Chapter 8
Grayson
Sometimes the universe conspires against me. The game arena usually feels like home, but not today because I’m detached from everything. The otherness is strong like an antiseptic stinging in my nose.
Until I find a sticky note on the training table, from Austin. My fingers run over the ink as if it holds the answers to what is going on between us. There aren’t any. The note reads “Sorry I missed you this morning. A.” Sweet yet not informative.
The group chat is rarely used anymore and I don’t know if I’m being paranoid or everything is happening in the player chat.
It would stand to reason that Austin and I would have plenty of time together during a stretch of home games, but we haven’t had a solid chunk of uninterrupted time to talk.
Driving together to practice and a rookie calls to talk to Austin.
After the morning skate, the medical staff wants a full report on everyone from me, and then Austin took an afternoon nap.
Morning off and an assistant coach needs advice on how to manage a player’s expectations.
And he’s required to stay in the team hotel. I don’t have a reason to go there that isn’t pathetic or lovesick. This isn’t love, I berate myself. This is me needing clarity about where Austin stands on us starting a physical relationship.
It’s a risk. A huge risk. One I have to be absolutely sure about.
I shouldn’t be ready to dive in because I could lose him. Life is hard enough with his fame. If we fail and fall apart, I’ll have to leave my job and start over.
Things aren’t as tense, but we’re in a weird sort of “more than friends but not” limbo. Since Vegas, I’ve lost my appetite, and all food has a cardboard like quality.
My phone buzzes, and Austin texts me a book meme about hockey.
Apparently, hockey romances are big in the book world, and there are tons of videos set to music with funny captions.
This one is of a team’s pregame skate from behind the glass, and the caption is about going to the man aquarium.
A hilarious take on it, but it’s not wrong.
I search for one to return and find a guy warming up his hip flexors. It’s sexy as hell, and normally I wouldn’t send it to him because it wouldn’t hit the same, but I take a chance and send it with no caption or explanation.
He texts back a fire and big-eyes emojis.
One step in the right direction. He thinks it’s hot. And it is. And he sent me a direct text meant for my eyes only, not in the chat for everyone.
I wonder how he feels about our night together, and if he can imagine a life with me the way my brain took over and reinvented us as a fairytale couple. I’ve lost my mind.
The job takes over. Liska’s back is much better. Benz is hydrating properly. Griff has no residual soreness in his leg. Austin’s black eye is fine. Drake’s ribs are sore from a hit, but he’s good to play. Kenney needs a finger taped, and suddenly it’s game time.
The energy in the arena is electric, and sometimes I wonder how these guys stay grounded. I’m proud when thousands of people chant their names, so I can only imagine how they feel.
I’m so focused on the players that I’m not paying attention to the time or the score.
My hands are cramped from a night of rubbing muscles and diligently taping up guys. If I pack up the supplies for the night, someone will need a treatment, so I head over to the locker room to check.
“Last call for treatment,” I holler.
“Grayson, we’re going to Skytop tonight. Be there.” Lucky’s statement is more of a demand than a request. “It’s team bonding, and everyone needs to be there. Yes, I’m talking to you, King.” Lucky points at Jamal King. He’s shy but noticeably more comfortable with the team.
I stand by the door, waiting for someone to say they need me. Going out to a bar and having drinks is the last thing I need. Lucky avoided it for his first year of recovery, but now, he’s making it his personal mission for everyone to have fun.
There’s no way I can watch Austin having a great time and not touch him.
I’ve imagined myself putting my hands on his hips and showing him how to keep time with the music.
And once my hands touch him, my mouth will follow.
Then everyone will know. These guys gossip like a bunch of soldiers, swapping stories to get the latest tea.
We haven’t talked about whether he wants to come out or not.
Being around Austin and alcohol is not allowed until we talk about what we’re doing. I’m not involving the team. They already joke we’re a couple, and if we break up, they’ll choose sides. He’s their captain. Of course, they’ll choose his side no matter what happens or who’s at fault.
I’m getting so ahead of myself. He never once said he’s interested in me. I have all these fantasies about the way he tastes and how his cock would ruin me for other men. Yet he has not said or done one thing to give a sign that’s what he wants.
Austin was tired when we talked, but he didn’t say he wanted to have sex again.
When the team’s distracted, I slip out of the locker room, pack up, and go home alone.
Austin: Where are you?
Austin: We called a few cars and they’re here
Austin: Not leaving without you
Me: Sorry
Me: Not feeling great
Me: At home. Have fun
Guilt eats at me that I should’ve texted him first. But he’s with his team and doesn’t need me.
Tip-toeing around each other isn’t good for us. Enough is enough. I’ll talk to him as soon as he gets back. He rarely has more than one drink, so he should be sober and awake.
After I’ve showered and changed, Austin’s standing in our living room, pointing the remote at the TV.
“Why are you home?” I cross the room to get a better look at his face.
Even with a black eye, he’s absurdly gorgeous.
Both women and men flock to him. He has the “it” factor that attracts people.
I’ve never been able to bring myself to ask him why he doesn’t have a girlfriend.
Plenty of beautiful and kind women have shown interest. He’s gone on dates but never more than a few with the same woman.
Maybe karma’s the reason I didn’t want to put the idea of him finding his person out into the world so it could become a reality.
He shrugs. “Don’t avoid me.”
I drag him over to sit on the couch. “I’m not avoiding you.
” His eyes widen in disbelief. “Not exactly.” I’m unsure how to tell him that our night together plays over and over again in my mind, and I want more.
That right now, I imagine crawling into his lap and kissing him until dawn. More than just kiss him.
But none of that comes out. “You need time to figure out what you want.”
“Bullshit.” Austin scowls. “Tell me the real reason.”
“You won’t like it.” If I tell him, it could break our friendship, and if I don’t, it could destroy our trust.
“G, talk to me.” His blue eyes soften with a pleading expression.
I take the remote from him to have something to fiddle with.
“I never thought we’d be more than friends.
You accepted my sexuality without question or judgment.
That meant and means the world to me. You pulled me through the darkest time of my life.
” After my career-ending injury, Austin took care of me.
He made sure I showered, ate, and he went to all my appointments on top of his schedule in the CHL.
Without him, I wouldn’t have had a reason to get out of bed.
“Our friendship is the most important thing in my life.”
Our lives are so intertwined; the thought of him not being around is an ache.
“For me too,” he cuts in earnestly.
“I never had a secret crush or wished you were bi because that would complicate things. But now…now things are complicated. You’re not just my friend, you’re the guy who made me come harder than I ever have.
You made me want more.” I take a deep breath.
“How do I ask for that without risking our friendship?” My heart stops, and my stomach falls to the floor. I hope I didn’t make a huge mistake.
Austin’s silent, but he stares into my eyes. I swear I see heat flare in them before he abruptly stands and starts pacing.
“I’ll do anything for you.” He flexes his fingers. “We’re friends for life. That night in Vegas was incredible, and you didn’t do anything wrong. I made a huge mistake.” He has his back to me, and his words slice me open.
“I took what I wanted from you in the moment without thinking ahead. And I can’t give you what you want.
” He keeps pacing, fists clenching and unclenching, refusing to meet my eyes.
“I’m so sorry, but friendship is all I can do.
” His voice oozes sorrow, but it doesn’t fix the fact that my internal organs have ceased functioning.
The only sounds are his feet striking the floor and the soft swish of his pants rubbing together as he walks.
Even though I prepared myself for this response, reality shreds me. I did the one thing I swore I would never do. I fell for my straight best friend. And I didn’t trip and fall; I fell face-first into passion, with my heart in my hand for him.
“Okay,” I say in a steady voice. I pledged not to let that night break us. His friendship in the long term means more than the emptiness that currently occupies me.
“It’s not okay,” he snaps. “I refuse to hurt you.”
“Tinny.” I use the nickname he loves to soothe him.
“I’m disappointed you don’t feel the same, but it’s not your fault.
You can’t force yourself to want me for my benefit.
I don’t want to be someone else who demands something of you.
I can’t be a drain on your energy.” As much as I hate saying the words, they’re true.
I’d rather have him be honest than fake his desire for me.
If he pretends, I’ll get more attached, and it will hurt worse when he ends things.
“This isn’t what I wanted to happen.”
The urge to hug him is overwhelming, but I hold back. Touch is my source of comfort, not his. “I know that, and I’m not mad at you.” Heartsick but not angry. I’m upset with myself for letting my emotions take over and for longing for things he can’t give me. I’m the idiot.
“You should be.” His hands grip his short hair, and I’m surprised he doesn’t pull it out. “You should hate me for what I did. What I’m doing.”
“I’ll never hate you.” It’s a sad truth. I can’t make him feel better, and I need to end this conversation.
Austin hating himself only hurts me more. Since I asked for more than he can give, it’s my responsibility to absolve him of guilt. I stand and step into his path.
“Hey.” I wait until he looks at me. His eyes are gray and dull.
I did that. “We’re fine. Our friendship has survived worse.
You can probably meet the guys out and have some fun.
I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere,” I say, willing it to be true.
Eventually I’ll get over him, but I deserve the torture of living here in the meantime.
He’s Austin—Ace—Lapointe, last year’s leading scorer for the Enforcers and an All-Star.
I’m his middle school friend who managed to hang on into adulthood.
He nods and gives me a one-arm bro hug. I thump his back and tear myself away, retreating to my room. If only I could knock myself unconscious and fall into a peaceful oblivion.
Reality sucks.
Austin’s muttering to himself on the other side of our shared wall.
We unknowingly arranged our rooms so our beds butt up against each other with a thin wall between them.
It’s never been a problem since neither of us has ever brought a hookup back here.
It never felt right since he pays the majority of the rent.
He must have his own reasons for not doing it.
After a few minutes of heavy silence, I hear a soft knock on the wall. We do that to say goodnight sometimes. I return it, hoping it gives him some peace, and roll over to find sleep.
In my dreams, Austin is in my bed.