Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
brANTLEY
Bastian and I look at each other, and then he marches down the hallway with a heavy sigh. I follow. He stops, staring at the little love seats in the living room like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“No matter how much you stare, neither of our grown asses is going to be able to sleep on those tiny couches,” I note.
“Are you really that interested in sharing a bed?” He sounds irritated, but what else is new?
“Look, I know I’m not your favorite person, but it’s not like we have other options.” I step closer to him, my hands resting on my hips. “I’m certainly not leaving her alone here. Are you?”
“No,” he grumbles.
“Great,” I snark. “Then suck it up.”
I walk to the ladder and climb up. The loft is a cozy space, but obviously hasn’t been used in a while. Case in point, I sit on the bed and immediately sneeze. I turn on the bedside lamp and watch Bastian as he joins me, a scowl etching his face.
My stomach is a little queasy. I had a few drinks last night, but nothing since, so this is the longest I’ve been completely alcohol-free in a while.
I don’t know what withdrawals feel like, but I suspect there’s no booze here.
I never really considered myself an alcoholic—more of a social drinker—and I hardly drank at all while I played hockey to keep my body in peak shape.
But after my injury, I’ve been questioning that.
I finger the scar across my neck. My skin tingles with pins and needles, probably from nerve damage, but the feeling always grounds me.
As morbid as it sounds, I wish I had died that night.
I let my father down. I let my teammates and myself down.
And now I have this permanent mark to remind me of my failure.
Not to mention, I feel like a prisoner in my own body.
I know on the outside I still look fine, but the inhaler digging into my thigh in my left jeans pocket is a constant reminder that I’ll never be what I was—an unstoppable force.
I was in the gym every morning at 5 a.m. without fail, and I was the fastest sprinter on the team.
Now I can’t take a five-minute jog without being winded.
I pull my shirt over my head and toss it onto the floor next to the bed.
Sebastian looks at it distastefully. “I don’t know how long we’re staying here, but I’ve seen your place.”
“You try cleaning when you’re depressed,” I snap, taking off one of my socks and throwing it at him. “I feel accomplished when I can take a damn shower.”
He catches my sock with a grimace and tosses it onto my shirt. His shoulders sag a little before he grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed and a pillow and lays them on the floor.
“C’mon, Bastian. Are you really going to raw dog it on this old shag carpet?
Who knows what’s happened in this cabin since it was built in the eighties.
” I tick off the possibilities on one hand.
“Dirty shoes, raunchy sex, threesomes, murder. There could be cum and blood everywhere, and you’d never know. ”
“Jesus, Michaels. Would you shut up?” Seb sits down on the floor, rolls the blanket around his body like a grumpy little burrito, and lies down. “Everything is a fucking joke to you.”
I continue to strip down to my boxers. “I deflect with humor.”
Sebastian eyes me from his makeshift bed. “You could wear a shirt or something.”
“Baby, you’re lucky I’m not sleeping naked.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters and rolls over.
I climb under the covers and flick off the light. The stream outside gurgles happily in sync with the sigh of the trees, and the sound is soothing.
Sebastian shifts on the floor, groaning softly. I peer at him in the darkness. He’s squirming around, clearly uncomfortable. He groans again, shifting onto his back.
Our eyes meet, and I freeze.
“What?” he asks, deadpan.
“If you keep groaning like that, you’re going to give me a boner.”
“This floor is really hard,” he grumbles, wiggling his hips.
“And this bed is really big and comfy.” I pull back the covers and pat the spot next to me.
The moonlight shines through the thin olive-green curtains, illuminating the defeat in his eyes.
He nods mutely and stands, and I scoot over and lie back down, hugging the extra pillow between us to my chest while I watch him remove his jeans, fold them neatly, and place them on the dresser.
Then he lies down with one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
Our thighs graze, and it sends a jolt of electricity to my cock.
That was weird.
He side-eyes me and hip checks me under the covers. “Boundaries. You’re taking up the whole bed.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, scooting away from him. “But you do realize we didn’t light a fire tonight, so we’re going to have to snuggle for warmth at some point. Our lives may depend on it.”
“You’re fucking delusional.”
I swallow, still watching his silhouette. “So four weeks? That’s a long time to be away from the pub.”
He shrugs, the movement small in the darkness. “I have things I can work on here.”
“Like…”
“Jesus, do we need to make small talk?”
“I’m sorry. I ramble when I’m uncomfortable.” I swallow. “You make me uncomfortable, and we’re stuck here together, so I’m trying to deal.” When he doesn’t respond, I switch topics. “This whole situation is so fucked. You actually saw Fi getting attacked?”
“Yeah.” Bastian turns onto his side, looking over at me. “Did you ever get to meet Dennis? Since you guys were together and all?”
“No, I only heard about him. Fi didn’t talk a lot about her family. I knew that he was a tool to her mom, but no real details.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?”
“You saw the video footage. You tell me.”
“I think he is. That’s why I agreed to come here. I couldn’t leave her after that.”
“I don’t think she’s telling us everything.”
“Me either,” he agrees.
He actually agreed with me on something.
I clear my throat, trying not to make the next words out of my mouth awkward. “Were you and Fi—I mean, I can tell something was clearly going on earlier.”
“Nothing happened.” His voice is a quiet rumble in the dark. “Nothing will ever happen.”
“Is that what she wants?”
“I don’t know what she wants.” He turns onto his back again. “It’s what I want, I guess. It’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m not condoning you two being together, but sometimes the right thing and the thing you need aren’t the same.
” I take a breath and glance at him. “I’ve watched you for months—coming into the pub, I mean—and I’ve never seen your eyes light up the way they do when you look at her.
That’s important. Happiness is important. ”
Bastian turns his head toward me, then rolls over, and I lie back with a sigh.
After a few moments of silence, he speaks again. “I never thought of you as depressed. I’m sorry that you’re going through that. I know from experience that it’s rough.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledge softly.
Then we sleep.
I stare at my feet while swinging my black and white Nikes back and forth anxiously. I’ve never been to the principal’s office before. My dad’s on his way, and I’m sick to my stomach. He’s going to be so angry.
I dab at my nose with a Kleenex, but the bleeding has mostly stopped. I jump when the office door slams open, and my father sweeps inside like a villain in a business suit. I look up at him, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. His lips are so pinched that they’re white.
He gives me a withering glare and then walks past me into the principal’s office.
I keep my eyes downcast as I listen to him shouting.
I’m in trouble because I got into a fight with a teammate. But he called my friend Aiden a bad name and tried to choke him with a hot dog at lunch. It was cruel, and I couldn’t just stand there.
The yelling stops, and my dad storms out, grabs my elbow, and yanks me from the chair.
“Dad, I’m sorry,” I croak, a tear slipping from the corner of my eye as I stumble in his grip.
“Don’t you fucking cry,” he growls as he hauls me down the hallway and out the double doors to the car. He opens the passenger side and practically throws me into the seat. Then, he storms around and gets in on the other side.
I put my seatbelt on and twist my fingers together.
He doesn’t say anything the entire ride home, and I try to calm down, but my thoughts keep returning to earlier in the cafeteria.
I can still hear Aiden gagging on the hot dog, his skinny legs kicking as he fought for air. And so many people were laughing.
The car stops in the driveway. By the time I get out, my father is already there, blocking my path. I swallow at the anger that flashes in his hazel eyes. I hate that we have the same eyes.
“Explain to me why you punched Maverick Jones—your fucking teammate.” He knows exactly why I did it, but he wants to hear me say it.
“He was bullying Aiden,” I say, lowering my eyes.
“The faggot kid from down the street?”
I clench my fists, rage filling my whole chest. “Don’t call him that!” I scream, my voice cracking. I want to hit him like I hit Maverick, but I’m scared of him, and he’s my dad.
He lurches forward, backing me up against the side of the car, his forearm pushing painfully against my throat. Fear races down my spine. My father has never hit me, but this feels different. He raises his hand and I wince, expecting a blow, but he just gives me a pat on the cheek.
“You are a hockey player, Brantley. That is your focus. You can’t afford to fuck this up because you feel sorry for the local Nancy boy.
” His breath smells like beer, and I fight not to gag.
“Keep defending people like that and everyone will think you’re one of them.
Do you know what happens if someone thinks you're a homo?”
I shake my head.
“It’s the death of your career, son. I don’t want you to see that kid again. Understand?”
This time, I can’t control my tears. Aiden is my friend.
“Stop it, Brantley. Only pussies cry, and my son is no pussy.”