Page 38 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

The mood was proud, but somber.

No matter how much animosity you possess, or once possessed towards them, having a teammate taken away by paramedics is one of the worst feelings in the game.

Sure, it’s a heads down, bums up deal till the clock runs out, and fighting through that anxiety to clinch a win is great.

But then when that final buzzer sounds, your thoughts go straight to them.

In this case, to Troye.

Escorted out by Assistant Coach White, his hot mums left immediately, but Quinn remained in her seat and I knew why. With one glance, one nod, she was making sure I was okay, and telling me she wanted me with her. And of course, here I am.

Letting her go in alone was her idea, one I was happy to go along with.

Did I want to see him? Yes. Did I want to admit that?

No. I was certain he wouldn’t want me here, but was happy to be proved wrong.

I never thought I’d say this, but Troye Becker looked happy to see me.

Dude straight up smiled. In fact, you could almost say he had an instant glow up.

Then I did, then Quinn did, and now the three of us are beaming like idiots on the drive home, because much to their disgust, Troye chose to ride with us rather than his moms.

Like what the hell is happening?

Squished in the back seat, I’m listening to their conversation and expecting his contempt, cynicism, or my third wheel feeling to kick in, but it hasn’t.

“So Mahomes got ejected?” the man himself asks, grimacing slightly as he turns to face me.

“He did. Coach thinks he’ll be suspended, too.”

Puffing out his cheeks, Troye exhales slowly. “I mean it serves him right, but that’s gotta hurt. Ohio’s already booked a spot in the semis. If he gets more than a game he’ll miss the first.”

“Dad said he’ll get at least two,” adds Quinn, eyes squinting to see me in the rear view mirror. “Maybe three. And that their coach was screaming so loudly he could hear him from our locker room.”

“You could.” Loosening my seat belt, I shift forward and stick my head between the front seats. “Word for word. I thought Coach was terrifying, but that dude had our whole team shitting themselves.”

Troye snorts, then leans across to play with a loose strand of Quinn’s hair.

A tender moment destroyed by what comes out of his mouth, “Poor Cory, what a shame to ruin those lovely Spider-Man shorts.” Idle fingers stop mid-twirl.

“God I sounded like my mom then.” Quinn’s eyes find me again in the mirror and widen.

I know what she wants without saying it.

We’d agreed before seeing Troye that we wouldn’t bring up his moms till we knew he was okay. We now know that it’s time.

Hoping this won’t be the end of our truce, I clear my throat, “Speaking of parents.”

“Wow. Took you longer than I thought it would. Has it been killing you?”

“Yes,” Quinn and I groan, before she adds, “But we swear we weren’t gossiping. And we both agree that you have every right to your privacy, but?—”

“But?” Troye interrupts. “You’re busting your balls to know the deal?”

“Yes.” Again it’s in unison, but there’s no groaning. Just silence as we wait.

“So. I’m going to tell you, but I need you to promise you’ll try not to treat me any differently. And If you can’t, just be honest and tell me.”

Quinn shifts her hand from the steering wheel and places it over Troye’s knee. Squeezing affectionately. “We promise. And just so you know, nothing would make us see you differently. Unless you like, stabbed them a hundred times or something.” She lets out a nervous laugh then stills.

“Chill, Kitty. I didn’t kill them. I may have thought about it a few times, but …” His voice trails off and for a second I think he’s changed his mind. “My parents were really young when they had me. Like eighteen or nineteen.”

“Huh, that’s the same as my parents,” Quinn says, and I see her hand tighten again.

“Yeah, well, let’s look at how your parents handled the stressors of teenage pregnancy versus mine.

Yours finished college. One went on to become a pro hockey player, one a lawyer.

Mine ran away and joined the fucking carnival circuit, which in itself, holds no shame.

No, my issue lies with the drugs and alcohol.

Addiction is a disease, I know that, but knowing that and living with its consequences as a kid are two very different things. ”

“Troye, you don’t owe us any of this. You know that, right?” I ask, my hands diving into my pocket despite knowing Poppy hair ain’t there. All he does is nod, then continue.

“Apparently the first time they left me alone I was only a few weeks old. A neighbor heard me screaming my full diaper off and took me home till they returned a few days later. This happened again and again. I got taken off them twice, but sent back when my birth mom swore she was clean. The last time it happened they had left the carny life behind a few years back, but the drugs stuck. Anyway. I was seven. Filthy. Hungry. Bleeding. I went to go find this nice old lady that lived on my lot, but ended up at Delph and Fifi’s and never left. ”

Everything. Every single damn thing I know about this man suddenly makes sense.

“Fuck,” I mutter eloquently, but really. What do you say to that? “I don’t know what to say?” I admit.

Wiping the tears lining her cheeks away, Quinn nods. “Me either. But I will say this. I hate your parents and am so happy that you found your moms. I know that sounds crass and callus, but?—”

“Nah, sounds pretty accurate to me.”

The rest of the fifteen minute trip passes in a blur of idle chatter and chunks of uncomfortable silence. All I can think of is my cushy life back home, and what a brat I must sound like when I complain that it’s hard to be alone and away from my family. I’m twenty-one. Troye was a fucking kid.

As we pull into our dorm’s reserved parking lot, the tension-filled silence deepens. I can’t help but think of what’s going to happen when we get upstairs, and I’d put money on Quinn and Troye wondering the same.

Since I’m the only one not in a relationship, I unclip my belt and open the door and am striding away before Quinn’s turned off the engine.

Their, barely above a whisper, conversation follows me up stairs and down the empty hall, and I do my best to actively not look or listen until unlocking our front door forces my hand.

“Thanks for the ride Quinn,” I offer, crossing the threshold without looking up. “And I’m glad you’re okay, Troye. Night.” My plan is to make a dash for my room, but a hand on my shoulder stops me within a step, the accompanying low rumble setting my feet in concrete.

“Brady.” Lord, don’t say my name. “Quinny wanted to know if you wanted to sleep in my room.”

“You what?” Mouth agape. I glance at Quinn. I know what I must look like. I can feel my eyes hanging from their sockets, but still I don’t run. “You want me to sleep with Quinn in your room? Why? Where will you be?”

“In there with you, dumbass.” Quinn slaps Troye’s arm. “Sorry, old habit.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, then seems to be annoyed by his too big shoes. My shoes. The one’s I suggested we pick up for him before we headed to the hospital.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Quinn says, slipping off her Bears jacket and laying it over the back of the sofa.

“Troye needs his rest, but if you like, we would like to spend the night with you … If you like.” There’s a slight tremble in her voice that breaks down the hesitation I feel. She’s just as scared.

“Ah, sure. That would be … nice.”

“Nice,” Troye snorts, rolling his eyes. Nothing else is required, his face and grunt say it all. Kicking off his shoes, he slides an arm around Quinn’s shoulder, fists my shirt in the other and leads us to bed. “Just keep those handsy-hands off me, Skip. Like Kitty said. I need my rest.”

As Quinn promised, no funny business is had.

I get Troye some paracetamol from the bathroom.

Quinn, the three of us some water, and wordlessly, we enter Troye’s room, remove our clothes, climb in to bed too small to fit us all.

But it does, and it’s perfect and we fall asleep.

There’s some awkward moments, the silent shifting of too many body parts in the tight space, but that is an insignificant price to pay.

I wake from the best night’s sleep I’ve had in Boston, with a soft boob on my chest and a hard dick between my cheeks. I still can’t account for Troye’s sudden defrosting towards me, but right now, I don’t seem to care.

When my eyes flutter open in the too bright light, there’s no shock at what I find. No early morning amnesia, or embarrassed regret. Just a sense of wholeness I should probably find disturbing. But don’t.

Life has been worse.

Truly.

As cozy as I am, we have an early practice, a game tomorrow, and I have a routine to follow. To do that, I need to extract myself without waking anyone, but, man. What a thing to leave.

I’m still pondering how to do it, when Quinn shifts, snuggling deeper into me, and draping her leg over mine. Her foot must clip Troye, who grunts, his warm breaths coasting over my ear, sending shivers through every nerve in my body.

“You’re still here,” he rumbles, voice achingly grouchy. “Freaking out, yet?”

“Surprisingly no. I mean, this is different.” I shove my ass back into the concave of his hips, earning another grumble. “But not unenjoyable.” He fucking laughs, a full-bodied belly one I’ve never heard, and I feel way, way too good about being the one to provoke it. “The boobs feel nice, too.”

“Best pillows you’ll ever find,” he agrees, then slides his hand over my shoulder and squeezes my pec. “Though I suspect these not so bitty titties would be a close second.”

It’s my turn to laugh, and it’s dorky and loud, and enough to have one of Quinn’s eyes pop open. “You’re still here.” When Troye said it, it was like a testosterone shot straight into my balls. With Quinn, it’s dopamine to the heart … and another shot of T.

My hard dick throbs and I helplessly thrust into Quinn’s stomach.

Behind me. Troye does the same and before anyone can speak the stillness we found through the night is replaced by writhing, and moaning.

Quinn slips her hand down the front of my sleep shorts, and I reach back to do the same to Troye’s.

Like what Quinn would have found in mine, a delicious wet patch provides all I need for my fingers to glide up and down, in smooth effortless strokes.

“My boys,” Quinn moans, rubbing my dick against her clit. “I want you both so bad.”

“Me too. Fuck.” Troye bucks behind me, fucking into my fist, and Quinn swipes her hand over my tip. Arching my back, my head comes to rest on Troye’s as I come. It’s so unexpected, so intense I convulse between them, wave after wave of cum coating Quinn’s hand and stomach.

“I’m right there with you, big fella.” Troye’s hips punch into my fist and between my ass cheeks, the thin fabric between us doing little to block the sensation of him brushing over my hole. “Quinn,” he grunts. “Touch our girl, Skip. Bring her undone.”

His words shatter the bubble of delirium I was existing in and I follow his command with renewed vigor and determination.

Quinn, and the damn nighty I will think of during every jack-off session for the rest of my life, shift, her thighs parting to accept my shaking touch.

The first caress of her soaked pussy is again, locked away for those lonely nights, and I can’t stop myself from withdrawing them for a beat, just to taste her juices.

I’m not sure if that’s a done thing, because, shock horror, I don’t really know what I’m doing.

But I am a quick study. Watching her face as I swipe my tongue over my finger, and that tiny spot of pulse I see throbbing in her neck when I touch her once again, tells me all I need to know.

She likes two fingers. Loves the pads of my index and middle, and goes feral when I press down and shake her clit from side to side.

I ache to replicate this movement with my tongue and hope to all hell I have another chance to do so.

I’m lost to her pants and whines, to Troye’s gasps and grunts, and feel my dick thickening already.

“I’m hard again. God, you two will be the death of me.

” My choked out words have more of an effect than I think they will.

Troye grips my ass and pushes so deep I’m sure the fat tip of him breeches me as he comes.

And Quinn, Quinn bucks her hips and calls my name, “Brady, Brady, Brady.” As she returns my favor, coating my hand in her wetness.

The scene that played out our first morning in bed together, is repeated for the next two weeks. We wake in a different configuration each time, and we don’t always have sex. But we are always entwined. Always touching.

And it’s not just when we’re in bed. As soon as classes finish, we find each other through the sea of faceless bodies, and it’s the same after practice and games.

Games that we win. With Troye back in action after his forced one match rest, we’ve sailed through the semis of the Frozen Four championship exhausted, but undefeated—hence the no sex some nights.

Never Troye’s or my rule and have our first game against Ohio tonight.

Turns out we all like being around each other.

That’s better than wanting to kill each other.

What else is there to talk about? Other than that muttered genius from a half asleep Troye, a promise of exclusivity, and an unfulfilled agreement that any two of us can be together should the mood strike and the third not be available, what we are has never been discussed.

But this is what I know in my heart of hearts.

She is mine and his. He is hers and mine. And I am theirs.

They only need to ask.

It’s a mind-boggling turn of events that I could never have foreseen. How long we can keep this secret life going is anyone’s guess, but I swear on the hair of my long lost Poppy, that I will do whatever it takes to keep both Troye and Quinn in my life.

To keep us as a ‘we’.

Having said that, I’m currently, actively, trying to ignore him.

We’re at practice, and he’s singing and covertly smiling at me in a way I could never have imagined a few weeks ago.

Today’s ill-advised and poorly executed number, “You know I’m all about that Basse, ‘bout that Basse, no trouble.” The pronunciation of Bass as Basse goes unnoticed by the team busy cursing at him to shut the hell up, but I hear it.

Loud and clear.