25. Griffin
CHAPTER 25
GRIFFIN
After pseudo practice with the kids, all I want to do is drag Riley back to the apartment and make dirty love to him. And cuddle until our arms go numb.
But we have to be responsible and help the kids pack up.
And since this was my idea and I’m the one running point, that responsibility falls on me.
Thank fuck Riley is right beside me—goddamn hand in mine—exactly where he belongs, otherwise I might go full blown feral goalie on a room full of preteen/teenagers.
“Your brother is an atrocity on skates,” I tell Riley as we round the doorway, quiet so I won’t be overheard and hurt the little buggers feelings.
We all gotta start somewhere.
“Oh, I’m well aware, frat boy.”
I pinch his palm in retaliation, contemplating shoving him against the wall and forcing my tongue into his smart ass mouth.
No making out in front of children.
His fingers tighten around mine as the roar of twenty kids echoes throughout the locker room, and my gaze leaves his face for only the briefest second to put on my best coach mask.
A second is all it takes for my eyes to find the big cloth banner hanging across the span of the room, decked out in maroon and deep yellow paint.
Splattered paint around the outline of two bodies: mine and Riley’s. There’s skates and a net. A video game controller. A VCR with an unraveled tape titled: Griff’s B-Rated Horror Obsession. Sewn onto the body outlines are both mine and Riley’s home jerseys. The ones we took from each other.
Riley Eason I get that. We can make it work. Coach has already said he’d like to keep you on as a consultant with the other coaches. It’s not perfect or permanent … but it lets you stay with the team. Lets you be involved.”
He nods with a smile made of pure affection. “You and hockey. I want both in my life. Both of you are my life. My heart and my soul.”
As soon as the room is cleared and Rory shuts the door behind them, I yank Riley’s mouth down to mine, biting and sucking and licking my way inside until he’s pliant in my arms. Until pressing close means I can feel his excitement digging into my stomach.
A hard, unyielding body against my own.
God, I fucking missed this.
“I love you, Griff,” he says when I let him breathe, when my own urgent need has me rocking my hips into him as I grip his thighs and drag him close.
“I fucking love you, Riley. If you ever leave me again, I’m chaining you to a goddamn Zamboni.”
Laughter ripples out of him. “I’m done making decisions and regretting them. We’re in this together.”
“Even if they ship me off to Canada?”
Riley rolls his eyes and kisses me tenderly.
“Even if we have to move to Canada.”
So we didn’t make the playoffs. Didn’t even have a chance at The Cup. Given the crapshow of a season we had, it’s not all that surprising.
But this right here?
Months without my best friend and finally having him back?
Better than any fucking playoff game.
Just don’t tell the guys I said that.
After a week of camp, a handful of us decide to get together sans a group of children and relax.
Walking through the front doors of Lucky Sparks has never felt so sweet.
And not just because the lights are dimmed with glow sticks and fairy lights and people are actually dancing on the impromptu dance floor that used to be filled with tables and chairs for casual sitting.
It reminds me of that club in Boston. The one that tentatively brought me and Riley together.
That’s not what makes coming here so special.
It’s that Lucky Sparks is having its first official Pride Night sponsored by the Chattanooga Hornets—much to our GMs chagrin.
Apparently when half of the starting lineup is queer, it’s really easy to get upper management to sign off on Pride related activities. Least they incur the wrath of the goalie currently being optioned for a move up to the NAPH.
Which I haven’t talked to Riley about yet.
We just stepped foot back into our relationship; the last thing I want to do is throw a rock straight into the path.
Rory and Mash already have an array of shit set up by the air hockey table—they’re go-to—with a foldout table and drinks sitting at the ready.
The two of them are standing close together, laughter bubbling out of them. Rory is sitting on the table with his hands splayed out behind him, Mash standing in front with a hand on Rory’s hip, shaking his head at whatever nonsense is coming out of his friend’s mouth.
I catch Hawks’ eye from where he’s leaning on the high-top behind them, and we share a knowing look in the direction of the duo.
Before I can make my presence known, a solid form brushes against my back, thick arms winding around my waist, and the tickle of Riley’s stubble rubs against my cheek as he places a kiss there.
“How cool is this?” I ask, gesturing to the room, but instead of looking, Riley trails his lips down my neck.
With Parker staying with us until the end of summer, we’ve had to keep most of our interactions at home PG, so anytime we get a smidge of privacy, our hands and mouths explore like travelers on unmarked land.
“I feel like I missed a lot while I was away.”
Winding an arm back around his neck, I draw his mouth to mine but don’t quite apply pressure. “Rory got drunk. Tried to dry hump Hawks, got very publicly reprimanded by Mash … and came in his pants.”
“Like …?”
I nod, pressing my lips together to fend off a full blown giggle. “Like Mash barked for him to apologize, called him out in front of the entire drunk-off-their-asses team, and Rory Collins orgasmed on the spot.”
I was incredibly hammered myself, and if it wasn’t for what I witnessed after, I’m not sure I would have remembered.
Mash taking Rory to the bathrooms to clean up, pressing him against the wall just outside it.
“Don’t cry, babydoll. I love you. It’s okay to fuck up. When I get to punish you, it means I get to love on you more after. See? Let’s clean you up and give Riley a call. How about that?”
Of which I’d promptly turned away because it was far too intimate a moment for me to intrude on, and they’d mentioned Riley, and oh had it made my heart ache with the force of missing him.
“I think the entire team is in on it now, but no one wants to be the one to say it out loud and out them, you know?”
“You think they were like that with us, too?”
I cock my head, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of our bodies settling together. Like this is their natural state. Intertwined.
“Maybe.”
It’s Hawks stepping into our bubble that reminds us the rest of the world exists, our captain holding out two drinks:
A spiced rum and a cherry bomb.
Because choosing alcohol for me is a shot in the dark, they can never go wrong with Redbull.
We take our drinks, Hawks watching us with one arm crossed over his chest and the other bringing his glass to his lips.
“So. Riley. Coach says you’re looking into potential coaching opportunities?”
I’d been grasping at straws when I suggested Riley keep working with the team next season. An excuse to keep him close. That kernel of fear that the slightest thing could tear us apart or make him run.
It’s irrational, but my mind loves nothing more than supplying the worst case scenario to send me into an anxious spiral.
We came home that first day—home, our home—and immediately Riley got down to it. Networking with the coaches on the team, our GM, anyone he could think might have answers or advice.
“Gotta hit the ground running,” he says, taking a sip of his spiced rum and hooking his chin on the top of my head. I’m leaning, so our height difference is more apparent than usual.
“We’ll miss you if you ship off to greener pastures.”
Hawks’ words make my stomach twist, but Riley only laughs and tightens his hold around me.
“Don’t worry. You won’t be rid of me. Even if our paths split us up, Griff is still my top priority.” He sets his drink on the air hockey table no one is using and pulls me closer into him. “I’ll be around.”
Because we’re in this together.
I turn my face into his neck, hiding the flush crawling across my cheeks. “Dance with me?”
He smiles, lips brushing my ear, my jaw. “Course, baby.”
Baby.
I drag him away, and it’s like a divine sign of fate that has the upbeat song playing overhead turn into a quiet piano tune followed by a soft, soulful voice.
As we pass the bar, I grab two glow stick necklaces: an orange and a red. When we find an unoccupied spot on the dancefloor, I loop the orange one around Riley’s neck and slip the red one around my own.
He smiles sweet and indulgent, arms claiming my waist as mine weave into his unruly copper curls. My skin prickles with the awareness that eyes are sweeping over us. Stopping. Staring. Moving on.
It excites me something akin to a child procuring a new toy at the store after begging and bartering with their parents until they caved.
I have him.
Riley Easton is mine.
Tears prickle my eyes, and Riley kisses me as if he knows at this moment what I need is him.
“I talked to Matty,” he says, pulling away and placating the panic in my eyes with another smile. “Laid us to rest. That bit of us that I couldn’t seem to get rid of on my own. I spent some time figuring out what I want, and what I need, and it all came back to the same answer.”
“What’s that?” I brush my nose up the column of his neck, breathing him in, the possibility of his words making my heart beat violently in its cage.
He chuckles, drops his mouth to my ear and kisses the shell. “You. Always you.”
There’s nothing gentle about the way I capture his mouth, flicking inside like a flame in need of being fed. He supplies the soil, the bed for my desire to sprout and grow. His heavy breaths are the gasoline that my matches catch on.
We devour each other.
Claim each other.
Pledge our hearts to one another no matter the obstacles we find in our paths.
This is our fight, and we’ll both take up the arms to conquer it.