Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Felix
I walk into silence when I step into the kitchen. It’s almost nine now. I usually don’t sleep this late, but I didn’t sleep much at all last night. I’m still worried about Steven, although with not one but two giant hockey players currently in this house, I don’t think he’d get very far.
Grey must still be in his room.
With Atlas.
I hate how I feel. My lungs feel tight. I’m pathetic. I have no right to feel jealous. Grey isn’t my boyfriend, and I shouldn’t even be thinking about that right now. I’m still legally married. While living here has been amazing, I know it won’t last.
Nothing good ever does for me.
What happened yesterday was nothing, it was just fun—so much fun.
I’ve always had a weird relationship with sex.
For the longest time I thought it was me.
I just don’t enjoy it. It makes me feel broken.
I’ve tried hard to like it in the past. I just don’t.
Sex has always felt like something I should be doing and not something I want to do.
I’ve waited years to feel that drive, but it’s never come. Not even in the beginning with Steven.
It’s just something that was expected. Steven provided so I could stay home and not work. Therefore, I owed him. That’s how it’s always been. Just another chore on my list. I want to say it wasn’t always like that, but nothing I’ve ever felt compares to the other morning with Grey.
Yesterday, I wanted to touch someone for the first time. I needed to. Felt like I might die if I didn’t. It took me by surprise. Grey’s gorgeous body sprawled out just for me, offering himself to me. I barely touched him, but he acted like I was killing him.
He was killing me a little too.
I hear footsteps and I look up expecting to see Grey, but instead Atlas walks in with just sweats on.
Jesus, are all hockey players built like gods?
Is that the requirement? His six pack is so defined, I don’t even think he knows the word body fat.
Black hair covers his chest and runs down his abs, and those sweats are hanging so low a soft breeze could pull them down.
I turn away, back to the stove, and focus on prepping breakfast. I noticed the first week I was here that Grey didn’t eat much, so I’ve made it a habit to have breakfast made for him. He shouldn’t be skipping meals while his body is healing, especially with the medicines he has to take.
So I’m making French toast and bacon. “Morning,” I say, with a smile I have to force onto my face. “Sleep well?”
“I slept great.” He smirks, folding his arms over his chest to watch me. Then he reaches into the cabinet for a mug to make himself a cup of coffee. He seems at home here. Is this what they do? How often does Atlas stay the night?
As I drench each thick piece of bread I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn to watch Grey limping into the kitchen.
I’ve noticed this last week the limping isn’t as prominent.
He hates the cane. He’d told me it makes him feel old, which I find funny.
The hockey age mentality is real. Thirty-three isn’t old at all.
In fact, since he’s cut his hair and beard, he looks years younger.
Just like Atlas, he wears a pair of soft plaid pajamas slung low on his hips, because apparently that’s the hockey leisure standard.
I mean, if I had abs like that, maybe I’d do it too.
I do not, therefore I will not. Am I drooling?
Maybe. I better stop looking before I make a mess on the kitchen floor.
They’re both a few inches taller than I am with bulk I’ve only seen on TV.
“Morning.” He smiles warmly at me. “Sleep well?”
I nod, unable to find my voice. “You?” I squeak out.
“If by well you mean slept next to someone tossing and turning while mumbling in their sleep, then yeah. Slept great.”
“I do not!” Atlas frowns.
“You do.” Grey ruffles his black hair, laughing as he slaps his hand away. “Almost forgot about the night thrashing.”
“Screw you.”
“I’m just saying. Felix sleeps like the dead.” My attention snaps to Grey. His eyes widen with the admission and Atlas’s narrow on me. We stand there for a silent moment until Atlas breaks it, looking between the two of us.
“When would he have been in your bed?” Atlas looks at me.
“We fell asleep the other night watching the Yetis game,” I say.
Atlas looks at Grey. “You watched their game and not ours?”
“I’ve watched a few of your games. In fact, I texted you after the Pride one and you never wrote me back. Left me on read, you dick.” Grey sighs. “It’s early. Are we already starting?” Atlas rolls his eyes.
“You better come to our playoff games,” Atlas says. “Please?”
Grey looks down at the floor. “Against the Vipers probably, huh?”
Atlas sighs. “We’re going to play them most likely. I don’t see the Reapers pulling one over on them tonight. Then we play them. We’ll kick their ass. Might lose out on our winning streak, but we’re going all the way.” Atlas smiles. “We haven’t made it this far in quite a while.”
“Have the Otters won the tournament? Is it a tournament?” I catch Atlas’s eye roll as Grey looks to me.
“It’s the Stanley Cup, and the Otters won when I was nineteen and twenty-three, then we hit a bit of a drought. We went through a rough period. Bad management. Mismanaged salary caps. Players who weren’t really into it.”
“Then Oli came.” Atlas smiles.
Grey nods. “We had a bit of a rebuild, and now we usually get to the first or second bracket before being eliminated.”
“How long have you been playing?” I ask Atlas.
“Two years in the big leagues.”
“He’s a baby.” Grey ruffles his hair. Atlas swats his hand away.
“I’m twenty-four! I’m not a baby.” He points to Grey. “All I know is your ass better be there in person to watch us play.”
Grey nods then looks at me. “You’re coming with me, right? I’ll need some help with the stairs anyway. We can sit in the box.”
“In public?”
Grey catches my meaning. “If you want.”
I do. No matter what the risk, I do. I can’t let Steven control me anymore. “Yeah, that sounds like fun.”
Grey grins. “You can wear my Pride jersey.” He sets his mug down. “I promised Atlas I’d wear his.”
Atlas smiles. “That’s right.” Atlas eyes Grey and I don’t know .
. . it’s different than the way Oli and Andre interact with him.
Maybe I’m seeing things. Maybe they have a history.
Or it’s Grey’s history of being used. Maybe that’s it.
Atlas is just protective of him. Maybe he thinks I’m using him too.
I’ll show him he’s wrong. I didn’t even know who he was before I came here, and the last thing I’d want is to take advantage of him.
I put the bacon in the frying pan as Atlas takes a seat, and Grey’s hand subtly touches my lower back as he leans in to look at the food I’m making.
“Looks good.” His warm breath caresses my ear, and it takes everything in me not to lean into it. “The food looks great also.”
His words warm my belly. “Almost done.” I look back, and his mouth is so close to mine. If Atlas wasn’t here, I’d lean into him. Need. So much need. It’s foreign and I feel like I’m floating.
Grey releases me to sit with Atlas. “Don’t forget you have PT tomorrow morning,” I say, and Grey groans.
“That bad?” Atlas asks.
Grey nods, taking a sip of his coffee. “I feel dead after. I’m in so much pain.”
“Well, there’s a hot bath with your name on it when you get home.” I smile back at him. Which reminds me, he needs more bath salts. I mentally add it to the list. I’m going to do a pickup for groceries while he’s in therapy.
Alone.
I can do this. I have a new life now. What is he going to do?
Snatch me off the street? Shit, would he?
The last time I left I did it quietly. I made the mistake of using my debit card and he tracked me down.
What’s sick is that he knew for weeks where I was, but he waited.
He wanted me to believe I was safe. I’d gotten a job, and as soon as I was set to start it and earn my own money he showed up.
No, he didn’t force me to get into his car with him, but fear did. At the time I thought if I just went with him without a fight, it’d be easier.
It wasn’t.
Now, though, I have Grey. I don’t want to use him like that, but I’ll admit with the muscle power he has I feel safe. He also has friends who are equally as big as he is. Not that I want to get them wrapped up in my mess.
The point is, this is it if I want it to be. Maybe Grey’s right. Steven has no power over me. I can pick up groceries. I can go to a hockey game. I don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’m in control.
For the first time in my life . . . I’m free.
“Who’s playing tonight?”
Grey looks at the TV, blinking as if just hearing my question. “Last round until the finals. Its Reapers verses the Vipers.”
“Finals?”
I hand him a beer and don’t even wait this time to get on the bed and join him.
He’s lying against his pillows, with his knee propped up with an ice pack.
I don’t feel as awkward as last time, and Grey smiles as I slide in beside him.
“There are sixteen teams who play in the playoffs. Eight from the west and eight from the east. Right now, we’re almost at the end.
The Otters made it to the final for the west. Now this game will determine if the Vipers go on to the finals next week or if there’ll be one more game to qualify.
They’re up three to two, so it’ll be intense.
Fuck, I love playoff hockey. Then if they win, they’ll advance to the final.
The Vipers will most likely win tonight’s game.
They’re very good and almost always make it close to the end.
At least they have the last few years. They’re fucking dirty, though. ”
“Dirty?”
“They play a very nasty physical game.” Grey shakes his head. “This is the team I faced when I got injured. I guess it’s not fair. They aren’t all like that. Knox, their captain, is an okay guy.”
“Who injured you?”