Chapter 13
JACK
“Talk to me, Jack. What is it that you finally figured out?”
Devon’s softspoken question seemed to echo through the stairwell. Or maybe it was just ricocheting around inside my skull.
I leaned against the wall, which was as cold as the cinderblock walls in the practice rink back home.
“I… everything you told me, I guess? The submission. The praise kink. It’s…
” I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, then dropped my hand to my side and met his gaze.
“How did I get this far without ever knowing…”
“It happens more often than you think.”
“You’ve got it figured out.” It wasn’t lost on me that here I was, this forty-something man who should have his shit together, flailing and confused and begging the twenty-five-year-old to talk me down.
Good thing we couldn’t be together, because I didn’t imagine I was painting a very attractive picture of myself in that moment.
Devon slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I found some stuff about kink, got curious, and went down online rabbit holes. I got my hands on the information before you did.” Another shrug. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t confused as fuck when I first found it.”
“Were you?”
He laughed. “Of course I was. You don’t think it’s unsettling for a nineteen-year-old to go looking at articles about whips and chains and find shit about himself?”
I tried to imagine. Hell, the few articles I’d looked at last night and this morning had left me—fully adult me in my damned forties—reeling.
It had been as if the writer had come right out and said, “Hey, Jack Showalter, I’m talking about you specifically, you hilariously na?ve freak.
” I couldn’t imagine how that would’ve hit when I was nineteen.
Except that I would’ve figured out what I needed sooner.
Maybe figured out how to be a better partner sooner.
Maybe my marriage wouldn’t have—
Nope, not going down that road. Not now.
“You found all that when you were nineteen?” I asked.
Devon nodded. “I mean, not all of it. Some of it. Enough to figure things out about myself. The rest I’ve learned as I go.”
“Were you this much of a mess when you first stumbled across it?”
He quirked his lips. “I was… confused, but also interested, you know?” He paused, then softly added, “And there wasn’t the added layer of wanting to be with someone I couldn’t have.”
Our eyes locked. I couldn’t decide if his tone was just sympathy for my dumb ass getting hooked on him, or if there was a note of his own longing. If, for all he was better equipped than I was to understand the kink side of things, he was twisting in the wind over this as much as I was.
He broke the staring contest first, shifting his weight and gazing at the concrete wall. “It’s a lot,” he admitted. “I, uh… I can’t imagine trying to understand that while I was in the middle of, um… Of this.”
I wanted to tell him there was no “this” anymore.
We’d agreed to cool it. As much as I’d envisioned pulling him into this stairwell, pressing him up against the wall, and kissing him until we were both whimpering messes, I hadn’t.
I couldn’t. My fingertips itched with the absence of his body heat.
My lips tingled with the need to touch his.
I couldn’t even be in the same room with him and not feel some stirring below my belt.
Fucking hell. The man I’d married had never even had me this tangled up and stupid.
Then again, no one had been telling me I couldn’t have Brad. There’d been the very strong possibility of professional fallout when I came out, when we came out as a couple, and when we’d married, but no one and nothing had been keeping us apart.
I couldn’t have Devon. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but I got the impression he was frustrated by the situation too.
Whether it was because he wanted me specifically or because I scratched his itch to dominate someone, I didn’t know, but his undercurrent of frustration was as hard to ignore as my own.
I huffed out a harsh breath. “I don’t know why this is fucking with my head so much. I’ve gone all this time without ever knowing I wanted something like this, and now that I’ve had a taste of it…” I laughed, the sound coming out high-pitched. “God, I sound like an addict.”
“You’re not an addict,” Devon said. “It’s… I’d say it’s a little more like going along with an injury for a while, then finding something that relieves the pain. Of course you’re going to want more.”
“It’s not pain, though,” I argued. “It’s not—I mean, it’s not like an injury. Just… something I didn’t know I needed.”
He shrugged as if to say, “Isn’t that kind of the same thing?”
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.
We were quiet for a long moment. I had no idea what to say.
Even less of an idea what to say that wouldn’t get us both into a world of trouble.
Or fuck up our dynamic in the locker room; our team was counting on both of us to have our heads together.
They were counting on me to be objective and fair, and no matter how hard I’d try to keep things that way, having this kind of connection with a player made that nearly impossible.
“Jack,” Devon said after a while. “I don’t think I’m the problem.”
“So it’s me?”
“No, that’s—” He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean what you need—it’s not me.”
I watched him silently, eyebrows up.
He took a deep breath. “I think you’ve been wanting this for a while. You just didn’t know what it meant or what exactly you needed. Not until you got it.” He offered a sympathetic shrug. “That happens.”
Fuck. It was like he saw right through me. Like he could read my damn mind.
Or… maybe this wasn’t such an uncommon thing. Maybe he’d seen this in other people, so it wasn’t as jarring for him as it was for me. That gave me a little hope. Like maybe I could untangle the mess in my head and find what I needed. Ideally without torpedoing anyone’s career.
He went on, “What I’m getting at is that I think you keep gravitating toward me because I’m the only one who’s given that to you. But you don’t need me—you need a Dom.”
I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from saying, “I want you as a Dom.” It was true. I meant it to my bones. But I couldn’t have him as anything other than a player on the hockey team I coached.
Voice gentle, he said, “I’m not the only Dom you’ll ever meet.
Just the first. We’ll be back in Abbotsford in a few days, and you won’t be far from the kink scene in Vancouver or even Seattle.
Put yourself out there, and you’ll find…
” He hesitated, and he didn’t look at me as he said flatly, “You’ll find a Dom who gives you what you need and won’t put your career on the line. ”
The words “I don’t want another Dom” dangled precariously on the tip of my tongue. They sounded desperate and stupid. Probably because they were desperate and stupid. Probably because I was desperate and stupid.
Then I rewound what he’d said. Or rather, how he’d said it. As if the suggestion of me finding another Dom didn’t sit right with him somehow.
“You don’t sound like you like the idea,” I said.
Devon’s jaw worked and he still didn’t look at me. Then he started pacing the small landing, his sneakers tapping quietly on the concrete. “What do you want me to say? That I don’t want you to submit to me?”
My heart slammed into my ribs. “I think that would be about as true as me saying I don’t want you to dominate me.”
He stopped pacing, closed his eyes, and pushed out a breath through his nose.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That’s… not helpful, I know.”
He acknowledged that with a quiet grunt. “I don’t like it. I won’t pretend I do.” He turned to face me, a million unspoken emotions in his eyes. “But it’s the best thing. You know it is.”
Nodding, I leaned against the cold wall, and I dropped my gaze to the concrete between our feet.
“It is. I know. It’s…” I exhaled and threw up my hand.
“I don’t even know where to start. What to look for.
I…” I made myself meet his gaze again, and I sounded fucking small and pathetic as I asked, “Can’t this kind of shit get dangerous? ”
He bristled and looked away. “It can. Most real Doms are great, but sometimes you get people who think they’re Doms.” Anger laced his words as he balled his fists at his sides. “Or who just want to use it as an excuse to tie people up and beat them.”
I chafed my arms as a shudder went through me. “No one’s tying me up.”
He cut his eyes toward me, a mix of concern and curiosity breaking through the anger and softening his expression. The question “Why is that a hard limit?” echoed so loud in my head, it was hard to imagine he hadn’t actually spoken it.
I fidgeted against the wall. “It, um… It makes me claustrophobic.”
Devon tilted his head. “You’re claustrophobic?”
“I…” I had to think about that. “Not generally, no? But my ex-husband—we tried a few things. Cuffs, a rope. It, um…” I swallowed, wondering when my throat had started to constrict.
“It didn’t go well. Once I realized I couldn’t get free, I freaked out.
We tried it one more time, but… same thing.
” I rolled my shoulders and swallowed again as nausea crept up my throat.
“Oh.” His brows knitted together, and he seemed to be chewing on some unspoken thoughts. I wondered if he might ask for more details, or maybe tell me what we’d done wrong. Instead, he whispered, “So… a hard limit.”
I nodded.
“Okay. Well.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “When you make a profile on an app, make sure to include that.”
“Yeah?”
Avoiding my gaze, he nodded. “Yeah. Some Doms—bondage is a big thing. Let them know upfront that it’s a dealbreaker, and nobody wastes anybody’s time.”
“Good to know,” I croaked. “Is there, um… Is there an app you recommend?”
Again, he worked his jaw. “I’ve used Leathr. It’s spelled like ‘leather’ without the second ‘e’.”
“Leathr. Got it.”
He nodded. “It’s a pretty good one,” he said without much enthusiasm. “I don’t know how much you’ll find in Abbotsford, but Vancouver… Seattle…”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll check it out. I guess it’s as good a place as any, right?”
“Unless you want to try the club scene.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Have you gone to those places?”
The response was a non-committal shrug. I was curious, but I didn’t press.
Exhaling, I looked around the stairwell. How long had we been in here? Shit. We needed to get back to… to someplace we weren’t together discussing a sexually charged topic.
I pushed myself off the wall. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you out here to—”
“It’s fine,” he whispered. “You needed something from me.”
Our eyes met again.
I still need something from you.
I can’t give it to you.
But we both know I need it.
We both need it.
Fuck. If either of us said another word, this was going to end in disaster and take our careers with it.
So, without speaking, I pulled open the door and made an after you gesture. Devon held my gaze for a couple of seconds, seeming to have some kind of internal debate. That, or trying to telepathically encourage me to do something different.
Then he went through the door, strode down the hall toward his room, and didn’t look back.