Chapter 15 Grady
Roman's jacket hung over a dining chair.
I noticed it from my kitchen—navy canvas with a frayed cuff, draped there like he'd done it a thousand times instead of a few times over the past two months. His shoes sat by the door, one tipped onto its side. The glass he'd used earlier waited in the sink, rinsed but not put away.
My hand had twitched toward the shoes when I walked past. Reflex. Straighten what's out of alignment.
I left them.
The overhead fixture stayed dark. Under-cabinet lighting carved warm angles across my granite counters. The dishwasher had finished its cycle twenty minutes ago, and the green light still glowed.
I stood there, palms flat against the counter, while Roman sat in the living room reviewing film. One leg tucked under him. Shoulders loose. His tablet resting against his thigh.
My condo had cost enough to matter without feeling showy. Professional. Clean lines, sparse furniture, everything positioned exactly where I wanted it. My parents said it looked like a hotel.
Roman fit into the picture without disrupting a single surface.
It wasn't comforting in the way it could have been.
People who stayed left marks. Accumulated things. Built routines that required negotiation as they rearranged spaces to accommodate themselves. Roman moved through my condo like water—rearranging nothing.
Some would call that maturity. I pegged it as temporary.
The dishwasher chirped at me. I opened the door and started unloading.
Roman appeared in the doorway.
"You're quiet."
"I'm good."
He stepped into the kitchen, closing the distance between us. He reached out for my waist, spreading his fingers to touch my hip.
With another step, he eliminated the gap between us. His chest nearly touched mine.
"You've been standing here silent for ten minutes."
"Thinking."
"About?"
"Thursday's matchup."
Roman's thumb grazed my hipbone.
He grinned at me. "Want to try that again?"
Roman leaned in close. His breath was warm against my jaw.
His other hand settled on my shoulder, gently squeezing.
That was our pattern now. He took the initiative, and I let him fill my space. No conversation required. Efficient. Clean.
Roman lightly ground his hips against mine. His body fit perfectly into mine, his cock hard between our bellies.
He whispered in my ear. "Do you want me to go?"
"No."
"I should stay then? What do you want, Grady?"
"Bedroom."
Simple. Direct. No need to complicate the moment.
Roman moved his hand from my waist to my wrist, fingers wrapping around.
"Come on."
He turned and walked toward the hallway, my wrist still in his grip, leading me through my own home.
He kissed me hard, his mouth hot and urgent against mine. Roman's tongue swept in, and I tasted mint, clean and sharp.
Backing me toward the bed, he unbuckled my belt with nimble fingers.
I pulled his shirt over his head. His chest flushed, pink spreading south over his smooth chest. A faint bruise colored his collarbone from yesterday's practice.
I brushed a thumb over it. He inhaled sharply, his abs contracting.
"Grady—"
I kissed him to stop whatever he'd been about to say.
We stripped ourselves naked. Standing there, my cock swelled, responding to the sight of him, hard and flushed, a bead of precum glistening at his tip.
Roman shoved me backward onto the bed and followed me down, his cock pressed against my thigh, hot and heavy.
He kissed my jaw and found the spot below my ear that made my pulse spike. His tongue and lips slid lower, down the side of my neck and over my collarbone. He found my nipple and bit down.
"Fuck," I arched.
He did it again, harder, while he smacked my hard abs with his other hand. My cock twitched.
I gripped his shoulders, holding on while he teased my body, finally settling between my thighs.
He exhaled against my cock. I squirmed.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Yeah."
Roman wrapped his lips around my head and took it into his mouth.
Wet heat engulfed me. I sucked in air through my teeth as his tongue worked along the underside of my cock. He hollowed his cheeks and took me deeper, the back of his throat contracting around the head.
"Jesus—fuck—"
He pulled back slightly, tongue swirling around the tip before taking me deep again. One hand wrapped around the base of my cock while the other pressed against my inner thigh, keeping my legs spread.
I threaded my fingers through his hair, trying to ground myself, but the wet sounds of his mouth and the sight of his lips stretched around me took me apart piece by piece.
My hips jerked involuntarily. He didn't pull off, merely adjusted.
He knew precisely what I needed. Calibrated the pressure. Expertly deployed his hand. He read my body, adjusting to what made me gasp, finding a rhythm that wrecked me.
I was close. At the edge. My breath came in gasps.
Roman pulled off with slick sounds, his lips swollen and wet, a string of saliva connecting his tongue to my cock.
My cock jerked, leaking.
I reached for the nightstand drawer, pulled out the lube and a condom.
He climbed onto the bed, hands and knees, presenting himself. I slicked my fingers.
He was already loose. He'd prepared himself before coming over.
Planning. Anticipation. Hope?
I pushed the thought away and worked my fingers deep inside, opening him up. He pushed back against my hand as I stretched him, finding the angles that made him gasp and press his forehead to the mattress.
"Ready," he grunted, voice rough.
I pulled my fingers out, tore open the condom, and rolled it on.
Positioned myself behind him, with one hand on his hip. The other guided my cock.
I pushed inside in one smooth thrust. Roman's back arched, muscles flexing under sweat-slicked skin.
I bottomed out and held still. Let him adjust. Let myself adjust to the tight heat of him.
"Move."
I pulled back. Thrust in again.
Found our familiar rhythm, deep and steady, nothing frantic. Roman pushed back to meet me, his body accepting every thrust, opening for me.
I watched where we joined, my cock disappearing into him.
Roman's breathing got rougher. He balanced on one hand, the other he used to stroke himself.
I shifted the angle slightly, rolling my hips.
"Fuck. There. Don't stop."
I fucked him steadily, watching his body respond. We moved together with the same instinctual drive that made us dangerous on the ice. No wasted motion. Perfect timing.
Roman's entire body flexed.
"Grady—I'm—"
He came with a choked sound, spilling cum onto the sheets. The clench of his ass and the feral sounds he made pushed me over.
I thrust in deep and came hard, pulse after pulse, on the edge of blacking out.
For ten seconds, I was floating, completely untethered. Then it ended.
I pulled out carefully and dealt with the condom.
Roman collapsed onto his side, breathing hard, sweat gleaming on his skin.
He reached for me. Hand gripping my wrist.
"Come here," he said quietly.
I fell onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.
Roman moved closer. He pushed a hand under my back, wrapping around, pulling me against him.
He was trying to hold me. Stay close.
I climbed out of bed.
"Bathroom."
When I opened the bathroom door, Roman was still in bed. On his back, one arm behind his head, the sheet pulled to his waist.
I crossed to the dresser and pulled out boxer briefs. Stepped into them and grabbed a t-shirt.
"You want water?"
"Sure."
I walked to the kitchen and filled two glasses.
Roman appeared in the doorway wearing only his boxer briefs. He leaned against the doorframe.
I handed him the second glass.
"Thanks."
He drank and set the glass on the counter.
We stood there. Three feet of space between us. Kitchen quiet.
"I can stay," Roman said. "If you want."
"You've got an early morning."
"So do you."
"I sleep better alone."
It wasn't true. I hadn't slept well in months, but it sounded reasonable and practical.
Roman's expression didn't change. He nodded.
"Okay."
He pushed off the doorframe and walked back toward the bedroom.I heard the rustle of fabric. Zipper. Belt buckle.
I opened the cabinet under the sink, checked the trash. It was half-full. I pulled the bag out and tied it off. Replaced it with a fresh bag.
When I straightened, Roman was standing in the kitchen doorway again. Fully dressed. Jacket over his arm.
He glanced at the trash bag. "You need me to take that down?"
"I've got it."
"Grady—"
"Yeah?"
He shook his head slightly. "Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Practice at nine."
"I know."
He walked to the door, pulled on his shoes, and grabbed his jacket.
Roman looked at me one more time.
"Get some sleep."
"You too."
He stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
I listened to his footsteps fade.
The dining chair where Roman's jacket had hung stood empty. I pushed it back under the table, perfectly aligned with the others.
I walked to the bedroom. Stripped the sheets. Started the washer. Pulled fresh sheets from the linen closet. Made the bed. Hospital corners. Pulled tight.
By the time I finished, the bedroom looked exactly like it had before Roman arrived.
My phone buzzed.
Roman.
Home safe. Sleep well.
I typed back:
You too.
He hadn't fought to stay because staying wasn't the point.
I was useful. Steady. A place to land between where he'd been and where he was going.
Temporary.
***
I woke at 5:33 AM, twelve minutes before my alarm.
The sheets were cool beside me. Undisturbed.
I crossed to the window. The city was still dark, streetlights reflecting off the edge of Lake Michigan.
I started coffee. While it brewed, I pulled up the Chicago sports feeds.
Simon Kavanaugh had published overnight:
Building for Tomorrow: Roman Wilder and the Breakers' Evolution
The conversation around Roman Wilder has shifted. No longer about adjustment or potential—we're watching stabilization. A player who doesn't just fit the system but elevates it.
I poured coffee and carried it to the couch.
I finally understood the real shape of it. Roman was choosing his future, the captaincy that would come.
I was choosing to be valuable while I still could be.
Our age gap didn't cause insecurity. It was an inevitable timeline. He was ascending. I was holding ground.
Those paths didn't run parallel. They crossed. And crossing meant one of us kept moving while the other stayed behind.
My phone buzzed.
Morning. Getting coffee before practice. You want anything?
I typed back:
I'm good. See you there.
Changed into workout gear. Grabbed my keys and bag.
The condo looked perfect as I walked toward the door, minimalist, exactly as it should be.