Chapter 33
August
Quinn hadn’t been lying when he said therapy would be hard and that he would have to put in a lot of work. August spent the entire week daydreaming about doing drills at morning practice with his team instead of sitting on a plush couch talking about his mental instability.
Puking on the ice sounded a thousand times better than dealing with the sour aftertaste of the verbal vomit he kept bringing up at every session.
He cried. He rubbed his nose raw on tissues covered in blood. He said things out loud that he would have never dared to whisper into existence the week before—but it felt good.
August had never been interested in therapy because he didn’t like the idea of following a ten-step programme to ‘fix’ himself, but it wasn’t like that. For the most part, she sat quietly and listened, only interjecting when she wanted a deeper explanation on a point he had made.
He didn’t know how to explain it, but the process felt validating in the same way when Quinn had come to his rescue. He felt seen.
The relief of talking to a person who didn’t expect him to be strong just because of the way he looked or what he did in his professional life made it easier to open up.
It also helped to have Quinn by his side, even if August felt guilty for disrupting his busy schedule.
The one time he tried to apologize, Quinn had told him not to bother, and that was that.
And because August had nothing better to do other than lying in bed, sleeping off his headaches, talking to Niko when he was around for their home games, and eating the leftovers Harrison made for them, Quinn had enough spare time to handle his schoolwork.
His schoolwork, talking to lawyers, and messaging Callahan and their friend group to give updates when he could.
At night, they talked about the past, shared stories and good memories—anything to help August anchor himself and confirm that what he remembered was real. When the lights went out, Quinn let him curl up against him, giving him a solid weight to cling to.
Having someone to hold made the dark feel less threatening, especially on nights August jolted awake from nightmares, shaking and sobbing into the curve of Quinn’s neck while Quinn held him tightly.
August didn’t know if he could let Quinn leave at the end of the week now that he knew what it felt like to have him so close, so often. But every time he tried to talk about what they were—about them—Quinn would hush him and tell him to wait. So, August did.
The hardest part of the week came when Quinn started talking about pressing charges against Coach Perry, the conversation unfolding among several of the moms in his hockey group.
At August’s request, Quinn hosted a meeting at the house, and they talked it through in the living room while August hid in his bedroom like a coward.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, because he did, desperately, but it was too soon.
He was drained from therapy and felt scraped raw and exhausted, with nothing left to give.
Later, Quinn told him that none of the kids had come forward with any concerns, even when gently and vaguely questioned, and the parents had agreed to drop the issue for now.
That wasn’t to say that nearly all of them had pulled their kids out of the programme, which was a win, but it also told Perry that they were on to him.
But the kids were safe, so even if they couldn’t toss the fucker in jail yet, it stopped anything else from happening in the meantime.
Then Saturday arrived, signalling the end of the therapy sessions after committing to return the following weekend. Quinn insisted on driving August to morning skate and the team meeting, fretting over him as August got dressed and prepared himself to get his head back in the game.
“Hey, buddy,” said Niko, waving at August as he came down the steps. He had stopped in the hallway to greet them, already on his way out the door. “How’s the pain? The migraine still bothering you?”
August walked off the final step and swept his hair out of his eyes to appear casual. “No worse than it’s been since it started,” he said. “The Advil is helping. I should be able to play tonight, no problem.”
He didn’t miss the way Niko exchanged glances with Quinn, but he didn’t care because he was playing tonight.
“The doc still has to approve you,” Niko said finally. “Don’t get too excited until you hear what he says.”
Niko said that as if the team’s medical staff weren’t there to help them get back on the bench. None of his symptoms were physical besides the nosebleeds and migraines, and August was feeling good today. If he didn’t play tonight, he was going to lose his damn mind for real.
“Are you hitching a ride with us or not?” August muttered, shoving Niko playfully on his way by.
“He’s moody today,” Niko said to Quinn. “This should be fun.”
Quinn chuckled, and August smiled as he put his boots on.
“He’s just moping because I wouldn’t let him suck my dick this morning.”
Niko choked on a cough, and August looked over his shoulder to glare at Quinn. The guy had no fucking shame blasting their sex life on speaker at poor Niko, who August was pretty sure was still a virgin. Or at least a rookie, judging by the blush overtaking his face.
The drive to the rink was quiet, but none of them were in the mood for conversation with the anxiety climbing so rapidly the closer they got.
It was hard knowing that after Quinn dropped them off, August couldn’t see him until after the game.
This would be the first time they separated in seven days, and hockey was his life, but he had fallen in love with the glimpse of domestic comfort that came with having Quinn close.
Quinn, who wouldn’t give him an answer on their relationship status, and who hadn’t said anything more about love since the night he hinted at it.
August was trying not to pout, but he couldn’t shake the irrational feeling that Quinn would disappear the moment he let him out of his sight.
Even so, he kept a neutral expression when Quinn pulled up to the door, and August gave him a short but sweet peck on the corner of his mouth before exiting the car.
Niko didn’t bother waiting because he didn’t want to intrude on their goodbye, and August was grateful for the kid’s intuition.
Quinn leaned across the passenger seat so he could look at August, lips tugged in the smallest hint of a frown. “If you need to tap out, tell Eren. He’ll be watching you, so don’t try faking it because you know he’ll come straight to me.”
August knew Quinn wasn’t fucking around, so he nodded and smiled. “I’ve listened to you so far, haven’t I?”
The frown deepened, and Quinn crinkled his nose. “You have, which is suspicious, but I have no choice but to trust you.”
August tapped the car and straightened. “I’ll look for you behind the bench,” he said.
He couldn’t see Quinn’s reaction, but he heard the scoff clearly before the door shut, and he headed inside to join his teammates for breakfast.
The pain of losing Quinn became quickly overshadowed by the eager faces of his teammates and the excitement about his return. He endured several slaps on the back and hair ruffles before August purposely shoved into the chair between Niko and Haas, just so he could have backup.
“Nice to see you, Snow,” said Haas, shaking his red curls out of the way so he could get a good look at him. “Niko missed you a lot. It was getting kind of exhausting to listen to him cry about your absence.”
Niko would have jumped over August to beat up their rookie if he hadn’t held an arm out to stop him. “Seriously, Sauce? I did fucking not.”
The conversation quickly turned into an argument, so August did his best to keep his head down and avoid getting stabbed by a fork. They were loud, but the bickering was normal, and normal was what August needed right now.
The meeting after breakfast gave time for food to digest before they hit the ice, and August stayed for as long as he could before he had to meet up with the doctor. The appointment took an intense twenty minutes, but he was cleared when he left the room, and the wave of relief was instant.
One more bit of normalcy. One more—and soon other moments would follow until he hit a point where he finally felt in control again.
August was beaming when he went to the locker room and geared up with the boys. He was so excited for practice that he forgot his stick on the way out and had to turn around, only for Niko to pass it to him with a shake of his head.
“Sauce wants you to fire a good luck shot at his head,” Niko said as he glided beside August, sounding exasperated. “Goalies are fucking weird, man.”
An arm suddenly swung over August’s shoulders, but the height difference was too much, and he had to lean forward or risk straining his neck. Logan Bradshaw grinned at him before knocking their helmets together.
“Gusty, I fucking missed you.” Logan grabbed Niko by the jersey to stop him from escaping and pulled him into a three-man hug. “We are going to kick Washington’s ass tonight. I’m so stoked—they’re a bunch of hosers.”
And it was no secret that one of Logan’s old teammates from the AHL was on the Washington Eagles, and the two of them beat the shit out of each other every time they played.
August frowned, unsure of why he remembered that now when he hadn’t cared to think about it before.
His head throbbed dangerously, and August wiggled out of the hug so he could pick up a puck. Haas was in the net, so he played along and shot the puck at his helmet, not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to ring his bell a little.
Haas whooped and jumped up and down, shaking off the hit like it was nothing and laughing while he did it.
“You know, when you got in Park’s face during that game against Ottawa and growled at him for hitting me, I felt a tingle,” said Haas.
August circled the net, scooping up another puck to shoot at the top left corner, but it was blocked.
“Just a small tingle,” said Haas, breathless. “But it was enough to make me think that romance might not be dead, you know?”
August snorted and found another puck. The rookie was weirder than most goalies he had dealt with in his career, but at least the kid was adorable.
“Sauce, if you’re going to hit on anyone, hit on Niko,” said Callahan as he slid to a stop beside August. “At least he’s single.”
Technically, August was single, too. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either.
“Niko has nice pillow arms, but no,” said Haas. “That guy is too high maintenance.”
Callahan ignored the comment and turned on August, his blue eyes bright behind his visor. “You’re not single, right? I told Quinn that I can handle the girls, and it’s not like you live far from me, so he could come over whenever he wants.”
August held his hands up and glided backward to put distance between them. “I can’t get Quinn to commit to a conversation about us. There’s no chance he’ll agree to move in with me right now, so relax, Cap.”
“Yeah.” Callahan’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right. Sorry, Gusty. I’m doing what I can on my end to make sure Quinn doesn’t feel trapped, but you know how stubborn he is.”
He sure did.
“And—” Callahan pushed forward, following August into the corner until they were far away from curious ears.
“Quinn told me…everything. Just basics, and no details, but I get why you were so off at the start of the season. I wish I knew earlier so I could have helped, but I know Quinn has you now, so I’ll leave it at that. ”
August touched his glove to Callahan’s shoulder. “Appreciated, but you’re right, Quinn is handling it.”
Callahan knocked his stick to the padding on August’s legs. “Good, let’s get a win for your first night back. That should cheer you up.”
August couldn’t agree more.
“I can’t believe…” Callahan paused and huffed. “I know it’s too soon, but it’s weird to think you might be an uncle to my daughters someday. You—Frosty the Prickish Snowman.”
That was another level to the relationship he hadn’t considered before, but August didn’t mind the thought of being an uncle to the girls.
“They like me,” said August. “One of them calls me Snowy.”
Callahan raised an eyebrow, and August’s grin widened. He was teasing his captain, and he could tell it was well-received by the way Callahan was holding back a laugh.
“The Harlow bloodline does seem to like you,” said Callahan. “You’re like the family pet dog.”
August’s grin slipped away, and Callahan tossed his head back to laugh as he skated off.
But even being the butt of the joke didn’t dampen his mood, because it made August feel like he was going to be okay, even if he was still struggling.
He wasn’t alone anymore, and for the first time in years, he felt present in his own life—and whole enough to recognize himself whenever he caught his reflection in the mirror.
That had to count for something.