Chapter 16
Lane was still trying to get his shit together after the semi-disastrous date in which he hadn’t told Trevor that he loved him when Aidan cornered him the next morning just outside their offensive team meeting.
“What?” Lane barked as Aidan leveled him with a frank stare and didn’t even say anything.
“Oh, grumpy this morning,” Aidan said, corner of his mouth quirking up.
Okay, maybe the date hadn’t been fully, totally disastrous, but it had gone sideways enough that he hadn’t known if he should say it or not.
Sure, his mom had told him that the perfect moment didn’t exist, but Lane had been waiting for this for too long to settle for just some night when they were hanging out on the couch, Trevor’s head tipped over onto his shoulder like it belonged right there.
“Maybe,” Lane huffed out. “What do you want?”
He’d been so sure that he was planning the perfect moment—that bar had topped every list Lane had found of the most romantic spots in Toronto. And it had been romantic, just not the kind of romance Trevor wanted.
Lane either, when it came down to it.
That was the biggest frustration, actually. He hadn’t even wanted it, not like that, and it had been so fucking obvious, but he’d never seen it, not until it was too late.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how quiet you’ve been in meetings the last few days,” Aidan said.
Ugh, of course Aidan was going to pick at this thread.
“Maybe I don’t have anything to say,” Lane retorted. That wasn’t entirely true—but he hadn’t been looking all that hard, also. A fact he was trying not to feel guilty about.
“Do I look stupid?”
There was only one way he could answer that question.
“Of course not,” Lane insisted.
“Then don’t pretend I’m stupid,” Aidan said flatly. “You’re sharp, you see things. I’ve let you slide with it, because for some reason you’re weird about it—”
“Wow, thanks,” Lane interrupted sarcastically.
But Aidan just rolled his eyes. “You’re weird about it, not me.
You should be thanking me for letting you get away with this shit for all this time.
” Aidan’s expression shifted then to something much more serious.
“I’m not joking—if we want to win this game, we need every single fucking advantage we can get. And that includes you.”
“I’m not an advantage.”
“Aren’t you?” Aidan questioned.
“I’m not right every single time. That was . . . that was lucky, on Sunday.”
“Sure, a little bit of luck, but also skill and the right analysis of the situation at exactly the right time,” Aidan said.
Lane wanted to argue that nothing was a guarantee and what if he guessed wrong? He’d been wrong before. Not just once or twice, but lots of times. Right lots of times, too, but somehow that didn’t make him feel any more like he should be volunteering his opinions.
But Aidan was clearly done playing around. He’d softened and mellowed this season, thanks to Levi, but not that much.
“Come on,” Lane huffed out.
“You want to win? Because I fucking want to win,” Aidan said. He patted Lane on the shoulder. Less of a love tap and more of a get your shit together, dude smack. “Think about it.”
“Sure,” Lane retorted.
Aidan turned and went into the room.
Trevor came up to him a moment later, and Lane was grateful, at least, that he’d missed that conversation.
Wasn’t it enough that he’d stuck his neck out on Sunday? That he’d made sure they got at least one touchdown? Even paving the way for the second?
Apparently not.
“Why are you glowering?” Trevor asked, handing him his coffee.
That was a fair question. Trevor had no idea what Lane had been thinking last night, what he’d been holding back, waiting for the perfect moment that never seemed to come.
As far as Trevor was concerned, they’d recovered well from the initial venue mistake and had a really good night. A good morning, too, frankly.
“Aidan’s being bossy,” Lane said.
“Oh, so like normal,” Trevor said, nudging Lane as he followed him into the room.
“Pretty much.” Lane hoped that Trevor would leave it there, but of course he didn’t. This was Trevor; Lane shouldn’t have expected anything else, frankly.
“He wanting to know why you haven’t been speaking up in meetings this week?” Trevor asked.
“Seriously?”
“I notice things,” Trevor said. Shot him a smug smile, leaning close, like he was only a breath away from kissing Lane, right before their biggest meeting of the day. “Especially things about you.”
“You don’t quit that, everyone’s gonna know what’s going on,” Lane hissed.
Trevor just raised an eyebrow. “And they don’t already?”
“I mean, they probably suspect,” Lane admitted.
If Aidan had guessed, then they’d probably hit an open-secret kind of situation. But Trevor didn’t look even remotely bothered by this.
“Actually, I was kind of thinking, I’d be okay telling people. Cam and Jordan know. I’m sure you’ve told Nate—” But Trevor didn’t even seem to register Lane’s wince at that. “I don’t want to pretend we’re not doing exactly what we’re doing.”
“It’s still early,” Lane said, not because he didn’t want to tell people but because God, it made it all so serious and so real.
Impossible to go back from. But then, wasn’t he already there?
He loved Trevor. Had loved him for so fucking long.
It was ludicrous to imagine that he could touch him and kiss him and be with him, and ever go back from it.
“Oh please,” Trevor scoffed. “It’s not that early. I’m not going anywhere. And I know you’re not.”
“If you’re sure,” Lane said. He wasn’t sure when they’d segued from Lane not speaking up and sharing his opinions in the meetings to telling the team about their relationship, but it said a lot about how the latter was somehow a much easier subject than the former.
“I’m sure,” Trevor said. Shot him a mischievous grin. “And I’m also sure that you should be opening up that big brain of yours and sharing every single freaking thought you’ve had about the Patriots, because winning on Sunday was great and I wanna do it again.”
Trevor’s smile was so bright, it was almost impossible to deny. Even if he was made of stronger stuff, Lane wouldn’t even want to.
He wanted to be the last team standing, at the end of the game. He wanted to win one more after that. Wanted them to find themselves surrounded by confetti and kissing on one of the biggest stages in sports.
“Okay,” he found himself saying. “We’ll do it again.”
Trevor tipped his coffee and hit it against Lane’s. “Then we’ll do it again,” he said.
Somehow that promise made it not only easier to focus in on the film and the analysis that Coach Zane was providing, Aidan interspersing comments every so often, but to speak up himself when the moment came that he saw something that it didn’t seem anyone else saw.
“I think,” he said hesitantly, “when the Patriots shift there, the double–tight end formation might be really effective.”
Zane pursed his lips—Lane didn’t dislike him, but the offensive coordinator’s matter-of-factness, a thing that he might normally appreciate, freaked him out in this kind of situation; made him wonder if he was wrong, and in speaking up, he’d made himself look stupid—but then slowly began to nod.
“I can see it,” Zane said, and Aidan agreed, getting to his feet and pointing to a few of the gaps that the Patriots’ defensive coverage exposed. Gaps that they could maybe even widen with the right formation. Specifically, with the right tight end formation.
After they’d discussed all the angles to Lane’s suggestion, Zane moved on, but Trevor reached over and put his hand on Lane’s thigh. Squeezed and shot him a small smile.
He didn’t say anything, but Lane’s brain—and his heart—filled in all the blanks. Proud of you. Good job. You’re awesome. I love you, too.
Lane was going to have to figure out a time and place to say it. He wanted to say it. Had planned, despite all his nerves, to say it last night. Had really been about to say it after, during the incredible sex, but in the end, he hadn’t wanted it to be like that.
What if Trevor thought he didn’t mean it, because he said it in the middle of his orgasm?
What if he thought it was only about sex?
That was the last thing Lane wanted. So instead of letting the words out, he’d bitten them back—literally bitten Trevor’s shoulder so he wouldn’t be more tempted than he already was to just say them.
Maybe his mom was right and saying it on the couch wouldn’t be the end of the world. Would be better than not saying it at all.
But then that night practice went late and then even later, because Aidan wanted to go over some more footage from the day’s scrimmage. Specifically the tight end formations, so by the time he and Trevor got home, they were both worn out.
Trevor declared he wasn’t cooking, and before Lane could even declare that they were ordering takeout, he’d plucked Lane’s phone right out of his pocket, like it was his.
Like everything that was Lane’s was his, and God, Lane nearly blurted it right then, between Trevor muttering about chicken pad thai and beef satay skewers.
After they ate, Lane expected that they’d both slump down on the couch, barely watching whatever was playing on the TV before they staggered to bed. Only three more days before they hosted the AFC Championship game.
But instead, Trevor shot up and paced for a second before heading over to his puzzle table.
Lane swallowed back his groan.
He was not telling Trevor he loved him while Trevor tried to put together a one-thousand-piece Thomas Kinkade monstrosity.
He loved him, and he wanted Trevor to know just how much. He wasn’t even sure his mom was wrong, but there were moments and then there were moments.
“Put the game on and come over here,” Trevor suggested.
“Ramsey’s in Calgary tonight—game doesn’t start for almost an hour. Actually, I’m going to watch some film,” Lane said.
Trevor shrugged. “Thought you might have had enough today, already.”