Chapter 34 #2
That feeling between us is still there, like a current of electricity flowing back and forth as soon as I nudge up his sweater to feel his hot skin. I move my hands around to his front so that I can trail my fingers through the soft hair on his chest and stomach.
“Chase,” he groans quietly, his head tipping back against the wall. At the same time, his own hands reach around my hips, encircling me.
“Ten days is too long,” I say softly, barely audible over the distant beeping of monitors and doors opening and closing. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since he left. Before he left, even.
He tilts his head up so that he can look me in the eyes, and my heart races with his unabashed attention on me. Because I know that he sees me. Really sees me, even though it’s scary as hell to give him all the pieces of myself and trust that he’ll keep them safe.
But I know that he will, even before he says, “It’s way too long,” a gentle smile playing on his lips.
I can’t make myself listen about what a bad idea this is when I lean forward and kiss him. Anyone could walk around the corner, but all I can think about is the softness of his lips and the way his breath is always warm and smells like mint, even in the morning before we’ve brushed our teeth.
I sigh when our mouths connect.
It feels like coming home.
He feels like home.
There’s a part of me that wants to rip his clothing off in the hallway and drop to my knees and have him scraping his nails down the wall as I make him come, but the neediness in my veins that’s always so present when we’re close is only one small part of the emotion overtaking me.
There’s safety and softness and trust and all the other feelings that come along with loving someone else.
The biggest risks come with the biggest rewards, and there’s no doubt about it–loving Asher Reynolds is one of the biggest risks that I’ve ever taken.
I’m trying to remember if we passed a bathroom on the way here that we can sneak off to when I hear sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor, coming to a jarring silence. The way someone would skid to a stop when they’re surprised to see something.
I’m hoping that it’s just a doctor or member of the hospital staff, but the way that Asher stands up straight and removes his hands makes me think this is going to be bad.
And the thing is… it’s worse than that.
I can still taste the remnants of Asher’s lips on mine when I look down the hallway to see Zane, grinning at me like the cat that caught the fucking canary. I realize that I’ve never really understood that expression until this moment.
If I can see his stupid fucking smirk from all the way down here, he can definitely see that Asher and I are wrapped up in one another, even if we’re both fully clothed.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell Asher quietly, even though I think that my heart may burst out of my chest from how hard it’s beating against my ribcage. “Stay here.”
I don’t let myself give him a last, lingering look when I turn away from him to walk toward Zane. Part of me wants to drag my feet as slowly as possible to prolong the inevitable, but it also feels a little bit like I’m walking toward my execution.
My arousal’s been doused by the time I reach Zane. He’s leaning against the wall, but he has the energy of a complete loser who thinks that his whole life’s on the upswing now.
I think about asking him what he’s doing here, but I can’t make myself say anything except, “Well?” He’ll say whatever he wants on his own time, and I’m not going to feed into whatever he’s gearing up to doing.
Finally, Zane lets out a low whistle. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
I tilt my chin down to look him in the eyes. “Surprised you didn’t take a picture. It would have lasted longer.”
Zane pats the front of his pants, near his pocket. “Oh, don’t worry, I got one of those, too.”
I feel like someone just dropped a boulder in my stomach, and it’s weighing me down at the same time I’m finding it harder to breathe. I never planned on denying what he saw, but photo evidence is very different from his version versus mine.
But a photo isn’t just about making me pay for some grievance I seemingly committed against him. It could hurt Asher. The school. His future prospects if he wants to keep playing hockey.
The part that sucks most is that it’s because we’re two men and not because I’m the team’s physical therapist and he’s a player. Sure, that’s what they’ll say–when it makes the rounds–but the reality is that it’s because we’re two men. And the rest of the details definitely aren’t helping either.
“Then, I’m not sure exactly what we have to discuss. Why did you come here?” I feel like I’m going to vomit, but I keep my voice hard as steel.
I hate the self-satisfied smile on his face when he answers, “I was checking in on Carter. Since you didn’t respond to any of my text messages asking for an update.”
I bite back a scoff. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
It’s stupid to antagonize him, but I can’t help it. Even though I’m scared shitless, I’ve never backed down from a fight in my life. Especially at the hands of a bully.
He takes a small step toward me, his chest ballooning with confidence. “Tough words coming from a guy who just got caught with his pants down with a player.” He pauses and looks me up and down. “Metaphorically, of course.”
I’m grinding my teeth so hard that I wonder if I’ve worn my molars down. “Do you need something from me or…” My words trail off. Zane’s going to do whatever the hell he wants, and I’m not going to placate him in the meantime to play his little game, now that he feels like he has an ounce of power.
I won’t be that guy, my own career be damned.
But I do still have Asher to think about, which is the only reason that I can find the willpower to say, “Carter has a concussion. We’re just waiting for the sign-off to take him home. That is why you came here, right?” I can’t help but tack on.
“Unfortunate for the team. I really thought that we had a chance tomorrow.” I hate how he says it, like he’s trying to convince me that he gives a shit. He’s been nothing but thoughtless–bordering on negligent–this season.
And now, he has this knowledge to try and lord over me. Asher, too. I can only imagine what fucked up chaos he’ll dream up to get his kicks.
The thing that makes me the angriest at myself is that I should have gone to Coach months ago about Zane’s behavior.
But I was afraid of what Zane would say, even though he hadn’t seen anything at that point.
And by waiting until now, I’ve given him all the ammunition that he needs to make my life as miserable as possible.
It’s my fault that we’re here, but I know that the only way out is through. I’ve been through enough hard things in my life to realize that I can’t ignore this.
Which makes it almost easier to nod quickly, centering myself on the fact that I’m currently responsible for half-a-dozen players, most of whom are suiting up for a championship game tomorrow.
“Glad I could provide you with the update that you so desperately needed. Now, I’m going to check on the guys and see how Carter’s coming along. ”
“Asher. Let’s go check on Carter,” I call down the hallway. He’s been standing against the wall, probably trying to hear the conversation. Or at the very least, be on standby if a fight broke out.
We need to talk, but that ship has sailed for as long as we’re still at the hospital. And once we do that, I need to figure out what the hell we’re going to do about Zane.
It’s after one in the morning when I hear my door push open. I left it unlocked so that Asher didn’t need to spend any more time in the hallway than absolutely necessary. Though, it seems a little silly now, given that the secrecy of our relationship is a ticking time bomb.
A day ago, I couldn’t wait to have him alone. Now, I feel like there’s a guillotine hanging over us, coloring every second that we spend together.
“Hey,” he says, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Seeing him makes my heart clench, and even though everything is a mess right now, I can’t find a way to regret loving him.
It would make things a lot easier if I could just walk away from us.
I mean, it would have been best if I could have done that months ago–or not even have let this start–but here we are.
I’m in love with him, and there’s nothing that I can do about it now except follow my heart.
“Do you want to shower with me?” I ask, the pullover that I’ve been wearing since the game quickly discarded on the floor.
I go for my pants next. His eyes trail hungrily down my body, little zaps of awareness pinging across my skin as he takes me in. He follows suit, and soon, we’re both standing naked in the dimly lit hotel room.
The only things separating us are a few feet of physical space and about a million miles of uncertainty.
I extend my hand. “Come on. It’s cold out here,” I say, ghosting my other hand over his pebbled nipple.
“That’s not from the cold,” he says, hauling me into him and kissing me like it’s air that he needs to survive.
Through the kisses on my jaw and neck and lips and cheeks, he pushes us back toward the bathroom.
I don’t mind giving up control, especially because he seems to like having it so much.
Usually, I feel like my problems are mine alone to solve, but letting him take over right now is honestly incredible.
Tomorrow is coming whether we want it to or not, but at this moment? I wouldn’t give the ways his hands are purposefully guiding me, strong yet soft, for anything.
He turns on the water. The hotel room is surprisingly nice, and it has a walk-in shower that’s more than big enough for both of us to stand under the hot stream.