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Brendon

I n the locker room two days later, we’re all stripping out of our suits and changing into workout gear to prepare for the second game against Maine. There’s an excited buzz to the locker room like always. Every athlete thinks they’re going to win the game. There’s a pressure we put on ourselves to perform perfectly, or we’ve let everyone down. Logically, we know it’s a team sport and not one person wins or loses a game, but in our heads, we know the truth. If we lose, it’s our own fault.

“God damn , Albrooke!” Willis, one of our defenders, calls a few cubbies down from me. “Wild night, buddy?”

Everyone turns to look at Jeremy, and when I step back to get a look at him, I can see why. He’s absolutely covered in hickies, bite marks, and scratches. Now that everyone knows Jeremy and Preston are together, the ribbing over the sex marks is worse. Preston says nothing, only smirks if someone comes up with something clever, but Jeremy blushes like a virgin. I have to admit, it’s pretty fucking hilarious.

“Definitely looks like it.” I laugh, leaning my forearm against Paul’s back. Paul lifts an eyebrow at me, then gets back to changing.

Carpenter laughs at the mess that is Jeremy’s skin and claps him on the shoulder, then turns to Preston. “Perhaps you should take it easy the night before a game, huh?”

Preston just lifts his uninjured shoulder but says nothing. Since Preston dislocated his shoulder last weekend, he’s not playing for a while, but he’s still here to fuck with everyone.

“Make sure the reporters still stalking around outside don’t see them, or you’ll have to explain how you got them.” Carp shakes his head and heads back to his cubby to finish getting ready.

Preston’s dad being a world-known surgeon with skeletons—and sexual assault charges—in his closet has created a tizzy in the media. Luckily, the school isn’t interested in them harassing students, so most get kicked off campus pretty quick.

I finish getting dressed and grab a roll of tape and my hockey sticks. Everyone has three sticks for the game, since breaking them is common. Everyone is particular about how the tape is applied, so we all do it ourselves, not trusting anyone else to do it right. Since we’ve all been playing since we were kids, it’s pretty quick, and we have multiple rolls of tape circulating the room.

Someone stands over me as I finish wrapping my last one. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Paul. I’m the dumbass, Jeremy is the good boy, and Paul is the one that keeps me out of trouble. Usually. He has some type-A personality quirks that keep my ass on time unless I can manage to distract him with what I lovingly call a side quest. Aka food.

He runs his hand over my hair and walks away. After all the years of playing, there’s still anxiety before a game. You never know how it’s going to go, who will get hurt, which team will be hungrier for the win. Paul knows physical touch helps calm me, so he always makes sure to do something before we start warmups.

We’ve gotten comments over the years from players about us fucking. Sports are notorious for being homophobic and full of toxic masculinity, so most of us that are part of the alphabet mafia tend to keep it pretty quiet. I’m bi, and only a handful of people know. Not because I’m embarrassed or ashamed; I just don’t want to deal with the bullshit in the locker room.

Once all the sticks are ready for the game and stored, we drop off our skates to be sharpened, and we head to the gym for off-the-ice warmups. Some guys have music playing in their ears, others are joking around or trash talking. I tell jokes and make an ass out of myself. We all have what works for us.

“Ten minutes, boys!” Coach yells, and we finish what we’re doing, then head out to the hallway that leads to the rink.

My skates hit the ice for warmups, and the rush of cold air on my cheeks has me smiling. This feeling right here is my addiction. It’s the calm before the storm. That adrenaline rush and butterflies in your stomach. It’s almost time. It’s the last few moments before we have to battle another twenty men for the win. When my skates hit the ice, my heart soars. There’s nothing out here but teamwork, blood, and victory.

The ice will be resurfaced after warmups, and the stands will be full when the game starts. We’re on our home turf, so the cheers will be deafening, the lights bright on the ice, and the fight for victory will begin.

“Everyone take a piss, let’s go,” Coach announces from the doorway. “And if you need to shit, better do it now or shit your pants on the ice.”

In shifts, we all go to the bathroom since there is nothing worse than playing while prairie dogging.

The last guys finish up, and we’re told to get our sticks and head to the hallway. The commentators are announcing the schools, and the crowd roars to life. Paul and Jeremy turn, and we slap our sticks together before hustling down the shoot and onto the ice.

My blades hit the ice, and I let out a loud, “Ca-caw!” which makes Jeremy and Paul chuckle.

I love the rush of the game. The way a well-gelled team moves, anticipating their teammates thoughts, and being ready—it’s beautiful. Hockey is such a physical game, we leave the arena bruised and sometimes bloody, with aches and pains from being thrown into the boards or a fight. I love it. You have to be hungry for that win, or you’re not going to get it. It’s a brutal fight to the death out here, and it hums in my blood.

Out here, the game moves fast. You can’t take your mind off it for a second. The puck moves across the ice, players fight for control, and lines switch out quickly. Your entire mind must be focused on what’s in front you, the next move, looking for an opening, or you’ll miss everything.

This game is fun. Maine is a good team, and we have to work for our win. Albrooke, Johnson, and I are back on the ice together, anticipating each other’s next move like we never spent any time apart. It’s perfect. I get lost in the hum of the crowd and sounds of skates and sticks on the ice. Adrenaline courses through me, and my love for the sport lights me up inside.

By the end of the game, we’re exhausted but happy. We won, and that’s what matters. And tomorrow we’ll get up and do it all over again. The locker room is rowdy with the boys celebrating. A smile is plastered on my face as we strip down and talk about the highlights of the game.

Until Jeremy strips out of his gear and I see Preston pause at his damage to my friend’s skin. It’s such a clear sign that Jeremy and I were not right for each other, and that’s fine. It was fun and convenient while it lasted. When they first got started, I thought Preston was abusing Jeremy. Not in a fun, sexy way. Our arrangement was never permanent, and yeah, I struggled to share him with someone else. He’s one of my best friends, and I’m used to having complete access to him, but I want my dude to be happy.

Jeremy’s naked ass walks past me toward the shower, and with my eyes locked with Preston’s, I slap Jeremy’s ass. Preston tenses and steps toward me. Jeremy spins and punches me in the arm, and I run toward the showers still with some of my clothes on just to get away from Preston. But I’m laughing.

“You know he’s going to snap one day and take your head off, right?” Jeremy says before he steps under the shower.

“Yeah, but it’ll probably be worth it.”

Paul gives me a you’re so dumb look and leaves the showers to get dressed. Jeremy and I do a quick scrub down, and when I turn toward the doorway, Preston is leaning against the wall watching. Probably making sure I don’t touch Jeremy. A smile turns up the corner of my lips, but Jeremy sees it and says, “Don’t even think about it.”

Paul is dressed and waiting for me when I get back to my cubby. I guess I took longer than I thought. He looks sexy as fuck in his suit and tie. There’s an air to him that makes it hard for me not to stare. For some reason, I can picture him watching me with hunger in his eyes, not ashamed for anyone to see. What I wouldn’t give for someone to claim me publicly. I’m tired of being a dirty secret. Like who I stick my dick in is shameful. It’s bullshit.

He commands the room in that damn outfit, and it’s a mind fuck. He’s my friend, and at this point, I’m scared he’s going to drop me too. He knows me better than most and lets me drop the mask to be my true self.

I pull on my own suit and fall back into the character everyone expects from me. With a quick movement, I smack Paul’s stomach with the back of my hand and wag my eyebrows at him.

“I’m hungry. Feed me.”

He smirks and shakes his head. “Are you ever not hungry?”

“That’s a big negative, good buddy.”

I follow him from the locker room and out to the walkway that will lead us to the dorms.

“Pizza?” he asks with his face buried in his phone.

“Have I ever said no to pizza? I think the fuck not.” I smack his ass, and he flushes a little.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he grumbles.

I laugh and squeeze his ass this time. “I’m not, but I could be.”

Paul stops walking, turns to face me, and straightens up. He’s only two inches taller than me, but he’s slimmer. All lean muscle and power, but wrapped in that suit, I can’t look at anything else. There is nothing else but him and the air in my lungs that’s trapped there.

His eyes drop to my mouth, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to. Take control of me so I get out of my own head. Make the inner monologue stop for just a minute.

Please.

I’ve always thought he was straight, but since I moved here a few months ago, I’ve caught him looking at me. Watching me. I know how men look at other men when there’s interest, but he’s never said anything or done anything else, so I just wait.

“Get your ass back to the dorm.” Paul’s voice is low and dangerous. That tone has never been directed at me, but fuck, it’s so sexy I want to hear it again. It sends a shiver up my spine and goose bumps across my skin. What would it feel like to have his hands on my skin? To have him controlling my body?

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I’m ripped away from the spell he’s put on me. Reaching for it, I answer the phone call from my mom.

“Hey, Mo—”

“Brendon!” Mom’s excited voice is so loud I jerk the phone from my ear. “Do you remember that coach you had in high school? Craig Williams?”

I hated that team. Dude was a drill sergeant, and it was not effective. Not to mention the menace his stepson was.

“Uh, yeah.”

“He got hired to coach at UM!”

My body moves on instinct, getting me away from the crowd of people and into a corner where I won’t have anyone surprise me from behind. The memories of my worst days flood my brain, the taste of Irish Spring a ghost on my tongue. Hit, tripped, humiliated. That team was the worst two years of my life.

Squawk for me, birdy.

I shiver at the words and the history attached to them.

“Brendon? Did you hear me?” she says when I don’t respond, but I can barely hear her over the voices in my head. We play UM later in the season.

My stomach is tight with tension. I hate that I’m afraid of him. That after all this time, just hearing his fucking name turns me back to that person. Terrorized and jumping at shadows. I don’t know if I’ll have to see Chad again, if he plays NCAA hockey. It’s likely I will at some point, and I dread the day it happens. But seeing Coach Williams is enough to fuck me up.

He knew Chad was targeting me, making me a victim, and did nothing.

A warm hand grips the back of my neck, and I flinch. Paul pulls me against him, grounding me in the present.

“Breathe,” he whispers, and my body trembles. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against his chest, the phone basically forgotten against my ear. He squeezes my nape, giving my mind something to focus on instead of the memories.

I have exactly one secret from Paul, and it’s this. I don’t want him to know how weak I really am.

“Hey, you okay?” Jeremy’s voice is close and concerned. I reach for him, too, and he wraps an arm around me, but when Preston growls, I snort. I don’t know why it’s so funny when he gets territorial over Jeremy, but it is.

“Yeah, Mom, that’s great for him.” I lift my head off Paul’s chest and see Preston watching me, but with concern this time. “I’ve gotta go, I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you!” The call ends, and I roll my shoulders, then shove my phone back in my pocket. I don’t want to talk about what this was or what it means. I don’t want them picking at me all fucking night, so I do the only thing I can think of. Act normal.

“All right, pizza. Feed me.”

Paul steps back and shakes his head. I head out after him with Preston and Jeremy following along after us.

“Come to Rocky’s with us,” Jeremy says. They’re walking close together but not holding hands, just in case a blood-sucking reporter catches pictures or whatever. Preston doesn’t want any of us getting caught in his drama, but especially not Jeremy.

“Isn’t there a rule about feeding the Gremlins after midnight?” Preston says.

“It’s not midnight!” I pull out my phone to check the time just in case because time has zero meaning to me.

“It’s midnight somewhere . . .”

I flip him off over my shoulder.

“No thanks. I think I’ll pass,” he deadpans.

“It was definitely not an offer. I’m not into pain.”

“Children!” Paul says, and Jeremy snickers. “I swear you’re as bad as siblings.”

I wrap my arm around Paul’s and give him a big-eyed innocent look. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Jeremy cackles, and Preston shudders while Paul looks like he’s going to murder me.

He sighs but keeps walking. He never tells me to stop or tells me that I’m being too much. Sometimes I wonder when it’ll start, though. I know I’m a lot. I’m over the top, change topics quickly, have big emotions and a smart mouth. But after a lifetime of being told to lower my voice, sit still, relax because it’s not that big of a deal, I struggle to know where to draw the line.

My family loves me; I’ve never doubted that, but I know they get annoyed with me. The impulsive, loud, random noises get overwhelming. My parents are quiet people. They’re content to sit on the couch and watch TV or read or whatever. Sometimes that quiet is great, but then I walk through the room and squawk for no reason at all, leave half the cabinet doors open, and leave the juice container on the counter because I forgot to put it away. I know it’s frustrating for them. They’ve nagged me my entire life to be quiet, sit still, close the doors, and I still can’t get it right.

We make it to the dorms, and when the elevator doors close behind us, my head has to ask the same questions it always does on elevators.

If you stuck your hand through the door, where the doors were closed on your palm, would you break your fingers when we moved? How close to the walls are we really? If we got stuck in here in between floors, could the four of us pry the doors open and climb out? Does that theory about jumping right before the car hits the springy thing at the bottom of the shaft actually work? How would you know—

“Brendon.” Paul snaps his fingers in my face, interrupting the tirade of intrusive thoughts.

I blink, not realizing I was disassociating, and head down the hallway with Paul.

“You okay?” he asks when we get inside.

“Me? Yeah.” I slide my jacket off my shoulders and toss it on my bed to take off the tie and unbutton my shirt. “Why?”

“You seem off.” Paul shrugs and strips off his shirt. I find myself eyeing him semi covertly, then force myself to turn away from him. I shouldn’t be looking at my friend like that. Doesn’t matter that he’s hot as fuck.

Paul pulls on old jeans that do amazing things for his ass and a thermal shirt that hugs his frame. With a backward black hockey ball cap, he looks at me and laughs at my yellow ducky underwear.

“I’ll go grab us seats at Rocky’s.” And he’s gone.