Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Grayson
We do end up napping a little while, curled on our sides with Remy’s back to my chest and his butt pushed into the cradle of my hips. I don’t sleep as soundly as he does, distracted by the tickle of his hair on my neck and the way he’s never quite still—every handful of minutes he makes a small noise and shuffles himself closer to me, pushing backward even though there isn’t anywhere to go.
After a while I stop trying to sleep and just listen to him breathe. He doesn’t nap long. When he wakes up, he stretches and pushes his ass further into my pelvis, rubbing against my dick in a way that ensures it wakes up, too. He looks over his shoulder at me, grinning sleepily. Putting an arm over him, I angle his face back and lean over him enough that I can kiss him.
Slow and unhurried, the kind of kissing meant for people who have time to learn their partner—the way they taste and the way they react, the sounds they make without meaning to, and the first thing their hands reach for. I desperately want to know these things before I won’t have a chance to experience them again.
When he starts rocking his hips rhythmically backward, I break my mouth away from his long enough to grab the lube and another condom. Remy doesn’t move or speak, either sated enough from our previous round that he doesn’t care how we do things, or content to let me take the lead.
I keep him where he is—the little spoon to my big. When I push his leg forward and enter him from behind, he lets out a soft oh that settles in my chest and makes it hard to breathe. My brain is screaming at me to not get attached, but my heart is letting me know that ship has long since left port and I need to settle in for the ride.
Sliding an arm underneath him to bring him closer to me and give myself more leverage, I lean over him as far as I can in order to not strain his neck but still be able to make out. He reaches up and puts a hand to the back of my head, holding me in place as I roll my hips achingly slow. We fall into an easy rhythm, never once picking up the pace or breaking apart further than is needed to breathe.
Afterward, we manage only a halfhearted attempt at cleanup before we’re tucked back into bed and Remy’s eyelids are fluttering closed. He falls asleep with a foot of distance between us, but slowly migrates across the bed to me until his face is pressed into my chest, cheek smooshed and lips parted. It’s because he’s cold and you’re a furnace, I tell myself firmly, while my heart tries to equate snuggling with more.
Twice more we wake up and have sex before sinking back into sleep. I wake up at 6 a.m. thanks to my internal body clock, but Remy remains dead to the world even after I wriggle out from under him. He makes a small noise of disapproval that has me pausing at the bathroom door, but he only turns over and lapses back into silence. I shower as quickly as I can, not wanting the sound of the water to disturb him, and then tiptoe my way to the kitchen.
While the water boils for tea, I check my emails and read through the documents Lisa sent me. The trade went through and I’m expected at afternoon practice in Colorado tomorrow. When I try to feel excited about it, all I find is a wearied sort of resignation. This is absolutely the right move for my career, no doubt about that, but it feels like I’m making a questionable personal choice and I’m not sure which one should hold more weight.
I prepare myself a massive cup of tea and take a moment to just inhale the bitter scent of it to clear my head. My phone buzzes with a text message. Troy’s name flashes up in a notification, reminding me that it’s been a few weeks since I’ve reached out. During the season we keep in touch mainly with sporadic text messages, too busy to commit to more, but still trying our best to stay in touch. As always, his name sends a small pang of loneliness through me.
Troy
Morning, Gray. You awake?
Grayson
I’m awake. How are you doing, little brother?
Troy
Can I call you?
The question—sent so quickly after my message, he’d obviously already had it typed out—makes me pause for only a second before I pick up the phone and dial his number. He answers on the first ring.
“Hey.”
The stressed sound of his voice has me straightening from my lazy repose against the counter and setting my mug down.
“Hey, Troy, what’s going on?” I glance at the clock. 7 a.m. here means 9 a.m. there, and he’s a chronically early riser. Still, a phone call at this time is out of the ordinary for us. “You okay? And Sam?”
“We’re fine,” he says hastily, but it’s not exactly reassuring when his tone is still threaded with anxiety. “I just saw about the trade. Are you happy? Colorado is a good team.”
“Yeah, it should be good. I’m excited.”
Liar, liar, liar.
“I’m sorry you’ll have to leave Calgary, though. It’ll be weird, won’t it? You’ve always been based in Canada.”
“A little bit,” I admit. “I’ll miss living here, definitely, but I think the team will be a little more to my taste.”
“Still wish we could have you here,” he says, laughing even though it sounds forced and a little bit sad.
“Me too. You sure nothing is going on, Troy? If something happened with Sam, you know you can tell me?—”
“Sam is perfect,” he replies immediately, sounding more like himself than he has this entire conversation. I smile. Troy wouldn’t have a bad thing to say about his husband even if you held him at gunpoint and demanded it. “Uhm, but actually there is something going on. I wanted to tell you before you heard it on ESPN.”
“Okay. ”
“Lawson is out. He got hurt a couple weeks ago and they won’t clear him to come back. Career-ending injury.”
“No way,” I breathe. That can’t possibly be right—South Carolina without Anthony Lawson between the pipes? “I thought they had him on IR, but were expecting a recovery.”
“I guess it’s too many recurrences of the same injury. He has to have a total shoulder replacement and they’re having to replace some of his cartilage with cadaver donations, or something. I don’t know, Gray, Cor tried to explain it to me, but all I could hear was Lawson will never play again .”
“Oh, Troy.” I put my elbows on the counter and lean my forehead against my hand. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
“He’s having surgery today. We’re at the hospital with Nico right now, waiting in pre-op. Sam and I are going to be here for a couple of hours, and then Cor is coming later once he’s in recovery.”
“On a scale of one to ten, where is Lawson at?” I ask, prompting Troy to laugh softly. My heart expands to hear it. A sad Troy is fucking unnatural.
“Every time they ask him about pain, he says a one, like he thinks they’ll believe him. But he’s pretty much been at an eleven on the pissed-off scale since this whole thing went down. He’s frustrated.”
“And probably in pain,” I add humorously.
“Yeah. I feel really bad.”
“I know. How’s Nico doing with everything? I’m assuming…” I trail off, not wanting to insinuate something offensive about the man’s handicap and whether or not he’ll be able to assist Lawson while he recovers.
“Well, he can’t drive and now Lawson can’t, either. We’ve just been switching out, though, so it’s not a big deal. This morning Sam and I picked them up and brought them to the hospital; this afternoon Cor and Nigel will come. Sam and Nigel will have to do most of the work, though, when Corwin and I are at practice and stuff.”
“How’s Corwin doing?” I ask, thinking of the quiet, careful way that Corwin takes care of his friends. If Lawson retiring is hitting Troy hard, I can only imagine how it must feel for Corwin, who has played with Lawson for his entire NHL career. If Troy and I are brothers in everything but blood, Corwin and Lawson are the same.
“You know him—hasn’t once complained or said anything about it other than asking what we can do to help. He’s staying over at Nico and Lawson’s place tonight, actually. He wants to mother hen, but can’t do that if Lawson isn’t within arm’s length.”
“Let me guess. That was Nigel’s idea, wasn’t it?”
Troy laughs again. “Sure was. He suggested to Nico that it might be helpful to have Corwin over there for a night or two, helping with the cooking and cleaning so that Nico could focus on Lawson. You should have seen Corwin’s face when Nico agreed to it—he looked so relieved.”
“Well played, Nigel. Well played.”
“Sam says Cor would be happiest with all of us living on the same street. Same house, if he could manage it.”
“If you have room for one more, I’d like in on that.”
“I wish you were closer,” Troy says honestly, and then hastily clears his throat. It makes me smile, especially since he’s probably blushing.
“So do I,” I admit. “Unfortunately, Colorado is in the opposite direction. Same country though, so I guess that’s a step in the right direction. Maybe I’ll look into flights your way for Christmas or All-Star Weekend.”
“Really?” Troy’s voice kicks up several octaves, excitement practically dripping off the word.
“Yeah. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. I was just telling Remy how much I missed you, actually.”
“Remy Stone? He’s been playing really well with Zolkov. He seems pretty steady as far as points—I haven’t seen him have a truly bad season yet. Do you like him?”
Do I like him? What a simple question to have such a complicated answer. Yes, I like him. I like the brown of his tanned skin and the way his wide shoulders taper down to a narrow waist. I like the way he smiles with only half of his mouth and all of his eyes. I like the way he says what he thinks and how he feels, and doesn’t see a problem with spending the night in another man’s bed. I like that he thinks I’m beautiful.
“Yeah, Troy, I really like him.”
“Oh, is it…hold on, Gray, I’m sorry.”
I hear Sam’s voice briefly in the background before the noise abruptly cuts off as Troy mutes the call. Taking the opportunity to throw back some of my tea, I carefully walk over to my bedroom door and crack it open. Remy is still asleep, one arm tucked under the pillow and a single foot visible peeking out from under the sheet. He’s breathing deeply, mouth parted slightly and hair splayed out across the pillow. He looks warm and inviting, lying there in my bed. He looks like he belongs.
Sighing, I close the bedroom door as silently as I can manage and pad back to the kitchen. I finish my tea and am on a fresh cup when Troy comes back on the line.
“Sam’s here,” he says by way of greeting.
“Hi, Gray. Congratulations on the trade.” Sam’s low, calm voice comes over the phone as it’s passed off by Troy .
“Thanks. Everything all right over there?”
“Yeah, it’ll be okay. They just brought him back to the OR. Nico’s back in Lawson’s room while we wait, but I can grab him if you want to say hi. Troy and I are outside, getting some fresh air.”
“Nah, I don’t want to bother him. I’ll shoot him a text. And you know to reach out to me if you need anything, right? Troy won’t, so I’m counting on you.”
Sam chuckles softly. “Noted. I’ll give you back to him. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Bye, Sam.” I pause, waiting for Troy to come back and cursing the distance between us. As often happens when we catch up on the phone, the potency with which I miss him increases exponentially. I want to reach across the distance and pull him into the hug I know he needs.
“Gray?”
“I’m still here.”
“Tell me about Remy Stone,” he prompts.
I laugh at how joyful he sounds, not even surprised that he picked up on my tone when I mentioned Remy.
“We’re good friends,” I tell him noncommittally. It’s as close to the truth as I can get without spilling a secret that isn’t mine to share. Besides, what would I even say? That he’s been my fuck buddy for a few weeks, and now, because I’ve never been good at compartmentalizing my feelings, I’m ready to commit? Fucking ridiculous.
“He’s nice?” Troy asks. “I’ve never talked to him before.”
“Yeah, he’s nice. He’s a surfer, which is cool. He’s been haranguing me all season to take more shots; we’ve been trying to beat my PR from rookie year.”
“We noticed that. Colorado probably noticed, too. They usually play an aggressive defense. I bet they’ll be happy to have you firing shots from the blue line.”
“You have any idea who I’ll be firing shots at next time we play each other?”
I feel a little hesitant to bring the conversation back to Lawson, but I’m curious. South Carolina’s backup goalie is pretty much untested. Lawson was one of the rare netminders who could play fourteen-game stretches without it affecting his game. His backup largely kept the bench warm. Troy chuckles, once more shaking off the blanket of melancholy that’s been present for the entire call.
“They called up a rookie from the AHL. Management was split about who to sign, but Corwin voted in favor of Carter, so they went with him. He’s been with us for a couple weeks and will probably start tomorrow night for his NHL debut. Coach is going to switch off each game until one of them earns the top spot.”
“Ah, a battle of the goaltenders. Carter? I don’t think I’m familiar.” Squinting my eyes at my mug, I think back through the current AHL roster. The only player with a last name of Carter isn’t a goaltender.
“Carter Morgan. He’s one of Nico’s kids, actually. Or, he was.”
“Nico’s kids?” I repeat, confused.
“Carter played for him at the university. The year Lawson met Nico at the summer camp—that was Carter’s first year at school. He had a great start in the minors and Nico only has good things to say about him. He’s a bit of a character.”
“How do you mean? Like, goalie-weird?”
“No. Like, grouchy and not very friendly. Sort of rude. He’s quiet enough to give Corwin a run for his money.”
This kid sounds like a piece of work, which doesn’t track with Troy’s tone. Grouchy and not very friendly aren’t usually personality traits that jive with Troy’s upbeat, Energizer Bunny attitude. Yet he sounds almost excited about the prospect of their new, cranky, baby goalie.
“So…you like him?”
“Yeah, I do. He’s been working hard with us. You can tell he takes it seriously, and he wants to succeed and improve. Besides, Cor likes him and says he’ll go far. He’s never wrong.”
I smile to myself. Nothing could convince Troy of someone’s worthiness faster than Corwin giving them the seal of approval. As far as Troy is concerned, his word is law.
Soft footfalls have my attention snapping to the hallway leading to my bedroom, and I’m rewarded with the sight of Remy stepping into view. He hasn’t showered yet, and he’s wearing a pair of my sweatpants—too baggy and too long for his slender frame. He’s rubbing his eyes when he walks into the kitchen, hair defying gravity, and my eyes immediately track to what is unmistakably dried cum on his stomach. When he drops his hand and sees me standing at the counter, he smiles.
My heart beats a short, painful rhythm at the sight of him. I’m in so much damn trouble.
“Morning,” Remy murmurs, suddenly shy in the morning light as though we didn’t spend the night fucking our brains out.
“Good morning,” I reply, voice warm.
“Who’s that?” Troy asks, making me jolt in surprise. Sending an apologetic look Remy’s way, I clear my throat.
“Company.”
“Company,” Troy repeats gleefully. “Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing some?— ”
“Troy? I’d better go. I’ve got to pack and stuff, still. But keep me posted on Lawson, okay? And thanks for calling me. Please let me know if you need anything.”
“I need to know who your ‘company’ is.”
“Goodbye, little brother.” I hang up the phone, heart clenching with fondness for both Troy and Remy. I wish there was a way I could bring them together, even if I had to introduce Remy as just my friend.
“That’s cute,” he says immediately after I hang up the phone. I raise a quizzical eyebrow at him. “You call him little brother,” he explains.
“Well, he is. In every way that counts, anyway.” Idly, I spin my phone around on the counter, feeling suddenly awkward. It’s been a long time since I’ve done the morning-after song and dance. “Coffee? Tea?”
He smiles and approaches the counter. He looks absolutely edible. “Please. Tea is fine, thank you.”
I make him a fresh cup, giving him my favorite mug. There is a slightly humorous glint in his eyes as he watches me over the rim of the mug, blowing on it gently. I wonder if he can tell I feel a little uncomfortable.
“Not used to entertaining lovers?” Remy teases, one eyebrow cocked at a jaunty angle as he takes an obnoxiously loud slurp of tea.
“Shut up.” I laugh. “I’m sorry if I woke you up. I was trying to be quiet.”
“You didn’t. I missed you, though. Not really a fan of waking up alone, I have to say.” He sighs dramatically and I start to relax. There’s no reason for any discomfort—it’s Remy.
“Next time I’ll stick around for the cuddling,” I promise. “You feel okay? ”
Remy has thrown himself into our relationship with such gusto that I sometimes forget he’s never been with another man before. We couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves last night and any moment I wasn’t inside of him felt like a moment wasted. In the glaring light of the morning, however, I’m wondering if maybe that was a little too exuberant for someone so new to this. I could have hurt him.
He looks delighted by the question. “I feel great!”
“You’re not sore?”
“Oh, well, yeah. But I still feel great. I feel like we had an all-night sex marathon and now I’m energized enough to go run an actual marathon.” He smiles at me, crossing his arms in front of himself and leaning forward onto the counter. “Is that what you look all worried about?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t and you won’t.” He shrugs, taking another drink of his tea. “We’re good together, huh?”
I’ve had good. In fact, all I’ve ever had is good. Remy and I aren’t that. We’re great. Explosive, brilliant, fucking magnificent. Whatever adjective means I’ve become an addict for the way he tastes, sounds, and feels. We are a lot of things—good doesn’t even scratch the surface.
“Yeah, we are,” I agree, but keep it at that. Remy doesn’t need to deal with my sudden attachment issues. We both knew what we were doing and it’s not fair to demand more from him hours before I step on a plane and leave for good.
“Can I help you pack?” he asks.
“Really?”
“I don’t really want to leave just yet.”
Those words send my stomach backflipping up into my chest. “I don’t want you to leave either. Stay as long as you like. It’s too bad you signed a lease on that apartment or you could have moved in here.”
Standing, he throws back the rest of his tea and skirts the island. When he reaches my side, he hooks an arm around my waist and steps into me. Before he can ask, I lean down and kiss him. He tastes like stale morning breath and bitter tea, which is perhaps the most unattractive way a man can taste. I lean into the kiss, lapping him up and savoring it. I want all the kisses—morning-breath ones included.
“How long will it take you to pack?” he mumbles, fingers fumbling at my waist and crawling up into my shirt.
“Screw packing, I’ll just buy new shit when I get there.”
He laughs as I walk him backward, bringing us back to the bedroom. The sheets are a twisted mess and there is a distinct smell to the room that screams sex. Before I can push him back down to the bed, Remy turns us and does it to me. His crooked smile looks devious as he tugs my pants down my legs.
“Let’s find out how much you enjoy edging,” he says, before his mouth fuses to mine and I stop thinking about anything but him.