EPILOGUE
Two months later, Early September
“Taylor, put your hand on Fletcher’s chair. Drop your shoulders and try to look a little more relaxed. Maybe give us a smile,” the photographer suggested.
“He doesn’t smile in pictures,” Fletcher muttered, sounding bored.
It was probably the tenth time he had to remind these goddamn photographers during just this shoot alone.
Five interviews and photo shoots in two days.
Fletcher wanted to pull his hair out. It was the last leg of their press tour before flying home in the morning to still make it to the game.
“Turn the helmet a little so we can see the full Manatees logo,” the director instructed.
A blonde, petite female handler came up and turned the helmet on Fletcher’s lap and repositioned his hand on the top of it.
She adjusted Fletcher’s gray suit jacket before reaching behind to straighten out Taylor’s jacket.
“Okay, boys. We’re strong, we’re fearless, we’re proud,” the director told them, gesturing with his hand wildly like he was directing a middle school play.
Fletcher reached his free hand up to place it lovingly on top of the one Taylor had placed on his shoulder and looked into the camera with his jaw clenched.
“Don’t look so miserable,” Fletcher’s mom called out from the side of the set. It came out sounding sarcastic, but Fletcher knew what she was actually trying to say.
You asked for this. You brought this upon yourself, so sit and look pretty for the cameras.
Fletcher let out a breath through his nose as he forced a slight smile. A golden boy smile, as Taylor liked to call it. Well, if they wanted golden boy then Fletcher would give it to them. He didn’t have any other option.
“Three, two, one,” the photographer called out before blinding them with the flash of the camera.
They took a few minutes to show the photo to everyone before the director nodded in approval. “We’ve got it, boys. Great work.”
Fletcher carefully placed the helmet on the ground before dropping Taylor’s hand. “Fletcher, hey,” Taylor called out softly with heartbreak in his voice. Fletcher didn’t look back.
He stood up, walked off the set, and didn’t stop walking until he reached the bathroom.
Fletcher placed his palms on the cold marble of the sink to ground himself.
He told himself to breathe. That they were almost finished with the press tour.
They would be flying out of New York City early the next morning and heading back home. To Jacksonville, Florida. To hell.
Fletcher was drowning. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning and he wanted to die.
He was right back to where he started. He was back on the team he hated. He was back under the control of his family. And his boyfriend—the man who was supposed to love him more than anything in this world, had trapped him here.
What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t leave. His father made sure of that in his new contract. He and Taylor were stuck there for three years with no-trade clauses. And then after that? Three more years of uncertainty until they would be free agents. He was actually fucking stuck here.
Fletcher shrugged out of the suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to splash water on his face. He tried to breathe. He needed to calm down. This was their last photo shoot. They had already finished their last interview. Fake smiles, fake loving hand holding, fake laughter.
He knew it all too well. Fletcher had spent his whole life feeling consumed by the thought of never being loved. But now that he had found someone who loved him, he felt smothered. He was powerless and had no control.
* * *
Fletcher didn’t speak to anyone on the ride back to their hotel. He and Taylor sat shoulder to shoulder in the middle row as his mom and their new agents chatted in the row behind them.
Taylor reached over and put a hand on Fletcher’s thigh.
Possessively. Reminding Fletcher that he was completely his.
Fletcher affirmed it silently as he turned to look at him.
His hand slid up Taylor’s jaw as he leaned in to kiss him chastely on the lips.
I’m nothing without you. Love me, take me, control me.
I’m yours, Taylor. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.
Even if I hate it. You’re the only thing I have that’s still mine.
Taylor kissed him again on the forehead as they pulled apart.
Fletcher tried to ignore the “how cute” comments their agents made in the row behind them. Probably wishing they got it on camera to promote their #betterhockey campaign.
The driver pulled off and let them out at the curb in front of the hotel.
Dozens of fans and paparazzi waited outside the entrance of the hotel, calling out to them.
Waving pride flags. Asking for photos. The sentiment was sweet, but they could get just as obsessive as the haters did. If not, even more.
They didn’t expect the whole world to act like this.
They never asked to be sensationalized like this, especially overnight.
Not to this extreme. They all acted like he and Taylor owed them something.
But they had nothing to give. Not really.
The only thing they had to offer was the love they shared for each other and the love they had for hockey. Even if Fletcher was slowly losing it.
Taylor protectively placed his hand on the small of Fletcher’s back as he guided him inside. Fletcher put on a fake smile and waved. Taylor gave them a polite nod.
They had a room on the floor above his mom and their agents, so they waved goodbye until the elevator brought them up one more floor.
Taylor unlocked the door with his key card and slipped out of his shoes. Fletcher went through the same motions he always did. Shoes off. Jacket off. Walk into the bathroom. Shower on.
Fletcher undressed completely before stepping into the hot shower. Steam filled the bathroom with the closed door holding it in. He stepped under the water and let out a deep breath as he let it fall over his head. The water was so hot that it burned his skin, but he welcomed it.
The bathroom door opened a few seconds later as Taylor walked in and shed all his clothes. He reached behind his head to remove the black hair elastic from his hair that held it together into a sleek, singular braid. His hair had gotten so long. Fletcher loved it.
Taylor pulled open the glass shower door and stepped in behind Fletcher, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and nipping at the skin.
He placed his hands on Fletcher’s hips and pushed Fletcher roughly up against the wall of the shower.
Fletcher pushed himself up against Taylor’s hard erection, planting his hands against the wall, palms pressed into the cool tile.
Taylor slicked Fletcher’s hole open with lube or soap or whatever the hell it was before sliding into him.
His sculpted body pressed up against Fletcher’s, pinning him against the wall as Taylor gave him hard, tantalizing thrusts. “Fuck,” Fletcher cried out.
He hated him.
“Harder,” Fletcher bit out through clenched teeth.
He wanted to feel every inch of Taylor as he moved inside of him.
Taylor let out a deep sigh and dug his nails into Fletcher’s skin.
Taylor reached up to cover Fletcher’s hand with his own, intertwining their fingers.
He nuzzled his head in the nape of Fletcher’s neck, hot breath tickling Fletcher’s skin, and took him savagely from behind.
Audible whimpers escaped Fletcher’s lips as Taylor moved in and out of him.
Taylor’s other hand slid up to roughly grip Fletcher’s jaw.
He leaned in nipped on the skin of Fletcher’s ear.
Fletcher cried out in pleasure as his body slammed against the wall with each thrust. Each thrust hit his prostate like a stroke of lightning.
He hated him.
“Please, daddy,” Fletcher cried out, begging for something. He wasn’t quite sure what he was begging for exactly. He said it like it was Taylor’s punishment, remembering the way Taylor refused to fuck him if he kept calling him that.
But of course, he still did. He couldn’t resist Fletcher. He was just as powerless as Fletcher was. Just in completely different ways.
The worst part about all of it was that Fletcher loved it. It made him feel sick to his stomach. He was messed up in the head for wanting this. For giving himself completely to Taylor in the way that drove himself to insanity. His body craved it—his body craved Taylor.
Fletcher was drowning, and he was giving Taylor the water hose and the lid to the tank.
Taylor released Fletcher’s hand and reached down to stroke him. A ripple of pleasure shot through Fletcher’s body as Taylor jerked him off. “You like that, baby boy?” Taylor asked him roughly. Every thrust unraveled Fletcher more and more.
“Are you my fucking daddy, Taylor?” Fletcher asked, fully out of spite. He didn’t sound like himself. He sounded completely unwound. Insane, even. “Am I your good boy?”
Taylor ignored him and sped his stroking. Taylor didn’t like hearing it. It was a reminder of him messing everything up every single time Fletcher said it.
“Fuck, Tee. You feel so fucking good.”
Fletcher knew it hurt Taylor, deriding him like that. But he didn’t really care. Fletcher was hurting too.
Taylor kissed the side of Fletcher’s head. His temple. His cheek. His nose. “You’re so beautiful,” Taylor whispered against his skin. He sounded soft and loving. “I love you.” His lips brushed over Fletcher’s.
No matter how hard he tried to provoke him, Taylor was always sweet.
Fletcher didn’t want fucking sweet.
“I love you, Fletcher,” Taylor told him again, with a hint of urgency. Like he was worried that Fletcher would stop loving him if he didn’t constantly remind him. Which would never happen.
Fletcher loved Taylor. Too fucking much.
He couldn’t live without him. He tried, but the thought of separation made things worse.
At this point, he lived to breathe the same air as Taylor.
He woke up every morning just to make sure Taylor was right there.
He went to sleep in Taylor’s arms every night because otherwise he couldn’t sleep.
It was all so fucked up. He hated Taylor. He hated himself. He loved Taylor.
With a loud cry, Fletcher came in Taylor’s hand, shooting his cum all over the wall of the shower.
Fletcher felt his whole body collapse. The coldness of the tile felt nice meeting with his warm skin as he was pinned against the wall.
The steam in the bathroom had smothered the room, making it hard to breathe.
Taylor quickened his thrusts, sending Fletcher over the edge. His vision went black. His ears rang. For a minute, he was nothing. He was in an empty void of nothingness.
“Fuck, baby,” Taylor cried out, his deep voice reverberating through the entire room. He finished inside Fletcher, filling him with everything he had. Fletcher clenched around him, milking his release. Taylor let out uneven breaths against Fletcher’s lips.
“Taylor,” Fletcher breathed out. His heart rang. For a minute, it was just them in the world. No one else existed outside of that bathroom. Fletcher let himself believe that everything would be okay. That they were okay.
His love for Taylor was the only thing he had that was still all his.
Even then, his parents were slowly slithering their way into their relationship. By controlling it in any way they could. They were keeping Taylor on a short leash. Even shorter than Fletcher’s.
And they had no choice but to listen because of the dirt they had on Taylor’s younger brother. Something that could break Taylor’s reputation beyond ruin. But that’s what his dad did. Leverage was his leash. Blackmail was his collar.
“I’m sorry,” Taylor said softly, pain filling his voice. Fletcher couldn’t count the number of times Taylor apologized. But nothing had changed. Not really. He was still mad at Taylor for putting him in such a tough spot. For not fighting. For giving in.
Taylor connected their lips in a kiss full of desperation, and Fletcher allowed it. He hummed as he deepened it. Taylor let out a deep sigh of relief. It told Fletcher that he still had hope. That things would get better.
“You’re perfect,” Taylor told him, breaking away from the kiss. He slowly started to pull out of Fletcher, but Fletcher quickly shook his head to stop him.
“Please don’t.” It came out as a whisper. He didn’t want to feel the emptiness that came after. Not yet.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Taylor told him, sincere and full of regret. “I fucking love you.” He kissed Fletcher again. “I can’t live without you.”
Fletcher’s heart clenched. He was drowning. He felt numb. He was empty. He hated him.
But he needed him more than anything.
“Tell me I’m yours,” Fletcher begged. He needed to hear him say it. If he wasn’t Taylor’s, then there was no point in living. “Tell me you’ll never leave me.”
“You’re mine, sweet boy,” Taylor promised, with pain lingering in his voice. But there was still a hint of familiarity there. A reminder of good times. “I’m never fucking letting you go. Not again. I love you, Fletcher. God, I love you, sweetheart.”
Taylor backed him into a corner. Held Fletcher’s hand as he signed his life away for the next three years.
Told him that it would be fine. As long as they were together, nothing else mattered.
Fletcher didn’t believe him. He couldn’t.
Taylor knew how weak they made him. His family.
Fletcher finally had a taste of freedom.
A legacy of his own. And now, because of Taylor, he was losing it. All of it. It was all for nothing.
Fletcher hated him.
“Take me to bed and fuck me again, daddy.”