11. Tori
Eli settles back into his side of the couch, and I let out a contented sigh. Gift giving might be one of my love languages, but there’s a special feeling when you give a gift to someone you care about and they love it.
My head is heavy on my shoulders, so I finish the last of the delicious mulled wine and set my mug to the side. It’s still early in the evening, and I don’t want to get too drunk this soon, as I don’t know what the boys have planned for after presents.
“Your turn, princess,” Oli says, gesturing with his mug toward my little pile of presents.
Sitting up slightly, my hands hover over the gifts as I try to decide what to open first. I settle on Eli’s first, the tube shape piquing my curiosity the most. The paper falls away, and I’m left looking at a blacked-out cylinder with no discernible markings to indicate what might be inside. I glance over at him, only to find him grinning like a fiend. I peel back the tape on one end, tipping it over to let whatever it is fall into my hand.
I let out a startled yelp as a heavy silicone dildo hits my hand and then falls into my lap. It’s bright pink, and bigger than my usual choice of toys, with a knot the size of my fist.
“Do you like it?” Eli asks, practically bouncing in his seat.
I hold it up, rotating it this way and that, trying to imagine how I could possibly use this thing. It’s not overly long, but the girth…
“Does it ring any bells?” Eli presses, laughter at the edges of his voice.
Then it hits me. The shape is organic, not symmetrical like mass-produced toys. And the curve and heft of it in my hands is all too familiar.
“Did you get me a Clone-A-Willy?” I blurt out, not sure if I should laugh or jump into the ocean from embarrassment.
“Yeah! So you have something to play with when we’re on the road,” Eli answers, an almost childlike glee in his aquamarine eyes.
My smile softens, and I’m genuinely touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift now that the initial shock has faded. I don’t know what I expected from a trickster like Eli, but now that I’ve received his gift, I don’t know if I could have imagined anything more... him. Tucking the silicone dick to my chest, I cradle it between my breasts for a moment. Something shifts in Eli’s expression as his eyes flick down to my chest and then back up. I have a feeling we’ll be using this sooner rather than later if I keep holding it, so I slide it back into its tube and set it on the couch beside me.
“I promise it’s not a sex toy,” Spencer says with a chuckle as I pick up the lump of wrapping paper and tape he’s given me.
I laugh and shake my head. “You mean y’all didn’t sit around and make molds of your cocks together?” I fire back.
The boys laugh, and I rip open the paper with care. I don’t know what’s going to fall out of the package, but my fingers brush over supple leather rather than rubber or silicone. For a moment, I wonder if Spencer got me a BDSM harness or something, but once I can take the whole thing in, I realize it’s some sort of messenger bag. The black leather is soft, the stitching impeccable, and the gold hardware so polished I can see my reflection. But then I turn it around and my jaw drops as I see the logo embossed on the front.
“Spencer, no, I can’t—” I start, words cut off as I have to choke back tears.
“Well, I broke your other one. So it’s only right that I replace it,” he retorts too casually.
“This probably cost more than my mortgage!” I exclaim, hands shaking.
Spencer, the bastard, just shrugs, smirking like he didn’t just give me a luxury bag to replace the ratty work bag I’d picked up at the discount store a few years ago. If it wasn’t so sweet, I’d be tempted to throw it at his head. That and I really do need a new bag, and one that’s built to last. I shoot him one more glare before I set the expensive-ass bag down beside the dildo, the oddest couple if there ever was one, picking up the gift bag with trepidation. But inside, I find a flat square box and an envelope.
“Open the box first,” Oli prompts, sitting forward in his seat.
I glance at him, my brow furrowing as I see the serious and perhaps slightly anxious tension in Oli’s amber eyes. His hands twist together as they hang between his knees, and I’m suddenly not sure if I want to open this gift. But everyone is watching me, and it’s getting more awkward the longer I wait. So, I just rip off the metaphorical band-aid, pulling the lid off the box and bracing myself for whatever might be inside.
When angry hornets don’t come flying out, I peek into the box through my lashes as I squint. But my spine straightens, and I open my eyes fully as I see a key ring resting on purple tissue paper, a metal and enamel charm in the shape of the Mystic logo—something I’m almost positive we sell in the arena gift shop—connected to a ring. And on that ring are three keys, each with a different colored rubber ring around the head. I look up, frowning in confusion.
“It’s beyond time for you to have keys to the St. Charles house, princess. I can show you what each other those goes to when we get home. You’ll need to come over to get the rest of your luggage,” Oli explains.
I reel back, shaking my head as I try to parse through the layers of that declaration, and my mind latches onto the last bit first.
“Rest of my luggage?” I repeat, sounding crazy even to my own ears.
Oli nods. “The bag we packed for you is part of a five-piece set. It seemed silly to pack anything larger than the carry on for the three-day trip, so I left the bigger bags and the garment bag at home.”
My head whips around to the doorway leading to my chosen bedroom, my heart racing. Luggage isn’t a cheap gift either, and I doubt he went to a big-box store for his purchase. Distantly, I can’t help but realize that the luggage matches the bag Spencer just gave me, which is oddly touching. Like they want me to be classy and coordinated when I travel. And it would be nice to replace the bags I’ve been hauling all over North America for the last few years. But then I look back down at the house keys in my hand and my body goes a little cold.
“I... I don’t know about this,” I mutter, trying to sort through the swirling feelings in my chest.
“We’re not asking you to move in, sugar. Your house is closer to the arena, which is awesome for your job, and that’s your space, which you obviously can do whatever with. This is just so you can let yourself in when we’re gone if you want to be in the house. I mean, you can come over when we’re there, too, if you want. And if you want to move in later, that would be awesome. But there’s no pressure or anything—”
I let out a snort of errant laughter, slapping a hand over my mouth to stifle it as I look at Spencer’s face. The color has drained away, leaving stark lines of panic behind. It’s sweet, really. They’re offering up free access to their space, but not demanding I do the same. And he’s right. They aren’t telling me to move in. It’s just a set of keys, an unspoken but permanent invitation to their house, allowing me to come and go as I please.
My instincts are fighting with the logical part of my brain and, for once, I give myself space to listen to my more primal self. These men, these alphas, have shown me over and over that the power in our relationships is in my hands. We may have agreed on calling this “casually exclusive,” but that’s only because that’s the label I was most comfortable with at the time. But my instincts—more present than ever, thanks to the changes in my medicine regimen—are set on full steam ahead. I know on a soul-deep level that these boys aren’t going to hurt me, and this is a gesture of their trust in me.
I pick up the keys and curl my fingers around them in a fist. Accepting this feels more like a massive leap forward in our relationship than a baby step, but it doesn’t feel wrong either. Especially when I look around and see relieved smiles across their handsome faces. I turn to Oli as I hold them close to my chest for a moment before setting them down.
“I appreciate this, thank you. I’ll try not to barge in too often.” I try for a joke to relieve the layer of tension that’s descended onto us.
“Oh, please do. I could use the break from these two chuckleheads,” Eli retorts, laughing along with me.
Oli laughs, but Spencer chucks a throw pillow at his roommate’s head, making all of us laugh a little harder. I pick up the envelope, ready to just slice it open. But Oli clears his throat, making me freeze.
“Before you open that, there’s something we’d like to talk about.” He shifts in his chair again.
This nervous fidgeting, so unlike the calm alpha I’m used to, makes my stomach twist around itself. The wine in my belly seems to roil, my instincts picking up on something I can’t consciously identify. Nodding, I set the envelope down, bringing one of my legs to my chest so I can wrap my arms around it, waiting.
Oli takes a deep breath, his gaze falling from my face to somewhere on the floor between us. The sun has long since set, and the very last rays illuminate one half of his handsome face, the other half painted in green and gold from the string lights. The sound of waves crashing fills the air, the white noise quality taking me back to when we were trapped indoors during the hurricane. Candlelight and too much hard liquor are the only things missing.
“I know we haven’t known each other that long, and we agreed to take things slow. But if we’re going to continue, then I feel like we have to be honest with our intentions,” he starts, still not looking at me.
My stomach flips unpleasantly again, my frown deepening. I don’t know what to make of his words, so I stay silent and wait, even if I want to shake him until he spits out whatever he’s trying to get at.
“Eli and I... we’ve been together for years, but we’ve had to hide it. From the team, from my family, from the public. And we’re done. So we want to go public,” Oli goes on, stopping and starting as he chooses his words with care.
My lips curl up in a smile, relaxing a little. “That’s great! I can’t wait—”
Oli looks up at me then, the intensity in his stare stopping my excitement in its tracks. My heart squeezes at the bald emotions gazing back at me, the fear, the pain, the longing.
“It’s not that simple, sunshine,” Eli adds as he scoots over to take my hand.
“Why are you hiding it? We’re not living in the 1800s. And there are other queer guys in the locker room,” Spencer asks, plucking the question out of my mind.
Oli and Eli share a look before the latter gives the former an encouraging nod. I catch his amber eyes for a moment before he looks down at his hands, his fingers twisting over and over.
“My dad isn’t exactly…supportive. I’ve known that I’m bi since I was pretty young, but some stuff happened when I was growing up that showed me I wasn’t safe to be out of the closet. And even now…” Oli trails off, his eyes growing distant.
I sigh in frustration and empathy. Bigotry in the hockey world, particularly toward players who aren’t perceived to be “manly” or “alpha enough,” is something I see all too often on social media, and within the back-office staff of other teams in the league. But knowing what I do about how close Oli is with his dad, my heart breaks that he can’t be his authentic self.
There’s a heaviness to Oliver’s shoulders that makes my chest ache, and I can’t sit still. I slide off the couch and dart over to him, running my fingers through his hair for a moment before he sits back and allows me to crawl into his lap. His arms hold me close, and he buries his face in my hair, taking a deep breath before going on.
“I don’t like hiding this part of myself, and it’s not fair to Eli that we have to keep our relationship secret,” Oli says at last.
“You could just tell your dad to take a long walk off a short pier?” Spencer suggests with obvious irritation on behalf of his friend and roommate.
I’m inclined to agree, but Oli’s heavy sigh stops me from verbalizing it. His arms hold me tight, lifting me slightly so he can adjust his posture before settling me across his thighs again, this time sideways, with my feet draped over one arm of the chair. A hand on my back eases me into the crook of his arm, perfectly positioned for his strong chin to rest on top of my head. I can see Spencer and Eli better this way, and my eyes flick between them over and over. Eli’s mouth droops with a weary frown, but I can practically hear Spencer’s teeth grinding with how hard he’s clenching his jaw.
“He’s my dad, BlackJack. He’s got some fucked-up views, but he’s not... He’s still my dad,” Oli says, starting off strong before trailing off until he’s barely above a whisper.
I press a hand to Oli’s chest, nuzzling him slightly. I am quite lucky that my parents are as supportive as they are, but it doesn’t take a giant leap of imagination to understand what he’s trying to say. For a heartbeat, it looks like Spencer might try to argue, but then he sighs and his shoulders slump. I’m sure he has a lot more to say, but it’s big of him to drop it.
“I promise you; we’ve tried to think of every possible way we could do this. But between Oli’s dad, and the league rules, we’re only left with one option.” Eli pulls my attention back to him.
“What do you mean?” I question, confusion returning with a vengeance.
Eli and Oli share another look over my head, but I don’t take my eyes off Eli as I wait for an answer. The silent exchange either lasts a few seconds, or several decades. But once Eli nods, and Oli’s arms tighten around me, I brace myself for whatever bomb they’re about to drop.
“The only way we can think of to be together in the public eye, and stay together on the same team to play hockey, is to form a pack. A pack with an omega at the center.”