Chapter 31
luna
“I’m not very good at this aftercare shit.”
I laughed because him holding me here, even if we were still basking in our post-orgasm slick, was all I needed from him. His hand moved in slow strokes down my back, palm wide, fingers spreading at my waist.
“You’re doing fine.”
He kissed the top of my head.
“I wish Dirks was here to do this shit,” he muttered. “Come on. Let’s shower and go to his game.”
He untangled from me first before sitting up and reaching for my hand without speaking.
In the bathroom, he didn’t say much, just turned the water on, tested the temperature with his hand, and pulled me in after him. I stepped under the spray and shivered, and without a word, he shifted to block the cold water from hitting me directly until it warmed up.
I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and when the shampoo bottle slipped from my grip, he caught it and popped the cap before pouring it into my palm without asking.
When I rinsed, his hands were on my waist. He slowly slid them up until he was smoothing soap over my ribs, under my breasts, and down the curve of my ass. He tucked wet hair behind my ear while I wiped water from my eyes, and adjusted the knob again when the heat got too much.
When we stepped out, he was already holding a towel open.
“Oh!” I turned, the towel nearly slipping off my body. “Will you drive me over to Dirks’s apartment so I can steal a jersey from his closet?”
He looked up from where he was toweling off his arms. “You don’t have one?”
I grinned. “Nah. I need his. I’m gonna wear it with nothing under.”
He froze, towel dangling from one hand, eyes tracking the way the terrycloth clung to my hips.
“Luna Pierson.”
I batted my lashes. “What? I want him distracted.”
“You’re fucking evil,” he muttered while I swear I could’ve seen him crack the smallest grin.
Every time I shifted on the godawful plastic seat, the kind designed by someone who clearly hated comfort and had a personal vendetta against anyone with an ass, the jersey shifted up my thigh.
I was suddenly flashing skin every time I stood, and I didn’t bother fixing it.
Jer didn’t tell me to. Which, in his language, basically meant he’d noticed and approved.
He sat next to me, arms crossed so tight over his chest I half expected him to snap in half.
“Can you not look like someone just ran over your dog?” I muttered. “You’re the one who agreed to come here.”
“And you’re the one who came without underwear.”
“Exactly. That’s called partnership.”
He made a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. Dirks skated by as he got on the ice for warm-ups and pulled a slow, deliberate U-turn when he spotted us. His eyes found mine before dipping to the hem of the jersey.
I shifted, slowly, hips tilting upward, and the hem rose higher with the movement.
Jer sucked in a breath like I’d physically knocked the wind out of him.
“If you fingered me here,” I murmured to Jer, my eyes fixated on Dirks, “you think he’d stop playing?”
Jer laughed loudly. “Depends,” he rasped. “You start moaning, and he’s throwing hands by the second period. Straight to the penalty box.”
I bit down on a grin, teeth grazing my lip. “Maybe you should try it. You know. For science.”
“Oh, sure. Let me just slide my hand between your legs with an entire family reunion sitting three rows back. That’ll go over great with security.”
I leaned in, eyes still locked on Dirks, who was skating slower now, as if he could feel the heat radiating from our section of the glass.
“But you’re not actually against it.”
Jer’s voice dropped to a mutter. “I’m not against a damn thing. I’m just trying not to get arrested.”
“Look at you, being all mature and law-abiding. That’s growth.”
“Yeah . . . something like that.”
The crowd roared around us, pucks clanged against glass, an announcer’s voice buzzed over the speakers, but inside our bubble, it was just him and me and the things we weren’t saying.
I watched him from the corner of my eye. His jaw was tight and his eyes . . . his eyes looked so goddamn tired.
“Hey,” I said softly, letting the edge fall away. “You okay being here?”
“Yeah. It’s okay. “I was here the night I saw you two fucking in the tunnels. And the night I followed you home after.”
I blinked. “Jesus, Jer.”
It came out half laugh, half gasp as my eyes dropped to his hands, the way they stiffened against his thighs. Beneath the tough exterior, the ache was still there. Without thinking, I reached over, curling my fingers around his. His hand slipped easily into mine.
He looked down at our hands and held them up. “This what friends do now?”
“We’ve never been good at playing it conventional,” I said, tracing my thumb along the tattoo on his middle finger. “So yeah. This is what unconventional friends do.”
As if the timing was scripted by some dramatic deity, Dirks skated right up to the glass in front of us, face flushed, sweat-damp hair clinging to his temple. His eyes flicked down to our joined hands, then back up to me. He smiled big and bright.
I dropped Jer’s hand and stood up to lean over to kiss the glass like some puck bunny in a fever dream. Dirks didn’t miss a beat. He kissed it back with enough showmanship to earn a full-blown eye roll from the family behind us.
Jer made a gagging sound behind me. “God fucking damn. That was so horrifically and wholesomely disgusting—I think I lost a year off my life.”
I turned and swatted at his arm. “Shut up. You love it.”
“Gross,” he muttered.
He shook his head slowly, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
The rest of the game was chaos in the best way possible.
“Dirks, take the damn shot,” I shouted, half standing, waving my half-eaten hot dog.
Jer elbowed me. “You’re gonna get kicked out.”
“I’m enhancing the experience,” I shot back. “He plays better when I scream.”
“He plays better when I’m not screaming,” Jer muttered, but his voice cracked on a laugh. A second later, he was cupping his hands and yelling, “Skate like you’re a pro, you fucking amateur.”
We heckled, screamed, cursed like sailors. Jer even stood during the power play and yelled instructions. Somewhere between the second and third period, Jer leaned in and kissed my cheek.
I blinked. “Did you just kiss me in public?”
He shrugged. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I’m writing it down. This is going in the scrapbook.”
Dirks kept skating past our section—definitely more than he needed to. The man was absolutely showing off, smirking every time we slammed our hands on the glass. Jer yelled something about needing better defense, and Dirks flipped him off mid-shift.
Peak romance.
By the time the game ended, my throat was raw and my face hurt from grinning, but I reached for Jer’s hand, threading my fingers through his without looking, and pulled him toward the tunnel where the players’ families waited.
“I loved tonight,” I said, bouncing on my toes. “Top ten nights of my life.”
“I did too, Lune. It felt . . . good. All of it.”
We paused at the end of the hallway, just before the players started filing out, and Jer turned toward me. He brought his hand up slowly, brushing my cheek, thumb grazing just below my eye. I reached up, wrapping my fingers around his, stopping the motion before it went farther.
Right there, on his left hand. The ring finger.
There was a small tattoo in the shape of a moon, and next to it were two stars.
My breath caught.
“Jeremy.” I stepped back and grabbed his hand before he could hide it. “What the hell is this?”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t notice it before. You have so many tattoos I-I didn’t see this one until right now.”
“Luna,” he said in warning.
My throat closed up, the words evaporating before they could form.
“This—”
“It was always you. In my life. In my head. There was never gonna be anyone else.” He turned toward me fully, that black hair flopping forward, his jaw clenched. “You were mine when we were kids. You were mine when I was at my lowest. You’re mine now.”
The air left my lungs. Not in a swoony, swept-off-my-feet way. In a holy-shit-I-wasn’t-ready-for-this kind of way.
“You hated saying that out loud, didn’t you?” I tried to joke, tried to pull us back into safer waters. But the words landed flat.
He didn’t smile. “No,” he said. “I hated that I waited this long.”
“What’re we talking about?”
I turned to find Dirks standing a few feet away, blonde hair falling into his face, those stupidly beautiful blue eyes locked on us. Still dressed in his pregame suit, all sharp lines and clean-cut perfection.
Without thinking, I held up Jer’s hand—the one I was still gripping for dear life—and jabbed a finger toward the ink.
“Look,” I said, wide-eyed. “Look at this.”
Dirks stepped closer and bent down, squinting as Jer groaned audibly and tried to yank his hand back. I held it firm.
“Don’t even think about it,” I hissed, muscles locked.
Dirks blinked. “Well, shit.”
“Two stars. One Moon.” I said. “I’m the moon. One star for him. One for you.”
“I get it, Luna girl,” Dirks said gently, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I do.”
He looked at Jer and nodded once. “Thanks for coming to the game, man.”
That was it.
I dropped Jer’s hand and threw both of mine up in the air, spinning in place like I was about to launch into space.
“That’s it? Thanks for coming to the game? Not—oh, I don’t know—holy shit, Jer, you tattooed Luna on your ring finger, which basically means you’re eternally married to her, and also there are TWO STARS because apparently I’m there, too, and we’re all just one big permanent cosmic clusterfuck?!”
Jer gave me a slow, almost patronizing look. “Honey,” he said, dragging the word out like he was ninety and trying to calm down a squirrel on meth. “Let’s get you home.”
“This is wild. You’re both wild. I’m panicking! This is full-on, heart-palpitations, jaw-tight, chest-on-fire insanity. I have no air. There is no air in here.”
Dirks stepped closer and cupped my face gently, thumbs brushing the apples of my cheeks.
“It’s a tattoo. It’s not news. You’ve always been his.
You’ve always been mine. This”—he tipped his forehead against mine—“this isn’t sudden, Lune.
This is just us finally catching up to what’s been true for a long time. ”
My throat burned.
Goddammit.
Of course he had to say something soft and thoughtful while I was in full emotional nuclear meltdown mode.
“I hate how well you speak under pressure,” I muttered.
Dirks smiled and pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose. “That’s why we work. You panic. I translate.”
Jer chimed in. “And I get blamed for everything.”
“You are to blame,” I yelled, still not recovered.
He shrugged. “Yeah. Probably.”
“You guys have a nice dinner after yoga?” Dirks weaved his fingers through mine effortlessly as he guided me out of the building.
“We fucked, made up, and decided we’re friends,” I said breezily, as if it were the most normal sentence in the world.
Dirks laughed, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Of course you did.”
Behind us, Jer muttered, “Jesus Christ, is there no privacy in this damn town?”
Dirks and I both stopped mid-step, turned toward him in perfect sync, and deadpanned, “No.”
The timing was truly perfect, and we burst into laughter.
I turned toward Jer and tilted my head. “You coming over? I’ve got an extra-large bed that’s perfect for platonic cuddling. Very wholesome.”
Jer raised an eyebrow. “We’re friends, remember?”
“We are. We’re friends who occasionally make questionable decisions involving orgasms and boundary issues.”
Dirks snorted. “And sweat. Don’t forget the sweat. It’s honestly kind of gross how sweaty she gets.”
Jer sighed, walking ahead of us toward the car. “This is the dumbest, most dysfunctional throuple I’ve ever witnessed.”
“We’re not a throuple,” I called after him, pointing an accusing finger. “You two don’t fuck each other. You only tolerate each other because my tits are amazing.”
Jer didn’t turn around. “That’s fair.”
Dirks gave a casual shrug. “Honestly? She’s not wrong.”
I trotted after them, holding out my hand. “Toss me the keys, please. And let’s be real—this is basically a time-share situation. You each get me on alternating emotional crises and spontaneous horniness.”
“I haven’t signed up for any time-share,” Jer grumbled.
“You say that, but you’re the one with the tattoo, my name in your phone still has a heart emoji next to it, and let’s not pretend your mouth didn’t do ungodly things when I sat on your—”
“Luna,” Jer barked, but he was grinning now, trying and failing to hide it.
Dirks leaned in, whispering loudly, “He’s blushing.”
“He’s definitely blushing,” I whispered back.
“I hate both of you,” Jer muttered.
I skipped ahead, plucked the keys from Jer’s hand, and pointed at them. “You love us. I’ll take Jer’s car to my house. Meet you there.”
After everything I’d been through—the guilt, the years apart, the grief of losing them both before I ever really had them—this moment felt like a much-needed deep breath.
They were mine again. In their own messy, separate, beautiful ways. Jer with his stormy silences and haunted eyes, Dirks with his steady warmth and that soft heart he pretended wasn’t always breaking for me.
I fought to find my way back to them. Bled for it. Lied for it. Ran halfway across the world and to be back standing right here again—laughing in a parking lot under shitty fluorescent lights, holding keys that didn’t belong to me, heart full of two boys who never really stopped being home.
I wouldn’t trade this for anything.