Chapter 27 #2
I didn't. I kept going, one hand stroking his cock, the other spreading him wider so I could get my tongue deeper. The water was still running over us, hot and relentless, and Jace was falling apart under my mouth.
“Close,” he gasped. “So close. Gonna—fuck—gonna come—”
“Do it. Come for me. Come from Daddy's tongue.”
He did, his whole body going rigid, cock pulsing in my hand as he came. I felt his ass clench around my tongue, felt him shake through the orgasm, and I kept licking him through it, drawing it out until he was whimpering.
When he finally went limp, I stood up and turned him around, catching him before he could slide down the wall. “I've got you.”
He was breathing hard, eyes unfocused. “That was—I can't—”
“Shh. I know.” I held him against me, letting the water wash over both of us. “Just breathe.”
We stood there for a long moment, just holding each other under the spray, and I felt something shift in my chest. Something warm and terrifying and perfect.
“We should actually shower now,” I said eventually. “Clean up properly.”
“Yeah.” But he didn't move, just stayed pressed against me. “In a minute.”
“In a minute,” I agreed.
When we finally did wash, I was gentle with him, careful around his shoulder, attentive to the places where he was sensitive. He leaned into my touch, trusting me completely, and I thought about how lucky I was to have this. To have him.
I shampooed his hair, fingers massaging his scalp, and he made a sound of contentment that went straight to my chest. When I rinsed it out, he tilted his head back into the spray, eyes closed, completely relaxed.
“Feel good?” I asked.
“Mmm. Really good.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “Your turn.”
He returned the favor, washing my hair with the same careful attention I'd given him, and there was something intimate about it that felt different from the sex. More vulnerable somehow. Like we were taking care of each other in a way that went beyond the physical.
When we were both clean, I turned off the water and grabbed towels for both of us. Jace was moving slowly now, the exhaustion catching up with him, and I wrapped him in the towel and rubbed him dry.
“I can do it myself,” he protested, but he was already leaning into me, letting me take care of him.
“I know you can.” I pressed a kiss to his forehead. “But let me anyway.”
He didn't argue after that, just stood there and let me dry him off, his eyes half-closed. When I was done, I quickly dried myself and we padded back into the bedroom together.
The bed was still a disaster—sheets soaked and rumpled from earlier—and Jace looked at it with a grimace.
“We really fucked that up,” he said.
“We really did.” I started stripping the sheets. “Help me change these, then we'll get you fed.”
We worked together to put on fresh sheets, and by the time we were done, Jace was swaying on his feet. I guided him to sit on the edge of the newly made bed and crouched down in front of him.
“You okay?” I asked, checking his face. “Not too sore?”
“I'm good.” He smiled, soft and genuine. “Really good. Just tired. And hungry.”
“Breakfast?” I asked.
“Yeah. I'm starving.”
I made scrambled eggs and toast while Jace sat at his kitchen counter in sweatpants and one of my t-shirts, scrolling through his phone. The domesticity of it hit me sideways—this was what normal couples did. They had sex and took showers and made breakfast together on a weekday morning.
Except we weren't normal, and this couldn't last.
I shoved that thought down and plated the eggs.
“This looks good,” Jace said, digging in immediately. He took another bite, then looked at me. “What's your plan today?”
“Film review. Practice planning. The usual.” I poured coffee for both of us. “You?”
“Physical therapy. Maybe actually respond to my agent's seventeen messages.” He made a face. “He wants to talk about endorsement deals. Apparently brands are interested in the 'brave gay athlete' angle.”
“Are you interested?”
“I don't know. Maybe? It feels weird to capitalize on it.” He paused. “But also, if I'm going to be out, I might as well use it for something good. Visibility matters, right?”
“It does.” I sat down across from him. “Just make sure you're doing it because you want to, not because you feel obligated.”
“I know.” He reached across the table and laced his fingers with mine.
My phone rang before I could say anything else. Cal's name lit up the screen, and I frowned. Cal didn't call this early unless something was wrong.
“I need to take this,” I said, already answering. “Cal?”
“Grant.” His voice was tight. “Where are you?”
“Why? What's wrong?”
“There's media at Mom's house.” I heard him take a breath. “Like, a lot of media. Vans. Cameras. They're camped outside asking her questions about you and Jace.”
My stomach dropped. “Fuck. When did this start?”
“About an hour ago. Neighbor called me when the first van showed up. I'm on my way there now, but Grant, she's freaking out. She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what you want her to say, and she's getting harassed on her own front lawn.”
Guilt and rage warred in my chest. I'd been so focused on protecting Jace's family that I'd forgotten mine could be just as vulnerable. “Tell her not to say anything. Don't open the door. Don't engage. I'm coming.”
“You're in Ontario.”
“I'll figure it out. Just—stay with her. Don't let them corner her.”
“I will.” He paused. “Grant, how did they even find her?”
“Someone dug. Or they tracked my car. Or a thousand other ways the media gets information.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I'll be there as soon as I can. And Cal? Thank you.”
“Yeah. Just get here.”
I hung up and looked at Jace, who was watching me with concern. “Your mom?”
“Media showed up at her house in Alberta. They're harassing her.” I was already moving, grabbing my jacket, my keys. “I need to go. I need to get there before this gets worse.”
“I'm coming with you.”
I stopped. “Jace—”
“Don't.” He stood up, already heading toward his bedroom. “Don't tell me to stay here. Your mom is dealing with this because of us. Because of me. I'm not letting you handle it alone.”
“You have physical therapy.”
“I'll reschedule.” He was pulling on jeans now, moving fast despite the shoulder. “Grant, I'm coming. Don't argue.”
I should have argued. Should have told him this was my problem to handle, that he didn't need to meet my family under these circumstances. But the truth was, I didn't want to do this alone.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
The flight to Calgary took just under four hours, and I spent most of it on the phone with June, who was already coordinating damage control.
She'd sent her legal team to Mom's house with cease-and-desist orders, but the media wasn't technically doing anything illegal by standing on the public sidewalk.
“I'm flying out there myself,” June said. “Should land around the same time as you. We'll handle this, Grant. Your mom won't have to deal with them alone.”
“Thank you.”
“Just keep a low profile at the airport. Don't give them any more ammunition.”
We landed in Calgary and rented a car, then drove the hour north to the small town where I'd grown up.
“This is where you're from?” Jace asked, looking out at the flat landscape, the distant mountains.
“Yeah. Born and raised.” I took the exit toward town. “Small. Quiet. Everyone knows everyone.”
“Must be weird, having media descend on it.”
“It's a nightmare.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “My mom didn't ask for this. She just wanted to live her life, and now she's getting dragged into our mess.”
“It's not a mess.”
“Isn't it?” I glanced at him. “We're a scandal, Jace. And my mom gets to deal with the fallout.”
“Then we tell a different story.” His voice was firm.
I didn't answer, just focused on driving.
Mom's house was exactly as I remembered—small, tidy, the garden she'd maintained for thirty years still thriving despite the early winter cold. But now there were three news vans parked across the street, cameras set up, reporters milling around with that predatory patience that made my skin crawl.
I parked in the driveway and killed the engine. “Stay close to me. Don't answer any questions.”
“Got it.”
The second we stepped out of the car, they swarmed.
“Coach Sutherland! Can you comment on your relationship with Jace Hartley?”
“Is it true you've been involved since the beginning of the season?”
“How does the Wolves organization feel about this?”
I kept my head down, one hand on Jace's back, guiding him toward the front door. The reporters pressed closer, microphones shoved in our faces, cameras clicking.
“Coach, did you pursue Jace, or did he pursue you?”
“Is this why you were really fired from your last job?”
That one hit like a fist to the gut, but I didn't react. Just kept walking. The door opened before we reached it, and Cal was there, physically blocking the reporters from following us inside.
“Back up,” he said, voice hard. “This is private property. You're trespassing.”
“We're on the sidewalk—”
“You're harassing my family. Get the fuck back.”
I pulled Jace inside and Cal followed, slamming the door behind us. The sudden quiet was jarring after the chaos outside.
“Grant.” Mom's voice, and I turned to find her standing in the hallway, looking smaller than I remembered. She was fifty-eight, her hair more grey than brown now, lines around her eyes that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen her. But her smile was the same—warm and relieved and just for me.
“Mom.” I crossed the space and pulled her into a hug, feeling her squeeze me tight.
“I'm okay,” she said against my chest. “I'm okay. Just scared. I didn't know what to do.”
“You did exactly right. You didn't engage.” I pulled back, hands on her shoulders. “I'm sorry. I should've warned you this might happen.”
“You can't control the media.” She looked past me to where Jace was standing awkwardly by the door. Her expression softened. “And you must be Jace.”