Chapter 3
Austin
Behind my closed eyelids, the sun burns too bright.
Last night is a blur until Grayson shifts beneath me, and it all rushes back.
I’ve got a tight hold, locking him in place.
I smile, inhaling his familiar scent that lingers under the layer of menthol and coconut oil from treating players.
Beneath it is his comforting smell, warm and inviting, like being wrapped in a blanket of cotton.
Nothing has ever felt so right as Grayson in my arms. I usually like my space, but with him I seek his closeness. It’s as if I’m trying to make up for all the times I didn’t trust myself to give in to physical touch.
As captain of the team, I have responsibilities today, and as much as I’d like to spend the day in bed with Grayson, I have to get up. A soft groan leaves me as I pry my eyes open to the sun beating through the open curtains, daring us to keep sleeping.
I’m met with a horrific sight.
Gray’s sleek hair drapes over my arm, revealing his shoulder, scabbed with my bite mark. His body is covered in bruises from my hands and mouth.
“What the fuck.” Bile rises in my throat and I swallow it back down.
Grayson must hate me.
I hate me.
Letting the darkness out was a terrible mistake.
Unforgivable.
It destroys the people I love.
In an effort not to wake him, I ease out of bed. I don’t know how to apologize for hurting him or understand how he could let me do that to him. This is exactly why I don’t give in to my evil urges. I know better.
“Morning.” He stretches, and the sick part of me wants to jump back in bed and leave more marks all over him so he knows who he belongs to. Only a degenerate would think like that.
When he rolls over to look at me, my cock hardens, and I cover it as if doing so will excuse my depravity.
“Oh, hey.” The casualness of my words surprises me and leaves me at a loss to say more.
Grayson deserves an apology. He deserves a friend who doesn’t fantasize about hurting him more.
I sweat as my panic rises. Saying “I’m sorry” won’t make up for what I’ve done. I can’t expect him to forgive me. His body is a mess.
“Hey, it’s me. It’s fine.” Gray sits up against the headboard. The pain of his welts hasn’t registered on him yet.
“That didn’t happen.” I point to the bed to excuse my behavior. Maybe I can leave and collect myself before he knows what I did to him. That’s cowardly, but the darkness is cackling with glee, and the rest of my brain is screaming to run.
“Okay.” He holds his hands up to calm me down. Grayson is consoling me when I should be falling at his feet and begging him not to hate me.
Instead, I say, “There’s nothing to talk about.” More evidence that I’m broken. Since I don’t see my clothes, I hurry to the bathroom and cover my miscreant dick with a towel.
Dread as thick and black as tar infiltrates every pore. I take deep, calming breaths, but it doesn’t work.
Grayson gets out of bed, and I summon the courage to face him and make amends. But my brain short-circuits when I see him in my boxers.
I left them on the bed last night in case I, or a sloppy, drunken teammate, needed clothes.
Carnal hunger washes over me, ridding me of my dread. Grayson should be under me with my cock buried in his ass. This is Vegas; they must deliver supplies to the room.
Shaking my head, I force those thoughts away.
“You’re wearing my… Those are mine,” I say stupidly, unable to unscramble my brain from wanting him.
“I thought this conversation would require clothes.” He bends down and checks under the bed but straightens without more clothes.
“I don’t understand. I’m sorry,” I say, finally finding words to express my remorse.
“Ace.” He uses my team nickname, and it’s like a slap.
Last night, he called me Tinny. My favorite nickname from a time when there was no pressure to be anyone other than ourselves. He rarely calls me Ace unless we’re with the team.
It’s his unconscious way of distancing himself from me. It’s the least I deserve.
My phone alarm goes off, reminding me of my duty to the team. I’m supposed to set a good example. I’ve let everyone down.
“Gray,” I beg, but shake my head. He should look in the mirror and see what I’ve done before I ask for forgiveness. “Fuck.” I’ve ruined us. He’s my best friend and the only person I count on. I have to focus on one thing at a time. “I need my phone.”
He jumps into action, tearing apart the bed. I try to help him, but I can’t be so close to him without wrapping him in my arms. Gray loves hugs and touches, but I can’t comfort him when I’m the one who hurt him.
After moving the mattress, he steps away to call my phone, and I find it lying flush against the frame, unseen until it lights up with the incoming call. I clutch it to my chest so I don’t reach out and touch him. In the mess of the bedding on the floor, I find my clothes and dress quickly.
We stare at each other. There are too many things to say. I should give him space to process all his wounds before we talk. He seemed to enjoy last night, but he hasn’t seen the damage I’ve done. Surely, he’ll look back on last night differently once he knows.
So I do the one thing I thought I’d never do…
Walk out the door and leave him behind.