Page 23

Chapter 23

Chase

I wake slowly, my body heavy with exhaustion, my mind sluggish as I try to grasp where I am. This isn’t my bed. The surface beneath me is too squeaky, too off balance, the air around me is too cool, carrying the faint scent of ice, sweat and metal. My eyes blink open sluggishly, adjusting to the dim lighting. It takes me a moment, but then I remember.

The locker room.

The rink.

Blake.

But I wasn’t in the locker room when I fell asleep. My last memory is sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, the quiet hum of silence around me, the weight of my own grief pressing down on my chest. I try to piece it together, recalling flashes—warm arms lifting me, the familiar scent of Blake surrounding me, the deep timbre of his voice murmuring something soft.

I thought it was a dream.

Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes and turn my head, my gaze landing on the figure lying on the hard bench across from me. Blake. His jacket is haphazardly draped over his torso, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, snoring softly. His face relaxed with sleep, the sharp angles of his jaw softened. God, he’s so handsome.

And then my heart cracks.

I remember last night. The confession that shattered me all over again. His voice, raw and regretful, admitting the truth I had feared true for so long, just never confirmed until then.

He cheated.

He says he didn’t go all the way, but he still kissed her. He still put his mouth on her. He still went down on her. He still put his dick in her, even if he didn’t finish the act.

He broke me.

A lump forms in my throat. I hate him. I love him. I miss him so much I can hardly breathe.

I can’t think. What do I do? Can I forgive him? Let go of the pain and move forward.

Or do I take his confession for what it is and back away? Put distance between us as I attempt to mend my heart?

My mind drifts back to the Poconos, to those stolen days where I got to love him without consequence. Where I got to hold his hand in public, kiss him without hesitation. It was everything. I didn’t care what anyone thought then, so why was I so scared to do it here? Why was I so caught up in what my teammates would think? They accepted Blake. Why wouldn’t they accept me?

Blake stirs, shifting slightly before his eyes flutter open. They lock onto mine almost immediately, still hazy from sleep. For a moment, we just look at each other, the air between us thick and heavy with unspoken words.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice low and rough.

I swallow. “Morning.” One word, but it’s the first I’ve said to him since his confession.

He sits up, running a hand through his already tousled hair, his shirt riding up as he stretches, exposing his toned stomach, the hard planes of his six-pack abs. My throat goes dry and my cock twitches.

Fuck.

I gulp and force my gaze away, willing my body to calm down. Now is not the time. I need to stay focused and not let my desires take over.

Blake clears his throat, rubbing the sleep from his face. “I, um... I moved you in here,” he says awkwardly. “Didn’t want you to sleep on the bathroom floor. But I didn’t get on the air mattress with you, if you’re worried about that.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, unsure of what else to say. Am I glad he didn’t sleep beside me? Or do I wish he would’ve, truly fighting for me, for us?

God, I’m so conflicted. Why can’t my heart and my head get on the same page instead of continuing to battle with each other?

He nods, then glances away, jaw tensing slightly. “Did you sleep okay?”

I hesitate, not sure how to answer. “Yeah. Better than I thought I would, I guess. Seeing how I didn’t even wake when you brought me in here.”

We both laugh, and for just a fleeting moment, it feels like old times.

But then once again silence settles between us, thick and suffocating. There’s so much to say, yet neither of us knows how to say it. He cheated. He hurt me. But he’s also the only person who has ever made me feel truly safe. Truly seen.

And right now, despite everything, a part of me still aches to be near him.

“You didn’t eat, are you hungry?” he asks, as he grips the edge of the bench with his hands. His hold is so tight his knuckles turn white.

The sound of my stomach growling fills the locker room. “Yeah, I could eat,” I mutter. I swing my legs off the air mattress, feet landing on the hard floor as I spot my shoes sitting by me.

Blake stands, making his way over to the mini fridge that looks eerily like the one from Coach Lein’s office.

“Sandwich?” Blake asks, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” I bend down, taking my time to put on my shoes, more for the distraction than necessity. I hesitate, “Is the other one from yesterday still in the shower?”

He nods, and I push myself up, heading in there to grab the plate. The sandwich sits untouched where I left it. I scoop it up and toss it in the trash, grimacing at the thought of Coach coming back after the weekend to a locker room crawling with bugs. The mere thought sends a shiver down my spine.

“Do you want some chips?” Blake calls out as I return, sitting down on the bench he had just been sleeping on.

“Yeah, sure. What I really want is coffee.” Not like I’ll get one in here. I make a mental note to ream Carter a new asshole when I see him.

Blake chuckles, reaching into the box by the fridge and pulling out plastic cups and a container of instant coffee. “Looks like Carter thought about that, too. I don’t know how good it’ll be, but I’ll make us some.”

“At this point it could be tar and I’d drink it.” It comes out a little more sarcastic than I intend it to.

He moves over to me, handing me a plate, our fingers grazing across each other. I’ve missed his touch. I pick up the sandwich, taking a large bite. The moment I taste it, I let out a low moan, finally realizing how hungry I am. It’s simple, just turkey and cheese, but right now, it tastes like a gourmet meal.

Blake busies himself making the coffee, and silence stretches between us yet again. I hate silence. It gives you too much time to think, to obsess over details you wish you could forget.

With his back to me, I let my gaze drift over him, tracing the lines of his shoulders, the way his shirt hugs his back. I know his body better than my own—every curve, every dip, every place that makes him sigh when touched just right. I miss him.

God, I hate that this is where we are now.

Tense. Distant. Apart.

I bite my lip, fighting the overwhelming urge to get up, cross the room, and wrap my arms around him. To press my face against his back and breathe him in. To tell him I love him, that I never stopped, that I’d do anything to erase the pain he’s caused me, to forget what he told me, his harsh words, his actions and get back to where we were.

But I don’t move.

Instead, I sit there, gripping my sandwich like it’s the only thing keeping me from breaking apart, and watch him, waiting for something—anything—to fill the void between us.

I'm still staring when Blake turns around, coffee cup in hand, and locks eyes with me. I can see the desire in his, and I know he sees the same in mine. But I can't hold his gaze for long. My throat tightens, and I drop my eyes to the floor. I place my sandwich on the plate and then grip my plate just a little too hard.

"Here you go." Blake hands a cup to me, his voice softer than I've heard in a long time. He sets the second cup on the bench beside me, hesitating. "Is it okay if I sit here?"

I nod. "Yeah, that's fine." My voice comes out shaky.

He takes a second to retrieve his plate from the microwave and sits beside me. My heart pounds so hard I'm afraid he can hear it. We sit in silence, the tension between us thick enough to suffocate. He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly, his jaw clenching just slightly before he clears his throat.

"I really am sorry, Chase," he says, his voice full of regret. "I wish I could change what happened. I wish I could take away the hurt I caused you." He pauses, then his voice drops even lower, more vulnerable. "I miss you so much. I love you."

I don't answer right away. My fingers tighten around the cup in my hands. When I’m finally able to speak, my voice quivers. "I never stopped loving you." I exhale sharply, the admission stealing my breath, but my chest is still too tight, my ribs squeezing my heart like a cage. "But you hurt me, Blake. You cheated."

"I know," he says, and there's no defensiveness in his voice, only raw honesty. "And I'd die a million times if I could change that."

I swallow hard, my throat burning. "But you're not totally at fault here,” I admit. “While I didn’t have any part in how you handled it, I fucked up, too. I shouldn’t have asked you to hide our relationship. It wasn’t fair to you. I was just so scared of coming out to everyone here. Instead of worrying about what people would think, I should’ve been happy with what I had with you."

Blake watches me intently, taking in every word like he’s committing them to memory. I shake my head, my voice breaking. "I don’t condone what you did, and I don’t know if I can ever forgive you or put it out of my mind."

Blake nods, his fingers white-knuckling the edge of his plate. "I understand. I fucked up. I know it. But I’ll spend my life making it up to you if you’ll let me. I just want you, Chase. I want you as my boyfriend. As my best friend."

I inhale sharply, my chest aching. "I want the same." It’s the truth, even though it hurts. "It’s just hard. Because all I can think about is you cheating. When things got tough, you cheated."

Blake exhales, running a hand through his hair. "I know. I think about that, too. Every fucking day. You can’t hate me more than I do myself."

"So what do we do?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looks at me then, eyes dark with determination. "We—ummm, I—tell the truth from here on out. I work to gain your trust again. We need to be honest with each other and listen. And we try to rebuild what we had. If you want to."

I sit for a second in silence, uncertainty warring with longing. I want him. God, I want him so much. But I’m terrified.

"And if I can’t?" I ask, my voice cracking slightly.

Blake’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in his eyes—pain, but also understanding. "Then I’ll respect your wishes."

I nod slowly, but my heart feels like it’s being torn in two. Because no matter how much I want to trust him again, I don’t know if I can ever forget. And not being able to forgive can poison our relationship even more.