Page 15 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Kickstart My Heart

Chance

Ant’s arms are wrapped hesitantly around my body.

I’ve given a lot of people rides over the years, and it can be awkward for a novice motorcycle passenger to place their arms around someone, especially if they don’t know you well.

But there’s something different about this—about him.

His grip has now strengthened, firm but careful, like he’s trying to hold on for more than just safety, but not trying to hold on too tightly at the same time.

As we’re cruising through traffic, it dawns on me that I hadn’t quite thought this offer of a ride all the way through. When we pull up to a red light, I lift the shield on my helmet and motion for him to do the same.

After he lifts his shield, I clear my throat and ask, “Hey, you mind if we stop by my place first? There’s something important I forgot. I promise I won’t make a skin lamp out of you or anything.”

He leans in slightly, his voice just audible over the engine. “Uh, sure. I guess that’s fine.”

I nod and when we get the green light, I take the next turn, steering away from the dorms and toward my apartment.

It’s not a lie—there is something I need to take care of at home.

But the truth is, I could have easily dropped him off first. What I need to do is urgent, but ten minutes wouldn’t have hurt anything.

The real reason? I’m not quite ready to drop him off yet.

I don’t know many people here, and the company is nice.

Anthony Pacini intrigues me. He was just starting to loosen up with me at work tonight, and I’d like to draw him out a little more.

It’s that undeniable pull I’ve felt since laying eyes on him and I can’t quite put it into words.

Okay, fine, the fact that he’s hot as fuck is a factor.

We pull into the small parking lot outside my building, and I kill the engine. “Come on in. It’ll just take a minute,” I say, tossing him a casual smile as I lead him to my little sector of the complex and up to my door. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Ant cocks his head to the side, narrows his eyes at me, and says, “Okayyy.” I laugh at his hesitance—because that’s fair, but I don’t think he’ll mind when he meets them.

I unlock my door and usher him in. I drop my helmet on the counter, head over to the blanket-covered rectangular object in the corner of my dining area, and lift the blanket.

Ant’s eyes grow huge as he sees the crate, and he immediately crouches down with his hands on his knees.

His usually deep voice shoots up about four octaves as he squeaks, “It’s a puppy!

Look at you! Who’s a good puppers?” I start laughing as my recently new “roommate” and my coworker both wag their tails as they meet.

And damn, what a tail it is. Honestly, I don’t know how I get through shifts.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asks, still bent over, palms on knees, giving me a show. Fuck, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Shaking my head out of an ass-induced trance, I respond, “Uh, sorry, yeah, um… boy, he’s a boy. He’s a chocolate lab, only six months old.”

Ant nods and says, “What’s your name, good boy?” as I let his new best friend out of his crate.

“Ant, meet Guinness. Guinness, meet Ant, your new co-dog walker because we really need to get him outside, which is why we had to stop here first.”

Ant’s eyes laser in on me, full of judgment, as we step outside with a securely leashed Guinness. “Has he been in there the whole time we were at work?”

I mock gasp and give him a teasing shove on his right arm as we walk, sending him stumbling sideways with laughter. And damn, what an arm.

Focus, Sullivan!

“No, he hasn’t been in his crate this whole time. My neighbor Lexi, she offered to let Little G out while I’m at work. She went with me to pick him up this past Sunday.”

Ant gives me a look I can’t quite decode when I mention Lexi, but I continue.

“Anyway, Lexi works a night shift and stopped by on her way to where she bartends, so he’s gone out while we were at work. But it’s been a few hours. I’m new at this. I’ve never had a dog before, so I’m not yet conditioned to rush home after work.”

His expression shifts to one of shock. “Wait, you’ve never had a dog? Oh God, are you a cat person?” I laugh at that, then smile, liking how the stoic guy I first met a few days ago has been warming up to me slowly.

“Actually, I’ve never had a pet in my life, period,” I tell him.

Ant’s eyes get even bigger as he responds, “Never? No pets? Not even a goldfish?”

“Not even a goldfish,” I confirm, a small frown starting to form on my lips at the reminder of the hell my childhood was.

“Do you mind if I ask why?” he asks, then quickly adds, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay,” I tell him. “My dad wouldn’t allow any pets or many of the normal rites of passage a kid experiences growing up. But hey, I’m not a kid anymore. Hence, Mr. Guinness over here.”

Ant stops mid-step while we’re walking, puts a hand on my shoulder, and says, “I’m sorry, Chance. I’m sorry that was your experience growing up, and I’m sorry I pried.”

I think that’s the most unguarded I’ve seen him so far. It’s dark out, but I can still see those beautiful hazel eyes, and we lock on each other a moment too long, causing Ant to pull his hand from my shoulder like it’s on fire.

Okay, then. One step forward, two steps back.

“Don’t be sorry. About any of it,” I tell him. “I like that you asked. How about we get Little G here back to the apartment?”

He gives me a soft smile, and we start to head back. “So, did you name this guy Guinness because he’s a chocolate lab, because you like to drink Guinness, or because you’re Irish?” he asks as we reach my door.

I turn to him and simply reply, “Yes.”

As we step back into the apartment, I turn to Ant, hands in my pockets, rocking back on my heels. “Speaking of Guinness, you want a beer?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

I grab two bottles of a local IPA I picked up, pop the caps, and hand one to him. He takes a seat on the couch, looking around, taking it all in. “Nice place,” he says, taking a sip as Little G hops on the couch and curls up right next to him.

The sight elicits a pitter-patter in my chest.

“Thanks,” I say, sinking into the armchair across from them. “So, what’s your story, Ant? I know you’re a football stud. You’re on a full scholarship, right?”

He nods. “Yeah. Full scholarship. I’m a tight end.”

I raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to aggressively agree. “Is that so? Planning to go pro?”

He laughs, but there’s a touch of something sad in it.

“Nah. I’m good enough for college, but pro ball isn’t in the cards for me.

Hasn’t been since I was a kid. Bad leg injury.

It slows me down just enough to make the difference.

But I love the game, and it pays for my education, so I can’t complain. ”

I nod, admiring the way he talks about it. There’s passion in his voice, even if he’s resigned to the limits of his situation. “What’s your major?”

“Double major in Sports Management and Marketing. Figured if I can’t play professionally, I’d funnel my passion into athletes who are fortunate enough to get paid to play the sport they love.

I have a very specific vision, though. I’ll work my way up, but eventually, I want to open my own agency.

And I won’t be taking on just any clients.

I don’t care how long it takes me to build my dream, but when I do, I will only represent pro athletes who are good human beings and give back to the communities that support them.

I don’t just mean writing checks to charity.

I want to rep people who truly want to enact change. ”

“Woah,” I say, my jaw practically on the floor. “That was quite the break-down of your future. I love that you’re so fired up about what you believe in and you’re using it as a moral compass for your career. You don’t see that a lot. It’s refreshing.”

“Thanks,” he replies. “Sorry if that was over the top. I do get fanatical about it. So, speaking of sports…”

I look up as Ant gestures with his beer at the photo of my high school hockey team in Boston.

“Yeah, I’ve been playing hockey my whole life. Played since I was six all the way through high school then joined a club team after,” I tell him. His eyes light up with what looks a little like mischief, which is not something I’ve seen from him yet.

“Hockey? That’s intense. Not as intense as football, but still. Did you ever think about going pro?”

I shrug. “Nah. Of course I had dreams when I was a kid, but I wasn’t quite good enough to go after it. But I still love the game—wait, did you just say football is more intense than hockey?”

“And there it is,” he says through a laugh. “You hockey guys.” Then, in the most ridiculous tone he can muster, he mocks, “‘ Our sport is the hardest, our fans are better, our sport is the most expensive, we take harder hits’ …blah, blah, blah.”

And then the fucker grins at me.

I sit there for a moment, mouth wide open, just staring at him in disbelief. I fall back in my chair and laugh until the corners of my eyes are wet. And fuck, if it hasn’t been a while since I’ve been able to do that.

“You continue to surprise me, Pacini,” I say, watching him carefully.

Then, deciding to take a chance, I add, “Speaking of surprises, that was quite the scene with the priest at the shop earlier. Do you know him? What did he say to upset you so much? If I’m prying, feel free to tell me to fuck off. ”

Ant’s expression sobers, his posture stiffening slightly.

“Uh, it was nothing,” he says after a moment.

“I thought he was delivering a message from people I never want to hear from. But… I think I might have been overreacting. He was staring at me through the window after closing time a few days ago, so it put me on edge seeing him again.” He exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping as he adds, “Even if it was something, it’s not anything I’m ready to talk about. ”

“I can respect that,” I say gently. “But if you ever need a friendly ear, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” Trying to lighten the mood, I grin and add, “It’s just one more thing hockey players are better at.”

That earns a genuine laugh from Ant, the tension in the air breaking as his full lips shift into a smile. Just like that, the conversation is back on track, the heavy moment receding into the background.

We go back to sparring over our respective sports for a couple of hours, trading stories about practices, games, and the injuries we’ve both racked up over the years.

The conversation flows easily, and before I know it, we’ve gone through a few beers each.

I glance at the clock and realize how late it’s gotten.

“I shouldn’t drive,” I say, leaning back against the couch.

“Not after those beers. I’m sorry, I should have paid closer attention.

You can crash here if you want. The couch is fairly comfortable.

We could have another beer before sacking out.

Or I can call you a car on my ride share account.

My treat. I did promise to get you home. ”

He hesitates, chews on it a moment, then nods. “Thanks. I’ll take that beer. And a pillow.”

After one last beer, I grab a blanket and pillow from the hall closet, tossing them onto the couch. “TV remote is there on the coffee table. There’s some water in the fridge. You already know where the bathroom is. Just make yourself at home.”

“Thanks, Chance,” he says, his voice soft.

“Night, Ant.”

I head to my bedroom with Little G trotting close behind and shut the door.

Collapsing onto my bed, I replay the night in my head.

There’s something about Ant that keeps pulling me in.

Sure, once you get him to open up, he’s easy to talk to, but it’s more than that.

He’s guarded, carrying a weight you can almost feel, yet there’s a quiet strength in the way he refuses to let it break him. I recognize it all too well.

What is haunting you, Beautiful?