an instant, breaths feeling like sandpaper as they go down.
“Like this?” I choke out. “Like you meeting me halfway to make this shit work.”
“What if I move home? To Colorado. Spend the time with my little brother I never got to give him because I’ve been too busy chasing failure?”
“Wait, hold on. You aren’t a failure.”
Riley shakes his head, and I bite down on my tongue as my temper starts to make my skin hot.
“This isn’t a pessimistic question, Griff. It’s an honest one. I don’t expect you to quit and settle down … but what if that’s what I’m ready for? To have a home and a family.”
“I thought we were your family.”
“Griff …”
“No. Listen.” I shove his hand off my knee and clench my fists to keep my nerves steady. “You can do whatever the hell you want with your life, Riley Easton. I will always make a space for you in my world. There will always be a Riley shaped hole for you to crawl into. You don’t have to worry about losing me. Do I have to worry about losing you?”
Riley doesn’t answer. He looks down. Stares off. Doesn’t utter a word even if he looks like he has a monologue waiting to spill out.
My hands start to sweat, and my mind plays dirty tricks on me.
Tricks like Riley has just been waiting for an out.
That he never got over his ex. That I’m some long term rebound that’s lost its spark.
Tricks that I can’t convince myself won’t come to fruition unless he opens the fuck up and lets me in on?—
“Let’s tell the team.”
The words come out of the silence like a trick shot whizzing past my mitts. When my mouth opens but no record plays, Riley smiles in that adoring way of his that makes my chest feel tight.
“You’re right. We’re a family.” He grabs my hand and squeezes my fingers. “Family takes care of one another. Things are changing … and we’re going to need our family.”
I can’t kiss him fast enough. I throw my leg over his lap and press him to the bench with the rush of urgency speeding through my blood. I’m a fumbled mess that gets us a snicker from someone passing by, but Riley’s warm hands on my back and neck assure me that they don’t matter.
Only we matter.