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14

Paul

“B rendon,” I breathe his name like a plea. “Can I touch you?”

Not being able to touch him is killing me. It’s so weird for him to not want it. It scares me.

I barely hear the whimpered “Please,” but I move slowly. When he flinched away from me, it broke my heart, and I’m not sure I can handle him doing it again.

His breathing is coming faster, like he’s fighting to hold on to the emotions boiling inside of him, but it’s cracking. Slowly, I reach for his hand. The same way I would a scared animal. I don’t want him to push me away, but I half expect him to.

Lifting his hand, I open his fist and press his palm against my cheek, his red-rimmed, glassy eyes peek over his arms to watch me, and I hold his gaze. I hold his hand against my face, nuzzling his palm as he lifts his head. A tear trails down his face, and when I brush it away with my thumb, he breaks. Brendon lets out a sob and crashes into me, wrapping his arms and legs around me, and burying his face in my neck while he cries.

My best friend, the love of my fucking life, is in pain and fighting himself.

I hold him against me while he lets out the emotions threatening to choke him. I don’t say anything, I don’t have to. Not right now. He’s falling apart, and I’ll be here to pick up the pieces when he’s ready.

We sit there for long minutes as he gets it out of his system, letting go of the pain he’s carrying. Hurt I hope he’ll let me shoulder the burden of.

Once he slows down, the muscles of his back relaxing and his sobs quietening, I whisper against his skin.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” I kiss his hair, his neck, all the parts of him I can reach.

“Can you lay with me?” His voice is so small, like a child who’s afraid of being rejected.

“Of course.” I smile at the request. I will never turn him down when he needs me.

I stand and offer him a hand up, which he takes.

Brendon reaches for my shirt and pulls it up. I lift my arms so he can get it off and do the same to him. Being skin to skin is so fucking intimate. It’s comfort and love and peace.

I kiss his forehead, and he reaches for my pants with a blush on his cheeks that’s cute as fuck.

“What do you need right now?” I watch him as he moves, looking for what he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“Cuddles.” The word is almost aggressive, like he’s afraid I’ll make fun of him for it.

“Okay.” I hook my fingers under his chin and lift his face to mine. I wait until his eyes meet mine, then I brush my lips against his in a careful, lingering kiss. “Come on.”

I grab his hand and pull back my blankets to climb in. Brendon drops his pants in a heap on the floor, hurries to turn off the lights in his hockey underwear, then slides in next to me. His cheek is on my chest with my arm around him and his thigh between mine. I run my hand through his hair, and he settles.

“Do you want to watch something?”

He shakes his head and drags his stubbly face against my skin. “I’m sorry.”

His words are so quiet I almost think I imagined them.

“Sorry? For what?”

“I’m not easy to deal with. I know that. I’m sorry.”

My hand tightens in his hair, and I pull his head back until I can see him.

“No.” My tone is harsh, but I don’t care. “You are not hard to deal with. Whatever the fuck that means.”

A tear slides down his face, and I hate whoever made him feel like he’s too much.

“You’re my favorite person. You’re my person. There’s nothing about you I would change. You hear me?” I don’t let him dip his head back down until he nods. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” he whispers against my chest.

“Bullshit.” I run my fingers through his hair again. “If you don’t want to talk about it, say that, but don’t lie to me.”

He doesn’t respond for a long time, and I don’t try to force him to talk. My boy has a busy mind, and sometimes it takes him a while to work through all the thoughts.

“Whatever it is, you know I won’t judge you, right?”

He nods against my chest, his rough cheek scratching my bare skin.

“I was bullied on the team before I met you.”

My heart hurts for him. Kids are assholes. They always have been and probably always will be. Brendon is such a soft-hearted guy that I’m sure it hurt. People assume that because he’s a hockey player, he doesn’t have feelings or whatever, but it’s not true.

“They were assholes,” I say against his forehead.

“Coach Williams is Chad Fenwick’s stepdad, so he got away with everything. At the time, I would make this weird sound sometimes, so Chad started calling me birdy.” His voice is thick like he’s trying not to cry again, and it makes me want to find Chad so I can introduce him to my fist. “The rest of the team followed suit. Then they started mocking me and fucking with me.”

“I’m sorry.” I curl onto my side so I can hold him better. “That never should have happened.”

Brendon rolls over and pulls my arm around him so his back is to my chest, like he doesn’t want to look at me while he talks.

“It got worse as time went on.” His voice is so quiet I almost have to strain to hear him. “When calling me names and mocking me didn’t get a reaction anymore, they started shoving me or tripping me. I would leave practice with scrapes and bruises that I would tell my mom were just hockey injuries.”

Fear settles into my gut like ice. I’m afraid of where this is going.

“I told the coach about it, but he told me to suck it up, boys will be boys, stop being a pussy.” Brendon’s chest tenses under my hand, and I rub big circles on his skin.

Anger burns my veins that he wasn’t helped. He reached out to the person who was supposed to help him, and they did nothing. Coaches are there to help shape the players, protect them, aid them. This guy failed on all accounts.

“I started dreading going to practices and games. He and his friends would corner me once everyone was gone and fuck with me. It got worse and worse until they finally went too far. They shoved a bar of soap into my mouth and held it so I couldn’t spit it out. I choked on it, almost threw up a few times.”

His voice is almost devoid of emotion now, like he’s telling me about the weather. There’s no attachment to the words. My throat aches with the sorrow I feel for him. He was a victim, and no one cared.

“Someone punched me, but I’m not sure who. I fell and Chad told me if I was going to act like a bitch, I would be used like one.”

My gut clenches, and I rest my forehead against the back of his head as tears flow from my eyes.

“They laughed as I choked and begged him to stop. But it just made them worse.”

“Brendon,” I choke out his name. Cupping the side of his face, I turn him toward me, needing to see him. “None of that was your fault. That coach was a piece of shit and should not be allowed to be around kids.”

My boy, the love of my fucking life, looks at me like he’s a child. Hurt and uncertainty and humiliation clear in his sad brown eyes.

“What they did does not make you less. They’re fucked up, not you.” I hold his face in my hands, making him look at me. “Do you understand?”

“I’ve never told anyone any of that,” he whispers.

“No one? Not your mom? Or a therapist?” How has he been carrying this around in him alone?

He shakes his head, and I rest my forehead on his.

“This changes nothing for me, okay?”

Brendon shudders, then kisses me softly. I follow his lead, letting him take this where he needs it to go, but he doesn’t deepen it. Just takes comfort from me. It makes my heart soar to know he reaches for me when he needs something. It’s everything because he is everything. My everything.

“Can you turn the TV on?” he mumbles, pushing me onto my back so he can lay on me.

“Of course.” I get everything turned on and flip through the options before choosing Letterkenny . I can feel Brendon smile against my chest, then his whole body relaxes as I run my fingers through his hair. In no time, he’s sleeping, but it takes me a while to shut my brain off. The story he told me plays on repeat in my head. It makes me want to hurt someone and wrap Brendon in a bubble so no one can get to him but me. If I ever get a second alone with Chad, I’m going to make him pay for what he’s done.