Page 22 of Almost Rotten

Neither one of us is okay right now.

I’m powerless to do anything but receive.

This is all I want.

Giving up control to him. His domination. The assurance he gives me with every stroke of his tongue. The reminder that I am wanted and welcome and safe.

I trust him enough to give myself to him completely, with total disregard for my boundaries.

Because he’s so attuned to my needs and so responsive to my limits, I don’t have to worry that he’ll cross a line. Mercer would never take more than I can give.

An ache blooms in my chest at the thought.

He wouldn’t push.

But someone else will.

Passion has transformed into desperation when another calendar alert reminds us that our time is up.

Panting, he pulls away first. “One fucking week,” he says, his eyes wild, his lips swollen.

He turns abruptly and collects his things. As he storms out the door, my heart cracks around the edges.

I lift my fingertips to my lips, committing his kiss to memory.

Tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them away, desperately trying to convince myself that this is okay—we’ll be okay—and that we didn’t just say goodbye.

Chapter ten

Tytus

“All right, Tremblay. That’s what I’m talking about.”

I soar past Coach Connors, barely registering the praise.

We’re running a Honey Hole drill that strains every fatigued muscle in my body. I’m physically spent, but mentally, I’m soaring. I should be starting to feel the haze of exhaustion sink into my bones, but with each explosive jump into the open space near the net, I feel more alive.

As I skate behind the net to reset, Jet nods and takes a swig from his water bottle. “Beast mode activated, eh, Tremblay?”

Understatement of the fucking year.

I’m unstoppable today. Impenetrable. A fucking force to be reckoned with.

I’m in a place that’s hard to manufacture. This headspace is what every athlete dreams of. I haven’t actually slept since Friday night, but in this moment, I’m ready to fucking go.

The only things that have changed since the last time I was in this arena are a single declaration and the new title I bestowed on Sawyer.

My wife.

Each time my blades slice over the ice, I hear it.

Left, right. Left, right.

My wife. My wife.

She’s the fuel and the fire and the source of everything good.

I set up again, gripping my stick and sinking deeper into my stance, my body whirring with kinetic energy.