Chapter 42
Lars
“ I ’m out.” Dylon sidesteps Caleb’s grabby hands and picks his drink up off the end table. I’m glaring at Caleb for unnecessarily fondling my man when I hear Dylon choke and spray his drink all over Trevor’s new area rug. His wild eyes meet mine, and I vault over the couch.
“What happened? Are you okay?” I’m shaking his shoulders, and he looks like he’s going to be sick.
“I’m so sorry.” His gorgeous hazel eyes fill with tears.
“It’s fine.” Patrik hands Trevor a towel to soak up the liquid from the rug.
“Oh, fuck. It was mine. I set it down, and I shouldn’t have. Fuck.” Caleb’s in a catcher’s stance with his hands tearing at his hair. “Lucky, it’s my fault.”
The realization of what happened hits me, and I’m too slow to comfort Dylon. He wrenches out of my grip and bolts for the guest bathroom. We can hear him throwing up.
“They won’t make him start his days again, will they? I mean, it was a mistake. I’ll take full responsibility.” Caleb’s flushed and panicking, he left his mixed drink on the same table as Dylon’s nonalcoholic drink.
I feel terrible for Caleb, but Dylon has the bathroom door locked and I cannot get to him. “ Min k?rlek , open the door.” He does not respond. “Please let me help you.”
The lock clicks, and he’s wedged on the floor between the toilet and the wall with his phone in his hand. “I’m calling my sponsor. ”
“I’m proud of you,” I say, sitting in front of him with my back against the door.
“I swallowed some,” he barks. “I tasted it, and some of it made it down my throat. You should be furious with me because I wanted to drink the whole damn glass. I realized my mistake and…” He bangs his fist on the wall.
“It was not deliberate.” Today is nothing like Halloween when he thought about drinking. His demeanor is different, and I’m positive my assessment is correct, but anxiety floods my system. It’s hard to stay calm. The problem isn’t that he took a sip of alcohol. It’s how he deals with his mistake, and right now he’s spiraling.
Dylon is not giving himself the grace of his mistake. I didn’t see him take the drink, but it was less than a second between when his brain registered the alcohol and him spitting it out.
His sponsor answers, and Dylon blurts out, “I drank.”
I cannot allow him to mislead his sponsor. “Hi, it’s Lars. Dylon did not decide to drink. He picked up the wrong drink and spit it out.”
We spend time discussing intention, and his sponsor calmly reassures Dylon while she lays out all the ways this could interfere with his sobriety if he lets it put him in a negative head space.
“I still have to report this to the Enforcers.” He flexes his fingers, then lets them drop limply.
“Your program makes allowances for mistakes. The team will consult the experts, and I am confident you have not broken the rules,” the sponsor says.
Dylon’s set jaw suggests he’s still upset with himself.
“Do you think the team should fine me or negate my contract for assault?” I ask, and he sputters unintelligible sounds. “I put my hands on the Detroit player who slashed you. Part of me wanted to strangle him or worse. I didn’t but I wanted to. Should I be punished?” I ask again, demanding an answer. It’s not the same, but there are parallels.
“You didn’t do anything,” he says indignantly.
“I stalked him, waited for a chance to attack him, tore my gloves off, and hit him. If the refs knew I had intent to harm, they would have ejected me. You made an honest mistake since your glass was on the same table. I premeditated an attack. Which is worse?” This is one example, but I do it in almost every game. I search for opportunities to retaliate within the system. If they judged me for intent, I would not have a career.
His sponsor reiterates my sentiment, and Dylon reluctantly agrees to practice humility and willingness as part of his program.
By the time we hang up, he’s exhausted and I intend to get him home in bed. He texted Mr. Dimon and is scheduled to meet with him in two days when he gets back from his trip. Waiting the couple days will be torture for both of us, but it should be an in-person meeting.
Most of the team has left, and the mood’s somber when we enter the living room.
Trevor throws himself in Dylon’s arms. “You got this. You’ll be okay.”
“I made Griff take Benz home. He vas very upset.” Patrik extracts Trevor from Dylon and folds him into his arms.
“I tried to look up the team’s policy, but it’s too specific. You got a room full of guys to back you up,” Ace says in his captain’s voice.
“Thanks,” Dylon says without making eye contact.
Pulling him close, I whisper in his ear, “Stay or go?” The team can provide support, but he might need alone time to process.
“Go.” He nuzzles into me. “I need fresh air. Let’s take the subway.”
We say our goodbyes, and the guys give Dyl hugs and back slaps for support. He needs the touch, especially with his embarrassment.
In the elevator, I wrap him in my arms, breathing in his coconut-lime scent.
“Are you scared?” he murmurs.
“I am worried how this will affect you, but I am not scared of your mistake.” I kiss his temple.
“You have too much faith in me,” he declares softly, his lips below my ear.
“There is instinct and action. And there is fighting both.” I run my fingers through his curls. “I’m still so proud of you. You only had a fraction of a second to decide, and you spit it out.” I hope he sees the positive.
“All over the rug,” he groans .
“No one cares about that. They care about you.”
“If I was an elephant, I would’ve smelled the alcohol and not taken a sip,” he laments.
“A lot of things would be different if you were an elephant. We would not be having this conversation, and I wouldn’t be fantasizing about sex with you.”
“You don’t know that. Elephants have huge dicks. You might be into that.” He bites my neck.
“If your hockey career does not work out, you can work at the zoo.” I tug his hair to bring his head up for a kiss.
We’re unprepared for the paparazzi and the constant click of the cameras as we leave the building. I wish we had ordered a car. We ignore them, walking shoulder to shoulder, and our hands brush against each other.
Our pace quickens, but a few follow us through the turnstiles. “I thought they would leave us alone once we got on the subway,” I fume.
“Same. The fresh air isn’t so fresh with the vultures.”
We find seats in a half-filled car, and with our size, we can sit touching from our shoulders to our legs without it seeming peculiar. From where they’re sitting, the paparazzi cannot see below our chests, so I link our fingers on his thigh.
Dylon sucks in a breath and hooks his ankle around mine. The ride is only one stop, but it was enough time to alert more photographers.
I feel his anxiety and place my palm on the small of his back. I do not give a fuck what pictures they get. He needs comfort, and the news segment with our kiss will air in two days. As I’m about to ask if he’s okay with my touch, he leans into it with a grateful smile.
Questions are hurled at us, but I block them out and focus on the warmth of Dylon’s back. We sprint the last few yards, and the doorman ushers us inside, pushing the elevator button for us.
“Thanks.” Dylon lets out a long exhale. “I don’t know how celebrities put up with that crap. Not a fan.”
“I am a huge fan of yours.” I back him up against the wall in full view of the lenses pressed to the glass .
“Yeah?” His dimple carves a delicious dent in his cheek.
“I want to kiss you.” I cannot take my eyes off his lips.
“Declare ownership with the vultures watching, knowing our picture will be everywhere? Goddamn yes.” He closes the distance between our lips as the elevator doors open and tugs me inside. “No turning back now. They got our picture.”
“I haven’t been able to turn back for over a year. You’re, what do you say? Late to the party.” I grin when his eyes widen, and he lets out a deep belly laugh.
Our lips meet again, and enthralled with the prospect of the claim on Dylon, a rush of possession lances my veins and a giddy bubble of happiness escapes in a chuckle.
The world will know Dylon is mine.
Only mine.
Forever mine.
We exit the elevator and wordlessly move through our apartment into the bathroom, and I turn on the shower.
Once we’re under the hot spray, I ask, “What are you most afraid of?”
“Letting you down. You put so much time and energy into getting me healthy, and I could waste it. How can you trust me after all the things I’ve done?” He sweeps his wet hair out of his broken eyes.
“The only thing you’ve done that upset me was disappear on me for a night. Even if the worst thing happens, I’m not leaving you.” One hand anchors his hip, and the other runs down his back.
“You should.”
“Then you don’t know me very well. Do I overthink and catastrophize? Yes. But I love you, and I won’t let you down by leaving you. Just like you won’t let me down by pretending we’re not in this together.” Dylon harrumphs and I continue. “If I had a career-ending injury, would you end our relationship?”
“No! Why would you ask that?”
“Why would you think I would leave you in your worst moment? I trust you. I believe you will not relapse, but I’m a realist and statistically it happens, and I will be by your side.” Tonight has been so heavy, I channel his humor to lighten the mood. “Try to leave, and I’ll hunt you down, throw you over my shoulder, and drag you back home. Tie you up if necessary.”
His crooked smile lights up his face, highlighting my favorite dimple. “I think tying me up will be necessary.” He kisses me while the water runs down our faces. “But I need you to be honest with me about my addiction.”
I stiffen and Dylon’s fingertips dig into my skin.
“You were scared, realizing I had taken a drink. I was scared. It’s scary and it’s okay to admit that. Like you said, I crave stability and love. But so do you. You don’t see a situation where you leave, but you have no problem envisioning me walking away from you.” Dylon nuzzles my temple and presses his forehead to mine. “I. Will. Never. Leave. You. You are the best thing in my life.”
“You are fearless with your feelings.” I cup his jaw.
“I’m not. But I’m not an idiot who would trash our relationship because of my insecurities. Let’s make a commitment to talk about the bad shit even if it makes our balls shrivel up.”
A laugh startles out of me. “Your mouth.” My thumb traces the corner of his lips. “I promise to tell you the truth and not downplay my feelings.”
“Thank you. I need that. Need to be your equal.”
My heart skips a beat. “But you’re so much more than my equal. You have skills I’ll never possess. I hate talking to people. I am not a person who can put people at ease with a joke or make them feel welcome. Before you, I did not know how to enjoy life.”
“We complement each other. You’re calm and levelheaded, yet ruthless when someone hurts a person you love. My people-pleasing self can’t do that. Now it’s my honor to make sure you enjoy the fuck out of life every single day.” Dylon spins me around and places my hands on the tile. “Spread those cheeks.”
I do as I’m told, and he washes me, then drops down behind me. “Huh, contrary to what my family says, there isn’t a stick up here.” Dylon’s breath dances over my hole.
“It is not a stick I want up there,” I say, canting my hips toward his mouth.
“No? Tell me more,” he asks eagerly .
“Give me everything. Your tongue, fingers, and cock.” My painfully hard erection begs for attention.
“I did promise to thank you.” His tongue rims me, and we groan in unison. Dylon’s hot mouth sucks, nips, and fucks my needy hole.
“Fuck you here or in bed?”
“I…I cannot wait.” I recite hockey drills in my head to ensure I don’t come too soon as his fingers breach me.
“Fuck. You’re so hot like this. Ass out with your meaty cheeks pink from the warm water, your hole sucking my fingers in.” He kisses his way up my spine with his fingers thrusting in and out.
“Stop teasing me,” my breathy voice is not the command I intend.
“You can thank me later for stashing lube in the shower,” Dylon says, and I hear a cap pop open.
“You have my eternal gratitude.” I brace my arms and drop my head between them, staring at my leaking dick.
His tip grazes my hole, and I push back. A whine works its way up my throat, but when he slams into me, it transforms into a grunt.
I’m full of him, and the fear my body held hostage releases each time Dylon drives into me. He replaces all the things that could go wrong with his love and devotion.
“You’re mine, Lars Drakenberg. In private, in public, we’re forever.”
“You are the love of my life,” I say, choking on my emotions. His fingers will leave little bruises, lingering marks of proof of our love.
My declaration makes him feral, and he grips my cock. The orgasm that has been building rips through me, shockwaves of pleasure weakening my knees and exploding in my brain.
Dylon fills me with his cum, and we stay locked together, breathing each other in.
The water runs cold, and we’re forced back to reality. After drying off, we face each other under the covers, sharing a pillow.
“ Skit , we should text Finn,” I say, unhappy with the responsibilities of an adult .
“Wait til he hears you couldn’t keep your lips off me.” Dylon reaches for his phone, and I curl his hair around my finger and sweep it off his forehead.
“I don’t have any regrets. Do you?” I dip my head to press a kiss to his shoulder.
“Never heard of regret.” His dimple takes over his profile as he types. “Oh shit.” He clicks a couple of buttons. “We missed an email from Mr. Dimon while we were occupied in the shower.” He bites his lip.
“On Thanksgiving? You Americans take this holiday seriously and close everything down. Is it bad?” I ask, implying it must be an emergency.
“He’s a workaholic. I’ll read it. ‘Happy Thanksgiving to my Enforcers family. I wanted to take a minute to express my gratitude for this organization and everyone in it. I had a vision when I took over of creating an inclusive environment, and I’m very proud of this team. I expected pushback or worse. But you are a group of extraordinary men and women, who I am proud to work with every day. I was sent a copy of the segment filmed at The Q Solutions to view before it airs. I am inspired by your willingness to stand up for each other and what is right. This is the bravest team in the league. Thank you for your dedication.’ And he signed it.” Dylon turns to me wide-eyed.
“I hope he feels the same when he realizes we once again did not follow the PR plan.” I grimace.
“Baby.” He tosses his phone, unaware the use of the nickname liquefies me so I conform to his body, seeping into him and melding us as one. “The man loves us. We’re brave and he’s forging a new path for the league. A kiss a couple of days early isn’t going to change that. We just sped the train along.”
“ K?rlek , my love, we're on this ride until the end of time. I will never leave you."
When we wake, that kiss is on the front page of every paper and all over social media .
We let it speak for itself and don’t make a statement. We know our love is forever, and that’s all that matters.