Chapter 12
Grayson
Austin clutching me on the couch breaks my heart. He’s convinced he has something evil inside him and seems terrified of my reaction. I have a completely different interpretation of his issues, but he’ll argue, so we’ll work around it.
“I’m here. I believe you.” My arms tighten around him, and after a minute, I bring my hand to the back of his head to massage his scalp.
He sighs with relief. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”
“Yeah, no,” I say with a half laugh so he knows I’m serious. “As your best friend, I’m going to help you deal with the darkness in you.”
Austin rears back in surprise. “You can’t help. How can you help?” His tone goes from disbelieving to hopeful.
That is an excellent question, and I refuse to tell him I have no idea what I’m doing.
“We’ll start with you telling me when it happens.
Maybe we can figure out a trigger and work on it from there,” I say, and he deflates against me.
My gut tells me he represses big emotions to the point that he can’t recognize them and over the years has become fearful of them.
“Okay.” He turns and rests his head on my shoulder and my nose fills with his vanilla shampoo.
Austin’s parents love him immensely, but he grew up in a house where they didn’t express feelings, good or bad. If he was happy, they told him he was too boisterous, and sadness was a waste of time, and he should keep his chin up and anger…anger was unacceptable.
I’m not an expert, but after being in therapy for years, the accidental harm parents can do is astounding.
“What does that mean for us?” he asks in a small voice.
“It means that we continue being best friends and put things like kissing aside until you’re ready or decide it’s not for you.” This isn’t the time to be selfish. My belly clenches with the suspicion that he won’t be able to handle a serious relationship.
“Thank you.” He twists his neck to press his lips on my shoulder, and the quick contact on my shirt is enough to send sparks through my entire body.
Hopefully, my attempt to help doesn’t end in disaster.
We’re a few minutes late to Liska and Trevor’s apartment, and Lucky starts right in.
“Glad you could join us, Gray. Thanks for fitting us into your life that’s so busy you ditch us,” he quips, and gets an elbow from Drake. “What? It’s true.”
“I’m surprised you could tear your eyes away from Drake long enough to notice.” I slap my palm against Lucky’s waiting one. My brain sort of skitters around the fact that he’s upset I didn’t go out the other night with the team. It’s surreal.
Benz and Griff look to be consoling King in the corner while Leo watches.
“It’s always something with you nuggets.” Finn joins Austin, Drake, Lucky, and me at the kitchen island.
“You love it,” Lucky sings, and from Finn’s expression, he’s right.
I hand Austin a bottle of water, and we walk further into the living room adjacent to the kitchen.
“You know what we need? A dance party to get rid of our stress. And you know, the team that dances—”
A chorus from his teammates cuts Benz off. “—together, wins together.”
“Exactly.” Benz’s head bobs as he puts music on his phone that connects to Liska’s speakers.
“How did he do that?” Liska demands.
Trevor shrugs with an innocent smile. He’s not innocent at all.
“Since this is all for my benefit.” King, uncharacteristically, strides into the middle. “I have a request.”
“Shoot.” Benz turns the music down.
“We need to teach our captain some rhythm. He’s the whitest white boy when he dances.” King’s words are teasing, but Austin is frozen with a half-smile.
He’ll do anything for his teammates, but he doesn’t understand his lack of rhythm.
“Music is like skating,” King explains, but Austin can’t figure out if it’s a joke.
“Your muscles move in time with the music. Like in warm-ups, you glide. And that’s a totally different motion from a burst off the line during a face-off.
Find the beat of the music and bend your knees in time with it.
” He bounces along with the music for Austin.
Trevor has Liska move the coffee table and push the couch back so the team has more room to dance.
Austin blushes bright red, and the team dances around him so he’s not like a zoo animal on display.
“See, you got it,” King encourages him. “Step side to side with the beat.” He faces Austin, clapping and keeping him moving with the song.
“Let’s teach him that TikTok dance Samba Whisk,” King hollers, and Benz changes the song. “Now we’ll add some hips.” He sways and rotates his hips when the next song comes on.
Austin loses his rhythm with jerky movements. “I can’t do that.” He shakes his head, but tries again with zest.
“Ain’t nothing holding you back.” He looks over Austin’s shoulder at me. “Put your hands on your boy’s hips to help.”
I obey immediately, not because I want to touch Austin. Nope. This is strictly about a dance lesson.
My fingers curl around his hips, and he lets me move him in sync with the music.
“C’mon now, you got it. Add the sidestep with your hips.” King waves his arms in the air, and Austin exhales with concentration.
His chest expands with a huge inhale, and he doesn’t let it out until I whisper in his ear. “Breathe.”
I blanket his back as if we’re in a club. I move to the music and guide him to follow along.
I can’t help myself. My chin eases onto his shoulder, and I keep one hand on his hip and the other splays across his chest. It’s a mistake because my dick wants in on the action as my hips press against his.
“You’re feelin’ it.” King takes his hands and moves his arms while I squash the part that wants to bat King away. “Gimme a backward step like this.” King shows him the movement, and I tap the leg I want him to move first. “Nice and easy. Chill movements at first,” he encourages.
Austin throws his head back on my shoulder, and we move like we did that night in Vegas. As if we already know what to do with each other. As if we’re made for each other.
He pushes his ass back against my erection, and he has all the rhythm of a professional dancer. I curse the team and our clothes and my vow of only friendship.
Suddenly, Austin jerks away, leaving me cold and exposed. He realizes what he’s done and grabs King around the waist to dance in the center of the guys, taking attention off of me.
“Thanks for teaching an old guy like me something new. How’d I do? Does this mean our locker room dance parties will lead to more success if I have rhythm?”
The guys chant his name in response.
Austin has his plastic smile plastered on his face, and I’m worried. Without alarming anyone, I drag him down the hall into the office/workout room.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, shutting the door.
“The darkness is here.” He collapses into Trevor’s desk chair.
I kneel before him. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”
“It was fun. I was having fun. Although you shoulda told me I can’t dance,” he deflects with a forced laugh.
“You can dance. It’s just that you dance to a different beat.” I place my hands on his knees. “It was fun until…” I give him time to finish the sentence.
“I like your hands on me.” His eyes fixate on the carpet next to me.
“Is that bad?” My heart forgets how to beat.
“No. Yes. Maybe.” He grimaces.
“Do you think you shouldn’t like my hands on you?” I ask, and resist the urge to move my hands.
“What do you mean? It’s not a matter of should.” His eyes meet mine, then drift back to the carpet.
“Tinny…” I pause. “A lot of what you do is because you think it’s expected of you and you should do it.
” It’s difficult to express without sounding demeaning or like he did something wrong.
“Sometimes it’s easy, and it comes naturally.
Like when a teammate struggles, you automatically seek them out and try to help.
You think you should do it as captain, but you also want to do it as their friend. ”
Austin finally meets my eyes.
“But sometimes it’s harder. Like when you’re furious about the ref’s calls and think your players are being targeted, but you have to remain upbeat and keep everyone positive.
Some days, I know you’d choose to cuss the ref out if you could.
But you don’t because you shouldn’t.” I play it safe with hockey references.
“Everyone has to do things like that. It’s part of life.”
“It is,” I agree. “But not everyone has to deal with a darkness that sucks the joy from the room. Tell me what the darkness took from you in that moment.” I won’t force him to face things he’s not ready for, so perhaps this is a compromise.
He stands and paces.
“I just wanted to be normal. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“Of course not.” I scan the room and wish Liska had a punching bag, but I spot a foam roller and scoop it up.
We use them to stretch and prevent soreness, but I have another use in mind.
“Hit the roller like it’s the darkness, and tell it to fuck off.
” It helps that the foam is black instead of a cheery color.
“What if I break it or hurt you?” He stands by the treadmill, looking lost.
“Worst-case scenario, you break it, and we buy Liska a new one. Or you hit me on accident, and I need to ice my wound and get to tell the guys you beat me up,” I tease, and his worry slips away.
The best-case scenario is him working off some pent-up tension and regaining control of his feelings. I hope I’m doing the right thing.
“Remember, you asked for this.” He gets into a boxing stance.