Chapter 10 #2
The showers are all empty, so I pick the closest stall, pull off my shorts, and take a step inside, turning on the water. A long breath leaves my lips as the heat sinks into my skin until my shoulders loosen. My leg doesn’t, though.
I brace both hands on the wall, slowly stretch my leg behind me, and immediately regret it. Goddamn it.
“Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe through it.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
I jump, my heart lurching in my stomach. I glance over my shoulder, seeing Logan standing just outside the stall.
I face forward again. “Jesus. Have you ever heard of personal space?”
“You’ve been limping since practice ended.”
“I haven’t,” I lie, trying to wash off as quickly as possible.
“You have,” he says. “And now you’re standing like someone jammed a hockey stick up your ass.”
I glare at him over my shoulder. He’s standing there with his brows slightly raised, mouth tipped like he knows he’s right. He always thinks he’s right.
“Did you pull something?” he asks.
“No.”
He scoffs, clearly not believing me. “You suck at lying, you know that?”
“Just drop it, Logan.”
The sound of water fills the silence between us for a few seconds before I reach for the handle and twist it off.
I grab my towel and wrap it around my waist. Pushing past Logan, I head toward the benches, noticing the locker room is completely empty now.
I limp with every step. Try not to, but I do. And of course… Logan notices.
“Nathan.” His voice sounds tighter now, less teasing.
I blow out a breath through my nose. “It’s nothing,” I say, keeping my back to him. “I’m just… tight.”
He lets out a huff behind me. “Well, that’s a sentence.”
I roll my eyes, towel off quickly and pull on my boxers, biting back a wince as the muscle in my thigh tugs again.
“You don’t want your dad to know,” he says, making me pause, gripping my t-shirt in my hands.
I glance back at him, seeing his brows knitted together.
I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but I can’t, because… he’s right. And I hate that he’s right.
Because I don’t want my dad to know. I don’t want him to figure out how long this pain’s been there, how many practices I’ve pushed through just to keep him proud. How sometimes I wish it would just snap, so I’d have a reason to stop. To walk away from all of it.
I drag in a breath and look down again, the cotton bunching between my fingers.
Logan’s still watching me like he can see right through every layer of bullshit I’ve spent years building. And I can’t fucking stand it.
I swallow hard and sit down on the bench and tug on my socks. “Not sure that’s any of your business.”
“Which leg?” he asks, taking a step closer.
I don’t answer, hoping he’ll take the hint and let it go. But of fucking course he doesn’t.
“Let me see it,” he says.
“No.”
“Come on,” he says quietly, crouching down slightly. “Just for a second.”
“Logan—”
“If it’s bad, you’re just gonna make it worse pretending it’s fine.” His voice loses the usual teasing edge. “Just… let me check it.”
And before I can tell him to back off, he’s already kneeling in front of me, his hands finding the top of my left knee. “This one?” he guesses.
I go rigid, every muscle in my body locking up. “Logan, don’t—”
“I’m not going to break you,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking up once to meet mine. “Jesus, Hayes. Loosen up.”
Hard to do when his hands are sliding higher.
He presses his thumbs into the muscle in my upper thigh, climbing higher and higher until the pain hits, making me bite the inside of my cheek.
“Fuck,” I hiss through my teeth, my head dropping back. I squeeze my eyes shut and I swear I see stars behind my eyelids.
Logan shifts closer, his knee brushing mine. “Right there?” he asks quietly.
I nod, grinding my teeth as he presses down on the muscle again.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “It’s tight, but I don’t think it’s torn. Breathe.”
His fingers move in slow circles, and it takes everything in me not to groan again. I feel every pass of his hand like it’s being seared into my skin. The pads of his fingers press deeper into the muscle with a slow pressure that shoots all the way up my spine.
The room’s dead quiet, just the buzz of the overhead lights and the pulse in my ears that won’t calm the fuck down.
His hands shift higher, his thumbs digging into the inner part of my thigh, close—too fucking close—to the place I don’t want him noticing right now.
I suck in a breath and my head hits the wall behind me.
“Too much?” he murmurs, lifting his eyes to meet mine.
“No. Just—” I shake my head, my breath hitching. “Keep going.”
Which is such a stupid thing to say.
Because he does. Of course he does.
His hands move again, pressing deeper, higher, right into the tightest part of the strain. I feel my cock hardening the more he touches me, knowing there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, panic crawling up my throat.
I try to breathe through it, force myself to think of anything else.
The moldy Tupperware in the back of the fridge.
Ryan’s hair clogging the shower drain. Literally anything that isn’t Logan on his knees between my legs, looking up at me like that.
But none of it works, because his hands are still on me and I’m already too far gone.
A low groan slips from my throat before I can stop it and I freeze. Logan’s eyes flick to mine, then down to the very obvious bulge forming in my boxers. My dick twitches under his gaze.
No. Fuck. No. No. No.
His eyes widen and then they lift, locking with mine.
Neither of us says a word, but I feel the heavy thud in my chest and jerk back, knocking his hands away.
“Fuck. Don’t touch me.”
He freezes, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”
I shoot to my feet, grabbing my shirt and tugging it on. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
He stands too, his hands raised halfway like he’s reaching for me. “Nathan—”
“I said I’m fine.” My voice sounds guilty and raw and not at all convincing.
I grab my pants, shove my legs through them, barely breathing through the fire in my thigh. My dick is still half-hard, and my heart is pounding so hard it echoes in my ears.
By the time I’m dressed, Logan still hasn’t moved. He’s still standing in front of the bench, his eyes tracking me like he’s trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
I don’t wait for him to ask.
I can’t.
I yank open the locker room door and step into the hallway.
Still hard.
Still limping.
Still thinking about the way his hands felt on my thigh.
And hating myself for all of it.