Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
HENDRIX AVERY
Run!
Fuck, no. I can’t.
It’s the only damn thing you have ever been good at in your entire miserable life, asshole. Run! Now!
But my feet are frozen to the ground, heavy as lead. My veins are made of concrete, clogging my heart until the beats feel like a shaken can of soda one puncture from bursting. Nausea curls in my belly as I stand here, helpless.
Coward!
It’s too late. The medical team is already surrounding him, and Aleks is already there, holding his hand in the exact place I should be. But while Aleks had fucking sprinted across the field, I’d stayed rooted to the spot like I had magically turned into a tree, embedded into the earth.
Everything happened so quickly. One minute, I was running passing drills with Aleks while the defensive line practiced . . . something—I don’t know—and in the next, he was screaming.
Tahegin.
It wasn’t so much a scream, now that I think about it. More like a long shout, followed by a lot of groaning as Aleks raced over to grab his hand, instructing him to stay still. Then, as the medical staff closed in around him, he began whimpering.
Before the gathered crowd closes in and I lose sight, I notice him clutching the back of his thigh. He must have injured it doing . . . whatever it was he had been doing. Shit, I wasn’t paying attention. I was too focused on making sure I caught every pass sent my way.
When I heard his cry and looked over to see him down on the ground, I wanted to run straight to him, but our teammates would have had questions. It was no problem for Aleks, who is too personal with everyone most of the time. They expect that kind of close comfort to come from him, not me. They’d talk. They’d wonder. They’d put two and two together.
So, I couldn’t go over there at first, and now it is too late. The crowd around Tahegin grows every second, hiding him where he still lies on the grass of our practice field. Through a small gap between the pairs of legs and knees and feet, my gaze lands on his face. Head thrown back on the ground, hair flecked with grass, eyes pinched closed, and teeth bared and gritted in pain.
My already heavy heart sinks lower in my gut, an anvil weighing me down even more.
I want to be with him, want to hold his hand and tell him everything will be okay. He’s young and healthy and tough. It’s only a muscle cramp.
Minutes pass. Our coaches tell us to get back to work, but I am useless with worry. The only thing I’m good for is gnawing at the inside of my cheek until I taste copper.
Shit, shit, shit. Why isn’t he getting up? It’s just a leg cramp.
Come on, T. Get up.
As if hearing my mental plea, the group of medical staff stands as one, Tahegin in the center. Relief floods through me, but it only lasts as long as it takes to realize everyone is standing with him because he can’t do it on his own. Aleks ducks beneath one arm while one of the trainers supports his other side. The trio hobbles to the sideline, and by the time I can finally move my legs again, they have disappeared to the medical bay inside the facility. The entire time, Tahegin doesn’t put any weight on his left leg.
I’m a mess throughout the rest of practice, but so are some of the other guys—and Aleks once he returns. It makes for a long practice, and as soon as we’re dismissed, I dart for Tahegin, wherever he is.
Optimistically, I check the locker room first. When he is nowhere to be seen, I burst into the medical bay to find him under the hands of a physical therapist. Ice packs, hot pads, and tension tape are scattered about, but their attention is on a scan. The doctor is pointing and explaining, and when Tahegin’s sorrowful eyes meet mine above the edge of the semi-opaque page, he softly shakes his head at me.
Dry swallowing against the lump in my throat, I turn and exit the room.
“Hey, where are you going?”
My gaze snaps from the floor to the man in front of me, his haggard appearance matching my own. “He doesn’t want me in there,” I tell Aleks.
His mouth twists to the side as he considers. “Maybe not right now, but he’ll need us once he’s ready. I know he can be a little prideful in the moment, but it’ll pass. Stubborn ass wanted to walk himself off the field at first despite the pain he was in. Eventually, he allowed us to help.”
“I hoped maybe it was a cramp.”
Wishful thinking.
“We’ll be lucky if he didn’t tear his hamstring,” he admits, expression carefully guarded.
“Fuck.”
He nods sympathetically because we both know what this means.
Tahegin won’t be able to play in the divisional playoff game this weekend. If he pulled it, he could miss the entire rest of our season, even if we go to the Bowl next month.
How is he possibly holding himself together?
“I’d be heartbroken,” Aleks confesses as if he can read my thoughts. “I am heartbroken for him. This is the worst thing that could happen in the playoffs, and to get hurt in practice of all things.”
The door beside us swings open, and Tahegin emerges into the empty hallway, nodding his thanks to the staff holding the heavy door as he hobbles through with a crutch lodged beneath each armpit. The clack of the crutches hitting the tile floor is even louder in the absence of Aleks and my conversation. We stare in devastated silence, too long to be appropriate. Still not putting any weight on his leg, he makes his way to us, the staff members retreating into the bay.
“Y’all didn’t have to stay,” he mutters, head hanging low.
“Bullshit,” Aleks spits, and I second it. “As if we would leave you here alone. How did you think you were getting home? You can’t risk jostling that leg.”
Tahegin shifts uncomfortably and tries to hide a wince. “Jay can drive me.”
“Hmph” is all I have to say, and he knows I am in disagreement with the way he’s trying to lock us out.
A shimmering blue iris meets my eye from beneath his long lashes, the pain—both physical and emotional—evident. That small amount of contact is all it takes for his breath to shudder in his chest, lips turning down in the opposite of the smile he always wears as the softest, most broken sob I have ever heard bursts from his mouth, my name along with it. “ Rix .”
I stare, stunned and unsure how to help, until Aleks gives me a harsh shove in Tahegin’s direction. Stumbling slightly, I collide with Tahegin and wrap my arms around him as his second sob is stifled against my shoulder. “Damnit, T,” I murmur. “Don’t cry.”
“Sorry.” The apology is muffled by the fabric of my practice jersey, weak and wounded.
“Shit, no. I didn’t mean—” My words fail me, as usual, so I resort to action. Knocking the crutches away, I wrap an arm around his waist, the other under his knees, and sweep him into . . . whatever the male version of a bridal carry is. I’m cautious of his injured leg, of course, and keep my arms strong but my grip light, and—Jesus, Tahegin is not light, but I am already dedicated to carrying him. There is no going back now. I start down the hallway with determination.
He gasps in surprise—and hopefully not pain—and his hands scramble for purchase on my shoulders. “What— Put me down!”
“Nope.”
“Hendrix, I am a grown man. You cannot just carry me like a child.”
“Maybe I’m carrying you like a groom.”
“Rix.”
“T.”
“I’ll get the crutches. And your things from the locker room. No worries,” Aleks calls from behind us, then raises his pitch, acting as if someone is praising his generosity. “Oh, thank you, Kiss. What would we ever do without you?”
Ignoring him, I focus on carrying Tahegin out of our training facility, keeping my steps at an easy, gentle sway to refrain from jostling him too badly. “What did they say?”
He sighs in defeat, dropping his cheek onto my shoulder. “I strained my hamstring. It isn’t torn, thank God, but I’m out for three to six weeks.”
“Care instructions?”
“No weight and limited movement at first. Alternate ice and heat. Anti-inflammatories. A physical therapist will be coming by my house to check on me, go through some strength training, and massage the muscles.” He sighs again. “Coach is pissed.”
I tighten my arms reassuringly. “Well, fuck him. Accidents happen.”
“I should have been more careful.”
“Hmph.” He knows what that sound is meant to convey: an accident is an accident. It isn’t anyone’s fault.
As I carefully slide him into the passenger seat of my car, Tahegin casts me a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I won’t be up for much tonight.”
My pulse stutters at the reminder of our previous night’s heated encounter. We have been going slow, but last night, as we lay side by side in his bed facing each other, our clothed erections had brushed against one another. Instead of pulling away the way he had previously, Tahegin had pushed in closer, rolling his hips in a slow, sensual wave that had the length of his hard shaft rubbing along mine, every delicate vein prominent even through the cotton of our boxers. The feel of him against me—bare chest heaving against bare chest, muscular stomach colliding and drifting apart with each roll, his cock grinding deliciously against mine, the feel of his hairy leg tangled with mine, his hand gripping my ass to pull me closer . . . God, I’d erupted like I was discovering sex for the first time all over again—too fast, too loud, too unrestrained. It was carnal. Primal. The way I’d continued to thrust against him, even as I grew too sensitive and soaked with release, but not softening. The way I’d moaned—yelled—into his mouth and bit down on his lip hard enough he still had a sore spot this morning. When he came, I felt every pulse and twitch. Had kept rubbing us together until our mess seeped through the fabric of our boxers and the scent of our muck combined. My name fell from his mouth like a prayer, even as I sucked at the small hurt I’d left on his lip. Belatedly, I’d brushed my thumb across his navel, and my Tahegin writhed at the sensation, back arching off the bed as his hips met mine once more. A sexy curse had followed my name.
Clearing my throat, I look away from the tiny sore spot on his bottom lip and adjust myself inside my jeans as subtly as possible. Tahegin notices, quirking a brow.
“I’m not expecting anything,” I grumble. “It’s just . . . the reminder of last night?—”
Tahegin groans in frustration, head falling back against the seat. “ Shit, Rix. Don’t get me hard when there is nothing I can do about it.”
I hold my tongue until we are on the road and I can rely on the busy traffic to distract my mind from the topic of conversation. “You can, you know,” I say, clearing my throat when my voice sounds too deep and raspy. I gesture vaguely toward his lap. “You didn’t sprain your wrist.”
He chuckles softly. “Yes, I’m aware. What I mean is I can’t do anything about it with you . Besides,” he grunts as he grabs under his knee to support his leg while adjusting in the seat, “I think the pain will keep my dick from getting hard anyway.”
“They didn’t give you anything to take the edge off?”
“They offered, but I refused. It was so easy for me to get hooked on alcohol. I don’t want to take a risk with opioids or narcotics.”
Right. That’s smart. Except it means he will be hurting until it heals. “Hmph.”
Blue eyes study me for a moment before he seems to understand my thoughts. “Yeah,” he mutters. “It sucks.”
At Tahegin’s house, Aleks parks behind my car and helps me get Tahegin and our belongings inside.
Then, we realize Tahegin’s bedroom is upstairs. He starts to argue that he can use the crutches to go up to the second floor, but Aleks and I quickly shoot him down. Instead, we spend the next half hour or more bringing Tahegin’s too-expensive and too-heavy mattress down the stairs to set it up in the living room. We also set up a gaming console for him so he’ll have something to occupy his downtime. Finally, we get him settled in a pallet on his mattress on the living room floor with anything he can ever ask for—too many blankets, every remote and charger in the house, snacks, water, and books. We set him up so he can lean against the base of the couch, and he sits there with his head tipped back on the cushion, staring at nothing in particular on the ceiling.
Aleks pulls me to the foyer to speak in a hushed tone. “I’d stay, but I don’t think he wants both of us to hover. As much as I want to claim the spot beside him, I know the hierarchy here. You’ve earned that place.”
“The . . .” I feel my brows furrow in confusion. “What?”
“Don’t even try to play dumb. I know you two are more than friends.”
“He—”
“He didn’t have to tell me anything,” he cuts me off, somehow knowing what I was going to say. I’m glad he does too because I don’t think I’d be able to say “we’re just friends.” Tahegin deserves better than that. “It’s clear to both Micah and me, and don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone until you’re ready for people to know.”
I stare at him.
Aleks continues. “Okay. That being said, you stay here with him. If you need to switch out, call me, and I will be here. Fair warning, if he starts to smell, I will put him in the shower, so if you have an issue with me seeing your man’s bare bits, you do it before I have to, all right?”
I frown. I haven’t thought that far ahead, but surely Tahegin can clean himself, right? Well, maybe he won’t be able to reach below midthigh without stretching his injured leg. He’d make do. Wouldn’t he? Otherwise, I’ll have to help him. Or Aleks. As his best friend, Aleks would probably be chill about seeing Tahegin naked, but as Tahegin’s boyfriend, it should be me caring for him. The thought makes me nervous because while I love everything we’ve done together so far, what if I freeze up when I come face to bare dick with him?
Patting my shoulder, Aleks shoots me a sympathetic look. “I’ll let you figure that out, buddy. Good luck.” He turns, opens the door to leave, and takes one step before looking back at me with an odd expression. “Hey, man. Do us all a favor and watch some damn gay porn, okay?” With that last bit of wisdom, he’s gone.
I take a minute to stand in the foyer and think over what he said, but I’m still reeling when I eventually make my back into the living room.
Tahegin is sitting there, smiling at something on his phone, and when he glances at me, it’s clear to see how easily he reads me like a book. “What’s wrong?” he asks, smile fading as he sets his phone aside. “What did Kiss say?” Of course he knows Aleks said something to make me freak the fuck out.
“It’s not his fault, exactly. He just . . . mentioned something.”
“Tell me.”
Pausing at the edge of his mattress, I sink to my knees on the padded surface. “It’s nothing,” I murmur, reaching out to hold his face, sweeping my thumb across his cheekbone. “How are you feeling?”
He leans into my palm, closing his eyes and giving a tiny shrug. “Fine, all things considered. Leg hurts a bit, and I feel kind of gross sitting in my bed—well, on my mattress—in my practice gear.”
“I can bring you some fresh clothes. Do you want to shower?” I ask and find that I’m grateful this came about authentically instead of me telling him what Aleks said. This way, everything we decide from here on out is because of us and not Aleks. My gaze flickers to the hallway, where I assume his guest rooms are since I’ve never been down that way. The few times I stayed over, before we became an item, I stayed in an upstairs guest room because he said— “Shit. Didn’t you say there are only half baths down here?”
Eyes wide, Tahegin looks at me, his body incredibly still. “Uh . . . no. I don’t think so.”
I distinctly remember him telling me that information. “You did. The first night I stayed here after my old car wouldn’t start, you told me to stay in the upstairs guest room because these down here are all half baths.”
“Hmm, no.” He fidgets with the hem of his practice jersey and now refuses to meet my eyes. “I don’t recall saying that . . . Strange. What a mix-up, huh? Haha.”
My eyes narrow on him. I have never seen someone look so fucking guilty before. “You lied, didn’t you?”
“ What ?” He sputters. “ No .”
“T.”
“Rix,” he responds, voice tight. The admission is on the tip of his tongue, so clearly written in his falsely confused slash pained expression. “I don’t . . . I have no idea what you?—”
“Tahegin.”
“Okay, fine! Yes! I lied because I wanted you to stay upstairs closer to me. Why? Because I have been a total simp for you since the first glare you shot me during tryouts. You did it. You discovered my dirty little white lie. Congrats. Now, can I please wash off the stink of practice?”
I blink at him once. Twice. Silence fills the air between us until I say, “Since day one, huh?” My tone is the cockiest it’s ever been, and I love that Tahegin can pull this playful side out of me.
“Shut up,” he grumbles like a petulant child.
I swear I can see his bronze cheeks darken, and I can’t stop myself from pouncing forward to grip his blush-warm face in my hands, planting a kiss right on his full lips. “It’s cute, T,” I say softly against his mouth. “Besides, if anyone is the simp here, it’s the ‘straight’ guy who’s fallen for you.” The words hit me at the same time they hit him, and we both freeze. Our faces drift apart but stay close as his wide blue eyes meet my equally large ones.
“Hendrix,” he whispers as chills creep down my arms. “You?—”
“ Falling ,” I quickly correct. My thumbs sweep across his cheeks, then his bottom lip. “I just meant—I haven’t ever been interested in anyone, man or woman, the way you interest me. You’ve captivated me, Tahegin. You are the most attractive person—inside and out—that I have ever had the pleasure to know. I like you so much, and maybe I am falling for you, and maybe I can see myself loving you. I really, really hope you feel the same.”
He presses a kiss to the pad of my thumb, and when he blinks up at me, his sapphire eyes are glossier than usual. “I do, Rix.”
I chuckle with relief, and Tahegin darts up to nip at the tip of my nose. The affectionate move makes me falter, and it’s my turn to blush. “Tahegin,” I complain and rub at my nose despite no physical injury having come to it—only wounded manly pride. That move is something a parent would do to an adorable kid, not one grown-ass man to another, especially when one is about to be stripping the other for a shower.
He just shrugs. “Sorry. You’re too cute to resist.”
“Grown men aren’t cute,” I argue.
Tahegin falls into a fit of heavy coughing, waving his hand in front of his face as if smelling something unpleasant. “I need a gas mask,” he wheezes. “I can’t breathe through all this toxic masculinity .”
Rolling my eyes, I shove his shoulder and climb off the bed. “Fuck off.”
“Oh, you mad?”
I stay silent because I’m not mad, and he knows it, despite the fact that a little over six months ago, I detested every word out of his mouth, even if it wasn’t directed at me. “Come on,” I mutter, holding my arms out to help him up. “Let’s get you naked.”
His grin is absurdly wide as he clasps my hands and exclaims, “ Say less .”