Page 29

TWENTY-SEVEN

NIK

I watch Charlie’s eyes close slowly, his mouth stretched into a serene smile, as I swallow his come and it tastes... fine.

Nothing to write home about. A bit bitter, yes, but it’s not awful.

I’ve tasted worse things, honestly. Like those insane Mexican, spicy chips Eagle gets at a special store.

But the thing about my first time giving a blow job that I will never forget, and the reason why I’m probably going to want to do it every day from now on, is the way the word please came out of Charlie’s mouth.

It was like a masterful symphony to my ears.

Then, the look of ecstasy when he finally spilled inside my mouth.

I did that .

I made him feel so good that he’s apparently needing a nap now.

“You awake?” I ask, my voice full of humor.

“Yeah,” he replies lazily, still not opening his eyes. “Just give me a minute and it’ll be your turn. Then I’m gonna need another shower thanks to your torture.”

“You loved it,” I cajole, and kiss his thigh because it’s right there. Then I pull up and sit next to his face. Reaching down, I cup his cheek upside down and just stare at him. He’s so handsome, his face almost pretty in its perfection. I realize I’ve never told him that, so I take advantage and tell him now.

He snorts. “I’m flattered,” he says. “My cousins have always told me I’m the ugly one of the bunch.

“Well, I’ve seen most of your cousins, I think, so...” I trail off, wanting to poke at him a little. His eyes open into slits and he gives me a glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean? And when have you seen them?” he demands.

“You always had a bunch of people who look like you at the NHL Awards, and they came to see you at the first game of the season,” I tell him patiently. “I assumed those people were your family.” Of course, he doesn’t need to know I remember being at the draft alone—my family was still back in Russia—with only Butcher there with me since he took pity on me being by my lonesome.

He, on the other hand, had about fifteen people there .

Is that where it started? The resentment? Could be, I suppose.

He did get drafted before me—one pick earlier—and that burned too. Not that I regret it now since I clearly ended up on the better team.

“And what were you implying then?” he asks, not losing his fake offended expression. He sits up and turns, his naked torso drawing me in and bewitching me.

“You’ve got good genes, sweetheart,” is all I say, then I kiss him slowly, coaxing a good mood out of him since my dick is still hard as a rock. “And you’re definitely my favorite Heart.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “You like my food so much, and my grandmother taught me everything I know, so...”

“I’m going to have a talk with her. Maybe she’s the one I should be seducing.”

“Ew,” he cries, and I burst out laughing and lean back until my back is against the headboard. Then I spread my legs and pat the space between them.

“Let’s forget about grandma Heart for now,” I say and wiggle my eyebrows.

“We call her Lala, by the way,” he says with a laugh, and he moves into position. “And yeah, we can think about her some other time.”

I like making him laugh.

After a moment of just staring at it, he finally takes my dick, circles it with his long fingers and then... seems to study it. Quite critically if the way his eyebrows scrunching together is anything to go by.

My breath shudders out. It’s only happened one time before but I still can’t get over how good his hand feels around me. I didn’t think it could be possible from such a simple touch.

Then he mutters something I can’t understand and I feel sudden panic.

“You really don’t have to if?—”

He shuts me up by taking the head and maybe an inch more into his hot mouth, and then he sucks while holding my gaze prisoner with his dark bottomless eyes.

He takes a completely different approach to me, sucking hard, moving fast. Then he adds his hand into the mix, twisting his fingers at my base, and he even cups my balls with his other hand. I understand now why he was grabbing onto the sheets and twisting them in his hands.

It’s too good. You have to hold on to something when it feels this fucking ?—

“Char—” That’s all I get out before I’m moaning and my orgasm hits me like an avalanche. My hips twitch uncontrollably, and I want to apologize when Charlie’s throat protests and he gags, but I’m still lost in the pleasure he’s bringing me. It seems to go on for longer than usual. Could it be because I was teasing him for so long?

I file that thought away and focus on making my lungs pull in air so I don’t pass the fuck out.

“Damn, sweetheart,” I say when I can finally speak .

“I’m pretty proud of myself,” he says, and he looks it.

“I’m proud of you too.” Hard breaths make my moves jerky, but I still manage to pat his head right where I wanted to. He swats my hand away and shuffles to the foot of the bed to stand.

“We need another shower,” he commands, and walks back to the bathroom. I watch him go, and enjoy the view for as long as it lasts.

Hours later, we’re done with dinner and just keeping the conversation going at the table with empty plates and espresso cups in front of us.

While he cooked, and he made me help so I could learn a few things, he kept up his bargain from before and told me all about his maternal grandmother.

I discovered he’s a good storyteller, from the tale of the beautiful Italian girl who fell in love with a simple man from Chicago.

Isabella and Joey, such common names if you think about it, but what they created out of that love and devotion was a big, messy, and loving family that they still look over to this day.

My heart ached just a little while listening to Charlie’s voice, saturated with love as he talked about them, and about the “most handsome cousin” competition they’d had over the years. I laughed along with him when he told me every which way the kids drove their grandparents and aunts and uncles insane.

He told me about his oldest uncle, Enzo, and how he fell in love with a man when he was barely out of school. He told me of the hardships he had to endure thirty years ago for that love, and how today he’s married to the love of his life—another man named Atlas who restored his faith in love.

I listened intently, taking in every detail, because no matter how much it felt like every word was poking at a wound that has never healed, I still yearn for it.

Pirates family or not, it’s thanks to Charlie that I have to accept I still want more.

Looking at him now, at his peaceful expression as he stares down at the table and is clearly seeing something that isn’t there, I’m consciously grateful for him being here for the first time.

Even while we were on the road, benched or not, I didn’t realize how much he was bringing to the team. How unbeatable we could be with him on the ice. All of that’s true, but even if it weren’t, what he’s brought to me is a sense of peace. Of acceptance.

I vow to myself never to forget again, and to tell him all of this at some point. I can’t right now, it’s too fresh, too vulnerable, but he deserves that recognition from me. For the part he’s playing on the team, he’s gotten that recognition from everybody else already, but not from me.

I say nothing about our sleeping arrangements when we finally stand to clean up the kitchen. For whatever reason, he made it very clear yesterday that he wanted his own space, and I can’t begrudge him that. Not because I feel the same way—I most certainly don’t—but because he has a right to need what he needs.

So when we’re done, and I pull him against my chest and kiss him like I’m saying good night, I don’t expect him to pull me into his room with him. It’s a wordless acknowledgement and I don’t need any more than that.

We have an early game tomorrow, so I can’t take too much time, not like earlier, but I’m desperate to make him feel good. I want his pleasure as much as my own.

I bring him to the brink with my hand, with my lips devouring his, and he does the same for me.

Doing it this way, simple and sticking to what we know, takes away the nerves that I feel at the thought of doing more .

We’ll have time for that.

We’ll take the time, I know. Because deep inside me, there’s a voice warning me that I’m never going to want to let go.

“Good news is, nothing’s broken,” the doctor says while holding up the X-ray scan against the bright lights of the ceiling .

“I told you that,” I grumble and sit up with a wince. “It is just a bruise.”

I knew it wasn’t anything too serious right after the hit, but everyone demanded I come to the hospital right away.

Sure, the puck I blocked put me on the ice and I lost my breath for a moment there, but it’s not like that hasn’t happened a million times before.

“You’re still going to have to take it easy until you can breathe without any pain.”

What can I say to that? Especially since Laney came to the hospital with me. He shakes the doctor’s hand and then we walk out of there.

Even though I told them not to bother, I see Jules, Bear, Benny, and Charlie sitting in the waiting room.

I can tell Charlie wants to come to me right away and that he holds back.

I hate it .

But I swallow the annoyance down and accept the light pats on the shoulder from all of them.

“You cannot get rid of me that easily,” I tell them, trying to make light of it all because it really wasn’t that serious.

“You’re out for the next two games,” Laney pipes up mercilessly.

“I know,” I tell him and narrow my eyes at him. “The doctor just said so.”

Instead of snapping at me, he rolls his eyes and walks out. It tells me he was more worried than he let on.

And that calms me down .

I manage to reassure them and soon enough, Charlie and I are on our way to his place.

“Do you want to go to your place to take a bath?” he asks quietly.

I feel a sudden flutter of nerves at the thought of him seeing where I’ve been living for years. I don’t know if I have the energy for it tonight, so...

“No. I’ll go tomorrow while you’re at practice.”

“Okay,” he says in a whisper, then he clams up. No talk about how I blocked a puck so Oregon couldn’t tie the game and send us into overtime, no commentary on the game overall. Just silence.

I cave as soon as we walk through the front door, though.

“What’s going on?” I ask, panic clear in my voice even though I try to hide it.

Charlie starts to pace, dumping his duffel carelessly—something I’ve never seen him do—and he even grabs his hair and pulls.

Why is he so distressed?

“Who is Max?”

The question hits me like another puck to the back.

My anxiety starts to take over. How does he know that name? Who did he talk to?

“What?” is all I can manage.

“I was fucking worried about you, going out of my damn mind when you got taken to the hospital, and I was packing your shit when you got a text. ”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Or in. Definitely not air.

This can’t be good for my lungs.

“He said he loves you,” Charlie snaps and that finally wakes me the fuck up. I realize what Charlie thinks this is, and I can’t help the disgusted wince.

“Sweetheart,” I start, the strain in my voice audible. “I have never kissed, or been kissed, or done any other shit with another man. Only you. I didn’t even know I could find men attractive until you ,” I emphasize.

He waits for more, but tonight, and maybe every other night for the rest of my life, I’m not ready for this conversation. I’m not ready to feel any more pain.

“That’s it?” he demands.

“Do you believe me?” I throw back, desperate for him to tell me yes.

He stares at me for a long moment, trying to find a lie on my face maybe—he won’t since I’m telling him the fucking truth.

“Yes, I believe you,” he says, resigned. “But I don’t understand.”

“I can’t explain tonight, sweetheart.” My words are like pleas. I’m begging him to drop it.

“Whoever Max is,” he says at last. “They want to know if you’re okay, and they want you to know they love you.” He walks over and grabs my hand, slaps my phone into it, then he walks away. Up the stairs. Alone .

I stand there for a long time, not knowing what I’m supposed to do now.

This morning I woke up feeling like a million bucks. Charlie was warm in my arms and we had a day full of hockey ahead of us. What could be better?

Now it seems like everything has flipped upside down and I...

Won’t let go.

I dump my duffel right next to Charlie’s and march up the stairs.

If he tells me this is making him doubt how damn good we are as... two people who are attracted to each other?—

Jesus, I sound stupid as fuck.

We haven’t even talked about what this really is. There have been no feelings shared.

There are feelings on my side, a lot of fucking feelings. But with the closed door of his bedroom in front of me—mocking me—I have to think hard about what I want here.

Where is this going?

He retired last year. Will he still want to retire after we win this year—because we will win—or will he want to play more?

I’m sure as fuck not retiring after this season.

Would he even want to stay here?

I don’t want to live anywhere else.

Could we ever be an actual couple? One who kisses in front of all their friends when either of us ends up in the hospital ?

Or is our love for hockey going to fuck this up?

So many questions . . . so few answers.

All I know is that I want him in my arms tonight. I want him there every night, but I can’t force him to do shit if he’s done with me. If he needs me to talk about?—

I can’t do that right now.

In fact, I unlock my phone and delete the message. It’s the least important part of all this.

The only way to know is to find out, so with a big breath—that does hurt and reminds me of everything that’s happened tonight—I open the door to his bedroom slowly and find the light on the empty side of the bed is on.

A ragged breath leaves me at the sight. I don’t think I’ve been this relieved in my entire life.

I walk silently to that light, take off all my clothes except my briefs and climb in, scoot to the middle and wrap one arm around him, then pull him to me.

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t resist. In fact, he rolls around when I stop moving and throws an arm over my middle as well.

I kiss his forehead, a sign of gratitude, and let out a measured breath.

“Just promise me you’ll tell me someday,” he whispers. He sounds so sad I can’t believe the whole thing doesn’t spill out of me in that moment. That’s how much his words impact me.

I still don’t have answers to all the questions that popped into my brain outside the door, but now I’m sure there’s no place I’d rather be than next to him.

Whether it’s in bed, in the kitchen, in a car, or on the ice.

Next to Charlie Heart is where I want to be, and I fear I might sacrifice nearly everything for it. For him.

Again, it’s too big, the feelings, the realization, so I shut it all out except for one thing.

The one promise I can make him because I know next time I’ll be strong enough to tell him.

“I promise.”

The next week passes in a blur of doctor’s appointments, light practices and a lot of frustration over not being on the ice with Charlie.

Thankfully, Charlie doesn’t ask any more questions about Max, something I feel a lot of guilt over, but the relief is just as great.

On Friday morning, after we had our light morning skate, I went for my latest checkup and they gave me the green light to play tonight. I didn’t tell Charlie right away, and instead we came to the house and came up for a nap.

Two hours later, I wake up with a smile, because in just a few hours I’ll be back on the ice. Back where I belong.

I also plan to do more than skate.

I plant tiny kisses on Charlie’s cheeks to coax him out of sleep, knowing we can finally start doing something about the horniness that’s been plaguing me all week. The doctor said no sex, though, and Charlie, that beautiful man, listened to him.

Oh well, I guess no one can be perfect.

And as far as imperfections go, I guess that one isn’t so bad.

“What are you doing?” Charlie grumbles sleepily when I start kissing down his neck.

“Doctor gave me the all clear this morning so I’m going to do dirty things to you,” I inform him with the utmost seriousness, and the goofball bursts out laughing. “I’m serious,” I protest. “Why do you laugh at me?” He sees right through my fake wounded act and rolls to his back, brings a hand to my head to comb his fingers through my messy hair.

“You always make me laugh,” he says tenderly.

“Yes I do,” I tell him, proud of myself, and I start to lean down when a chime sounds all over the house. It’s one I haven’t heard before.

Charlie jumps away from me, which makes me pout. He reaches for his phone and I see a video feed appear, and two... identical guys appear to be bickering as one presses on the doorbell again.

Those are Charlie’s brothers, I’m pretty sure.

“Fucking shit,” Charlie whisper-shouts and sprints to his walk-in closet.

“What?” I demand and follow him. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s my brothers,” he says .

“Yeah,” I drawl, waiting for more information to come out of his mouth.

“They didn’t tell me they were coming,” he says, grabbing a shirt out of a drawer then going over to get some pants.

“So?” I thought he got along well with them. What’s the big deal?

“Go put some clothes on,” he snaps at me, making me frown. “They can’t see you like that.” He has to see the confusion on my face because he winces. “They don’t know about any of this, so go put something on.”

“You can just tell them,” I argue, but he won’t hear it.

“No,” he shouts. “Just go put something on.”

I stumble back—the keen ache of rejection is a bitch—but then the doorbell sounds again, and doesn’t stop.

It’s annoying.

All of this is fucking annoying.

I go to my room quickly and put on some sweatpants, but I hear Charlie pass by my room before I have a shirt on, so I decide to follow him without one. I’m not letting him get out of this as easily as he thinks.

He’s pulling a shirt down over his chest when he opens the door, and I stop right behind him.

“What the hell?” one of them mutters when they see me. His frown tells me all I need to know—they think Charlie and I still hate each other. Has he not talked to them at all?

The annoyance inside me just keeps building .

“What are you guys doing here?” Charlie asks them, ignoring the previous question.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” the other one, wearing black, explodes and points at me.

“It’s a long story,” Charlie says with a sigh, and seriously, you could boil potatoes with the heat building up inside me.

A long story? No it isn’t. It’s really fucking short actually.

As if that’s all he’ll say on the matter, he opens the door wider for his brothers. “Come in, but seriously, what’s going on?” He directs the question—he does look worried—at the one who spoke first, wearing blue. Seriously, they are way too identical.

“Nothing like what you’re thinking,” he tells Charlie, carrying a couple of duffels into the house.

So I guess they’re all just going to skip past the “long story” bullshit?

“Then what the fuck?” Charlie cries. “You show up here out of the blue, without any warning?” He turns to the other one, who’s already helping himself to a Coke from the fridge. “And on Valentine’s Day,” Charlie continues when the one wearing black interrupts him.

“And I had great plans for today, but they were shot to shit when I found Lu and Tanner naked.”

I have no clue who Lu or Tanner are, but putting all the context clues together, I get a reasonably clear picture, and it’s not a pretty one .

“Motherfucker,” Charlie mutters. I stare at him and I have to admit, I’m kind of impressed. He just transformed into a protective older brother right in front of me.

“Two days ago, yeah,” the one wearing blue—I should probably learn their names soon—adds in a way-too-bright tone for the situation. “So now we’re here,” he continues with a wide smile that’s as fake as my teeth. “Until Monday. To spend Valentine’s Day in the City of Sin. Any chance you can get us tickets to tonight’s game? And you up for going out tonight?” We all just stare at him, Charlie looking especially incredulous, but he just keeps going . “I thought we could hit a casino, maybe a show, and then watch you kick Atlanta’s ass for the first time in your career on Sunday, then we’re heading back home with our souls healed and ready to face our lives with a brighter outlook.”

He smiles like what he just said isn’t the biggest delusional load of bullshit ever said.

“This one stupid?” I ask Charlie, pointing at the blue-wearing twin, and I regret how harsh I sounded a second later. I meant it to sound like a joke, but trying to keep up with the accent plus Charlie annoying me by keeping us a secret... well. It didn’t come out well at all.

That’s why I don’t blame Charlie for giving me the murderous glare I haven’t seen since right before he kissed me that first time.

The black-wearing twin appears between us then and his stare is just as angry. He jams a finger right in the middle of my chest. “You better watch your mouth or I’m going to show you how real men fight on solid ground, Santa ,” he growls and says my name with derision.

“What—” I start my explanation but Charlie doesn’t let me get another word out.

“Just shut up. And never call my brother a name again, okay?”

I nod but he doesn’t see it. He’s already turning around to look at the blue-wearing twin.

“Fi,” he says, with what I can tell is his best interpretation of a man who has patience. “I love that you thought to bring Beau here, and we can most definitely make all of your plans happen. What Beau just went through is fucked up, but you won’t be going back home a better man, and you’re most definitely not gonna heal a damn thing here. But we are going to get Beau drunk, and hopefully he can realize that although everything sucks...” He turns to Beau . “You still have us. Always. And you know what Grandpa Yoyo has always said... ‘Home is where a Heart is.’ So welcome home, let’s get you settled.”

“Love the sentiment,” Beau says, and rolls his eyes dramatically. “But Finn got us rooms at the Winner so we’re not even sleeping here. And I don’t want to go out to a club or get drunk. You know I get awful hangovers.”

That gives me an idea. Angry at Charlie or not, I feel like Beau really needs some cheering up, and I’m generally very good at that .

“Maybe the pain of a hangover will help with forgetting the heartbreak and betrayal,” I suggest, but Charlie scowls at me.

“Not helpful,” he mutters, but clearly Beau disagrees.

“More helpful than all your lovey-dovey bullshit. Now just give us passes for tonight, will you?”

“No. I don’t have any more tickets for tonight’s game.” This surprises me. Who did he give his tickets to? “I can get you some for Sunday, but if you want to go today, then I’m going to have to call in a favor to get you into Gab’s suite.”

We’re lucky she’s going to be at the game tonight. She had told us she probably wouldn’t, but I guess she loves us after all. The resentment in my thoughts isn’t lost on me, but I’m still keeping my head firmly buried in the sand when it comes to her.

“That is better,” I agree. “Gab will fix them both,” I point out. Because I do believe she will. She’s a special woman, our Gab, and no one else needs to know how conflicted I am over her right now.

“Excuse me?” The other twin—Finn—snaps at me.

Before I can put my foot in it again, his twin comes to the rescue.

“Oh, please. You need professional help to fix that crippling eternal optimism.”

They bicker about that until Charlie interrupts them, clearly having a lot of experience when it comes to them.

“Okay, okay. I’ll drive you to your hotel and make sure you have a ride to the arena tonight, okay? ”

And then he just leaves.

Without looking at me, without saying one word to me, he just... leaves.