Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Jari
Morning skate should have felt routine by now, but it didn’t.
I stepped onto the ice with a stupid, unguarded smile I hadn’t bothered to shut down after baking with Cam, legs loose, lungs full, stick light in my hands.
The drills started immediately—line rushes, quick transitions, nothing fancy.
Muscle memory took over, and for once, my head didn’t get in the way.
We cycled the puck low to high, Becks driving the boards, Mules planting himself in front of the crease like a wrecking ball. I cut wide, timed my stride, took the return pass clean, and snapped it back into space without thinking. It flowed. Easy. Right.
“Look at Lanky,” Becks called as we looped back into position. “Smiling like he knows a secret.”
“Jari,” I snapped at Becks, causing him to wince. "Sorry, I just don't like that nickname. Please leave it as Jari.”
“Yeah, man, sorry,” he said, and then smiled. “Still, that's one huge fucking smile you got going on today.”
Mules snorted. “Maybe he got some last night—what, you got a girl or something?”
Heat flashed through me, right on top of the whole Lanky shit, sharp and panicked, as if I’d been caught doing something wrong.
A girl. A reason for the smile. An explanation.
My brain went straight to worst-case instinct—had I let something show?
Had I skated wrong, laughed wrong, existed too openly?
I almost missed the next pass.
“Whoa,” Becks said, laughing as I bobbled it and recovered. “Earth to Jari—puck is in play.”
They were still laughing, but it wasn’t mean or edged with judgment.
It was the easy and familiar teasing that had been building quietly over the last few weeks.
I’d noticed how no one was treating me differently anymore, not even the guys who’d been cautious at the start.
Even them. We were fifteen games into the season, and teammates asked my opinion during drills, nodded when I said something useful, and clapped their sticks when I made the right read.
Random guys complimented small things I did right, pulled me into conversations without thinking, and skated with me as if I was supposed to be there.
The casual inclusion caught me off guard.
Maybe it had made me relax too much.
Am I smiling too much? What if they find out? What if…
“No girl,” I said, then added before I could stop myself, “if I were this happy about a girl, I’d be falling over my own skates.” I made a show of wobbling, deliberately sloppy, stick clacking on the ice.
Becks barked out a laugh. Mules missed the whistle and had to scramble back into position, shaking his head. “Jesus, don’t encourage him,” Becks said, still grinning. “Next thing you know, he’ll be doing stand-up between shifts.”
“Only if you tip,” I shot back, surprised at how easy it felt, how natural it was to give it right back.
That set them off laughing, chirping over each other as we reset for another drill, the whistle cutting through the noise. Mules gave me a light shove with his shoulder as we lined up. “Whatever it is,” he added, lower now, “it’s working. We're flying.”
Flying. The word stuck with me as we took off again, blades biting clean, bodies moving in sync. No one was watching me for mistakes. No one was bracing for impact because of my name. Becks trusted I’d be there on the back check. Mules dropped the puck into my path without looking. They trusted me.
I guess this was what it felt like to be part of a line, and it scared me almost as much as it made me happy.
Happier knowing I was going back to Cam's place for cake and comedy shows about an inclusive town with quirky people.
Or whatever.
Cap waited until we were all sitting in our cubbies. “Before anyone bolts,” he said, eyes sweeping the group, “quick reminder. Charity gala’s next Friday. Black tie.”
A collective groan rolled through the locker room.
Cap’s gaze landed on me. “Jari. You got a tux?”
I shook my head automatically. “No.” I paused. “I don’t really… do tuxes.”
He snorted, reached into his pocket, and handed me a card. “Call that number. Name’s Marcus. He’ll fix you up. Tell him I sent you.”
I stared at it for a second too long. Another thing I didn’t know how to do. Another place I could screw up. “Okay,” I said finally, tucking it into my personal bag.
Cap clapped his hands once, sharply. “And the rest of you will be attending, mingling, and getting people to bid, got it?”
A chorus of yeses, mixed with groans and chirps.
“Good,” Cap said. “Because it’s not optional, and it’s important. Now get your asses out of here before I push you back on the ice.”
I was halfway through unlacing my skates when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out immediately, heart kicking, stupid hope flaring it might be Cam.
It wasn’t.
My father’s name sat there like a threat. I didn’t answer. I never answered. I let it ring out and watched it flip to voicemail, my shoulders already tight, breath shallow, that familiar drop in my stomach as if I’d missed a step on the stairs.
I told myself I wasn’t listening to him. I didn’t have to. I could delete the voicemail, pretend it had never happened, keep this moment intact.
But what if it was about Mom?
What if this time it wasn’t manipulation or money or another invisible test, but something real—something I’d miss if I didn’t listen?
His voice filled my ear, nothing about Mom. Flat. Annoyed.
“I don’t feel like paying this one,” he said. “It’s all yours. About time you picked up some of the slack. Check your email.”
I deleted the voicemail and headed to my email, saw the subject in amongst the spam—Outstanding balance—Immediate attention required
A private care invoice. Finland. A number that made no sense at first glance, and I scrolled, heart thudding, reread it twice, then a third time, hunting for context, for the reason this was my problem.
He’d done this before. Left invoices sitting unpaid just long enough for them to become urgent, just long enough for the reminder to land in my inbox instead of his.
No explanation. No warning. Just a quiet handoff, suddenly my responsibility.
I always paid. It was easier than asking questions, easier than pushing back, easier than letting it touch my mother’s care.
Thumbprint, confirmation, done. The money vanished from my account in seconds, the way it always did, and only then did my chest loosen enough to breathe. I stared at the screen, confused, angry, and sick all at once.
I didn’t understand why it had happened today, but the damage was already done. I checked the reports on Mom, but nothing had changed since I read the overnight ones. She was happy. Settled. Well.
But the smile I’d been wearing without thinking faded, pulled thin by a voice that wasn’t even in the room.
See? it whispered. You can’t relax. You don’t get to forget. This is what happens when you do.
A shadow slid back into place behind my eyes, and the rink felt too loud, too bright. I shoved my phone back into my pocket as if it had burned me.
“What’s up?”
Noah had stopped in front of my stall, already half changed, towel slung over his shoulder. He clapped a hand against my shoulder—solid, grounding. Friendly.
I opened my mouth.
For a second, I almost told him everything. The emails. The money. The way my father could still reach into my head from an ocean away and pull the strings tight. How I never knew if I was reacting to something real or just responding the way I’d been trained to.
The words crowded my throat.
And then I swallowed them.
“I’m good,” I said, because it was easier. Because it was safer. Because I didn’t know how to explain something that didn’t even make sense to me.
Noah studied me for a beat longer, eyes sharp but not pushing. Then he nodded. “Cool. See you tomorrow.”
He moved on.
I sat there a moment longer, hands resting uselessly on my knees, heart still beating too fast.
I wanted to go home to Cam.
I grabbed my bag and stood before that thought could finish forming.
The door slammed open so hard the frame shuddered, my chest heaving as if I’d sprinted the whole way here. My vision tunneled on Cam. Everything else dropped away.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t trust myself to.
I crossed the room in three long strides and crashed into him, hands on his jaw, kissing him deeply.
This made sense. I wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned.
It was hunger, raw and feral, and I pressed him back until the wall stopped him because I needed something solid under my hands.
“Jari? What's wrong?”
My thigh wedged between his, my hip rolling forward before I could stop myself, my body ahead of my brain. I was shaking. I knew it. I didn’t care.
“Need you,” I begged because it was the only truth I could get out. I hauled him with me toward the stairs, iron grip, breath chopped and broken as I kissed him repeatedly. I couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t.
He tried to tug me back at first, but when we kissed, it was as if a switch was thrown and the stairs blurred. We banged into the wall. I didn’t slow. All that mattered was his mouth, his hands, the way he kissed me back as if he understood exactly how close to the edge I was.
We hit the bedroom, and I spun him and shoved. He landed on the mattress with a grunt, and I followed, caging him. I tore off my Railers hoodie and tossed it aside, skin too hot. I knew how I must have looked. I didn’t care about that either.
“Jari, slow down—”
I cut him off with a kiss, slower this time, deeper, trying to pour everything I couldn’t say into it. My hands shook as I went for his jeans.
“Please,” I breathed, voice cracking. “Please, Cam. I need—” I didn’t finish. I didn’t have to. I was hard enough that it hurt, grinding against his thigh, desperate and exposed.
He touched my face. “Wait, sweetheart. I’ve got you. But we need to—”
“I’m negative,” I blurted, panic and need tangling together. “PrEP. You?” I was already reaching for the drawer, grabbing the lube, and already tearing the condom wrapper, because stopping felt impossible.
“Same,” he said, carefully. “Jari, what's wrong—”
“I need you.” I kissed him hard again, teeth nipping, hands opening his jeans, shoving them down. Cool air hit him, and my hand wrapped around him without asking. “Fuck,” I groaned. “You’re so hard for me.”
He held me as if he was going to ease me away, and I shook my head, and something in his eyes eased, and he watched as I undressed, and slicked my fingers, eyes locked on his. I needed to be open and ready. Crouched over him, one finger, then two, rougher than I meant to be.
“Don't!” he snapped. “Don't hurt yourself, sweetheart.”
“Please…”
“Shh,” he murmured as he took over, slowed things down, and then kissed me. “Take what you need.” The words were dark and honest.
“Yes,” I gasped, his hands on my hips, nails biting in. “Now.”
I hesitated for one flicker of a second—long enough to feel seen—then I sank down on him, inch by inch, breath tearing out of me as I took his cock into me. When I bottomed out, I just breathed, muscles clenching around him, and I whimpered before I moved.
I was desperate. Unraveling. I rode him hard, the bed creaking, skin slapping, my cock leaking between us as pleasure burned too bright to hold. Every thrust dragged a sound from me I couldn’t swallow.
“Cam—fuck—more—”
He sat up and pulled me close, and everything broke open. I came apart on him with a broken whimper, ropes of heat painting his skin as my body shook. His release followed, filling the condom as he held me close.
I collapsed against him, boneless, breath ragged, the air thick with sex and sweat and everything we hadn’t said. His heart hammered under my ear. His hands were steady in my hair, on my back, tracing scars he never asked about.
For a long moment, I just breathed.
“What happened, sweetheart?” Cam asked softly.
I buried my face in his neck, fingers fisting in his T-shirt as if I could anchor myself there. My voice came out broken, words tripping over each other before I could organize them. “He made me pay,” I said. “And I don’t even care about the money—I want to pay, I do—but he always does this.”
Cam’s arms tightened around me, steady and sure. He didn’t interrupt. He just let me keep going.
“I—I need to talk to Dr. Hale,” I managed.
“Your therapist?”
I hesitated, fear spiking again. “Will you come with me to see him? Can we… can we do this together?”
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands warm on my jaw, thumbs brushing my cheeks. “Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “Of course I will.”
“I love you,” Cam said.
Something in my chest cracked open at that. I wanted to say it back. The words were right there, heavy and terrifying. I couldn’t answer. Not with words. But the truth of it was deep in my bones, and I pressed closer to him, hoping he could feel it.
“I need to fix everything,” I whispered. “I need help. I want to love you openly. I want to stop being afraid all the time.”
Cam kissed my temple, my hair, my forehead, as if he was sealing each confession in place. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you. We’ll figure it out. Together.”