Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Marco
étienne hadn’t looked at me once since we’d come downstairs.
I sat on the couch where he’d settled me ten minutes ago, my injured foot elevated on pillows, and watched him move around the kitchen. He’d said something about making lunch. An excuse to put distance between us, probably.
My stomach churned with a sick, heavy dread that had nothing to do with hunger.
He knew. He had to know my secret.
The shower replayed in my mind for the hundredth time in ten minutes—a loop I couldn’t stop, couldn’t escape. étienne’s arm around my waist, helping me into the shower. His hands steadying me, cautious and gentle. The steam rising around us in the bathroom, making everything feel closer.
And then I’d gotten hard.
Completely, obviously, mortifyingly aroused.
There’d been no hiding it. No way to pretend it wasn’t happening. étienne had glanced down—just long enough to see—and the expression on his face…
Horror. That’s what I’d seen. Or maybe disgust. He’d gone pale, his eyes going wide, and then he’d jerked his gaze away so fast it was almost violent.
“I’ll be right outside,” he’d stammered, already backing toward the door. “Just call if you need—if you—”
He hadn’t even finished the sentence. Just fled, leaving me sitting there naked and humiliated in the shower.
My hands clenched into fists against my thighs. I wanted to hit something. Wanted to rewind time and undo the last hour. Wanted to have better control over my own goddamn body.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I’d spent seventeen years making sure no one had any reason to suspect.
And then étienne had moved in, and all that discipline had started slipping. The casual touches. The comfortable intimacy. Sharing space, sharing routines, sharing a life that felt dangerously close to one I couldn’t let myself want.
I’d thought I could handle it. Thought I could keep the lines clear in my head—friend, not more than a friend. Teammate helping teammate. Temporary arrangement that would end when his apartment was ready.
Except I’d gotten hard while he was touching me, and now he knew.
Or at least, he suspected. He had to.
My jaw clenched. Maybe I could fix this. Maybe if I just pretended nothing had happened, we could move past it. Physical reactions were just biology, right? It didn’t have to mean anything. Lots of guys got erections from physical touch, from being naked, from nothing at all.
I took a slow breath, trying to calm the panic clawing at my chest.
The question was: what happened next?
Would he confront me? Ask uncomfortable questions I couldn’t answer? Or would he do what I would do—pretend it never happened, bury it beneath layers of silence and avoidance until we both forgot?
Neither option felt good.
I couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Not because my body had betrayed me at the worst possible moment and shown him something I’d never meant for anyone to see.
The thought of going back to the isolation I’d lived in before étienne felt unbearable.
Three years of friendship, of someone knowing me—not all of me, but more than anyone else ever had.
Someone who texted me stupid memes at midnight.
Someone who brought me coffee without being asked.
Someone who’d insisted on helping me even when I’d tried to push him away.
I’d ruined it. One moment of lost control, and I’d ruined the best thing in my life.
Cabinet doors opened and closed in the kitchen, and plates clinked together. I shouldn’t be watching him. Should give him privacy, give myself space to get my head together.
But I couldn’t stop.
My eyes tracked his movements like I was studying game tape.
The way he reached for the top shelf and his shirt rode up to expose a strip of skin on his lower back.
The efficient movements of his hands as he assembled sandwiches.
The unconscious grace in how he moved through the space—my space, but somehow it had become ours.
Everything I’d trained myself not to notice was suddenly impossible to ignore.
The slope of his shoulders. The way his hair fell across his forehead when he bent to grab something from the fridge. The easy strength in his body.
I was staring. I knew I was staring. And I was terrified it showed on my face—all the desire I’d kept locked away, all the feelings I’d never let myself acknowledge.
“Turkey or ham?” étienne called from the kitchen.
I blinked, trying to focus. “What?”
“Sandwich. Turkey or ham?”
“Either. Whatever.”
He appeared a few minutes later carrying two plates, and I analyzed the way he walked. Had he always moved with such a confident swagger? Or was I just noticing it now?
He set my plate on the coffee table and settled onto the couch beside me. Not quite as close as he’d been sitting before the shower. Maybe six inches farther away.
Was that significant? Was he pulling back?
Or was I reading too much into everything?
“Thanks,” I said, reaching for my sandwich.
“No problem.”
Our fingers brushed as he handed me a napkin. Just barely, just for a second, but I felt it like an electric shock. My pulse jumped and my skin heated where he’d touched me.
This was bad.
We ate in silence. The kind of silence that should have been comfortable but felt weighted instead, full of things neither of us was saying.
I caught him glancing at me a few times, his expression unreadable. Tried not to wonder what he was thinking. Tried not to analyze whether those glances meant anything or if I was just being paranoid.
“How’s your foot?” he asked finally.
“Fine. The shower didn’t hurt it.”
His expression flickered too quickly to interpret. “Good. That’s good.”
More silence.
This wasn’t our norm. The rhythm we’d fallen into over the past few days had been disrupted by whatever had happened in that bathroom, and I didn’t know how to get it back.
Didn’t know if I wanted it back, because going back meant pretending I didn’t want things I couldn’t have.
My phone chimed on the coffee table, and I grabbed it.
Kinnunen
OK to stop by around 6 to check on you? I’ll bring dinner.
I showed étienne. “You mind?”
“Course not. I’ll make sure the place doesn’t look like a disaster zone.”
Kinnunen arrived right at six, carrying a bag from the barbecue place downtown that made incredible ribs. He took one look at my setup on the couch—the command center étienne had built, the organized system, the medical supplies neatly arranged—and let out a low whistle.
“Damn, Savard’s got you set up like a hospital wing.”
“He’s been a big help,” I said. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“It’s nice you’ve got someone to take care of you.” Kinnunen settled onto the other end of the sectional. “Living alone with an injury like that would suck. Good that Savard’s here and willing to step up.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s been great. Helps with things I can’t do with the boot. Makes sure I’m following the doctor’s orders.”
Kinnunen smiled. “Sounds like he’s keeping you honest.”
“Someone has to.”
“That’s what teammates are for, right? We take care of each other.”
étienne appeared from the kitchen with plates and utensils. “You talking about me?”
“Just about what a shitty friend you are,” Kinnunen teased.
“Fuck you,” étienne said without heat. He dropped onto the couch between us and handed out plates.
We spent the next hour eating barbecue and talking.
Kinnunen caught me up on team dynamics, walked through the upcoming schedule, and showed me approximately forty pictures of his baby daughter, who was objectively adorable even if I’d never admit how many times he made me look at the same smile from slightly different angles.
Around eight, Kinnunen checked his phone and stood. “I should head out. Alyssa’s got the baby, and I promised I’d be home by nine.”
“Thanks for stopping by,” I said. “Really. And for the food.”
“No problem.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch. “You take care of that foot, okay? Do your exercises, don’t be an idiot and try to do too much too soon. We need you back.”
“I know. I’m following the protocol.”
“Good. Because the team needs you.” He looked at étienne. “Keep him honest, Savard.”
“I will.”
Kinnunen grinned. “I’m counting on it.” He headed for the door, then paused and looked back at me. “Rest up, Morelli. Get better soon. We’ll see you back on the ice before you know it.”
“Thanks, Kinnunen.”
The door closed behind him, and the house settled into quiet.
The evening dragged on. We tried to watch TV, but neither of us was really paying attention. The relaxed companionship we’d built felt fractured, replaced by an awkward awareness that I didn’t know how to navigate.
Around ten, étienne stood up and stretched. “I’m going to head to bed.”
Not “we should get some sleep” or “time to crash.” Just him. Going upstairs. To his room.
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Night.”
“Night. Call if you need anything. I’ll leave my door open.”
He disappeared up the stairs.
And I was alone.
This was fine. This was good, even. I needed space.
But lying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t stop the ache in my chest.
I missed him—his presence on the other section of the couch, knowing he was close by, the comfort of falling asleep near him.
And I hated feeling that way. Resented how deeply I’d grown accustomed to having him there.
Despised that I couldn’t just accept help without wanting more, that every kind gesture and gentle touch only made me crave what I could never have.
Was he staying away because he’d noticed something? Because he’d seen the way I looked at him in the bathroom, seen the desire I’d tried so hard to hide?
Or was I just being paranoid, reading meaning into a perfectly reasonable decision to sleep in his own bed?
My phone lit up on the coffee table. A text from étienne.
étienne
You good down there?
I stared at it for a long moment before responding.
Marco
Yeah. All good.
étienne
Okay, yell if you need anything.
Marco
Will do. Thanks.
The conversation felt stilted even in text form. Like we were both being too polite.
I set my phone down and closed my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep.
But my mind wouldn’t stop racing.
I was losing my grip on the composure that had kept me safe, kept my secret, kept me from losing everything.
And I didn’t know how to get it back.
Didn’t know if I even wanted it back, because as terrifying as this was, as dangerous as it felt, there was something intoxicating about it too.
I’d lived alone behind my armored walls for so long, but being seen, being cared for, having someone notice when I was in pain and insist on helping even when I said I was fine was… nice.
Having étienne here, in my space, in my life, in ways I’d never allowed anyone to be before scared the hell out of me, but not in the ways I thought.
But that intoxication was dangerous. Because wanting more meant risking everything—my best friend, my teammate, my family’s approval.
And suddenly being alone terrified me more than anything else.