Chapter 49
Xavier
The quiet after everyone leaves only serves to compound these feelings swirling in my chest. Exhaustion tugs at every part of Artemis’s body. His limbs are heavy, his breathing is heavy, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open on the couch, so I announced it was bedtime and sent everyone home.
We’ve brushed our teeth. He’s kicked off his clothes, and he got as far as sliding off the edge of the bed onto the floor by accident. He missed his mark completely. He’s like an overtired toddler right now—and if I wasn’t drowning in anxiety, I’d laugh.
But panic has been living under my skin since I woke up in the hospital, quiet and relentless.
He blinks up at me with tired eyes. “Are you sore?”
I shake my head. “I took some meds.”
He nods. “I saw. But are you sore? Do you need anything?” He rubs the back of his neck.
I love the way his hair falls in front of his face.
He tongues the underside of his surgery scar, it’s not something I’ve noticed him doing before, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the level of stress he’s under or the fact he’s exhausted.
Either way, that’s adorable too.
When I first saw this man on the ice, the farthest thing from my mind was that he was adorable, and now, it’s all I see when I look at him.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I cant my head to one side, playing dumb because it’s easier than speaking the truth. “Talk about what?”
He looks at me like we’ve just watched someone run naked through his apartment, and we aren’t going to mention it. “Any of it.”
I shake my head, not ready to give voice to the anxieties clawing their way up inside my chest. What the hell do I do if hockey is taken off the table? Even temporarily?
Because if hockey disappears, everything shifts… Draft prospects. Futures that people have already decided belong to me. I’m not just afraid of losing the game—I’m afraid of not being enough for the man lying exhausted on the floor in front of me, or my mom, or my brother’s legacy.
This domestic haze with Artemis is intoxicating—but I can’t recover here. I can’t pretend this is real life when my real one feels like it’s now hanging by a thread. I need to go home, to school, keep up my GPA, even if I can’t play for a while.
Without a word, he heaves himself off the floor and makes it onto the bed this time. He pats the mattress next to him, and I hesitate. He’s too tired for me to be able to distract him from conversation with sex, and I’m not entirely sure even his tiredness can outweigh his stubbornness.
“Just let it happen.” He smirks at me. “The more you fight it the more it’ll hurt.”
I make my way toward him. “What exactly are we talking about here, Sugar Britches?”
“The conversation you don’t want to have, Duende.”
It’s my turn to scrub at the back of my neck with my palm.
“Say it out loud. If you keep it trapped in your head, it wins.” He’s frustratingly logical.
“Says the man who only a few hours ago would have sooner died than asked for help.”
He frowns. “Don’t be like me.”
“Ah ha. Do as I say, not as I do.”
He nods sagely. “Exactly.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“Sometimes fear is ridiculous.”
“Easy to be rational when it’s not your fucking fear.”
“Stop wasting time, and get your ass into bed, Xavi.”
I take a breath, steadying myself for the words that are going to come out of my mouth. “I don’t know what I am without the game.”
He doesn’t react, doesn’t answer. He just stares, waiting for me to fill the silence with more of my fear.
“I know the likelihood of surgery isn’t high, but this has really given me food for thought. What happens if I wake up tomorrow, and I can’t play hockey?” I inch toward the bed, lowering myself onto the edge, but not committing to getting all-the-way in yet.
“I’ve spent my life trying to out-hockey my big brother. So much so, that it’s now ingrained in my fucking identity. I don’t know what’s left of me when you take it away.” The vulnerability feels like it’s cracking me open from the inside, a wide-open chasm spreading through my chest.
Artemis shifts closer, slowly and carefully like he doesn’t want to spook me or maybe hurt me. He doesn’t touch me right away. “That’s terrifying.” He finally breaks the silence. It’s not you’ll be fine. It’s not that won’t happen. Just—validation of my fear.
“But it’s also bullshit.”
My head snaps up. I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my lungs for days. “I don’t even know what I like outside the rink. I don’t know who I am when I’m not chasing the next game or trying to prove I’m not just my brother’s shadow.”
His jaw tightens, something dark flashing behind his eyes. “Hockey didn’t make you. It helped shape you. That’s not the same thing.”
“It feels the same.”
He nods like he gets that too. “Yeah. I know. I get it.”
“What am I without the discipline and drive I got from learning hockey?”
Heavy silence stretches between us. He finally reaches out and curls his fingers around my wrist, like he’s grounding me.
“If hockey disappeared tomorrow.” His voice is low and steady.
“You wouldn’t vanish with it. You’d still be the man who stayed when everything was on fire.
The man who refused to run when it would’ve been easier.
The man who sends care packages to make me smile, who has an unhealthy obsession with cinnamon, and who loves harder and more deeply than anyone else I’ve ever known. ”
I swallow hard. “That’s easy to say.”
“I’m not saying it’s easy.” He pulls me toward him. “I’m saying you wouldn’t face it alone. Just like you wouldn’t let me face shit alone.”
I finally climb fully into bed, exhaustion crashing down now the fear’s been spoken. I press my forehead to his shoulder, breathing him in.
“Promise me something?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Anything.”
“Don’t try to fix this for me. Just… stay. Even if I’m a mess.”
He kisses the top of my head, lingering close.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He sounds like he might even mean it this time.
“But you don’t get to disappear either. If you want to talk about what your options are for after hockey, we can do that.
If you don’t, we won’t. But you need to know that you do have options. ”
I nod, even though I don’t fully believe either of us yet. But for tonight, that’s enough.
Artemis shifts next to me, again, like he’s recalibrating around my injuries without saying it out loud. One arm comes around my back, careful of the sling, his hand warm and steady between my shoulder blades.
“Eyes on me.” Not even exhaustion makes him less of a bossy pants. It’s hot as hell.
I lift my head. His gaze is dark, intent, unwavering. “I’ve got you.” It’s loud enough to be reassuring, low enough to be a promise, but also stays on the right side of ‘I’ll save you,’ because I don’t fucking need saving… Yet something in my chest fractures even deeper.
He leans in and kisses me. It’s not rushed or hungry, just mouths meeting and soft pressure. It’s the kind of kiss that reminds me that my body still belongs to me. To both of us now. His thumb brushes along my jaw, tracing it like he’s memorizing me exactly as I am in this moment.
Broken. Incomplete. Lacking. I make a sound before I can stop myself, tension bleeding out of me in a shaky exhale.
“Easy.” It’s a whisper against my lips. He shifts again, moving me so I’m half draped over him, my good side tucked against his chest. He doesn’t touch my shoulder, doesn’t even go near it. Every single movement is intentional and reverent.
His hand slides down my spine, slow enough that it makes my skin feel too tight. Desire blooms in every cell—quiet but insistent, not the wild, starving kind. The stay with me kind.
I nudge my mouth against his neck, breathing him in. “I feel like a glass figurine.”
He hums. “You’re not fragile.”
“Feels like it.”
“Then let me hold you until it doesn’t.” He makes it all sound so simple. His hand cups my hip, steadying me, thumb pressing in just enough to remind me I’m solid and wanted. My body responds before my brain does, heat pooling low and slow.
“Arte,” I breathe.
“I know, Duende.” His voice roughens. “We’re not rushing anything. We don’t have to do a damn thing. We don’t need you getting more injured.”
But he presses a kiss to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. Each one deliberate. Each one fucking wrecking me.
I shift my weight, and he groans softly. It’s low and restrained, like he’s holding himself back on purpose. That sound does things to me.
“I need you.” Not sex. Not release. Just—him.
His forehead rests against mine. “I’m right here.”
He guides my hand carefully, patiently to his chest, right over his heart. It’s beating hard, fast beneath my palm.
“You feel that? That’s yours. Injury, fear, hockey crisis, chaos goblin energy and all.”
My throat closes. I nod, unable to speak.
He kisses me again. It’s deeper this time, still slow, still controlled. His grip tightens just enough to feel like a claim, not a demand.
I melt into him, letting myself be held instead of holding everything together. For the first time since the hospital, my body quiets and so does my mind.
Artemis’s hand doesn’t leave mine. It stays there, warm and solid, fingers spread like he’s anchoring me to him. Like if he lets go, I might float away.
“You still here?”
I nod. “Barely.”
His thumb shifts, brushing lower until it hooks lightly into the waistband of my shorts. He pauses there, waiting. Always waiting for my body to say yes even when my mouth can’t. He’s such a sexy ho for consent.
I swallow. “You can—”
That’s all it takes. He slides his hand down, unhurried, and the contact on my pulsing cock is enough to make me gasp. God, it’s been days since I’ve felt anything other than pain and dread inside my own skin. Desire hits me low and hard.
“Tell me if it’s too much.” He’s still bossy, even with gentle hands.
“It’s not.” I breathe. It’s not nearly enough.
His grip firms just slightly, the pressure steady and controlled as he pumps me slowly. He doesn’t rush me, doesn’t tease me into oblivion either. He just touches me like this is exactly where his hands belong, because it is.
I’m not sure who needs this more, who aches for emotional grounding more, but we’re both leaning into each other like if we don’t anchor each other, we’ll both break.
I shove my face into his neck, biting down on a groan as sensation crests fast and unexpected. My body is wound too tight already. It doesn’t take much.
“Arte.” I don’t know what I want, for him to save me or ruin me, but I need him to do something, go faster, push me harder, stop being so devastatingly fucking patient with me.
“I’ve got you.”
The permission does me in. I come hard, quietly, shaking, every nerve lighting up like it’s been waiting for this exact release. He holds me through it, steady and firm, murmuring something in Spanish I can’t quite catch but feel all the way down to my bones.
When it passes, I sag against him, wrecked and breathless and covered in cum.
Artemis presses a kiss into my hair, then my temple. His thumb keeps slow, sweeping circles against my side until my pulse evens out. There’s no rush, no expectation, no scorecard. Just me, whole again for a minute, cradled in his strong arms.
“You okay?”
I nod against his skin. “Better now.”
A pause.
“Still scared.” If he can admit he needs help, I can admit I’m still scared.
“You’re not alone with it.” He cleans us up before easing us into a more comfortable sprawl, my good side tucked into him, his arm wrapped around me.
My eyes drift shut. His breathing evens out beneath my ear, deep and heavy, exhaustion finally winning. I stay awake a little longer, listening to his heart, counting the beats like proof that we’re still here. That today didn’t break us.
Whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll face it. Not because I’m brave or unbroken. But because I’m not alone. Neither of us are. And for the first time since my injury, sleep doesn’t feel like hiding.