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16

Brendon

F uck, it’s cold in here, but at least I’m alone. Nikki is driving me nuts, hanging out outside the rink waiting for practice to end or outside the gym in the morning. I swear she knows my class schedule too, so she just pops up.

I shiver in my hoodie, cursing her and myself for this stupid idea. I may have grown up in ice rinks, but I’m usually on the ice working up a sweat, not alone in the stands.

I can see my breath as I huddle against the wall with my hood pulled up over my head and my hands inside the sleeves while awkwardly gripping my pen. The lights shut off, and I’m shrouded in darkness.

Uh-oh.

“Hello?” I sit up and look around. My voice echoes in the empty space.

The sound of a lock turning is barely audible from where I’m at, but I definitely heard it. I am well and truly fucked.

I drop back against the brick wall with a huff. How long have I even been in here? Too damn long, apparently. Yesterday I didn’t get locked in here. Why was today different?

Pulling out my phone, I check the time and see that I’ve been in here for three hours. Yesterday I was here for two. Ugh. Why am I so dumb?

A text pops up from Paul, but I don’t open it. I don’t know what to say to him. It’s not fair to Paul that I’ve taken my shit out on him. Logically, I know that, but I don’t know how to admit that when talking about it makes me want to vomit. I hate that seeing Chad and Williams pushed me so far over the edge after all these years that I ran full speed into a bottle. I needed to forget how damaged I am.

Emotions knot in my throat, making it hard to swallow or breathe. My body is tensing, preparing for the onslaught of fear to take over.

Closing my eyes, I push my head against the wall and rub a hand over the bruise hard enough to hurt.

I hiss, and my face tightens with the pain, but the spiral in my head stops, and I’m able to breathe.

My phone goes off again, this time a call from Paul. I sigh, my shoulders dropping in defeat, but I don’t answer it. I can’t. I’m humiliated that he knows my deepest shame, and I don’t know how to move past it.

I just want to curl up in his lap and let him hold me. Tell me he loves me and won’t get tired of me being a space cadet. But acknowledging that I’m annoying, pointing out my flaws, is not in my best interest.

His anger hurts, yet that’s what I seem to be good at lately, pissing him off. In the years we’ve been friends, we’ve argued a few times, but he’s never been angry at me. Not like he has lately. I’m fucking this thing up, and it’s barely started. Why am I pushing so hard against the thing I want the most? I love him so much it hurts, but why am I so afraid of him? Why do I keep hurting him?

I shove my phone in my backpack and put my books away since I can’t see enough to get any work done anyway. Curling up around my bag, I lay on the metal bench and prepare for a long-ass night.

I could probably call Coach to come let me out, but that makes me look like an idiot, and I don’t need any more help there.

Making myself as small as I can to keep my body heat in, I use my backpack as a pillow and try to sleep. It’s damn near impossible to sleep while shivering, and my bladder is demanding attention. Shit. Are there motion-activated cameras in here? Will I set off some alarm if I go piss?

Only one way to find out.

Grabbing my bag, I carefully make my way down the bleachers to the bathroom. No alarms start screaming, so I empty my bladder and leave the bathroom. Maybe there’s another door that’s open that I can leave through.

As I’m wandering through the arena, there’s something calming about being in here alone. I’m safe. And when I stand at the entrance to the ice and look out over the rink, I’m hit with a sense of peace. So many people have played in here. Scouts coming to see players in action, injuries, blood, sweat, and tears. If this building could talk, there would be so many stories that have been forgotten over the years. Wins and losses, overcoming adversary, and heroic comebacks.

It's this feeling that kept me playing during the worst years of my life. Despite the pain and humiliation waiting for me off the ice, I couldn’t give this up.

A door squeaking open echoes, and I spin around to see if I can find where it came from. I hurry down the hallways, looking for movement, light, or any kind of sound. Rounding a corner, I run face first into Coach, and my scream of surprise echoes down the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing in here, Oiler?!” he demands, red-faced and looking pissed off.

I put a hand on the wall and one on my hip as I try to calm my racing heart. “I got locked in doing homework in the stands.” That’s a completely normal thing, right? Totally not weird.

“And you didn’t call anyone because . . .” He trails off, waiting for an explanation.

“Well.” I shuffle my feet and shove my hands into my hoodie pocket. “I didn’t want to look like a dumbass.”

Coach blinks at me for a long moment. “Well, thank God you don’t look like an idiot.”

Yeah, I deserved that.

He tells me which door he unlocked and tells me to get lost, so I hurry away from him and breathe a sigh of relief at the warmer air outside. It’s Valentine’s Day in Denver, Colorado. Not exactly tropical, but it’s warmer than inside.

I’m still shivering as I hustle to the dorms. All I want is a hot shower and sleep.

My stomach clenches painfully.

Okay, and food.

And cuddles. You want to be held.

Fuck off, voice.

Nerves flutter in my chest when I pull open the door to the dorm building and wait for the elevator. I hope Paul isn’t out looking for me.

The ride up is quick, and when the doors open on the third floor, I’m half expecting him to be standing there with his arms crossed and a glare on his beautiful face. Instead, I find Nikki.

Fuck.

“Hey, can’t really talk right—”

“I brought you dinner. Did you get the gift I left on your bed?” She shoves a white grocery bag at me that I grab on instinct and look up at her, confused.

“What?”

“The gift. I left it on your bed.” She cocks her head to the side like she’s wondering if I understand English. “Hmm, maybe your roommate took it? He seems like the jealous type.”

“I haven’t been back in hours, and he wouldn’t take something that wasn’t his.” Now I’m getting mad. She doesn’t know him, or me for that matter. How dare she talk about him like she does? “I have to go.” I push past her down the hallway but stop outside our door. Is Paul inside? Is he pissed? Is he going to yell at me again or treat me like I’m breakable? I take a deep breath and reach for the handle, but the door opens before I can grab it. Jeremy stops short and smiles at me.

“Hey, man, where have you been?” He puts his hand on my arm, and Paul’s head pops up over his shoulder as he gets off the bed.

“I, uh . . . got locked in the ice rink.” A shudder runs through me again, and I huddle in my hoodie, wishing Paul would just wrap his damn arms around me and hold me tight.

Jeremy chuckles since it’s exactly something that would happen to me and pats my shoulder on his way past to his own room. I stand awkwardly in the doorway while Paul stares at me.

“Are you going to come in or . . .”

Forcing myself to swallow past the lump in my throat, I close the door behind me and drop my backpack on the floor.

“You’re avoiding me.”

He’s not pulling any punches today. Not letting me hide. I both love it and hate it when he does this. It means I’ve been too in my head lately, and he’s going to make me face at least some of it. But it hurts, and after being locked in the dark recesses of my head for days, I snap. “You’re not my keeper!”

“You’re right, I’m not your fucking keeper. I’m trying to be your friend. You won’t talk to anyone, disappear for hours, and are just acting weird. I’m concerned about you.” By the end of his rant, Paul is yelling and crowding me against the door.

I shove against him, but he barely budges. “Just fuck off! I didn’t ask you to save me!”

“I love you. You don’t have to ask!” His angry red face is in mine.

“Stop acting like you’re a knight in shining fucking armor. Mind your own business!” I shove him again, this time managing to get him to back up enough for me to get past him and into the bathroom. I close the door in his face and hate myself for the hurt I see there. I’m going to be his ruin.

Stripping out of my clothes, finally not shivering anymore thanks to the heat of anger, I turn the water all the way to hot and punish myself with the burn. My pale skin immediately turns pink, and I hiss at the sting.

If only the trembling in my soul was as easy to get rid of as the shaking in my hands.

With my palms on the wall of the shower, I lift my face to the boiling water and force myself to take the pain. It’s nothing less than I deserve for hurting him. Maybe the heat of the water will wash away some of the fucked-up parts of me. Make me normal. Make me easier to love.

Love.

My head snaps up right as the word hits my brain. Paul said he loves me. Did he mean love love or just like a friend love? Excitement and fear mix, neither one knowing which way to go. The “what ifs” arguing both sides of the case and coming to the same conclusion.

There’s no way he could really love me.

The weight of it pulls on me until my knees give out, and I fall in a heap on the shower floor. Tears pour from my eyes, mixing with the scalding water until I can’t tell which is which anymore. I’m so damn tired of holding it all in, of carrying it around with me everywhere I go, never able to get a lungful of air. Faking smiles and laughs so no one looks too closely while on the inside I’m falling apart. I hate that I hide it all so well that no one knows, but all I want is for someone to notice, but at the same time, if anyone did notice, I would tell them I’m fine because I don’t want to be a burden.

Forcing my body to move, I reach for the body wash but freeze when a find a black silicone butt plug and lube sitting on the shelf. For a second, my mind goes blank. Almost like I can’t process what I’m seeing.

Lust flares in my body, despite the inner turmoil, and I’m so desperate to feel something else I grab onto it with both hands. The image of Paul using it, stretching his hole and coming, has my own dick throbbing. Will he let me lose myself in him? Just for a minute?

The last thing I should do is touch him. I know that. I’m going to give him whiplash with this back-and-forth bullshit, but I fucking need him. It makes me weak to need him as badly as I do. It’s definitely not fair to him. I get him, but what does he get? A fucked-up friend who uses him.

I dry off quickly, take the plug and lube, and leave the bathroom naked and on a mission.

Paul’s head snaps toward me and eyes widen when he sees me, his gaze drags over my body and snags on the plug in my hand. His cheeks turn pink, and his throat bobs as he swallows.

I lift the toy before I speak. “Something you wanna talk about?”

“Not really,” he says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Come here.”

Goose bumps break out all over my body at his tone, and I move without thinking.

Please take me out of my head. I need you.

I stand between his knees and let out a calming breath, tossing the supplies on the bed.

“What do you need, Brendon?” Paul puts his hands on his knees, leaning forward to barely brush his nose up my stomach. I shiver, a little gasp escaping my mouth, and my head drops back.

“I need to come.” The words fall from my lips with no thought. “I need to fuck.”

Paul cups the back of my thighs, pulling me closer to him so he can leave open-mouthed kisses on my skin while ignoring my cock bobbing between us.

“We’re going to talk about this after, got it?” His voice leaves no room for misunderstanding or argument.

“Fine, just make me stop thinking first.” My words are a needy whimper. Reaching for him, I cup the back of his head and slam my mouth against his, then lean a knee on the bed. I can’t have nice and slow. It gives me too much time to think. I need to get lost in him.

Paul runs his hands across my ass, kneading the muscles, and lightly scratching my skin as my hips settle between his spread thighs.

He pulls back enough for our eyes to lock. “I want you to fuck me.”

Nothing in this moment matters but him. There’s no world outside of this bed.

Shifting back on the mattress, he lays back against the pillows, and I pull his pants and underwear off, dropping them somewhere on the floor. He’s hard, thick, and veined.

And I want a taste.

Dragging my hands up his thighs with my eyes locked on his, I lick up the underside of his dick. Paul grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my mouth back to his as his nostrils flare and his pupils blow wide with arousal.

“Flip,” he commands, and my body moves to lay down without thought, taking his spot on the pillows.

His scent surrounds me, comforting and sexy. He’s taken on that commanding presence that I can’t take my eyes off of. I’ve never been drawn to dominant guys before, but it’s different with Paul. I’m safe with him.

He straddles my hips and leans over me.

“Prep my hole,” he demands against my mouth, and I pat around the bed for the bottle of lube. Once I find it, I get my fingers slick, reach between us, and slide my fingers between his cheeks. Paul whimpers into our kiss when I find the puckered flesh and swirl my fingertip around it.

God damn, that’s sexy as fuck. I throb, my hips arching up to find friction.

I press one finger in, and he’s surprisingly relaxed.

“How long has it been since you used the plug?” I pant, watching his face as I thrust my fingers in and out of his body.

“Few hours.” He bites his lip and pulls my mouth back to his. “Fuck. I need you.”

My dick aches at the very idea of pushing into his body.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” I slide another finger in and have to admit that he’s still pretty damn stretched. I’m leaking precum onto my stomach, and when Paul sits up, he swipes his thumb through it, then sucks it from his skin.

“You’re a needy little fuck stick, aren’t you?” Paul growls as he grinds his ass over my dick. The roll of his body, the flexing of his muscles, is almost as arousing as the pressure on my cock.

My hips jerk up off the bed at the sensation. “Please,” I whimper, his words pushing me closer to the edge of no return. “I need—”

“You need to take what you’re given.” Paul stops moving, giving me the much-needed break to catch my breath, and grabs the lube. The cold liquid slides down my shaft, and he strokes me to make sure I’m all slick before lining his hole up and pushing against it.

My hands clench and release at my sides, wanting to help, but if the look on his face is worth anything, it means he won’t let me. He’s running this show, and I just have to lay here and enjoy it.

“Push out a little,” I tell him, and the head of my dick is sucked inside, surrounded by the heat of his body. My eyes cross and roll back into my head. “So fucking good,” I moan.

Paul sinks down slowly with a groan until he’s once again sitting on my hips. I watch him adjust, the flush on his face and chest such a fucking turn-on.

“I want to touch you,” I whimper. My hands balling into fists, then relaxing with the urge to reach for him.

“Too bad.”

He leans forward again, one hand grips my bicep and the other is high on my chest by my collarbone, letting me take his weight as he rocks his hips. With every rock forward, he lifts a little more, testing the feeling until he’s riding me hard. We’re sweaty bodies, grunts and moans, chasing mindless pleasure. I’m lost in him, in the sensations, in the pressure. The constant buzz in my head gloriously quiet for once.

“Stroke me, I’m going to mark you with my cum before you fill me with yours.”

I whimper but do what he’s told me and wrap my palm around him, jerking him off to the same rhythm of his hips. I’m almost there. My hips flex on instinct to meet his rolling hips.

“Fuck, please.” All my attention is focused on my groin, on my need to come inside the man I love. Probably the only man I’ll ever love.

“Come on then, big bad hockey player. Give it to me.” Paul picks up his pace, filling my ears with his panting breath and the slapping of our bodies meeting.

Sweat breaks out on my skin, and my muscles tremble. I’m already so fucking close to the edge, but I can’t quite get there. I clench my eyes closed and arch my back, grinding up into Paul while my body shakes against my will.

“Tell me you love me,” I beg, lost in the sensations where the mental walls I keep up are nothing but dust.

There’s a pause before I feel Paul’s breath on my cheek. The hand on my arm moves to grip the back of my neck.

“I love you, Brendon.” His words sound off, but my lust-addled brain doesn’t know why. “Come for me. Show me how much you love me.”

Lights spark behind my eyes as my orgasm explodes through me. Hot cum splatters on my stomach and chest and over my hand. There’s a ringing in my ears, and my entire body goes from tense to weak in a matter of seconds. My arms and legs are limp on the mattress as air heaves in and out of my lungs. Paul wraps his arms under my body and presses his face into my neck, holding me tightly and kissing my neck.