Seventeen
ADAK
“Come on, Holly,” Traer calls. “Do it again. I know you can move faster than that.”
I smirk as Hollinger holds up his stick. I’m pretty sure he’s mentally flipping off Traer at the very least. Traer’s whistle blows again and Hollinger digs his blades in as he flies down the rink with the puck and sends it to the goal with a slap shot.
He misses, but only because Lamar is ready for him.
“Much better,” Traer calls. “All right. Gather up.” He looks at me, giving me the stage to end practice.
The team skates toward us, gathering around as some take a knee in front so those behind them can see. I wait for them to settle.
“Good practice. Game tomorrow—Toronto Red Foxes. Get some rest tonight so you’re ready to play hard. Any concerns?” I ask.
They shake their heads.
“Okay, get out of here. See you tomorrow.”
The team heads to the chute. Most of them are quiet and tired, covered in sweat. Some jostling and teasing each other. Then there’s Lamar, wiggling and waving his stick over his head as he skates to the chute.
Goalies are just built differently. No one will ever convince me otherwise.
I clap Traer on the shoulder. “Thanks for handling practice.”
He nods, skating beside me as we head for the chute too. “How’s next season looking?”
“Well, I’m still counting on Min and Imonovich returning. If they do, I think we’ll be in a good position. I have some ideas for camp next fall.” I pause and look at him. “What do you think about some team building events over the summer?”
“You don’t think they’re close enough?” he asks, amused.
“I do. But as a way to integrate any new players on our roster. And build their trust more. I’m not talking about trust activities where we fall into each other’s open arms.” He snorts.
“But something like whitewater rafting. It’s a team activity where you need to trust and rely on the others with you as you navigate potentially dangerous water. ”
Traer nods. “I think it’ll be good. I think they’d be up for it, too. You’re disguising work with fun. Not that they’re opposed to working hard.”
I sigh. “We’ve had a couple very unfortunate seasons, and I don’t want it to get to them.”
He smiles and grips my arm as we enter the hall toward the offices and locker room. “You’re a really great coach, Adak. How much you care about them is truly unique.”
“Don’t get mushy.” I shove my shoulder into him.
Before either of us can continue, we spot Crowley at my door, waiting for me.
“Uh oh,” Traer teases. “You’re in trouble.”
I roll my eyes. “Check with the team and I’ll see what Crowley wants.”
Traer nods and moves down the hall. Crowley isn’t happy. But it’s not the kind of unhappy like someone did something wrong and now he has to clean up their mess. There’s very loud concern in his eyes as I approach.
“What happened?” I ask.
He nods toward the door and we step into my office. I drop into the chair inside so I can take off my skates as Crowley shuts the door.
“I’m assuming you’ve been doing a great job coaching and haven’t been online yet,” he says.
I raise a brow, glancing up at him. “The only time I look at my phone is to check the time, or if Oren calls.”
It goes unsaid. We both know how worried I am about him and how his father will make a play for him next.
“Yeah,” he says and I tense.
Crowley sits in the chair next to me and hands me his phone. I’m blindsided with the SCORE magazine cover from a few years ago with me on it and the giant red letters cutting across it. My eyes immediately go down to read the post.
I read it twice. And then a third time.
“What the fuck?” I say, mortified.
He nods. The post was made an hour ago. As if Jessup knew I’d be in practice and unable to respond. I have no words. All I can do is stare, shocked. What would drive someone to do something like this?!
Turning my attention to Crowley, I open my mouth to say something, but there are simply no words to express… anything.
“I’ve already got a phone call in to Valerie at the league’s corporate office.
She’s PR for the NHL. We’re working on a response right now.
You need to hire an attorney. I suggest pressing charges for defamation.
Keagon is already in with the team because they’re all going to need to be coached on how to respond since Jessup brought them into this too. ”
I just stare at him. Trying to process his words.
“Get the police involved,” Crowley says. “Adak?”
It takes me several seconds to blink out of my stupor. “What the fuck?” I repeat.
He grips my arm, as if to keep me there. “I’m not entirely sure what he’s trying to accomplish, but he’s made a very loud statement that we can’t ignore. It needs to be addressed. I don’t suggest engaging with him, though.”
My hands clench into fists as I shake my head.
“Want to see something that will make you feel a little better?” he asks, and I look at him warily.
Crowley smiles. “Just watch.”
He hands me his phone. It’s a still reel that hasn’t started yet. There’s a woman on the screen and behind it is green screened in Jessup’s post. I hit play.
“You want to know what an adult tantrum looks like? Here it is. This man—a corrections officer at a southern California prison—has been reported to have been keeping his twenty-four-year-old son prisoner in his own home. He, along with his two older sons, have been mentally abusing him for years. In an attempt to victimize his role and regain control over his adult son, Jessup Prosser filed a missing person report two days ago, stating between the lines that his son had been kidnapped. When that didn’t work and his claim was disproven by his son’s statement contrary to the matter and then further by police investigation, Prosser decided to take an even more disgusting approach in an attempt to get his way and save face.
This right here, people? THIS is disgusting.
I’m not referring to the fact that we have a gay man coaching professional hockey.
I’m talking about the blatant false accusations and claims within this entire statement.
Do we want justice? Absolutely. But we want justice for Jessup’s son, the real victim. ”
Throughout the video, this woman has thrown up screen grabs of the different articles, the missing person report.
Oren’s response. Even images of us outside Jessup’s house, loading vehicles of Oren’s belongings.
The screen is flooded with comments at the end of those who are demanding Jessup be charged with a whole array of things.
New hashtags show up on several along with an old, familiar one—#JusticeForOREN #AdakIsAGreatCoach #pride
I snort and give him back his phone. “Do you know who that is?”
Crowley shakes his head. “Nope. Just someone calling Prosser out.”
Sighing, I get to my feet to slip into my shoes. “I need to get home. Hopefully, I can get to Oren before he sees it.”
“We have your back, Adak. The franchise and your team. You know that.”
I do. “Thanks.”
Since I haven’t heard from Oren, I try to convince myself that he hasn’t seen it. While I drive home, I call my attorney and then Jack.
It doesn’t take more than a glance at Oren to know that he’s seen it. Guilt is written all over his face. Why didn’t I think he’d try to take the blame for this?
Without a word, I take him into my arms and hug him tightly. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I had no idea he’d attack you! I thought he’d keep coming after me.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I have a lot of people responding to it already.”
“Yeah, but?—”
Cupping his face in my hands, I convince him to look at me. “I’m glad he’s taken the focus off you, Oren. As much as he wants to, he can’t touch me. He’s going to be slapped with an extremely expensive lawsuit very shortly, something I’m surprised he hasn’t thought of beforehand.”
He chews his lip as he stares into my eyes.
“It’s okay. I’m not hurt. At all. My career is safe. My team has my back.” While I didn’t look at the plethora of texts coming in, I saw my players’ names flashing across my screen the entire drive home. “Everything is fine.”
“What are we going to do?” he asks quietly.
“You know what I want to do right now?” Oren shakes his head. “I want to spend the next hour kissing you and cuddling on the couch. Want to do that?”
I don’t miss the immediate heat in his eyes or the way he catches his breath. “Yes,” he says.
Touch is my love language. I love to cuddle and kiss and just press against someone important to me. I’ve found that most others love this too, but they also think that it should lead to sex after a while.
The first time I held Oren in my arms, I could feel the way he clung to me. This man is touch starved. Severely. I hug him close as often as I can and he’s always very content just to be held. More than anything, Oren has wanted to be loved. He wants to be important to someone.
I pull him down on the couch with me so that his body mostly covers mine, though I have him slightly angled so his back is pressed to the back of the couch. Not completely. But some.
He loves to kiss. I think part of it is he loves to figure it out. He enjoys exploring my mouth and touching his tongue to mine. He likes to suck on my lip.
This time is no different except that his hand goes down to the hem of my shirt, his fingertips brushing my skin.
I nod, not parting my mouth from his, but giving him permission to touch me.
His fingers are hesitant when his hand slips under my shirt.
He traces my stomach and my ribs, over my pecs and nipples.
When it’s clear that our position is interfering with his exploration, I pull my mouth from him. “Want me to take my shirt off?” I ask.
Oren nods, his swollen bottom lip between his teeth.
I roll us so I’m fully on my back and Oren is both between my legs and slightly trapping one of mine beneath him. Using my core muscles, I do a reverse plank to lift my back from the couch and pull my shirt over my head, dropping it on the floor.
Oren’s hand immediately goes to my stomach, his eyes wide with wonder. And yes, heat. One thing is clear—he likes my abs. With a grin, I use them again to sit up and bring my mouth to his.
I’m not sure he realizes a groan leaves his mouth as I do. I smile into his mouth but lie back down so he can touch me and look at me easily.
He’s not as hesitant as he usually is. His hands move over me, tracing my ribs and around my chest muscles. The one time he hesitantly looks at me for permission is when he wants to touch my nipples. I nod and he spends several minutes touching and pinching and rubbing.
“I’ve never touched someone before,” he says quietly. His cheeks flush. “I haven’t really even touched myself.”
“You can touch me whenever you want,” I say.
He watches his hands move over me. I’m not sure if it’s the way his eyes are angled down, but I know the minute he realizes he’s hard. His shoulders stiffen and he removes his hands from me, his eyes meeting mine with a look of horror.
I chuckle and sit up again, wrapping him in my arms. “Take a breath, sweetheart. I’m not offended that you’re turned on.”
“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to,” he says quickly.
Sighing, I grip him tightly and wait for him to let go of the tension and wrap his arms around me in return. “I meant what I said. I’m not offended or upset that you’re aroused. Not at all.”
“I just… I’m not sure what to do,” he says, and I can feel his cheeks burn.
“What do you want? Talk to me and we can find something in common.”
“I just want to touch you. I swear!”
“Then keep touching me, Oren. I didn’t need you to stop,” I say, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
“I’m never going to be upset, offended, disgusted, or angry that you get aroused.
As much as it’s normal for me not to, it’s normal for you to be.
The conversation about my sexuality was never meant for you to try to change your response to me, or in general. ”
Oren nods. “I’m sorry. It’s not just, uh… this that I don’t know what to do about. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
“I’m very honored to be your first. I’m really kind of hoping to be your one and only.”
He turns his smile into my neck.
“I need you to promise me something,” I say.
“Mmm.”
“Sex is not a bad word. It’s not taboo. I really need you to promise to talk to me when you have needs you don’t want to meet on your own.
This has to be an open dialog between us always.
When I tell you every relationship I’ve been in has ended because of this one aspect, I am not exaggerating that.
” I turn my face into his hair and take a deep breath. “I want to keep you,” I whisper.
His arms tighten. “I want to be kept by you,” he whispers back, quieter than I had spoken.
“Good. So I’m going to ask you again. What do you want right now?”
“I want to touch you,” he says. “You’re so… can I say you’re hot?”
I laugh. “Yes. Even asexual people like compliments.”
He laughs. The sound is muffled in my shoulder. After another minute, I lay back down. Oren is still flushed and now newly shy as he looks at me. But his hands return to my stomach and his touch is more confident than his expression.
We spend hours like this and somehow, Oren never gets bored with just running his hands over me.
Tracing the shape of my muscles, my veins.
Touching every freckle. His fingers brushing softly over the light spattering of hair.
His fingers dip into my navel and run across the skin, touching the elastic to my sports pants.
All the while, he stares almost in reverence. I watch his face. He slowly relaxes and a content, happy smile forms on his lips as he explores me. He’s not tense right now, he’s… comfortable. I’ve never been happier than at this moment.