10. CONNOR
TEN
CONNOR
For the entire first period, it’s hard to focus, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the hangover.
Parker Duchene decided sometime last night to stop being a dick. And here he is, doing it. How does he flip a switch so easily?
Why can’t I flip my switch and be an understanding and caring guy without going overboard? Why is it that when Easton is flattened against the boards, I can’t let go of the urge to go down there and beat Baarsey until he bleeds?
Protect your brother at all costs. Mom’s voice rings through my head, and I can’t help asking if it’s because anytime Easton or Lachie were hurt, I’d have that at the forefront of my mind or if it has always been instinctual to act.
They were my brothers, and it was my job to protect them.
Was I reading into what our parents taught me? Taking it to a level I wasn’t supposed to? Or was it a natural progression?
I hate that I’m questioning every thought now. Every gut instinct.
Parker laughs, and when I look over at him, he’s staring at me. “You look like you want to kill Baarsey. ”
“It was a cheap shot that was borderline at best. If Knox was down there, he would’ve called it.”
“The refs right next to the action disagree with you there.”
I huff.
He laughs again. “You really do have this ownership-type relationship over Easton, don’t you? Should I be worried about rumors of brocest and inappropriate behavior?”
“If there’s any brocest, it’s between Easton and Knox.” I shudder. “It’s still weird seeing two guys I consider brothers make out.”
“That’s one less thing for the franchise to worry about, then, but all I can say is, I kind of see where Easton’s coming from.”
“Yeah, yeah, everyone can see it. Even me now that it’s been pointed out, but the issue is not knowing how to stop that side of me from coming out. How did you do it?”
Parker cocks his head. “Do what?”
“Decide to stop hating me and then just stop. When Easton and I got in that fight on the ice and he asked for a trade, I promised I’d stop, but … the instinct is still there, and it takes a conscious effort to squash it down.”
Parker looks down at where the game is on a short re-icing break. “Maybe it’s easy for me because I know the anger I’ve directed at you has been misplaced.”
“Has it though? Like you said?—”
“Don’t get me wrong, I hated high school, didn’t like my life much, and I fully blamed you for that. I thought I wanted to see you with no one, like I’ve always been, but now you’re telling me that’s how you feel, and … it’s not the victory I’d expected it would be. Besides, my anger toward you isn’t because of that. Not completely. It’s because my dad died before I was ready to let him go, and it’s easier to be mad at someone else instead of him. Or the medical field. Or cancer. If I’m focusing all my anger on you, it takes away the pain of being angry at someone or something that can’t fight back. ”
Fuck, that’s heavy.
Parker turns his head to me, his eyes glassy like he’s holding back tears, and it would be so easy for me to break down and cry with him. Over what? Anything. Everything.
“I bought the team because my dad loved hockey. He loved this team. It was the one he played for during his brief career with the NHL.”
Oh. Ohhh. Yup. Looking back on our last conversation, where I accused him of buying the team for some silly vendetta, it’s looking a whole lot petty from my side of things.
“It kind of sounds like we both need a friend,” I say.
Parker almost chokes on his spit.
“And I know that sounds ridiculous, considering our past and what you’ve put me through this season already, but I’m just saying—” I gesture around the empty owner’s suite. “I’m lost and have no one. You’re grieving and have no one. And maybe if we can both swallow our differences, we might be able to move on from our misgivings. You can begin to heal after your loss, and I … I can figure out who I am outside of being Connor Kikishkin, eldest Kiki brother who is a bruiser on the ice and a possessive asshole off it.”
This time when he looks at me, it’s with a smile on his lips, and the lights of the arena make his wet eyes sparkle. “High school me would be very interested to know that if I gave it ten years, Connor Kikishkin would ask me to be his friend.”
“High school me deserves a kick in the teeth. We should time travel together and go back to our old selves. You can tell yours that even though you have no friends, you have billions of dollars, and crying in an owner’s suite is a lot more comfortable than crying in the nosebleeds. I can tell past me to pull his head out of his ass and at least try to be a decent human being.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Though his smile fades, I do get the sense he’s being genuine .
We stare at each other, not speaking but somehow saying everything.
We’re both sorry.
We’re both hurting.
And it’s not fair to take it out on each other.
“And so you know, you have grown up to be a decent person.”
I wish I could believe him, but with the rift between Easton and me only getting bigger and repeating the same mistakes with Parker that I did in high school, it’s really difficult. “I’m not, but I hope to be one day.”
“And that’s how I know you’re a decent person,” Parker says and looks down at the ice again.
It’s a scoreless game so far, one of those—dare I say it—boring games where no one can find the net on either end.
“How?”
“Because you care about being a decent person. A true narcissist wouldn’t ever admit they’re not perfect.”
“So now you’re calling me a narcissist?” I quip.
He holds his thumb and forefinger together. “Little bit.”
That’s probably fair. “I wish I could argue with you, but you’ve got me there.”
“Nah, you’ll be fine. Like I said, all you have to do is find that one person who likes possessiveness in a partner. Then, you focus all your toxic behavior on them. Win-win.”
“I’d rather not be toxic at all.”
Parker lifts one shoulder. “Eh, a little toxicity can be fun.”
My gaze snaps to his, but before I can ask what he means, the horn of a home goal blasts through the arena, and he gets to his feet, clapping and cheering for my team. Our team.
And when he turns to me with soft eyes that remind me of that boy back in the halls of high school, something in my gut flutters again. Only this time, I know for sure it isn’t hatred. Or being hungover.
I have no clue what it actually is, but I know that I like it.
Considering how wrecked I’ve been all day, I can’t sleep when I get home after the game. I’m lying in bed, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable.
Parker and I have made progress, and I’m understanding the guy a lot more, but … there’s something about the words he said to me tonight that I can’t get out of my head.
When I was asking all those hypotheticals like do I really like blondes or is it because hockey players are known for it, he said I might not like women at all.
In the moment, I got defensive and felt the urge to express my heterosexuality, but since that very second when the words came out, there was that little voice of doubt asking, “But are you?”
Easton didn’t come out to us until he was in college, but I knew. He wasn’t into girls the way I was, and when I saw him that day in the hallway with Parker, looking overfriendly and almost flirting, I thought he was going to fuck up his future because of it.
As we got older, protecting him from bullies became protecting him from his sexuality, and it’s not until this moment that I realize I have no idea where that bias came from. Now, as I look back on it, I understand how it might come across. Especially to Easton.
Thinking he needed to hide who he was to ensure he got to keep hockey? Believing hockey was more important while I had all the hookups I wanted?
Loving my brothers so much that I didn’t want to see them hurt sounds good in theory, but oppressing them to do it? Not okay.
And maybe it’s been that line of thinking that causes me to quickly defend being labeled as anything but straight. Because in my mind, I have to be the straight one.
Have I ever thought of a man in that way before? No. But it’s no different to asking me if I’d ever gotten drunk at a team-sanctioned charity event before last night. The answer is also no because I would never do something so risky.
What if I want to do something risky, damn it? Why do Easton and Lachie have all the fun?
And why do I keep replaying the look on Parker’s face when he said all I have to do is find someone who likes my possessive side? The gleam in his eye, the small smile on his lips … the way his skin turned a shade of pink … or was that from the lights of the arena?
For whatever reason, when I think back on him saying that, I get the impression he meant he would like my possessive side, but that doesn’t make sense because he still hates me.
He might say he’s letting it go, or it’s misplaced anger or whatever, but those feelings don’t go away that easily. At least, I don’t know how to let them go that easily. Usually. With him … yeah, I’m willing to let it go.
I thought he was here purely to get revenge, but he’s not. He’s here for his dad, and if it were my dad who was gone and I had an endless amount of money, I probably would’ve done the exact same thing.
I also can’t get out of my head how he called me a decent person purely because I care about being one. I always thought I was a decent person. Loyal. And now, when I feel the world is against me, he tried to reassure me that I can be the guy I thought I was.
For whatever stupid reason, I like Parker seeing me that way. I wish I could’ve shown that from the second he stepped foot in our locker room—no, even before that, in high school—but the thing is, when your head is so far up your ass, you think everyone loves you.
I hate that I’ve hurt people close to me, but I think I hate even more that I’ve hurt someone I barely know. Who I never bothered to get to know.
If Parker and I have found a way to make a truce, then I’m going to make the effort to prove to him and myself that he can be right about me and that I can turn into a decent human being.
This revelation doesn’t help me get to sleep, and the more I toss and turn, the more my sheets rub against my cock, making me realize it’s been a few days since I jerked off.
As much as I want to, I don’t reach into my pajama pants because I find it too weird that I’m rock hard while thinking about the heart-to-heart I had with Parker.
The two aren’t connected. Sheets, friction, hard cock. It’s basic biology. It’s science.
Correlation doesn’t equal causation and all that shit they taught us in high school.
High school. Where I knew Parker. Who’s now my team’s owner. I refuse to touch my cock.
I refuse to jerk off while Parker keeps jumping into my brain.
Though, the more I toss and turn, the harder my cock gets. By this point, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until I have some relief.
Fuck it. I strip off my pajamas and run my hand down my chest and hard abs.
I try to imagine what Parker’s abs look like now he’s grown up. He’s still scrawny, but not like he once was. Does he work out? Does he?—
Stop.
I wrap my fingers around my cock and focus on the sensation rippling down my hard shaft. So fucking hard. I close my eyes and throw my head back. I can’t remember the last time I got laid, so this isn’t going to take long. The quicker, the better. It’s about release, not about anything else.
Or anyone else .
It’s only me getting off. Like I have a thousand times before. Thinking of all the naked women. Porn. Them being turned out by some faceless dude I never pay attention to when I watch it. Though, that makes me ask why I never pay attention to them. Logic says it’s because I’m attracted to women, therefore seeing other men in a fantasy situation is easy to tune out. But … what if … I haven’t paid attention to them because I never thought I could? What if I thought my default setting was heterosexual, so I never even let myself think of men that way?
Parker’s comment replays over in my head again. Maybe you’re not into women at all.
And we’re back on Parker again.
I slump back, the hold on my cock relaxing but not completely letting go. I’m too in my head to come, but I won’t be able to sleep until I do.
Do I give up, or do I give in?
I’m Connor Kikishkin. I will step up and get it done. I start stroking again, fast. Hard. And all I let myself think about is coming.
Nothing else.
I’m not going to think about Parker. I’m not going to think about Parker Duchene. I’m not going to?—
Without permission, his face appears in my mind, and in the next second, cum fills my hand before I can really register what’s happening.
I still for a few breaths until the realization dawns.
I just jerked off over a man who, with one sentence, has made me question everything.