CHAPTER FIVE ROAD MUSCLE #3
“I could hurt you without it.” Brock’s voice stayed quiet. “So could you. Trust isn’t pretending otherwise.”
The truth of that frightened Tyler. It also made him step closer.
“What is it, then?”
“Knowing I could, and choosing you instead.”
Tyler rested both palms on Brock’s bare chest. Beneath one hand, the overtime bruise had begun to darken.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m here.”
“Both can be true.”
Brock nodded. “That’s what I’m telling you.”
Brock brought their foreheads together.
“I watched you stretch across that bed because you wanted me to,” he said. “I watched you block a shot in the third because nobody else was in the lane. I watched you check on my knee before celebrating your own goal. None of those men cancel the others.”
Tyler’s throat tightened.
“I want all of you,” Brock said. “Especially the exhausted parts. They’re the only ones honest enough to stop arguing.”
Tyler gripped the back of his neck. “I can still argue.”
“Prove it.”
Their next kiss erased the remaining distance.
What followed was powerful because it did not require violence.
Brock used his strength to hold, lift, and steady; Tyler answered by giving him the full weight he usually carried alone.
Control remained Brock’s until sunrise, but attention made it mutual.
Nothing happened without Tyler’s word, his hands, his willing return.
The single hotel bed became large enough for every version of them.
Hours later, Tyler lay naked across Brock’s chest while rain moved against the window. The city beyond the glass had gone quiet. Brock’s hand rested at the base of his spine.
“What time?” Tyler asked.
“Three twenty.”
“You’ve got time left.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.”
“Captain’s pride.”
“Exhausted part.”
Tyler pressed his face into Brock’s shoulder. “Don’t become smug because I was emotionally honest once.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Liar.”
“Sleep.”
Tyler did.
He woke to sunlight, warmth, and Brock curved behind him beneath the sheet.
Their naked bodies had aligned during sleep. Brock’s morning arousal pressed between them. Tyler’s own response had already begun.
He checked the clock.
Eight twelve.
Team breakfast was at eight thirty. Bus departure at nine fifteen.
“Brock.”
“No.”
“We have eighteen minutes.”
Brock’s arm tightened. “Plenty.”
“Your control ended at sunrise.”
“Then use your request.”
Tyler turned within the hold. Brock’s hair stood in every direction, stubble shadowed his jaw, and one pillow crease crossed his cheek. He looked nothing like the victorious captain from postgame interviews.
Tyler wanted that version too.
“My request,” he said. “Stay.”
Brock kissed him.
The morning became another encounter conducted beneath the urgent red numbers of the clock. They traded control without keeping score, muffled laughter against the pillows, and stopped only when someone pounded on the adjoining wall.
“Bus in five!” the rookie shouted.
Tyler froze.
Brock looked at the clock.
Nine ten.
They moved with emergency speed. Clothes went on without order. Tyler buttoned the wrong shirt cuff. Brock wore yesterday’s tie. Neither found one of Tyler’s socks.
They reached the lobby as Keller raised his wrist to check the time.
Every teammate on the bus watched them climb aboard.
Tyler wore sunglasses indoors. Brock’s hair was still wet. His tie had been fastened badly enough to qualify as evidence.
The backup goaltender looked from one captain to the other. “Sleep well?”
Tyler took the nearest empty seat. “Perfectly.”
Brock sat beside him. “Bed was large.”
The bus erupted.
Tyler turned toward the rain-streaked window to hide his smile. Beneath the shared armrest, Brock’s hand found his.
The jokes lasted until the bus reached the highway.
Then headphones appeared, seats reclined, and the roster settled into the heavy silence of men whose bodies had spent the night colliding at speed.
Brock fell asleep first. His head tipped toward Tyler’s shoulder but stopped before making contact, held away by some final instinct for privacy.
Tyler closed the distance himself.
He guided Brock down until the older man rested against him, then pulled a team blanket across both their laps. The pose could pass for exhausted teammates sharing limited space. Perhaps that was all the men around them saw.
Tyler saw the bruise beneath Brock’s suit, the badly knotted tie, and the hand that had undressed him with more care than anyone had ever used to dress him for a camera. He saw the hometown captain who had blocked a shot, scored a winner, and still made room for Tyler’s fatigue.
His phone vibrated with a message from his publicist.
Great road win. Photos of you and Lawson are everywhere. Rival-captain angle testing extremely well.
Tyler looked at Brock asleep against him.
The public version made them opponents. The private truth fit beneath one blanket, hidden in the pressure of linked fingers and the warm weight Tyler no longer wanted to escape.
For once, being unseen did not feel like disappearing.
Neither let go until Milwaukee.