Chapter 22 Evan
Evan
Stefan looks like I hit him over the head with a rock. His eyes have gone blank, and he's staring at me, but, I think, not seeing me at all.
I let him have his moment, let him think it over. Whatever he's realized, it's big, and I'm sure he needs time to process it. Instead of interrogating him, I set my head back down on his chest. Even if it's not sub drop, he's responded well to the cuddling, so I'm not going to stop.
How much physical contact does Stefan receive on an average day?
His dad doesn't seem all that affectionate, and while his mom seems nice enough, I can tell she's too busy to be around much.
No siblings, no relationship. He's never mentioned any local friends.
His house is minimalist to the point of being impersonal.
Well, he's got me for the next two days, and I'll give him everything I can.
When he finally stirs, I raise my head to look at him again. His eyes have refocused, and he meets my gaze. "Maybe I do have panic attacks."
"Oh?" I'm still keeping my voice as noncommittal as possible. This is his journey of self-discovery.
"I think that might have something to do with my anger issues, too."
His anger issues?
Right, the fights. I keep forgetting about those. They don't match my Stefan; they're so uncharacteristic for the sweet, kind, vulnerable man I've come to care about.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" Please tell me about it. I want to know you, Stefan. The good, the bad, and the ugly. All of it.
His eyes dart away from mine, toward the door, the window, the blankets covering us, back to me. "I guess? I think maybe this is what happens when my anger goes in rather than out."
"What happens when it goes out? You don't have to answer."
"No, I should." His forehead creases. "I know this is casual or whatever, but..."
"I think we left casual about an hour ago. Twenty-four hours ago, really," I admit. I don't want to admit it. I don't want it to be true. "Maybe a couple months." If the amount of time I've spent thinking about him is any indication.
The perfect blue of his eyes meets mine again, pools I want to drown in. "Yeah." The relief on his face is too much for me, so I duck my head again, avoiding those soul-searching eyes in favor of my cheek on his chest. "I thought you..."
"I know. Like I said, we need to talk about it. I’m not putting you off." Even if I’m probably more terrified than he is.
"Ok." He takes a deep, deep breath, his ribs expanding under me, then lets it out slowly, and the tension finally drains out of his body. "Ok."
"I think we have a lot to go over."
"Yeah. Let's start with the whole anger thing, though. Because you might hate me, after."
I doubt it, but I nod. "Ok." At some point, we'll have to work through my own reticence about relationships. Which may well change his mind, if he doesn't already know everything. I don’t get the feeling he does, no matter how big a scandal it was at the time. This is not the moment, though.
“You know how I fucked up the last Olympics.” I open my mouth to argue, shut it again, letting him tell his story without me disputing what he believes are facts. "It... Kind of wrecked me." His voice is thin, far away.
"Understandable." Knowing Stefan, it is, though I disagree with his self-assessment of the situation. It had to have, for him to be so focused on his redemption.
"I started drinking too much. I was still training and everything, because I was determined to prove that I could do it. I am determined to prove that."
The drinking is a surprise. Stefan is so self-controlled, I struggle to see him letting go enough to get drunk. "Too much for you, or too much for your average person?" Too much for Stefan might be something akin to a bottle of beer a week.
"Too much for anyone. I was getting wasted on the weekends.
I'd just bought this house, and I used it to party pretty hard when my parents couldn't see.
It was affecting my skating, obviously, but not as much as it should have, so I could just keep telling myself it was a bad practice, or a bad week, or a bad month... You know."
I've never been in his position, but I do understand the cycles of training and performance. Bad weeks, even months, happen, so it would be an easy excuse. "Yeah."
He lets out a huge sigh, and I cover his heart with my hand.
I press into his chest, as if I can soothe it, make the past Stefan realize he wasn't a failure.
Hell, make current Stefan realize it. "Then I started fighting.
Mostly when I was drunk, and at first it was just little things.
Like I'd shove some guy for cutting in front of me at the bar, or whatever.
But it started getting kind of out of control. "
"How do you mean?"
Stefan shifts under me, so I shift as well, wrapping my arm around his chest, and squeeze.
Not hard, just enough to remind him I'm here and supporting him.
After another deep breath, he answers. "I was basically looking for any excuse to get into a fight.
It was like every time things started to be too much, the only way I knew how to deal with it was to fight.
And I'm not a great fighter or anything, but I know my body, you know? So I didn't always lose."
"Sure." It's still all but impossible to picture Stefan fighting. I can imagine that if he did, though, with his strength and speed, he'd be dangerous. "So I assume something happened."
"Yeah. I mean, something was happening the whole time, but..." Stefan hesitates, so I prompt him.
"Something extra."
His chest bunches as he, I’m guessing, nods, and some of his tension returns.
I squeeze a little tighter. "It was right before Worlds two years ago," he says, voice thin.
"We got to LA a couple of days early, same as we always do, and I was out with Jacques and a couple others. And things just got out of hand.”
“Out of hand, how?” I keep my voice as gentle as I can, since this is so obviously hard for him.
He shrugs, the movement more abrupt than usual.
“I was drunk. Jacques was drunk. We got into an argument about...
I don't even remember what it was about.
And then Alexandre, Alexandre Boudreaux, decided he needed to get involved.
Which pissed me off because I was always pissed off in those days.
One thing led to another, and fists flew.
Jacques didn't report it. Alexandre did. "
It matched up with what Luc and Teresa had remembered, but the confirmation is as unbelievable as the story was the first time I heard it.
I can picture Alexandre getting involved without difficulty; if anything, he struggles with not being an asshole.
I still can’t see Stefan fighting, though, especially Jacques.
They seemed like such good friends in Frankfurt.
"You got suspended and missed Worlds that year. "
"Yep. It was fair, though. ICS sent me to anger management therapy and put me on probation for a year after my suspension." His shoulder flexes, something like another shrug, before some tension leaves his muscles again.
"So how was the therapy?"
A harsh little laugh, nothing like his usual huff.
It's just as short but far more bitter. "Probably the best thing that ever happened to me, to be honest. I didn’t have to do the whole class thing.
Dad put me in private therapy. It wasn't like it was officially rehab or anything, but I knew I needed to shape up.
So the therapist worked with me. And luckily I hadn't descended into full-blown alcoholism, so it wasn't too hard to get sober. "
"Wow."
"Yeah, and we worked on the anger stuff, obviously. So now I have counting techniques and all kinds of shit. It works for the most part. I have less control when I'm drunk, so I don't drink anymore."
I tilt my head, kissing his pec, because that's where my mouth happens to be. "That's very responsible of you. I'm impressed."
"Thanks. So I haven't scared you off with my violent past?" He sounds uncomfortable, and the tension in his body is ratcheting up again, muscles tight under me.
Damn it. I go back to stroking his chest, hoping to soothe him back off the ledge. "No, not at all. You’re pretty amazing, Stefan Petryk.”
From the heat rising in his chest, I assume he’s blushing again. “I’m not.”
I kiss his pec again, then raise my head, propping it on my fist so I can look into his eyes. He needs to see how serious I am. "You're incredible, in every possible way. You've always been my skating idol, but now I think you might be my personal one too."
His eyes drop from mine, and yes, his cheeks are bright red. "Because I beat the shit out of Alexandre?" His voice is tentative, trying for lightness and almost succeeding.
The sheer unexpectedness of him making a joke now makes me laugh. Hard. "Oh my god, Stefan." I stop caressing him to give his arm a light slap. "No, because you cleaned yourself up and you learned techniques to work with it. That's amazing. It's hard, no matter how much you try to downplay it."
When he shrugs this time, it's uncomfortable. While Stefan is used to praise for his skating techniques, I don't think he’s sure how to handle it when it’s about his personal life. Something else I'll need to remedy.
Because as terrifying as it is, no matter how much I've tried to hide it from myself, the end of this visit is not going to be the end of us.
Not if I have anything to do with it. "I'm proud of you.
" I lean forward so I can brush his lips with mine. Do I have the right to feel proud of him? Maybe not, but that’s not going to stop me.
He responds with his first real movement, reaching up to hug me, pulling me in tighter. The kiss grows more heated, but I don't let it go far. We're not done talking. "Now back to what this means for us."
"Fuck," Stefan mutters.
"No, it's not bad, I promise. We need to clear things up, though."
"Fine." In one out of nowhere move, he rolls us over until he's on top. One of the cats makes an irritated meeping noise, and both jump off the bed. Stefan ignores them, body holding me beneath him, even managing to pin my hands above my head.
His mattress is softer than I realized. Some kind of magically supportive pillow under my entire body, covered in impossibly soft fabric. Holy crap; I never want to leave this bed.
The thought fades away when his lips find mine again, hot and searching.
It's the first time he's taken control, been the one to hold me down.
I let him. If he needs it, I'll give it to him, let the conversation go for the moment after all.
He's opened up so much more than I’d expected, and he deserves the reward.
The rebalancing, maybe, knowing I can be vulnerable too.
That he doesn't always have to be the one giving everything.
I make a token yank at my hands, letting him actively restrain me. I want to give him something that will help him feel even more in control. I have no doubt he'd let me go if I meant it, but he's enjoying the game of pretend. The same one he usually gives me.
He must like the feeling, because he laughs into my mouth and kisses me harder. I can't use my hands to gauge the tension in his muscles anymore, but if his mouth is any indication, he’s let go of at least most of it.
We make out until both of us are achingly hard again, until out of nowhere, he lets go of me and rolls away, flopping onto his back next to me. I guess I'm not the only one who finds denial appealing, though it's less fun when I'm the one being denied. I groan, but let him go.
"Ok, so what do you want?" His voice comes out harder than I expect, and he's looking away from me, staring up at the ceiling.
The abrupt change in mood gives me pause. "Wait." It's my turn to roll over, pinning him now, trying to catch blue eyes doing everything they can to avoid mine. "Did you try to get me as turned on as possible as bribery?"
His bed frame is made of some kind of wrought iron. Oh, the things I could do with that headboard. Damn it. He did succeed at distracting me.
His cheeks are still flushed from arousal, but I swear they turn more red. "No, of course not."
"You so did." I start laughing, and while he joins me, I don’t think he’s feeling it. "You didn't need to. It won’t change my mind."
"Then where is your mind?" There might be fear in his voice, and I want to read his eyes, know what he's thinking.
I reach for his face, tilting it, trying to make him meet my eyes. No luck. All right, fine. "I want you, Stefan. I fought it, hard, but you win. You’ll always win. I don't do relationships anymore, but—"
"Then what are we even talking about?" He jerks out from under me, trying to get off the bed.
"Oh my God, Stefan, chill." As seems to be our pattern, I grab onto his arm, holding him in place. "Let me finish."
"Fine." He sounds as sulky as I’ve heard him to date.
"But," I emphasize the word, "I want to figure something out with you. I don't know what it looks like, and I don't know how we make it work, but I want to try."
"That sounds like a relationship."
"Yeah, it does.” The admission steals my breath for a moment, but I draw in another one and force the next words through my pounding heart.
“Because what we have here, this is special.
You're special. I mean, God, Stefan.” I grin at him, trying to return us to familiar territory.
Less terrifying territory. “I'm in bed with a guy everyone in the world wants. I'm not going to take it for granted."
He turns back to me. But his eyes are clouded, brow furrowed, not acknowledging my attempt to lighten the mood. "I don't care what everyone else thinks. It only matters what you want."
"Like I said, I want you, but you're right, sorry. The fact that you're one of the thirty sexiest men alive shouldn't have any bearing on it." I'm evading, making a joke out of what should be serious. I'm not sure why, except I'm not ready for him to learn how much he affects me.
"But does it?" He sounds so uncertain, so scared that I only want him for his status. Damn it. I’m so bad at this. No wonder I don’t do relationships.
"No, you asshole. I want you because you're you."
His eyes are still stormy. "For what? Sex?"
"No, I want you for everything. I want all of you, or as much as I can have from a different country. What with you being the best figure skater in the world and all that."
Somehow, now I’ve said it, it’s a little less terrifying. I can breathe again. Interesting.
Will he dump me if I fail? Maybe, but maybe it’s worth having him now, even knowing it won't last.
Stefan swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Ok."