16. Griffin
CHAPTER 16
GRIFFIN
If I could relive this day, I’m sure there’s something I’d do differently. I don’t know what, because it felt like the perfect amalgamation of two years of pent up feelings finally being let out into the open.
There were no warning signs. No hidden clues.
Everything was perfect.
Then, it was gone.
12:05AM
Stark naked on his back, hard muscles clenched as I lap at his dick, and tight hole fluttering around the finger stretching him open—Riley Easton is a fucking sex god.
We’ve never switched around before, but when my boyfriend says he wants to experience a prostate orgasm, who the hell am I to deny him? Especially when he looks this hot wrecked out on one fucking finger.
And my tongue. I may have spent a long time eating out his perfect ass before we got here. Anyone who has seen the hockey butt on this man would understand what a damn pleasure it is to taste.
“You good?” I ask, because while I hope like fucking hell he is, he has no experience bottoming, and I want him to know it’s fine if this doesn’t work out.
He nods, but his eyes are screwed shut. Unconvinced, I cover his body with my own and drop my forehead to his.
“Talk to me, Riley.”
His pained laugh has me stilling my movements inside of him, and his eyes flutter open with a hint of a smile.
“I’m not sure I can take your dick.” He says it in such a small, self-deprecating voice that it makes my heart hurt.
“You don’t have to.” I prop up on one arm and brush aside a clump of his sweaty, copper hair. “Want me to stop?”
He shakes his head. “It’s strange and a little uncomfortable, but I’m down for the ass play. Fitting your whole cum-stick in my ass on the other hand …”
My laughter kick starts his own, which only makes him clench harder around my digit, causing us both to moan as we settle.
“I think I know how to make this good for both of us.”
I sit up and pull out of him, eyeing his thick, soft cock laying across his stomach.
“You good to finish that blowjob you started earlier?”
Riley’s eyes spark with heat as I stroke myself back to life. “Is that even a question?”
“Hm.” I lean down and drag my lips over his in a brief kiss before lining our dicks up and fitting them in my fist. “How about you blow me while I swallow you?”
We both watch our cocks firm up around each other, sliding through the lube and precum coating my hand.
“I get the feeling there’s more?” He asks, daring to look away and meet my eyes.
“Let’s see who can take more fingers.”
Riley’s laugh booms through the room as sure as his fingers thread in my hair and pull me down to him. Crush his mouth to mine while his hips fuck up into my touch.
“That’s not fair, frat boy. Your ass was made for gaping.”
I shrug, and he scrapes his teeth down my jaw. “Guess you’d better come before I make it that far.”
I’ll never turn down a chance to be dicked down by Riley—he’s a beast—but presented with the opportunity to give him the same type of pleasure he gives me?
Sign me up.
Positioning myself above him but facing away, Riley gives me a teasing slap on the ass.
Being a goalie means that the extra flexibility makes easing my cock past Riley’s lips while sinking his into my mouth is easier than it should be.
Riley hollows his cheeks and sucks on me with the pure intention of bringing me to the edge as quickly as possible. A wet finger presses to my entrance, and I almost forget that I’m supposed to be opening him up the same.
We become a battle of lips, tongues, and fingers. More times than I care to admit, I stop touching him entirely and get lost in the feel of his throat and finger fucking.
It serves as an excellent distraction for him as well, because I get three fingers knuckle deep in his tight, restricting hole before the discomfort swings back in, and he taps out on my hip.
I pull out of his mouth and his ass simultaneously, listening to him gasp and grunt as he catches his breath. What I don’t do is stop the suction on his dick. I lick, suck, bob, and otherwise devour his dick while his thighs tense and fuck his thick shaft deeper into my mouth.
My abdomen clenches, my balls pull tight, and at the same time my orgasm overtakes me, I feel Riley swell in my mouth.
Ribbons of cum shoot across my taste buds with no notice, and while I swallow some, there’s a bit that mixes with my saliva down his shaft as I keep suction on his softening cock until he taps me again.
When I pull off and peer back at him, he’s got a delicious smile on his face. One streaked with globs of white.
“Sorry,” I say, but we both know I’m not sorry in the slightest.
By the time I get us cleaned up and am wrapped snugly in Riley’s arms, the post-orgasm exhaustion is threatening to take me over.
Riley kisses my temple, my cheek, my lips, settling into the crook of my neck as the heaviness weighs my eyelids down.
I have never been so thoroughly worn out, and that’s saying something given how active of a sex life the two of us have.
He mumbles something into the shell of my ear, but my blood is pounding too hard to hear, so I grumble and press a kiss to the side of his head, hoping he takes it as the affectionate gesture that it is and not a brush off.
Hot breath tickles my cheek, and I barely grunt out a slurred, “love you” before sleep pulls me under and traps me in its sweet embrace.
9:23AM
Riley is gone by the time I wake up, but I’m not surprised. There’s no practice today, no game or travel, so I fully intended to spend my morning in bed.
I’d rather spend it in bed with Riley trading orgasms, but after last night I’m perfectly content to let him have his self-induced PT sessions in peace. Maybe the whole point was to wear me out so I couldn’t pester him about pushing too hard on the jogs he shouldn’t be doing yet.
I trust Riley to know his body, and in that vein, my body doesn’t feel like it can roll itself out of bed, let alone make it down two flights of awful, metal stairs to get to the parking garage.
My plans of hijacking Riley’s car and grabbing us breakfast from Harvey’s Pancake House are foiled.
Damn.
10:30AM
By the time I finally rummage around the kitchen for something to eat—of which I settle on toast and a banana because Riley is the chef of the house—it already feels like my day is off course.
Something feels off, just a niggling picking at the back of my mind, but I brush it off as just not being used to being alone in the apartment.
Two years with practically the same schedule, it’s a rare occurrence for Riley to be out the door before me unless I’m following soon after.
Yesterday must be getting to me.
Riley kissing me in front of the whole team?
The sex?
Yeah, I won’t be over that anytime soon.
I wander around the apartment for approximately twenty minutes before boredom sets in.
What time did Riley leave this morning?
No note, no text, and I was definitely too dead to the world to remember a goodbye kiss.
Should he be back by now?
Fuck, I hate waiting.
Maybe the guy needs some time to himself, Griff. He did confront his biggest fear for you not even twenty-four hours ago.
Jesus, have I even taken a minute to really check in with him?
Crap. I’m a horrible boyfriend.
I hit the call button on my cell and put it on speaker while I get some morning stretches in. When I start to feel anxious, a good split and forward stretch really helps me reel it in.
Voicemail.
That’s fine. Self care and all that good jazz. Maybe I should give it a try.
This time, the person I call actually picks up the phone, even if I’m already dressed and out the door.
“Bring food or don’t bother, jerk face,” Locke says through the near deafening sound of a truck exhaust.
“That sounds like death.”
He huffs a laugh under his breath and mutters into the line, “Not looking forward to diagnosing this one.”
AKA: he can’t fix it, and the customer will be totally pissed off.
“How about a milkshake, and I’ll break the news for you?”
The laughter is more genuine this time. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”
“Ah yes. Because your pretty boy good looks undermine your rugged mechanic experience.”
“Butterscotch Cheesecake. Large. You’ve got twenty minutes.”
12:15PM
“You don’t have to pretend to be in love with my ass anymore.”
Locke has his feet propped up on the desk in the office of the repair shop, greasy coveralls leaving smudges on the wood. He gives me a dull, tired look while slurping at the last of his milkshake.
“I’m not sure anyone was ever convinced I cared for your ass anyway.”
“Harsh. Riley likes my ass, thank you very much.”
My best friend smiles at me like I imagine most people smile at a puppy chewing on the carpet: like they’re lucky they’re adorable.
“I’m happy that’s working out for you, Griff. Seriously. I give you a lot of shit, but I’ve seen you put through the wringer. You’re a sappy romantic who thinks with his heart and his dick. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to kiss you.”
Locke wrinkles his nose and tosses the empty shake in the trash. “Been there, done that, burned the t-shirt.”
“You were quite literally the first boy I ever made out with. Excuse me, I got a little excited that for once kissing didn’t feel like rubbing my face in wet cement.”
“Shouldn’t you be sucking face with your boyfriend?”
Solid concern, but when I check my phone, no calls or texts.
“I think he’s freaking out.”
“Really?” He stands and wipes his hands on his nasty coveralls, flipping me off as he passes me back into the shop. “Like, ‘going to skip town’ freaking or ‘hiding out at the cereal bar’ freaking?”
“I’m going to wager on that last one. Yesterday was kind of a whirlwind, you know?”
Locke stops and leans over Theo—the desk boy who keeps up with the books—and grumbles something about one of the appointments that makes the poor man cower before straightening and scrubbing a hand through Theo’s hair.
“So, you’re being mature and giving him space?”
As we make our way back to the bays, I shoot off a text just checking in, and catch Locke staring me down when I pocket the phone.
“Or not.” His lips twitch into a smile, and I take his oil rag to slap him over the shoulder with it.
“Can you blame me for worrying?”
Locke’s smile softens. “No, I guess I can’t.”
As much as I like to joke about the only other serious relationships I’ve been in being dumpster fires, they sure did a damn good job of leaving their mark.
I might be a little insecure and needy, but there haven’t been any complaints so far.
“Riley isn’t Ethan.”
“Ethan who broke up with you in the team locker room with a dick in your mouth because he found a woman he liked more?”
“He doesn’t even play anymore, and the puck bunny left him. So, I’m still winning.”
Locke laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t know it was a competition. I’m just saying. I know I’ve been hard on you, and I know that you’ve been hiding this insecurity from Riley. It all builds up. I’m proud of you for giving him space, but don’t forget to take care of yourself, too.”
I shift on my feet and dart my eyes around the room, which only makes Locke laugh more.
“Speaking of self care, how is Camry doing?”
Thankful for the brief reprieve, I let out a sigh and shake the tension out of my shoulders. “She’s alright, I think. Picked up drumming from one of her housemates and swears she’s going to drive Dad nuts around the holidays.”
“I bet she’s ecstatic about it.”
“Get hell, give hell is basically the Foster Family Motto.”
“Are you prepared for your share of hell when she finds out you’re spending those holidays with Riley?”
I cross my arms and bite down on my lip. “I told her a little while back, and she made me promise to run phone call interference. Even if I’m ‘flat on my back taking it up the ass’ I’m required to answer her calls.”
Locke snorts, and I whack him with the rag again before he yanks it out of my grasp. “That’s fair. Do you think your dad will behave?”
My eyes hurt from how hard I roll them. “Get hell, give hell, remember? It’ll be a bloodbath, and I’ll come home early to bleach the place up.”
Cutting my four day plan to huddle up in Riley’s Colorado home for a winter staycation down to three is enough to make me curse my dad out long and harshly in my head, but it wouldn’t do any good in person anyway.
He can’t even be bothered to come out to any of the games an hour away from his own house.
“Maybe you could convince Riley to go back with you. Three birds with one stone?”
“Three?”
Locke counts off the points on his fingers. “One, you fulfill your promise to your sister. Two, you get backup in the form of your big, bad defensemen. Three,” he stops to give me a pointed stare, “you get to introduce your family to your boyfriend. And vice versa. Four birds, then?”
That is only a mildly nauseating thought. Camry would be head over heels to butt into my love life. Dad on the other hand …
He accepts the gay thing as long as it doesn’t interfere with my work, but he’s never been one to hide his distaste for my out and proud status.
“I’ll ask him about it. Maybe after a blowjob when he’s nice and relaxed.”
Not that Riley has ever given me much pushback when I ask for something. Other than the whole coming out thing, Riley is weak for giving me what I want.
Not that I feel comfortable asking him for anything after the last twenty-four hours. Coming out to the team was a huge step—a request I’ve made countless times, and now that it’s happened, I can’t help but feel like I pushed too hard.
I needed this.
I need Riley.
Why does my chest hurt like I’ve lost something instead of gained it?
2:45PM
This is a last ditch, paranoid effort.
Because now I’m worried that his leg gave out and he’s lying unconscious in a ditch somewhere.
Hawks lives a floor below us in the apartment complex, so I’m not sure why I didn’t think to check with him sooner, but my anxiety is getting the best of me. So, here I am.
It takes three knocks for Hawks to open the door, and I’m only momentarily distracted by him shirtless in pajama pants at nearly three in the afternoon.
“Didn’t mean to wake you?” I hedge, and he brushes sweat-slicked blond hair out of his eyes. “Am I interrupting?”
“No.” He pushes out a sweet smile and steps aside. “I figured you’d be keeping Riley busy all day.”
“You know, that would be a lot easier if it didn’t feel like he was avoiding me.”
Hawks’ smile drops, and his brow creases. “He was here earlier. Said he needed to work out some kinks with his knee and was going to pay Nash a visit.”
“Oh.” I drag a hand through my hair and let out a draining sigh. “I didn’t think about that. He exerted a lot of energy last night. Wish he’d take a pain pill and rest instead of pushing it.”
“Taking it easy is not that man’s forte.”
We wander into the living room where I crash down on the couch and grunt out the exhaustion sinking into my bones. “If he could take it easy on me, that’d be great.”
“Was that a sex joke or are you genuinely worried?”
“Can’t it be both?”
I drop my head back and close my eyes. All I want is to hear Riley’s voice affirm that I didn’t royally fuck things up. That he’s okay.
I must doze off, because I come to with Hawks shaking my shoulder and drool dribbling down my chin.
“I talked to Nash,” he says with an intense frown. “He mentioned Coach and Riley have been going over Riley’s official retirement.”
“ If I retire, how do we do this?”
“ Humor me, Griff.”
“I think he’s tired.” Hawks sits on the cushion next to me. “He’s not in his prime anymore, he’s taken enough beatings … And coming out? I think he knows this is the end of the line.”
But why does it have to be?
I stand up—fully prepared to hunt my secret-keeping boyfriend down—but the moment I swing for the door, my heart stops cold.
Only for a second, maybe two, but the impending sense of dread that keeps making a home in my gut bursts back to life.
Right behind the door, where I couldn’t see it coming in, is Riley’s bag.
His away bag. The one I pack at the beginning of the season and leave at our front door. Not the one he actually takes now that he’s in the reserve, but the one that solidifies our home as home .
That there is still a place on our team for Riley.
A place with me.
“Why do you have that?”
Hawks peers over the back of the couch at the door. “Oh. Yeah, he did have that with him, didn’t he? Must have forgotten it. Figured it was his gym bag.”
My superstition might come off as a bit silly, but Riley has always humored and accepted it. Especially these last few months.
As soon as we get home from an away game, Riley taps the bag on his way in the door. And when we leave. As a reminder.
I’m still here.
It’s just sitting there. Unassumingly.
When I unzip it, the usual shit is inside. A few spare changes of clothes. Travel toothbrush and shower supplies.
Riley’s bleach from the bathroom that we haven’t gotten around to using.
That’s when my fingers stutter over the numbers fifty-five laid across the back of a maroon and yellow jersey.
I never put this in his away bag.
It stays in the top drawer with all of Riley’s superstitious crap.
Dropping to my ass on the floor, I pull my phone from my pocket and tap Riley’s number.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
I take a deep breath, ready to go off in his voicemail for messing with my ritual, when?—
“Griffin.”
Riley sounds tired, and my chest deflates the tiniest bit. “‘Bout damn time, asshole.” I’m smiling though, because Riley laughs, and it fills my heart with warmth. “When are you coming back so I can beat you with this bag?”
He’s quiet, and I can hear his labored breathing, so I must have interrupted him pushing himself too damn hard.
“I could give you one of those post-workout massages that you give me? I’m not as good at it, but …”
“Griffin.”
His tone catches me off guard; it’s quiet and tired but stern.
“I’m going home.”
“Great. I’ll meet you there.”
I scramble to zip up the bag and get to my feet, but before I can sling the thing over my shoulder, Riley sighs. It doesn’t sound right, though.
It sounds shaky.
“Are you okay?”
“Griff. I’m going home. To Colorado.”
My mind goes blank. I don’t understand the words coming out of his mouth.
“My head is a goddamn mess,” he says, voice strained. “I need some time away. To figure out what’s wrong. Figure out what I need.”
My heart stops. Or it feels like it does. Like it’s trying to pump through sewer sludge.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, baby. This is all on me.”
“Riley—”
“I love you,” he butts in, and now it’s my lungs that refuse to expand. “I’m coming back. At some point. I understand if that’s not good enough.”
Of course it’s not good enough. This is bullshit.
“Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“I tried. In Nashville. I tried, Griff. I thought coming out would clear the doubt, that I’d be able sort through all the nasty shit in my head—but it only made it worse. It’s not fair to me or to you to pretend that I’m fine when I’m not.”
“I don’t want you to pretend,” I croak out, closing my eyes to focus on breathing even. “I want you to trust me enough to help you.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s myself.”
My head is swirling a hundred miles a minute, and I can’t formulate a single, half decent reply. There’s only one thing that sticks out above the rest.
“Are we breaking up?”
Riley takes a sharp breath in and an audibly quivered breath out.
“I don’t know.”
4:02PM
“I love you,” Riley says again, and my throat is too tense and dry to return the sentiment. “I’m sorry.”
The line goes dead, and the silence around isn’t just deafening; it’s a shot straight to the heart of who we are.
A shot that cracks the surface and spiderwebs the span of our delicate relationship.
If I could relive this day, I’m sure there’s something I’d do differently. But the only thing that resonates, that plays on loop as I stand there leaning on the wall for support is:
I’m sorry, too.