Page 23 of Breaking the Ice

“So what do you want to do about it?”

And yep, there it was. The million dollar question.

It wasn’t that hard, actually, to answer it for himself. Harder to say it out loud.

Harder to know if heshoulddo it.

Gavin took a deep breath. “I don’t want to live here anymore. I don’t want to do nothing anymore.”

“There you go,” Jon said, and now hedidsound pleased. “What else?”

“I want . . .I want to take the job. I shouldn’t want to. Ishouldn’t—”

“What do we say aboutshouldn’t?” Jon interrupted.

“That this space is a place where we’re honest, regardless of anyone else or what they’d think,” Gavin repeated dutifully. He’d probably said it hundreds of times during over four years of therapy.

“The job, huh? Talk about diving right into the deep end.” Jon didn’t sound angry about that, though, or worried even, just contemplative.

“It’s what I want. You asked me what I want.” But there were caveats, too. Not just the worry about what heshoulddo, but the whole thing with Zach.

If he took the job, how many more moments would they experience, just like the couch? He could be careful. Keep Zach scrupulously at arm’s length.

But how long would that work?

How many times would he be tempted to cross the line that he’d sworn he’d never cross again? Nevermind with a guy. Aguywho’d been one of his players.

“If you want it, that’s important, Gavin,” Jon said. He didn’t need to add that Gavin hadn’twantedanything in a long time. But then he didn’t know about the couch, either.

He wet his lips. “There’s one other . . .complication.”

They’d only talked about this once, about a year ago, when Jon had started making noise about Gavin getting out of the comfort zone he’d constructed here.

When he’d brought up dating again.

Jon had defaulted to women as an option, and Gavin shouldn’t have bothered to correct him. After all, it didn’t matter if Jon believed he was straight, because he wasn’t going to ever date again. Anything in him that might be good for someone else had died with his wife.

But he had because it suddenly had felt very important that hewasn’tstraight.

“Hmmm?”

“Zach, who’s going to be the assistant coach . . .I think there was . . .I don’t know what to call it . . .but there was a . . .moment,I guess, for lack of a better word. When we were sitting on the couch together.”

It was galling how unsurprised Jon looked. “You said he grew up.”

Of course, he’d remembered what Gavin had said about Zach to begin with. One of the best—and worst—things about Jon was that his mind was a steel trap and he never forgot a goddamn thing.

“He did. He’s . . .well, it’s four years since I’ve seen him.”

“And he’s attractive.” Jon paused. “Attractive toyou?”

God, Gavin wished he’d asked an easier question. “Yes. No. It’s . . .it’s complicated. I think it was just that I hadn’t hung out with anyone in a long time, and we’d had a few beers and it was hot and late, and well . . .” He was only fucking human, okay?

He’d been convinced his libido had died with Noelle, but that wasn’t how it worked, was it? He’d been regularly jerking off again, for the last eighteen months.

That was one of the reasons Jon had brought up dating again, because they’d worked through the guilt Gavin felt imagining someone else in his head when he touched himself. He couldn’t think about Noelle—it always made him sad. Too sad to do anything about his bodily urges.

“Well?” Jon looked at him expectantly. “What are you looking for here, Gavin?”