Chapter 17 #2
His voice wavers a little near the end, and hearing the emotion—the pain and regret—in his tone?
Fuck, it breaks something inside me. I’ve never once given a thought to how it would feel to shoulder a legacy.
To uphold it. How Oakley might also be suffocating under the weight of all these expectations.
I’ve been too busy fighting them at every turn; too focused on my own suffering to even consider the possibility of his.
And now I just feel like an asshole because of it.
“It’s not all on you,” I whisper, my own voice crackling like a blown speaker. “It’s not like I gave you much of a chance to begin with. I was too angry to bother.”
“Then maybe we take this as a chance to move past this whole fucking legacy and just be brothers. If you’re willing.”
Part of me can’t believe the words leaving his mouth, and I’m almost certain this is a dream or some alternate reality I’ve landed in. But it’s also the biggest opening we’ve ever had to make things right between us, and I’d be a goddamn fool to push it away.
In any universe.
I nod, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
A grin spreads over Oakley’s face—one so big, I swear I’d just handed him the Stanley Cup. “Good. Because I’m gonna need a best man, and I want that to be you.”
The statement momentarily causes my brain to short-circuit before I manage to ask, “Wait, you proposed?”
It must come out a little louder than I thought, because his eyes bug out and he quickly hushes me.
“Shh. No, not yet. But it’s gonna be pretty soon, I think.”
This time, it’s my turn to smile.
Even through my bitterness toward Oakley, I’ve come to realize just how good of a guy his boyfriend is. And I already know Mom and Dad will be thrilled to have him officially become family.
Shit, from the way Dad was acting at the airport, he already considers Quinton a son.
“I…damn, Oak. That’s really good news.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he agrees, his gaze searching my face briefly. “So, can I take that reaction as a yes?”
“Uh, but shouldn’t, like, Holden or one of your friends be your best man?”
A low laugh leaves him, and he shakes his head. “Holden will be butthurt by it, I’m sure. But I want my brother by my side for this.”
My teeth snag my lower lip, gnawing on it while I try not to let my emotions get the better of me. And it’s only when I feel like I can speak clearly that I nod.
“Okay. Yeah, I’d be honored.”
He grins as he rises from his stool, reaching a hand out in my direction. “C’mere.”
Before I know it, I’m standing too, my brother’s arms wrapped around me tightly in what might be our very first hug. The warmth and strength of his embrace sets something off inside me, causing all the emotions I’ve struggled to keep at bay to finally break free.
My arms slide around his body, clutching him to me as a few stray tears spill over my lashes. I can feel Oakley struggling to keep it together too, his chest damn near vibrating with all the repressed feelings we’ve finally released.
“Remember something for me, okay?” he starts, his voice slightly graveled. “Hockey or no hockey, you’re a Reed. You always have been and always will be.”
I nod, my cheek brushing against his shoulder with the movement.
But it’s all I can manage, my airway constricts, emotions overwhelming me and threatening to spill free all over again.
Almost as if he can sense it, Oakley’s arms become tighter around me, holding all those pieces together, before releasing me.
He keeps one hand on my shoulder, though, giving it a gentle squeeze as he finds my watery gaze.
“And if you think it’ll help, I can try talking to Dad. Get him to lay off on the school stuff. You deserve to chase your dream too, no matter how much of a long shot it might seem to him.”
I nod again before wiping my eyes, hating myself for crying right now. I guess the only saving grace is that he’s not fairing any better.
“All right. Get some sleep,” he says, his voice still rough. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah, g’night,” I manage past the knot in my throat. “Love you, Oak.”
“Love you too, Loge.”
With those parting words, I leave my brother and head to the bathroom, needing a few minutes to collect myself and get ready for bed.
It’s not lost on me that my conversation with Oakley was one of the few moments today where Camden wasn’t front and center in my thoughts. With it being over now, my brain has firmly returned to its current hyperfixation, especially when I finally step through the door of our bedroom.
The room is dark, but I can still make out Camden’s form in the bed, thanks to the dim glow of the city seeping through the edge of the blinds.
A lump reforms in my throat as I cross the room to the dresser, setting my phone on the charger and dropping today’s clothes in the empty side of my suitcase.
He still hasn’t moved an inch when I turn back toward the bed, and I realize there’s a chance my conversation with Oakley was long enough for him to fall asleep.
I feel more vulnerable than ever, stripped down emotionally and literally—wearing only boxers now—as I hesitantly inch closer to the bed.
“Are you awake?” I finally whisper.
The question is barely audible to even my own ears, so I’m not sure how he hears it. He does, though, and rather than responding, Camden shifts to face my side of the bed and then pulls back the covers for me.
Blood pounds in my ears as I slide in beside him and gently pull the covers on top of me.
My emotions are still running high from my chat with Oakley without adding a mostly-nude, attractive-as-hell fake boyfriend only inches away.
I’m wired yet drained at the same time, and more than anything, in desperate need of the reprieve sleep will provide.
I stare at the ceiling and pray for exhaustion to take me, but I know within minutes, it’s useless.
How the hell am I supposed to fall into blissful unconsciousness when he’s right there, within arm’s reach?
It’s an impossible feat when every molecule of my body is attuned to his proximity, each one desperately pleading to reach out and touch him—vibrating like opposite poles of a magnet, ready to collide but still forced to stay apart.
It’s maddening.
I notice the comforter shifting with every deep, even breath he takes, but it’s not slow enough for him to be asleep yet. Part of me wonders if he’s suffering from the same fate as I am, which is why I roll to face him and force a single word past my lips.
“Camden?”
“Yeah?”
“Listen, about earlier—”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs gently. “We can pretend it didn’t happen if you want to.”
I blink a couple times, my brows drawing together. Because with the way he was talking at the rink, the way he kissed me back, I don’t know how he could think that.
Was he faking it?
Worry surges through my chest in a wave of heat, wondering if maybe I got it wrong. Maybe I’m the only one feeling this after all. It’d certainly explain his calm demeanor the rest of the evening.
Fuck.
Steeling myself for the worst, I voice the only thing I can think to ask.
“Is that what you want?”
“Not even close,” he replies instantly.
The answer draws my gaze to his, and while the truth in his words reflect back at me, I see something else lingering beneath the surface—and it’s clear as day he’s still holding something back.
“But?”
He hesitates for a second before whispering, “But I don’t want to complicate this either.”
Except we’re already so far past complicated.
But I don’t argue it, and instead, clear my throat and nod, my cheek brushing against the pillow case.
“Yeah, that would be the smart move.”
“No one’s ever accused me of being smart.” He lets out a soft little sound—a mixture of a laugh and a hum—while his gaze moves over my face. “And I…don’t know how much longer I can pretend.”
“You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us,” I remind him.
“It’s starting to feel like that’s the only time I am.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, the unexpected intensity in his confession hitting me harder than I could’ve imagined. Maybe because it’s the confirmation I’ve been waiting for—that this attraction isn’t one-sided.
Or maybe I’ve known that for a while now but just wasn’t ready to accept it.
The lines we drew in the sand when this whole thing started have blurred. Hell, they’ve become unrecognizable, leaving both of us to tiptoe around in fear of accidentally crossing them. But I was the one who blew past them today at the rink, unintentionally or not.
Just the thought has my brain running the gentle press of his lips on a loop, capable of driving the sanest person mad. Especially when those same lips are right there, only inches away in the darkness, waiting for me to bridge the gap.
And fuck if I don’t want to know how those lips feel on other places too.
“Christ, Little Reed,” he curses, drawing my attention back to his eyes. At some point, it must’ve moved to his lips. “I’m really trying here, but if you keep looking at me like that…”
His expression turns almost pained, and he shakes his head, not allowing himself to finish the thought.
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to do so much more than kiss you.”
I’m struck with déjà vu as we find ourselves repeating the same moment from earlier at the rink. Except, this time, I’m the one who has to be bold. To say the words sitting right there, on the tip of my tongue, waiting to change everything.
“Would it be such a bad thing if I do?”
Camden’s features soften, almost as if he doesn’t believe what he’s heard. “I… But the rules. You said—”
“I know what I said, but now I’m taking it back,” I say, the words pouring from me before I can overthink them. My throat seizes slightly, and I swallow before repeating myself. “Cam, I take it all back.”
There’s a beat of silence where neither of us dares to speak or breathe or fucking blink, like we’re both grappling with what to do next. Where to go from here. What happens if we cross the line drawn in the sand.
But then we crash together, like waves meeting the shoreline.
I don’t know which of us moves first, and honestly, I don’t really care. The only thing that truly matters is his mouth on mine, stealing my ability to think.
My hands slide up his chest, following the smooth, muscled lines, until they curl around his neck. His fingers slip into my hair, anchoring themselves there as he takes control of the kiss, tilting my head back so he can deepen it.
It’s as measured as it is desperate; as gentle as it is full of need. But just as easily as we came slamming together, he rips himself away, ending it far too soon and leaving me panting in confusion.
“Cam—”
“You’re sure?” he asks, cutting me off.
Even half cloaked by darkness, his blue eyes shine with lust and uncertainty, his breath coming out in ragged pants as he waits for my answer.
“Yes, I—”
I don’t get more than that out before he’s crashing his lips into mine again.
And this time, all the gentleness and control is gone.