Epilogue Part 2
colton
I’ve always wondered what it’s like being in prison. Being served three square meals a day with dedicated exercise time always sounds appealing. But staring at white walls and longing for freedom is what always made me question if I could really survive.
Turns out…I can.
Not in an actual jail cell, I’m a little too by the book for crime, but I am stuck staring through the bars at the freedom I’ve longed for for months, years, without a key to unlock the metal standing in my way.
It’s fucking torture.
Not physical torture as I’ve seen in prison movies. I wonder if that would be easier. A shiver runs down my spine. Nope. This is much, much worse.
Sitting at a baby shower for Bougie and Kennedy, seeing the glow on their faces, the excitement of everyone here celebrating them tugs at something I didn’t realize was there.
I’m extremely happy for my friends. Bougie finally got his happily ever after.
If anyone has the slightest inkling of what I am going through, longing for someone for so long but not being able to have them, it’s him.
But he doesn’t completely get it. He found his love without risking everything.
I can’t do that. Confessing my feelings would ruin our careers. Our reputations. Everything.
Personally, I couldn’t give a shit. My reputation is not much more than being a decent player in the NHL. I enjoy the game. I’m good at it. Fuck, my name is on the Stanley Cup! But losing all that would be nothing compared to this.
Because, of course, my fucking dumbass self-had to fall in love with the one person I can’t have. My teammate, my roommate.
And my goddamn best friend.
We moved in together during the rookie season, both new to the city, and became instant friends.
I’m the serious, responsible, level-headed planner.
He’s the carefree spirit that doesn’t give a shit about bills or setting aside money for a hockey player’s inevitable retirement.
We balance each other, helping one another find a neutral zone within our lives.
And when we both started making enough money to buy our own places, we just… didn’t.
I think he secretly wanted me to keep paying the utilities and pay me back so he didn’t have to worry about it.
For him, it was continuing our friendship and living arrangements.
But for me? It was about making sure he stayed.
The masochist in me wanted to see him every day despite knowing he would never be mine.
If torturing myself is what I wanted, that’s exactly what I got.
Every time he clapped his hand on my shoulder.
Every time he brushed against me, reaching for a mug in the cabinet above the sink when I was rinsing out a dish.
Every time his foot brushed against mine when we sat on the couch.
Fucking. Torture.
Then he decided we should go on a spur-of-the-moment trip to Cabo for the weekend. I fiddle with the paracord bracelet on my wrist, remembering what almost happened on that trip. We had a room with two queen beds. Easy peasy, right? Nothing could go wrong there.
We live together; this was no different.
But after a few too many drinks, I stumbled into bed and only remember waking up with his arm across my chest, EJ having passed out in the wrong bed.
My bed. I’ll never forget the way my heart raced, the way my cock twitched, and the way my stomach twisted.
Cherishing every detail, knowing it would be gone the minute he woke up.
Then he did.
I clenched every muscle in my body, waiting for him to panic. Ready to say it was no big deal. Ready to explain the morning wood as an everyday thing.
But he didn’t panic. His eyes caught mine, his hand still glued to my chest. Nothing but silence in our gaze. I swear we lay there for an hour, but it was merely seconds.
He finally cleared his throat, saying the words I was expecting, “Sorry, Tay. I was wasted.” I, of course, replied with what I had planned.
Then we both went about the rest of our trip like it never happened.
Like we were a couple of frat bros who bunked up after a party.
And somehow, on a trip with my best friend, I never felt more alone.
But that morning, that one glorious morning in paradise, gave me more than a hard on. It gave me hope. Because I fucking saw it. It was deep and buried in his stormy eyes, but it was there.
He thought about it. He thought about me.
And yet, despite the time that’s passed by, here I sit at a baby shower. I stare blankly out the window, still tortured by what could’ve been my freedom had I been bold enough to pull him in for a kiss that day.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. So now I live my life every day wanting a man I can’t have.
The man is currently hiding in the kitchen with Hannah.
They thought they were sneaky, wandering off separately, but I saw.
I always see. I see his hand on her waist, hers on his cheek.
I see the longing smiles and looks they give each other when they think no one’s watching.
I see the way they feel about each other.
And, like the fucking good friend I am, I agreed to keep their little secret all while trying not to lose my goddamn mind.
Bougie specifically told EJ to stay away from Hannah after her move to Milwaukee—he actually declared it to the entire team that she was off limits to all of us—yet somehow I get to be the secret keeper.
Everything is a goddamn secret around here.
I feel like I’m in a vault with someone on the other side trying to blow it wide open, knowing there’s nothing I can do to keep it shut anymore.
This is why prison seems appealing.
Fuck even I have secrets. EJ doesn’t know one critical piece of information. Well, two actually…
He doesn’t know I am in love with him.
He doesn’t know Hannah and I kissed.
Yep. That happened too. She visited Bougie earlier this year, and we all went out.
I had a little too much to drink, mainly because EJ was dating someone else at the time, and Hannah and I just seemed to, I don’t know, click?
I was having a really hard time seeing Erik dating another girl who was completely wrong for him.
Probably because I’m in love with him. The twisting in my chest aches knowing I will never have him—but I do want him to be happy.
And seeing him with girls that are clearly only into him because he’s a professional athlete is a knife to the heart.
How does he not see they are glorified puck bunnies hoping to get a lifelong cash contract?
How does he not see that he’s worthy of so much more?
I sneak another glance into the kitchen at them.
At her. I’m not quite sure if Hannah knew exactly why I was moping that night, but the way she set her hand on my forearm when I caught EJ making out with his girlfriend made me feel like she got it.
Like she knew I needed a distraction. She sat with me the entire evening while everything around us disappeared.
And, for a moment, I forgot. I forgot about the pain.
The longing. The unrequited love. All because of her.
There was something about the way her eyes sparkled when she talked to me.
I felt like she could see into my every thought, conquer every inner demon.
For the first time, I felt like someone saw me.
In the midst of our laughter, she keeled over in hysterics, nearly falling off the couch we were sitting on.
But I caught her. I held her in my arms as our eyes locked, heat thrumming.
Then she smiled, and that was it. The space between us all I could see.
That was all it took for my entire existence to be upended.
I had to have her. I leaned forward and kissed her.
In the middle of a club full of people, but in my mind, it was only the two of us.
And she kissed me back. And in the most surprising moment of my life—I fucking loved it.
I’ve always been more attracted to a person versus the parts and pieces they have.
As the patron saint of sexuality, David Rose said, I like the wine and not the label.
More often than not, it’s been men that have had my attention, only because I’d never really found a woman I wanted in that way before.
Until her.
It felt like something finally clicked into place.
Like when the equipment manager snaps my blade in place, and I’m finally able to glide back out onto the ice with no resistance.
Just as I was about to take her out of the club and find some place more private, to do something I never thought I’d have a desire to do, a voice came over the mic introducing a guest DJ for the rest of the evening.
We pulled back from our kiss, her face flush and her lips plump from being pressed against mine.
I apologized, and she waved me off as she said the same.
We both chalked it up to the alcohol, assuming that was probably for the best. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.
For so long, my chest has been aching, longing for something I thought I could never have. And there I sat with a beautiful woman, one who I wanted to be more than a friend, while she comforted me because I was desperately in love with someone else.
Then she met EJ.
Talk about fucking conundrum.
And now, here I am, keeping their secret relationship under lock and key.
My prison cell gets smaller every day. Every hour.
Every minute. Every breath. Every time I fucking see either one of them.
Where he is goofy and carefree, she is professional and poised.
Where she is small and fits perfectly in my arms, he is someone I want to be completely enveloped by, not being able to escape his hold. I wonder if—
“You want a piece of cake?” I nearly fall out of my chair as Kara stands in front of me with a plate of dessert.
“Sure,” I say, taking it from her as she hands me a fork and napkin to go with it—along with a look that tells me she’s here for more than playing host.
“You okay, Colton?” she asks. “You’ve been quiet today.”
If only she knew. “Yeah. Baby showers just aren’t my thing.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she says with a knowing look and walks away. What does she know? Kara loves some piping hot tea as much as I do. Does she know about mine?
Fuck.
I stare at the piece of cake, the sugary pink and blue frosting staring back at me as if it’s trying to force a thought in my mind. I can’t even blink, my gaze glued to the confectionery fortune teller in my hand.
I think the fucking cake is right.
I don’t want EJ. I don’t want Hannah.
I fucking want them both.