22. TATE
TATE
Late February
Fundraising works out for the Shadowridge Scorpions.
Because of course it does. They’re under Ace’s lucky star.
Ace and the team worked out a money-raising scheme with one of the other frat houses.
Some kind of social media content, something or other.
I wasn’t really paying attention. So long as they show me the money, and I don’t have to kiss any more donors’ asses, I don’t care what they do. Point is, that’s finally off my plate.
I blow my whistle. “Get off my ice,” I bark at the team.
They haven’t done anything wrong, for once, but I can’t look at them anymore.
Hockey reminds me of Ryan. My eyes flick to the time.
Six fifty-five am. Perfect. It’s been exactly two minutes since my last thought about Ryan.
My don’t-think-about-Ryan plan is a tragic failure.
McKinnon doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone and skates over to me.
“Hey, big brother, Tate.” He elbows me like we’re family, which we’re unfortunately going to be once Luke asks him to marry him.
Other than make him do wind sprints until he pukes, there isn’t much I can do to Ace. He’s under Luke’s protection.
“What?” I snap.
“Why so glum, chum? You look sad.” He removes his helmet.
His perfect dirty-blond hair falls around his face.
It’s streaked with just enough sweat to make him sexy rather than greasy.
Everything works out for Ace. Ace gets to be with my brother, no issues, because he lives in a modern-day fairy tale.
Ryan and I live in those evil fucking Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales. They shouldn’t be called fairy tales. If it doesn’t have a happy ending, it’s not a fairy tale.
“I don’t get sad, McKinnon.”
“You do.”
“How long must I put up with your presence until you take the hint?”
He leans against his stick, blade-side up, a goofy grin on his face. Someone annoyed with his presence probably doesn’t compute for him. “It’s okay if you miss him. I miss Luke all the time.”
My heart races. I hate that McKinnon’s able to read me as well as he reads plays. “Do you feel better now that you’ve imparted your wisdom on me?”
Ace huffs. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone, but Luke’s worried about you. He won’t say it,” he adds quickly. “But I can tell. Later, Coach.”
McKinnon skates off. Skating reminds me of Ryan. The ice I’m standing on reminds me of Ryan. My chest has a Ryan-sized ache that won’t let me forget it.
There’s a buzz in my pocket. I pull out my phone. Dollface. He faithfully sends me messages. I don’t always like what they say, but I love getting them. His name relieves the pain behind my ribcage momentarily. A sip of oxygen after too long underwater.
Dollface
How do you feel about post-game parties?
I actually kinda need to know.
Really trying to prevent what happened on Thanksgiving here.
There’s a game at Shadowridge with North Point tomorrow. Ace’s fraternity always throws a rip-roaring after-party.
Me
Your ass is mine tomorrow, dollface.
There’s no response for a minute or two, but this time it’s likely due to shock. I answered him. But then the dots appear.
Dollface
Noted. Is that, like, part of my husband duties? Be available after games?
Me
It’s your twenty-fourth birthday. It’s a husband’s duty to ensure his husband is honored on his birthday.
Dollface
Um, okay. See you then, I guess.
And, yes, I want to celebrate his birthday with him, but I need him. Have to have him. Touch him. In the meantime, I shouldn’t be around people. Definitely not students. It’s been too long since I’ve paid a visit to Kline. Maybe I’ll see how he’s holding up.
Iaccost Ryan as soon as he’s in the door.
Lips. I need his lips. I don’t see him enough.
I can’t. All I can do is go for as long as I can without him, until I can’t, and then fucking devour him.
I got him to meet me at my on-campus residence at Shadowridge.
I would have rather had him at my condo—our condo—than this pauper’s den, but it made the most sense.
My fingers search out the cuff on his wrist as I tear his mouth apart. He wore it for the game under his jersey. No one else seemed to notice, but I was looking for it. I watched it appear every time his sleeve slid up in the slightest, and it soothed something deep.
Ryan yanks away, panting. “Stop. We need to stop, Tate.”
Stop? But I pull away, unable to hide my reluctance.
I’m not going to force myself on him, but I don’t understand this little interlude.
Or like it. Regardless, he gets all my attention.
I rest my thumb in the divot between his bottom lip and chin, my fingers resting on his jaw and trailing down his neck.
“If this is going to be like last time, sex and leave, I need to know.”
“I—”
His palm slaps against my chest. I don’t even flinch. I still flinch when my brother hugs me, but not when Ryan touches me. Does he know how significant that is?
And it’s so much worse than that. My body has been reminded of the touch deficit it’s suffered for almost two decades. I don’t tolerate his touch anymore. I need it. Crave it. Will die without it.
“No, I get it. I’m not a fucking idiot, Tate. You’re trying to control our interactions because they feel wildly out of control. Ditto. But it’s not gonna work. Fuck this, I’m outta here.”
I wrap a death grip around his hand. “Ryan, wait.”
“No. I know what you’re gonna say already.
This was the deal. My freedom, your protection.
You never promised to love me. But I … I can’t.
” His voice breaks, lip trembling. Fat tears roll down his face.
“We’re married, and Luke got his money. Sex wasn’t part of the deal.
There’s no reason for us to be together, so I’ll wait at North Point until you can come for me. Until then, I don’t want to see you.”
Doesn’t want to see me? I brush a tear from his chin with my thumb, and it soaks into my skin like acid.
Something cracks in my chest. I can’t breathe.
He tries to pull away, but I dive, trapping his legs with my arms around his knees.
Ryan crashes to the ground in the entryway, and I climb up his body, acting like a human cage.
“N-No,” I wheeze out. “No.”
Am I shaking, or is he? No, it’s me. His arms wrap around my head. “Shhh. Okay. Okay. I’m not going anywhere, alright? Tate, say something. You’re scaring me.”
I wish I could. Ease his fears. But I can’t speak. Can’t even stop my teeth chattering. It’s dark, and Ryan’s my anchor to this side of the earth.
Strong fingers run through my hair, and with my eyes closed, I find the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, matching it with the rise and fall of his chest.
It’s my way home.
Eventually, he moves, and I grip him tighter. “I’m not leaving, but I kinda need us to move. Leg’s falling asleep.”
“I will hunt you the fuck down and tie you to the bed.”
He laughs. “Why is that so comforting? I’ve officially lost it.”
Once I’m sure he’s not going anywhere, I let him move. We don’t take our eyes off each other. We spend another several minutes sitting across from each other, staring and breathing. Slowly, he reaches toward his foot, popping a boot off.
“See, staying, okay?” I nod, analyzing his every move as he unlaces the other and removes it, too. Then he stands, holding out a hand for me.
We make our way over to the couch, and he places me where he wants me, but he doesn’t sit, and I don’t like that. My eyes dart to the door. “Ryan.”
“I can’t think when I’m too close to you, and I need to say a few things.”
“Fine.” But my restless knee bounces as I clock the distance between us. About four feet. I could leap and tackle him if he tries to run.
He pulls in a breath for courage. He’d better not be breaking up with me. Trying to break up with me. He can’t break up with me—we’re married forever. He just fucking tried to, though. I frown. What do I do with that? I can think of a few things, but none of them are ones he’d like.
“Fuck it. I’m just gonna say it. I have feelings for you.”
Ryan’s staring. Waiting. I want to tell him I have feelings, too, but it’s more than that, and it’s something I don’t know how to label.
I know I can’t live without him. That being away from him for too long makes me fucking miserable.
All I need is a text from him and bam! Instantly, my day’s better.
But is that love or an addiction? Is obsession love?
My brother is pretty damn obsessed with McKinnon, and I know he loves him, so that’s gotta count for something.
And I know with certainty that if anyone hurts Ryan, I will kill them.
All of that adds up to something strong. Unbreakable. Permanent.
“And I have feelings for you,” I say, even though it’s not enough, even though saying it makes me want to tear my own skin off.
He freezes. “I didn’t expect you to admit that.”
Admit—interesting word choice. So he suspected it, too, like Luke and Ace. God, even Patrick assumes I’m head over heels when he sees me looking at my Ryan text messages. Am I head over heels?
Fuck. Yes. I’ve gotta be. What else do you call this petrifying dread?
I didn’t think that could possibly be love.
Everyone talks about love like it’s rainbows and garden flowers.
They conveniently forget to mention the existential dread, how when they’re away from you, half of you is missing, and if they threaten to leave you, you might actually die.
I hate it already.
I rub my hands up and down my thighs, so I can focus on something other than my racing heart. In fight, flight, or freeze, I’m usually fight, but right now I want to run. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“Why not?”
“It’s better this way.”
“Better for who?”
“Both of us. I can’t, Ryan. I know what you want from me. I’m not capable of giving it. I need things to be controlled.”
He takes a step closer. “What do you need from me?”
“What do you mean?” I spread my legs, liking that he’s come closer, intent on trapping him. It’s his own fault for coming this close.
“Right. Someone giving you what you need is probably a foreign concept to you. To be honest, it kinda is for me too, but we can make this work for both of us.” He runs his fingers up my jaw, over my cheek, through my hair. “Your presence makes me feel safe—what do you need to feel safe?”
“Just you.”
He smiles. I like that. But then he gets a mischievous glint in his eyes, and I like that a lot less. “Really? So, you’ve changed your mind, and you’re totally fine with me playing murder hockey?”
“No putting yourself in danger—ever. Or I will lock you the fuck up, understood?”
He laughs, even though I mean every word. “Understood. I’ll march myself down to your super scary dungeon, okay?”
Huh, somehow that does make me feel better. As if we really do understand each other.
“You’re perfect for me,” I murmur, yanking on the waistband of his jeans until his knees sink into the couch, straddling me.
Can it really be this easy? Even if it’s not, I don’t have much of a choice.
My inner predator decided he was mine. It was over for us after that—I was willing to do anything to have him, and now I’ll do anything to keep him.
Ryan shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it on the floor, leaving him in just a white T-shirt, but all his tattoos cover his arms anyway.
“And you’re perfect for me,” he purrs. “Let’s be honest with each other, okay? I know we’ll suck at it a lot, but we’ll never stop trying to figure it out.”
Our lips meet, and we inhale into a kiss. And then I stand up with him still in my arms. He wraps his legs around me. “Whoa, don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you being able to do that. Do you take steroids?”
I chuckle. “Genetics.”
And then I take him to the bedroom where I plan to show him everything those genetics can do.