Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
zane
The arena’s supposed to be empty at ten-thirty on a Tuesday night.
It’s not.
The sound of skate blades slashing through ice echoes from the main rink as I swipe through the staff entrance. My pulse hammers hard. I shouldn’t be here. Should have gone back to my hotel, should have let Tate walk away and stayed the fuck out of his life.
But I couldn’t. Because the look on his face when he accused me of playing him is burned into my brain.
The arena’s security lights cast shadows as I head toward the rink.
The doors to the main rink are propped open. My breath hitches when I see him through the glass. Tate is skating hard, working through a drill that involves sharp cuts and aggressive stops. He’s not wearing any gear except for skates. Just jeans and a hoodie.
He looks like he’s trying to outrun something.
I stand in the doorway for a minute, just watching him. This is his space, his sanctuary. And I’m about to invade it because I can’t handle the thought of him hating me.
Because I can’t handle the thought of never touching him again.
His eyes meet mine when he comes around the far turn, his stride wavering for just a second before he recovers. But he doesn’t stop skating. Doesn’t acknowledge that I’m here. Just keeps skating like I don’t exist.
“Tate.” My voice echoes in the empty arena.
He does another lap before stopping at center ice, chest heaving, hair damp with sweat, face flushed from the cold and the workout. But his eyes glitter with anger.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” He skates toward the bench. “We said everything we needed to say. Or rather, I said everything. You didn’t say shit. So just piss off. I’m not doing this with you, Zane. Not here.”
“Then where? Because you won’t answer your phone, and you sure as hell aren’t gonna talk to me at practice tomorrow.”
“That’s right.” He reaches the bench and drops down hard, tugging at his skate laces. “I’m done with this.”
“You can’t just shut me out.”
“Watch me.”
“Tate, listen to me—”
“No.” He looks up from his skates, ire flashing in his eyes. “You listen to me. I’m not your backup plan. I’m not some kid you can jerk around when you’re bored with your boyfriend.”
“I promise he’s not my boyfriend.”
“I don’t give a fuck what he is. The point is, you’ve got him and you want me too, and I’m not playing that game.”
“It’s not a game.”
“It sure as hell looks that way.” He stands up, one skate off, the other still laced. “You show up in my life, mess with my head, make me want things I can’t have, then disappear when it gets complicated.”
“I’m not disappearing. I’m right here.”
“For how long? Until your dinner date calls? Until you get bored? Until you decide I’m not worth the trouble?”
The bitterness in his voice slices into me. Because he’s not wrong. I am going to disappear, eventually. When Morrison decides I’m too compromised, when the operation ends, when staying becomes too dangerous for both of us.
But not yet. Not tonight.
“You want to know the truth?” I ask, stepping closer.
“No. I want you to leave me alone.”
I ignore him and move closer. “The truth is that guy you saw me with is the reason I can’t sleep at night. He’s the reason I check over my shoulder everywhere I go. He’s the reason I can’t tell you what you want to know.”
Tate stops working on his skate and narrows his eyes at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“My life is complicated in ways you can’t imagine. And getting involved with me puts you at risk.”
“Risk of what?”
Tate holds up a hand when I don’t answer right away. “You know what? Forget it. Your silence speaks volumes.”
He stands up and starts walking toward the tunnel, carrying his skates by the laces. Moving away from me like I’m something toxic.
But I can’t let him walk away. Not like this.
“You’re right,” I call out.
He stops but doesn’t turn around. “About what?”
“About me being a coward. About me jerking you around. About me not giving you what you deserve.”
“And?”
“And I’m tired of it, too.”
Slowly, he turns to face me, confusion in his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that whatever happens tomorrow, whatever complications my life brings, tonight I want to stop lying. Tonight I want to give you something real.”
“Like what?”
I reach out and cup his face in my hands. His skin is cold from the air but warm underneath. He trembles slightly under my fingertips.
“I can’t tell you everything,” I say. “But I can tell you this. What you do to me, what I feel when I’m around you…that’s not fake. That’s not me playing games or jerking you around. That’s real.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Because I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t risk everything to chase you down just to lie to your face.”
“Risk everything?”
“Being here with you, like this, it’s the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. And I’m doing it anyway because the alternative…letting you think I don’t want you…is so much fucking worse.”
He stares at me. “You want me?”
“I want you so much it’s fucking killing me.”
“Prove it.”
The challenge hangs between us, a dare. Like he’s testing me to see if I’ll back down when things get real.
But I don’t back down.
I kiss him instead. He makes a sound against my mouth…surprise or relief or need, maybe all three. Then he’s kissing me back, our tongues coiling in an explosion of heat and desire.
This is different from the bathroom. Less angry. Like we’re both desperate for something only the other can provide.
My cock strains against my pants, aching to break free when he pulls away.
“That’s not proof,” he says, his voice rough. “That’s just kissing.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop holding back. I want you to show me that this matters to you.”
“It does matter.”
“Then prove it.”
I stare at him, understanding exactly what he’s asking for. What he needs from me to believe that this is real.
Without breaking eye contact, I drop to my knees in front of him.
The cold seeps through my pants immediately, but I don’t care. All I care about is the way Tate’s breath catches, the way his eyes watch me, the heated stare making my dick throb and ache.
“Zane, you don’t have to... ”
“I want to.”
“Here? In the rink?”
“Here. Now. Before you have a chance to convince yourself this isn’t real.”
I reach for the button of his jeans, and he doesn’t stop me. His hands shake as he braces himself against the wall, but his eyes never leave mine.
“This is crazy,” he rasps.
“Yeah.”
“Someone could come in.”
“Yeah.”
“We could get caught.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
He’s quiet for a moment. The smart play would be to say yes, to walk away before this gets any more complicated.
“No,” he finally whispers. “Don’t stop.”
I work his jeans open slowly, savoring every shaky breath he takes. Then I slide them and his boxer briefs down to his knees. His cock springs free, the tip already glistening with precum. My mouth waters at the sight of him.
“Fuck,” he breathes when I lick the palm of my hand before wrapping it around him.
“Not yet,” I say, looking up at him. I take him into my mouth without warning, and the strangled sound he makes echoes off the arena walls. His hands fist my hair, gripping tight as he fucks my mouth.
I take him deep, his cock thick between my lips. I work him slowly at first, relishing the way his body responds as I stroke and suck him harder and harder.
“Christ, Zane... ” His voice is wrecked already, and I’ve barely started.
I pull back just enough to speak. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want... fuck, I want you to stop thinking so much and just take what you want.”
“What I want is to make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
“Then do it,” he says.
I do. I take him deeper, using everything I learned about his body in Vegas, everything I’ve imagined doing to him in the two years since. The tang of him dances on my tongue. I dig my fingers into his ass, my lips beckoning him to drive harder into my mouth.
The arena fades away. The risk of being caught, the cold concrete under my knees, the impossibility of our situation…none of it means a damn thing right now. All that matters is the way he gasps my name, the way his hips jerk forward, the way he’s coming apart in my hands and mouth.
“I’m close,” he chokes out, tugging at my hair.
I don’t pull away. Instead, I take him deeper, faster, using my hand and mouth together until he’s writhing against the wall.
He comes hard, filling my greedy mouth. I take it all, swallowing every drop, keeping his cock buried between my lips until the pleasure is too much and he slips out of my mouth, tremors still rippling through him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, slumping back against the boards. “That was... ”
“Real,” I finish. I lick my lips, never breaking my gaze.
“Yeah. Real.”
We stare at each other.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he mutters, tucking himself back into his jeans.
“What do you mean?”
His jaw tightens. “Tomorrow you’ll go back to being mysterious and evasive, and I’ll go back to trying not to want you. This was just... ” He gestures vaguely. “Physical.”
“Is that what you think this was?”
“What else could it be? You’ve made it clear that anything more is impossible.”
He’s right, and that’s what makes this so fucking heartbreaking. Because I want more. I want everything. I want to wake up next to him and tell him the truth about my life and not have to look over my shoulder every time we’re together.
But wanting something doesn’t make it possible.
“Maybe it is impossible,” I say.
“Then we’re done here.”
He walks toward the tunnel while I stare after him. At the gate, he pauses but doesn’t turn around.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, “that felt real to me too. But sometimes real isn’t enough.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left standing in an empty arena with the taste of him still on my lips and the knowledge that I just made everything more complicated.
Because now I know what I’m giving up.
And I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do it.