Chapter 13
Adam was an idiot.
He had known he could never say no to Mo’s face.
He should have told him over text that the sex had to end.
But Adam was an idiot who avoided the topic, and Mo showed up at his doorstep and they’d had the most confusing, tension-filled sex of Adam’s life.
What was another superlative ranking for sex with Mo?
Except this time wasn’t a best or most or greatest. Adam hadn’t known you could pine for a person while inside them. Now he wished he could forget.
At least, after that wrenching conversation, he’d finally gotten some sleep.
Adam hadn’t told the team about the fake breakup—he couldn’t when everyone thought his relationship was real—but all the people in his life had sussed out that something was wrong.
Even the rookie was trying to cheer Adam up.
Adam barely used Instagram, but he’d never turned his DM notifications off on his very private account, and Picks had sent him thirty-seven Labrador puppy videos in the past day and a half.
Either he needed to be talked out of making a rash purchase or he thought Adam was having a severe mental health crisis.
When Adam tried complaining to Jorts on the flight back from their road trip, the whole thing blew up in his face.
“You got into two fights in three games.”
Adam gritted his teeth, then regretted it when the bruise on his jaw twinged. “I’m fine.”
“You’re minus-two for the trip.”
“Plus-minus is a stupid stat.”
“You declined a call from your mom.”
God damn it. “What do you want me to say?” Adam huffed, exasperated. “Taking someone home to meet the parents is stressful. And I’ve basically been on the road since we got back.”
He clamped his mouth shut. He shouldn’t have said even that much.
“Ohhh.” Jorts nodded as though Adam had revealed the secrets of the universe. “You’re a little backed up. I get it. Makes me testy too.”
For fuck’s sake. Of course Jorts would zero in on the exact opposite of the problem. Adam groaned. “Please don’t talk to me about your testes.”
Fortunately for Adam, the flight was mostly over. They landed, and he escaped to his car, hoping to leave the discussion in his rearview.
But while he might have evaded Jorts, he couldn’t avoid himself. Wherever he went, there he was.
More glaringly, there Mo wasn’t.
Not next to Adam in the car that Mo talked him into buying, or in front of Adam’s closet mocking his boring wardrobe.
Hell, for the first week after their return from New Brunswick, they’d barely even texted.
Until Mo’s disastrous, regrettable—hot—booty call, there’d just been the one exchange asking to keep the breakup quiet.
He’d agreed, of course. The fallout didn’t feel like something he could handle with dignity. Not that he’d been behaving in a particularly dignified way lately. Two fights in three games—not his most glowing statistic. And dodging his mom was a new low.
He kicked off his shoes by the garage door, dropped his bag outside the laundry room, and made his way upstairs.
He couldn’t put his finger on the worst part of the situation. The fact that he’d fallen for someone he’d once thought shallow and phony? The fact that his whole family immediately clocked when something went wrong in Adam’s fake relationship because Adam got too in his feelings?
How about the way he liked the version of himself he could be around Mo better than any of the other versions he’d been before? That was pretty pathetic.
Or was it that he was so gone on Mo, he couldn’t say no to “casual” sex, even when Mo’s dirty talk felt like an ice pick to his heart?
Adam flicked on the bathroom light and pulled off his shirt. None of those things held a candle to the real problem—the gaping chasm in his chest he’d tried to cover with hockey fights and surly behavior.
Adam wanted to be with Mo. For real, not to put a good face on the team image, not to appease anyone’s parents.
Because Mo made him laugh and relax, and because Adam went warm and tingly inside when he could do the same.
Mo might be campy and crotchety and snotty and entitled, but who wouldn’t be, given his upbringing?
Adam had met his parents. Compared to them, Mo basically qualified for sainthood.
Of course he’d cultivated a prickly exterior to keep those monsters at arm’s length.
Adam wanted to be with Mo, but Mo didn’t want to be with him, and that made Adam want to crawl into a hole and curl up to protect his soft parts.
Instead, he showered off the plane crud and crawled into bed. Sleeping in a hole wouldn’t help his game any, and he needed to get back on track.
Which maybe started with some new rules. If Adam was going to be so weak that he slept with the guy actively breaking his heart, then he needed boundaries. Like no more sex at Adam’s house. He needed to be able to escape, to press the Eject button when necessary.
As much as Adam would love to keep ignoring his mom’s calls and avoid any heart-to-heart conversations, that wasn’t practical. Avoiding her since the trip was already hard enough.
So when she called again later that day, Adam picked up.
“Honey,” she greeted, voice warm.
Adam blinked hard.
“How are you doing?” She sounded way too soft and gentle for someone who didn’t know he’d gotten his heart stomped on.
“I’m fine.”
“Pull the other one, dear.”
Adam blew out a deep breath. This was why he’d been avoiding her—he could never fool her. Not about the big stuff. She hadn’t been at all surprised when he came out at fourteen—in fact, for weeks before he got up the courage, she’d talked a lot about her acceptance of the queer community.
“Is it something about Mo?”
Adam blinked furiously once again but was less successful with keeping the tears in.
“Did you want to talk about whatever happened at Christmas?” she tried.
She wouldn’t stop until Adam asked her to or gave her something.
He didn’t want to tell her to butt out. But he didn’t want to tell her any version of the truth either: not that Mo broke up with him, not that it was fake, nothing.
Both of those facts would make her sad, and the lesser of two evils, the breakup, sounded more hellish.
The thought of her offering sympathy when Adam didn’t know how to label or process his own feelings… impossible.
But maybe he could give her—and himself—something.
“Christmas was hard on him. Harder than either of us anticipated.”
She hummed encouragingly.
“Did Dad tell you about his parents?”
“That they’d rather swan off to Europe and abandon their only baby at Christmas than be with him?” She sounded like Adam had suggested they talk about a dead mouse found in the basement.
“Yeah. That. The Du Ponts suck. And I guess knowing about your family’s dysfunction in theory is different from experiencing a functional one.”
“Hm, I noticed he tended to get squirrelly right before you suddenly thought of a reason to drag him away for some one-on-one time.”
“Yeah.” Adam sighed with relief. He should have known she’d figure it out.
“But?”
“But Christmas is hard. I couldn’t—” Adam’s voice broke. Fuck. “—I just want to make him happy and I can’t—” Because he doesn’t want me. Because he thinks my feelings are fake. Because he thinks I’m only good for sex. Because I love him but he wants to break up.
“Honey, you can’t undo a lifetime of hurt with a couple of months and one Christmas together.”
“I know.”
“Oh my big-hearted boy. Don’t let your brain forget to remind your heart of that, okay?”
“Mum.” He was glad there was no video so she couldn’t see his red cheeks.
“Helping him heal will take time.”
“Right.” Time he didn’t have.
“Just remember the good times during the hard. You’re obviously good for each other. He makes you happy, and you clearly get him. He looked happy too.”
“Mum…” Fuck. Adam could barely speak. Getting bodied by his mom over the phone. He loved her too much to think he was pathetic for it, but did she have to hit so hard? “I hope he was,” he finally said, because he couldn’t say any of the other million things he wanted to.
“Just hold on to that as you go through this rough patch.”
“Okay.” What else could he say?
“Good. And no more stupid penalties, dear. Your father can’t take the stress.”
Adam groaned and covered his eyes with a shaking hand. “Jorts has already told me off.”
“I knew that boy was my favorite adopted hockey son.”
“Don’t tell him that; it’ll go to his head.”
“No promises!”
January slipped away in a grind of play, practice, fuck, smile like everything is fucking perfect, dodge questions about Mo’s absence from the SaPs box, and repeat.
Adam got his head in the game, channeling his feelings into playing better rather than punching his opponents.
They entered February on a multi-game winning streak, and when their home game against Colorado arrived, Mo texted promises of blow jobs if Adam crushed them.
Adam stared at the text for a long moment, telling himself he shouldn’t give in.
What would more sex accomplish other than more pain?
His thumbs ignored his brain’s dire warnings. Or maybe it was his heart.
Or it could be a consolatory bj.
Adam stared at the text for a long moment, telling himself he shouldn’t give in. What would more sex accomplish other than more pain? His thumbs ignored his brain’s dire warnings. Or maybe it was his heart.
I’ll come over after.
Mo sent a thumbs-up and an eggplant emoji.
Romantic.
Adam pushed his bitterness and longing and everything else but hockey to the back of his mind, determined to win tonight. Colorado was their divisional rival, and a four-point swing in the standings could make or break a playoff spot.
Adam wanted that spot. To make playoffs for the first time in three years in his first season as captain? He wanted that so bad, he could taste it.
And prove captaincy was one thing he could do right.
As the Canyons went up 1–0 in the first, he thought maybe he could smell it too.
Then the Summit answered back two minutes later.