Breakaway

13. Hayden

Chapter 13

Hayden

Pope is spiraling.

It’s the first time he’s been struggling since we started our friendship—and then seemingly destroyed our friendship—and I have no idea how to handle it. Before we got close, I had promised to leave the issue alone and keep my concern for him purely physical. I had succeeded too, which may have even contributed to him finally coming to me that night where our friendship started.

If he’d begun struggling during that bout of friendship, I think I might have poked at the edges of things, testing it out to see if he would open up since our trust had built. Now? There’s no way in hell he’d open up to me. I’m pretty sure trying to get him to do so would result in him ripping me a new one, something my heart can’t handle at the moment.

So, I stay silent and watch him from afar. I watch as bags grow under his eyes again and his playing suffers, as he withdraws from his teammates and picks at his food, as he sometimes buries his face in his hands when he thinks he’s alone and just breathes like he’s practicing how. I watch him start another ridiculously unnecessary fight within minutes of the next game, mouthing off to the player as he skates to the sin bin, then mouthing off at the ref until Ian is barking at him to shut the hell up. I watch as Ian rips him a new one after in front of the entire team, as the anger seeps out of him until he’s nothing but slumped shoulders and distant eyes, as he mumbles an apology that sounds so broken it takes the wind right out of Ian’s sails.

I watch him crumble until I’m crumbling myself.

Tara notices. Her and I had been growing closer ever since we joint-chaperoned the team-bonding downtown. We even went out for drinks with Ian one night, where I got to enjoy a delightful time of watching as she gave him shit all evening.

The thing about Tara is that she’s not one for subtlety, entering my office without knocking on the open door first and plopping down in the chair across from me. “You need a fun evening. Also, possibly, you need to get laid.”

“Just possibly?” I find myself asking, so caught off guard by her words that I don’t have the time to even process that I should be worried, or possibly even offended.

“ Probably ,” she corrects herself. Then, “Well, definitely. But I’d settle for just a fun evening.”

“And you’ll be delivering this evening, I presume?”

Her smile turns mischievous. I haven’t known her for long, but I know enough to be worried now. “Did I ever tell you about my gay brother?”

Oh boy.

“You did not.” I shake my head at her. “But you can’t toss two gay guys together and assume they’ll hit it off, you know. We’re just like you straight people.”

Her smile falters. “Hey, I know that! That’s why the getting laid part was optional, you ass. I’m not suggesting a hookup with my brother. I’m suggesting you guys grab a drink together.”

I sigh. “What makes you think your brother will even want to do this? Does he owe you a favor? Is this a pity drink?”

Surprisingly, her expression darkens, her eyes falling off to the side. “No. Noah is—he’s in the military, but he’s home on leave. He’s struggling. We all are. He’s so different from the last time we saw him and he’s trying to pretend for us, but it’s not going well. I think maybe it’d be good for him to get out of the house and spend time with someone who has no expectations for how he should behave.”

“That’s—yeah. I could do that for him, sure.” I wince. “But fair warning, I have feelings for someone else. Don’t make it sound like it’s a blind date. I’d hate to get his hopes up, you know?”

She looks back at me with a roll of her eyes and a smirk. “Don’t worry, Hayden. I’m not going to try to get you over the straight hockey player by hooking you up with a guy who is about to leave for another year in the military.”

My jaw drops. It’s very rare to get such a dramatic response from me, but I swear to god, my jaw fucking drops. “You—I don’t—I’m not—who—”

“Oh, please .” She stands up, apparently feeling like our conversation is coming to a close. “Ian may be a blind idiot, but I’m not. The two of you have been stuck like glue lately. Plus, I see the way you look at him. My camera does, too. You should see some of the pictures and videos I’ve chosen not to post on our page, my friend.”

“How—how do I look at him?”

“Like you’d climb onto his hockey stick the first chance he gave you.”

I groan, putting my face in my hands. “Ew.”

“Or… you’d give him your stick first chance he gave you? If that’s your preference?”

“Stop. Just—stop.” I shake my head, but I’m smiling. It’s a testament to Tara. The short spitfire is the definition of sunshine most days. Sometimes I forget that she’s a single mom with two boys because she’s usually too busy kicking ass and keeping everyone on their toes to show the exhaustion and stress she surely must feel. She’s a good friend. I tell myself that’s why I’m agreeing to this plan of hers.

And if her brother, Noah, wants to maybe help me fuck Pope out of my system, well… that’s just an added bonus, I suppose.

“Give Noah my number and we’ll work something out.”

“Will do.” She heads to the door before pausing. I watch her expression shift as she visibly fights with herself over something before squaring her shoulders and looking me in the eye. “Hayden?”

Oh god, what? “Yeah?”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up either, really, I don’t, but—” she shakes her head, her lips curling into a reluctant smile. “In the pictures and videos? He’s looking at you too.”

She leaves me then, sitting in my chair reeling.

I’m still sitting there, replaying every moment spent with Pope in my mind, by the time her brother’s text comes in.

Noah is handsome in the hardened sort of way that can be expected from a military man. In fact, my first impression is—amusingly enough—that he looks quite a lot like the guy who used to play Captain America before the superhero started looking a lot more like me. He’s tall and broad with dark blonde hair cut short and barely-there stubble on his strong jaw, his eyes a bright blue even in the dim lighting of the brewery’s bar we’re meeting in. He’s dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt stretched across his chest, a dark brown leather jacket slung over his chair.

He stands as I approach, the two of us doing an awkward shuffle as I ask, “Noah?” and he asks, “Hayden?”

We laugh, some of the awkwardness fading.

“How could you tell?” I ask.

“Tara warned me you’d be the guy that looked like he stepped out of a fashion magazine.” He smiles, but it’s a tired smile. Forced.

I look down at my wool coat and Burberry scarf. It’s nothing fancy, but considering the town is mostly made up of hockey players, college students, and blue-collar families, I can see where he’s coming from.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I stalked your sister’s social media,” I admit.

He chuckles, but it’s just as bad as his smile.

What is with all of these gorgeous men around me being unhappy? Is this the universe telling me I should have become a therapist or something? Or the universe just telling me I need to be single forever?

Maybe I should just buy some cats and give up.

“I waited to order. Have you been here before? There’s a menu on the table.”

“Yeah, actually. We came with the team once. Tara forced us to as a PR thing.” I smirk. “Though if you ask me, I think she just liked the excuse to boss us around outside of the arena.”

Noah laughs. “Yeah, that sounds about right. What’s good?”

“I had a blood orange IPA that was pretty great.”

“Two blood orange IPAs then.” He gestures to the table. “Take a seat? I’ll go get them for us.”

“Great, thanks.”

While he goes off to get the drinks, I let my eyes roam the bar area. It’s busier than when we came with the team. Probably because it’s a Friday night, one of the rare Fridays where we don’t have a game. It hurts to think about that day, to think about how Pope had smiled as he handed me that ice cream cone—not to mention the way his tongue had curled as he licked his treat right beside me—so I push it out of my mind.

Noah saves me anyway, returning with two glasses filled to the brim. I thank him, taking a long drink that has him raising an eyebrow. I force an awkward laugh when I return the glass to its coaster. “I’m kind of going through something right now. Sorry.”

“My sister mentioned you were having a hard time. She didn’t give me much on details, though.” He rests his forearms on the table, crossed over each other, and leans forward. His eyebrows waggle, and I immediately see the resemblance between him and Tara. “Is it a guy?”

“It is.” I groan. “A straight one.”

“Oh no!” he says with a sympathetic laugh. He shakes his head, taking a drink of his own before saying, “Is he your first straight crush?”

“Nope. Guess I didn’t learn from the first one, though.”

He leans back in his seat then, letting out a long sigh. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got two options tonight.”

“Oh?”

“You can tell me all about him while we get drunk or I can distract you with funny war stories while we get drunk.”

I tilt my head at him. “I feel like funny war stories doesn’t really go together in a sentence.”

“No?” He smirks. “Put a bunch of terrified, hyper-masculine men in close quarters with their lives on the line, shit for food, and a surprising amount of downtime, and what do you think you get?”

“Idiots,” I say easily. “Who do stupid shit for entertainment.”

He points a finger at me. “Exactly.”

“Well, the last thing I want is to talk about my guy tonight. No amount of talking is going to fix the fact that he’s straight. Or that he’s emotionally closed off. Or that he’s self-destructive to the point of concern. Or that he looks very, very good in compression shorts. Or that I thought we were genuine friends until he found out my sexuality and got all weird. So, war stories it is.”

Noah opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “Weird how?”

“Huh?”

“Found out about your sexuality and got all weird. How so?”

I drain a quarter of my beer as I try to piece together the right words for how Pope changed. It’s hard to explain, especially when you add in the nuances that make up the complicated human that is Ethan Pope.

“He clammed up at first, but said he was fine with it. He even got all defensive, saying if anyone gave me shit about it that he’d handle them. But then he asked if I have a boyfriend and got weird again. He was relieved when he found out I was single, as if he could handle the concept of me being gay, but not the reality of me being with a man, you know?”

“Or he was relieved because he wants you,” Noah counters.

“No, he told me he was straight in the same exact conversation.”

He whistles low, shaking his head with sympathy. “That’s tough, man. How has he been since then? Or was this recent?”

“It was last week. We’ve gone from talking every day to radio silence, and when we had to interact at work it was… tense .”

“You work together? Christ, don’t tell me he’s a hockey player.” When I give him a guilty self-deprecating smile, he groans. “Fuck, man. A straight hockey player. Are you a masochist?”

“Apparently.” I drink more of my beer, starting to feel the warmth of it. Maybe by the second one the ache inside of my chest from Pope’s actions will finally let up. One can hope, at least. “I didn’t mean to—”

I pause when there’s a commotion at the other side of the bar. We both look over as a large group of rowdy guys pours in the entrance, some shaking snow off their heads, a few with girls tucked under an arm. I’m just about to turn my attention back to Noah when I realize—I know those guys.

That’s Knut. And Jensen. Lafferty. Kirkland. Jules.

Pope .

He’s being dragged out of the way of the entrance by Jules’s hand on his jacket. He frowns at his roommate, but Jules just grins back at him and says something I obviously can’t hear. He puts up a single finger and Pope rolls his eyes.

“Hayden?”

I jolt, having completely forgotten that Noah was here. Guilt makes my face flood with warmth. “Sorry. They’re—they were loud.”

He eyes me before slowly nodding. “They were.”

“You tricked me into talking about my shit. I think I’m owed some funny war stories now.”

“Fair enough.” He seems to think for a moment before chuckling to himself. “We had this new guy—a cherry, we call them—come in toward the end of my first deployment. It’s tradition to haze any new guy, but it’s especially important when you’re deployed, you know? You have to build that relationship fast because those guys—those guys are your family out there. They’re all you have. So, this new guy, Tony—we found out, using some nefarious methods, that—”

My eyes wander. I’m still listening, I don’t mean to be a dick, but as he tells me about their plan for the next time the guy had to leave the barracks for his guard shift, I find Pope again.

He’s by the two pool tables over in the corner, leaning his weight on a pool stick as he laughs at something Kirkland says.

He looks good. Really fucking good. Better than I’ve ever seen him look. Black jeans that are tight on his ass and thighs. A white shirt stretched taut across his broad chest before falling loose around the toned V of his torso. A burgundy bomber jacket with the sleeves pushed up to expose his tattooed left arm and the nice watch on his right. He looks like sex on a fucking hockey stick.

And his smile—it’s real. Whatever Jules did to get him out of their apartment—and out of his own head—seems to have worked. He’s happy right now. Not electric like the night of his hat trick, but still happy. After the week he’s had, I’m glad he found that again—even if he did end up breaking my heart.

“Is that him?” Noah asks, his voice soft.

I can’t even get myself to feel guilty this time, even as I realize that I stopped listening to his story despite trying to pay attention. “Yeah. The one in the red jacket.”

“Damn. No wonder you fell—look at the guy.”

My heart catches at the sight of him leaning down to take a shot, my cock twitching at the profile view of his ass in those pants. I groan miserably. “I know.”

“What should we do? Want to get something stronger? Tequila? Vodka? Want to sneak out the back and go cry in my truck? Want me to go beat him up?”

I laugh, shaking my head and tearing my gaze away from Pope. “No, nothing dramatic like that. I should probably leave though. I don’t want to ruin his night.”

“Ruin his night?” He frowns. “If anything, it’s your night being ruined. Sounds like he’s been an asshole.”

“It’s complicated. He’s complicated.” I look at him again, unable to stop it. It’s a fucking problem. All of these feelings toward him are.

Pope takes a sip of his beer, chasing the taste across his lips with his tongue after. I want to pin him down and lick the same path. Then spend the rest of the night licking paths all over him, until every inch has been explored. Every. Fucking. Inch.

“You’re drooling.”

I cover my face with my hand, half to hide my embarrassment and half to make it impossible to keep staring. I feel like a fucking highschooler creeping on his crush across the lunch room. At least I stop myself from groaning again. I told him I didn’t want to be dramatic, after all.

“I should go,” I say again, dropping my hand so I can look at Noah. “I’m sorry to cut our night short.”

“Not a problem at all. I get it. Did you drive?”

“I walked.”

“Let me take you home, then.” He puts his hands up. “No strings.”

I bite my lip, considering it. My place really isn’t far, but the snow is coming down pretty good out there and I didn’t think to bring a hat. Maybe I could even invite Noah inside for a second drink and actually hear those stories. Or… do something else to get my mind off of Pope. Maybe Tara is right and I need to get laid? Maybe Noah does too after being gone so long?

“Alright,” I decide. “But I’m going to go pay the tab. It’s the least I can do.”

He nods. “Alright, thanks for the drink then. I’ll run out and start the truck. It’s pretty damn cold out there.”

I blink at him. “But you have normal keys, not a keypad on the door.”

“Right…” He blinks back at me. “And…?”

“Which means you have to leave your keys in the truck with the doors unlocked! What if someone steals it?”

He barks a laugh, his eyes bright. “Because Superior is just so full of crime? Did you hear about that snowman murder last weekend? Horrific. Worst homicide we’ve seen here in years.”

“Right. Small town. I forget.” I shake my head. “It’s not that small though. With the college nearby and everything.”

“Small town mentality still.”

“Well, I guess I won’t complain. I like the idea of warmth, and it’s your truck, not mine.”

I swear I feel the familiar hot gaze of Pope settle on me as I walk to the bar, but I tell myself I’m just imagining it. Or even if I’m not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t let myself look back.

It’s a Friday night and the place has gotten pretty busy, leaving both tenders unavailable. I wait patiently for one of them to be able to help me close my tab. Well, as patiently as I can considering every second that ticks by requires a damn near excruciating amount of self-restraint to keep from looking over at the pool tables. Especially when I see out of the corner of my eye more girls join the guys. I can hear them too, laughing and yelling to each other over the music. Is Pope flirting with them? Will he bring one home? Will they get to see his rare genuine smile, the one with the dimples and the crinkles around his eyes, or will he give them the false one?

A warm body settles against mine as the tender nearest to me slowly makes her way in my direction, stopping to get someone else a drink on the way. I try to step to the left, allowing the person beside me more space, but they follow. “Leaving already?”

I whip my head around, certain I’m imagining the familiar voice. I’m not.

Fuck, his eyes are so damn green. Who gave him the right to have such pretty eyes?

“Pope.” My voice is weak, but hopefully the din of the bar keeps him from noticing. “I—yeah. I’ve been here a while already.”

“Yeah?” He glances around, his eyebrows pulling together. “By yourself?”

“No. Just—just drinks with a friend.”

He drops his gaze back to me, an easy smile on his lips. “Me too. Jules dragged me out.”

“Quite literally.” I laugh. “I saw him pulling you by your jacket.”

It isn’t until I hear myself say the words that I realize that it sounds like I was spying on him or something. He doesn’t seem to mind, for once. He just shrugs. “He’s a good friend, even if I wanted to kill him.”

“Wanted? Past tense?” I ask, feeling a spark of hope in my chest at the thought that maybe Pope is finally allowing himself to have a genuinely good time with his friends. He deserves that. “You’re having a good night, then?”

His eyes roam my body, moving slowly enough to take in every detail. The way he inhales seems to hitch his breath in his chest. My skin starts to buzz. I’ve been looked at like that before, many times. Nine out of ten of them, I ended up getting laid.

The buzzing only gets worse when he says in a suddenly low, almost syrupy voice, “I am now.”

My mind spins. What? What the fuck does that mean? Is he… flirting? Did he just check me out? Has he been avoiding me because he’s realized he’s… attracted to me? Is this hockey player having a fucking bisexual awakening? Was Tara right? Am I completely insane?

I need a drink.

I need many, many drinks.

Before I can figure out what I can possibly say to him, I’m bumped from behind. It’s hard enough to send me stumbling. Pope catches me, big hands gripping my forearms, warm breath wafting over my face. He smells like fruity beer and cheap cologne. I feel a little dizzy. I really wish I could blame it on my drink, but that’d be a lie.

“You good?” Pope asks, his gaze narrowing over my shoulder. There’s a startling amount of anger in the look he gives the person who bumped me. When I don’t answer, he flicks his gaze back to my face, everything in his expression softening. “Hayden? You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I force a laugh, feeling a hundred shades of awkward. “Thanks for the catch.”

I try to pull away now that I’m steady, but he tightens his grip on me.

“Just stay close to me,” he murmurs, his voice so low I can barely hear him. “If that asshole pushes you again, I’m going to kick his ass.”

One of his thumbs strokes along the underside of my left wrist. The world seems to whir around me. I laugh, feeling slightly hysterical. “I’m—uh. I’m leaving anyway. I just need to close my tab.”

He frowns over at the bartender that’s now almost in front of us. “You sure? You could stay.”

“I don’t think I—” my words catch in my throat as I feel someone press up against my back. I freeze, worried it’s the guy who bumped me earlier. From the look on Hayden’s face, whoever it is might be about to get hit with a whole lot of pissed off hockey player.

Then a firm hand rests on my shoulder with a familiarity that no random patron would have. My eyes flutter as I realize who it must be, just before I hear Noah say, “Everything okay, Hayden?”

Pope’s eyes narrow. “He’s fine . Who the fuck are you?”

“His date.” Noah’s hand on my shoulder squeezes while his other hand appears around my side, his arm extending toward Pope. “Noah. And you are?”

Pope looks at the hand, then me, then Noah over my shoulder. His jaw ticks. When he grabs Noah’s hand, I actually wince with how hard the grip looks. Noah doesn’t seem the least bit bothered. They barely even shake each other’s hands, more of just glaring and a whole lot of squeezing.

“Nice to meet you,” Noah says.

There’s an awkward stretch of a few seconds before it becomes clear that Pope doesn’t intend to return Noah’s pleasantry. He drops his hand and locks his eyes with mine again. I realize he’s still holding my forearm with his other hand. If this was any other situation, I’d be perfectly happy pressed between two gorgeous men, both holding onto me in a way I can’t help but think feels possessive. In this situation, however, I’m considering melting into a puddle at their feet just to get away.

“Date?” Pope asks, his voice suddenly tight. “You said drink with a friend .”

“It evolved,” Noah says for me. “And it’s continuing. Let’s get out of here, Hayden.”

“Hold up—you’re new to town, how did you meet him?” Pope shoots an impressive glare at Noah. It’s a glare I’ve seen him use on the ice, just before smashing someone into the boards. “How well do you even know this guy?”

“A mutual friend,” I say awkwardly, Pope’s behavior adding a new layer to my already overwhelming confusion. “Pope—”

“And you’re leaving with him?”

I finally glance over my shoulder at Noah. He’s not looking at me, solely focused on Pope. There’s amusement in his eyes. “Yes. He is.”

“I didn’t drive and it’s snowing.” I look back at Pope and shrug. “He offered to bring me home.”

“How much did you have to drink?”

“He’s sober enough to consent,” Noah says. And I realize I hear something in his voice. Something teasing. It’s barely there, probably impossible to notice if I hadn’t had him teasing me earlier in the evening, but I hear it.

He’s purposely fucking with Pope.

Why in the world would he do that?

Why in the world is Pope so upset?

Why in the world did I let Tara convince me to go out tonight instead of sitting at home in pajamas?

Pope’s jaw ticks again before his eyes leave Noah to find mine. Something shifts in his expression, the anger turning to distress. Desperation, even. “You don’t have to leave with him just because it’s snowing. I can bring you home. I’ll leave right now.”

“No. You should have fun with the guys. Enjoy your night. Really, it’s okay. He’s Tara’s brother, not some serial killer.” I force an awkward laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think it’s murder he’s worried about me doing to you,” Noah says, the amusement thicker in his voice now.

Pope shoots him another look. His chest is heaving, like he’s having a hard time breathing for some reason.

Oh, Pope…

Whether it’s true concern for my safety or jealousy like Noah is implying, it doesn’t change the fact that he looks on the edge of panic. I know I can’t help, though. He’d never let me.

“Pope,” I say softly, placing a hand over the one he’s using to hold my forearm. He immediately steps closer as if the touch drew him into me. I’m now literally back-to-chest with Noah and chest-to-chest with Pope. I will my cock to not misinterpret the situation as I maintain eye contact with him. “Go. Have fun. I’ll see you for the game tomorrow.”

His hand tenses on my forearm before he jerks himself away like I’ve suddenly burned him, taking a stumbling step back after. He reaches to his hair and I know he wants to adjust his cap. His fingers flex against air as he realizes he’s not wearing it. His chest shudders.

“Text me,” he begs. And that’s what it is. It’s clear as fucking day. He’s begging me. “When you get home safe. Please.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I give him a smile. It doesn’t seem to help him feel better. “Goodnight, Pope.”

His eyes flicker left to right across my face before he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, goodnight, Hayden.”

Noah’s hand shifts until he’s got an arm around my shoulders, the man using the position to turn me away from Pope and toward the exit. We weave through the crowd together until we’re outside in the cold air, snow softly drifting down. He drops his arm and laughs to himself, shaking his head.

“What?” I ask as I follow him to his truck.

He looks at me over the hood of his truck, his grin wide and mischievous. “That boy is so not straight.”