Page 17

Chapter 17

A heavy knock on the door woke Jacob from a deep, dreamless, perfect sleep. He was warm and currently wrapped around Finn, face full of curls, and he didn’t want to move.

No. Correction. He wasn’t going to move.

The pounding continued. Louder, this time.

“Are you—what is that?” Finn mumbled.

“Nothing,” Jacob said. He stroked his arm. “Go back to sleep. You’ve got nowhere to be.”

But it was hard to relax again, because the noise didn’t stop.

“Do you get . . .do you get crazy people out here? Like fans?” Finn wanted to know, partially sitting up.

Jacob snatched back a groan of frustration. “Actually, no. Never.”

Finn looked dubious. “Are you sure? Are you just trying to make me feel better?”

He was. He absolutely was. He wanted Finn to go back to sleep and for him to follow.

But then it occurred to him why Finn suddenly sounded edgy. Morgan probably had and did have creepy fans show up to his house. He probably needed security. A lot of security. It made sense that Finn would be apprehensive.

“Listen,” Jacob soothed, “I promise. If people know who I am, which mostly they don’t, they don’t give a shit. Portland’s not really a hockey town.” It was one of the many reasons he’d come here after retiring. It was wonderful how much Pittsburgh cared about its hockey team, but it could also be suffocating.

Finn turned and shot him a look. “But you’re Jacob Braun ,” he hissed.

“Yes, well, good news is not many people know who that is,” he said, chuckling under his breath. “It’s probably just my landscaper or kids selling Girl Scout Cookies.”

“That’s no kid,” Finn said, tilting his head as the knocking intensified again.

“Big doors, lots of sound,” Jacob said.

Finn looked at him again, and Jacob sighed. “I’m not getting out of going to see who it is, am I?”

Finn shook his head. “And when you do, bring a baseball bat or something.”

“A baseball bat?” Jacob laughed, even though he wanted to cry about how unfair it was, as he slid out of his warm, soft bed with its gorgeous, naked occupant. “I can do one better than that.”

Which is how he ended up in only sweatpants and carrying a hockey stick to open the door.

It was not his landscaper. Or the Girl Scouts. Or a crazed fan, desperately wanting an autograph or a selfie at seven in the morning the day after Christmas.

It was Morgan, and he looked angry enough to spit nails.

“Shit,” Jacob said reflexively and closed the door in his face.

“What is it?”

Jacob glanced behind him, and sure enough, there was Finn. He hadn’t even bothered with sweatpants, only his briefs, but he had run downstairs to the gym to grab another of Jacob’s hockey sticks.

Because of course he had.

Jacob’s heart wanted to clench at how sweet, how thoughtful that was—and also how insanely fucking hot it was that Finn’s first instinct was to protect him—but he couldn’t do that now, because Morgan was standing right outside the door and had resumed his pounding and was now yelling.

He took a deep breath. “It’s your dad,” he said. Morgan’s voice was now loud enough that he could hear some of the words through the heavy wood of his door. Jacob caught betrayed and my son and fuck . The last one a whole bunch of times.

“Morgan is here ?” Finn’s face turned red and then white. His fist clenched around the hockey stick and Jacob didn’t miss that he hadn’t put it down yet.

Well, maybe they would have to fight their way out of this one.

Morgan sounded pissed enough.

“Yes,” Jacob said. Pretending wasn’t going to make their Morgan-sized problem evaporate.

“And he knows.”

Jacob didn’t answer right away. Just listened. And yeah, it seemed inevitable, because there was a whole litany going now, of how dare you, you fucking backstabbing pedophile— that one was a little much, but Morgan was clearly worked up and nobody had ever said that Morgan Reynolds didn’t go overboard in the midst of a meltdown—and he’s too young, and you’re too old . Something additional about being too old to get it up, too, and Jacob almost smiled at that one.

Almost.

“Yeah, he knows,” Finn said heavily.

“How did he find out?” Jacob asked, mystified. They’d told almost nobody.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah , it does,” Jacob said, though maybe not. Maybe it was just easier to contemplate how their boat was leaking than to consider how many different ways Morgan was going to attempt to kill him in the next five minutes.

“Positively,” Finn said, “we’re in your house and he’s not.”

“I don’t suppose he’s going to calm down the longer he’s out there,” Jacob said.

Suddenly the doorknob rattled, and they both jumped back.

“I know you’re in there,” Morgan yelled. “Come out and face me like a man.” The doorknob rattled again. “Or I’m coming in.”

“You didn’t lock the door?” Finn looked worried at that. “Maybe yeah, if we could wait him out, he’ll get tired. Or wet. Or cold. Or just give up.”

Jacob shot him a look. “This is Morgan Reynolds we’re talking about here. Does he do those things? Or the better question is, does he give a shit about those things?”

Finn’s groan of resignation was answer enough.

Re-gripping his hockey stick and taking a step back, pushing Finn behind him, he said a mental prayer that he wouldn’t get fucked up today, and opened the door.

Morgan immediately shoved a foot between the door and the doorjamb.

“What the actual fuck,” he spit out as Jacob held out his stick, holding him at its length.

“That’s far enough,” Jacob warned as Morgan hesitated on the threshold.

Jacob had seen Morgan angry plenty of times, but he’d never seen him like this.

Then he must’ve seen Finn behind Jacob, and his face grew even darker.

“I thought you might be here,” Morgan said to him, but suddenly he didn’t sound pissed at all, only upset and really, really tired.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Finn said.

Jacob sighed, trying not to shiver in the cold early morning air. “Come on,” he said to Morgan, “you can come in, if you promise to keep your fists to yourself.”

Morgan didn’t look like he wanted to promise that, at all, but he finally nodded, pulling the door shut behind him.

Then he saw how Finn was dressed—or how he wasn’t—and he went dull, brick red. “I should—I should go—I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?” Finn said.

“Yeah, you woke us up at ass o’clock, dragged us out of bed, you might as well yell at us now,” Jacob said dryly. “You want coffee?”

“I want coffee,” Finn announced and tucked himself under Jacob’s arm, hand stroking Jacob’s back as it curled around his waist.

Morgan made a horrible noise behind them as they walked into the kitchen.

“Are you trying to get me killed?” Jacob muttered under his breath.

But Finn only batted his eyelashes at him innocently and said, “He’s got to get used to the idea. For better or worse.”

“It’s gonna be worse,” Jacob predicted.

Sure enough, Morgan hesitated in the entry to the kitchen, glaring at where Finn remained attached to Jacob’s hip, like they’d been glued together.

“At least,” Jacob hissed, “go put some clothes on. Aren’t you cold? I think he’s got the idea. You were naked—or mostly—naked in my bed.”

“Yes,” Morgan said in a clipped voice. “’Cause on top of being dumb enough to do this, you should catch pneumonia too, only to prove some stupid point to me.”

“It’s not stupid,” Finn argued.

But Jacob shot him another look and Finn finally nodded. “Fine.”

“And bring me a shirt, too, while you’re at it,” Jacob said, even though he probably didn’t need one. The house, once they were out of the open doorway, was warm enough. Was he trying to push Morgan’s buttons, too, just a little, by letting him know that Finn knew exactly where his shirts were?

Sure, he might be retired, but he was still a hockey player.

That would never change.

“As long as you two keep your promise. No blood,” Finn reminded both of them.

Jacob nodded easily—though if Morgan attacked him, he would defend himself. But finally Morgan nodded too, very reluctantly.

“Alright, baby,” Finn said to Jacob as he stepped out of the room.

Jacob braced himself in front of the coffee maker. Ready to punch back if he had to.

“You fucking took advantage of him,” Morgan said, hitting Jacob square in the face without touching him at all.

Jacob winced. “No,” he said, but he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. He knew he hadn’t, that he’d done everything in his power to not take advantage of Finn, but right now, with Morgan’s eyes boring into him accusatorially, it was hard to remember that.

He pressed the button on the coffee maker and turned around. “I know you aren’t going to believe me—”

“What, are you going to try to work me around again? Convince me that you being with Finn is somehow good for his hockey? That I should want it too?” Morgan shook his head like he was trying to clear it. “No fucking way. You’re not good enough to lick his shoes.”

“Probably not,” Jacob agreed. “But you’re going to have to convince him of that.”

Morgan made an angry noise in the back of his throat.

A second later, Finn was back, dressed in loose sweatpants and an old, worn tank scooped low under the armpits. He tossed Jacob a T-shirt, who caught it and shrugged it on.

“Oh good, you didn’t kill each other,” Finn said. He leaned against the counter, opposite his father, and crossed his arms. Jacob told himself he was happy—relieved, even—that Finn had stopped trying to pack on the PDA to freak his dad out, but it had had the accidental effect of making him feel like they were a team.

Like they were in this together.

“You told me no blood,” Morgan muttered. “Even though he deserves it!” He shoved a thumb towards Jacob.

“He does not,” Finn said flatly.

“But—”

“No. You’ve said plenty,” Finn said. “Your feelings have been clear, for . . .I don’t know . . .the last twenty-plus years?”

“We didn’t play together that long,” Jacob muttered under his breath. He wasn’t that old, okay?

“Why does that matter?” Finn asked, forehead creasing with confusion.

“It matters because—”

“Because he doesn’t want you to think he’s too old. That he’s as old as he actually is,” Morgan interrupted.

Ugh .

“Jacob is thirty-five. I know exactly how old he is,” Finn said, rolling his eyes.

“Great,” Jacob said weakly.

“It’s not fucking great,” Morgan argued. “It’s disgusting.”

“No, it’s not,” Finn said. He didn’t sound angry even. Frustrated maybe, and a little annoyed, but no more annoyed than if Jacob’s landscapers had woken them up at seven a.m. the day after Christmas.

“I’m going to add—”

“Nobody wants to hear what you have to say,” Morgan muttered.

“I’m going to add,” Jacob continued again, raising his voice, “that not only is it not disgusting, it’s also not any of your business what Finn does and who he does it with.”

“Bullshit,” Morgan said bluntly.

“Please, for the love of fucking God, do not say because he’s your son,” Jacob said. Now he was getting angry, even though, honestly, so far none of Morgan’s reaction had been much of a surprise. In fact, the only shocking part of all of this so far was that Jacob’s jaw was currently intact.

But he was pissed. Pissed that Morgan was pissed, even though he and Finn had both expected it to go this way.

Did Morgan really think Finn was some stupid idiot incapable of mature decisions who only thought with his dick?

Morgan made a rough noise in his throat, and shit, he’d said that out loud, hadn’t he? Out loud and now Morgan might actually kick his ass.

Or at least Morgan might try .

“Dad,” Finn said, clearly trying to play peacemaker. Except then he added, “Jacob’s right.”

“Oh yes, well, of course you’d think that. Course you’d think this is a good idea. That he’s a good idea.”

“He’s not a bad one,” Finn said steadily.

“Wait. Wait .” Morgan suddenly grimaced. “He’s the guy, isn’t he? The guy who wouldn’t date you, that you convinced to date you. With the Burberry!”

Jacob turned to the cupboard and pulled out the biggest mug he owned. If the conversation was going down this particular rabbit hole, he needed coffee. A lot of fucking coffee.

“Yes,” Finn said bluntly, with apparently no concept of softening the news. “And remember how you told me to go get him? To not let him get away if I wanted him? Well, I didn’t. I got him.”

“But . . .but . . . but . . .” Morgan spluttered. “You didn’t tell me it was Jacob fucking Braun.”

“Yes, I did. I told you he was older than I was. I told you he was interested in charity work. I told you he was a good guy. Actually . . .” Finn paused, an unholy grin sneaking across his face. “I think you actually told me he was a good guy.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Morgan looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.

Jacob pulled out a second mug and poured coffee for Finn.

“But you did. You told me that his hesitation meant he cared about me. That he wanted to do right by me.” Finn smiled at Jacob as he handed him the mug. “And you were right.”

“He is,” Jacob agreed.

“I can’t . . .you can’t ,” Morgan said, looking angry enough now that Jacob wanted to lean in and remind Finn that they didn’t need to make this any worse than it already was. Maybe he should be laying off the hard truths for the next little bit.

But Finn clearly didn’t want to. Finn wanted to go for the jugular.

“You can say that all day long,” Finn said calmly, sipping his coffee, “but it doesn’t mean anything. I already did, and I’m going to do it again. And I’m not going to stop. Not anytime soon.”

Morgan went red and then white.

Like father, like son, Jacob realized.

“I can’t be here anymore, listening to this fucking garbage,” Morgan ground out and stalked off, slamming the door behind him so hard the whole house shuddered.

“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Finn said, but he didn’t look upset. Not particularly, anyway.

He looked . . .resigned. Accepting. But also . . . free .

And it occurred to Jacob then that they were. The worst person to tell had just been told—or however he’d found out. And yes, Morgan was pissed, but it wasn’t like he was going to get more pissed.

“Could’ve gone worse, too,” Jacob said. “I could have two black eyes right now.”

“He wouldn’t have hit you.” Finn sounded annoyingly sure of that particular fact.

“At least one of us believes that,” Jacob muttered morosely.

“I wonder how he found out,” Finn said, this time actually sounding interested. Probably because he wasn’t currently fending off a furious Morgan.

“You said your guys—Elliott and Mal and Ramsey—they wouldn’t tell anyone.” Jacob made sure to remove as much judgment from his voice as possible. He trusted Finn, and he knew Finn trusted his teammates, and the last thing Jacob wanted was for Finn to believe he was wrong.

“They wouldn’t,” Finn said. “Who else knew?”

“The valet at Andina?”

Finn laughed. “Yes, his first act after licking his wounds of rejection was to call my father, with his extremely well-protected phone number, and tattle on me.”

“You should be a lot more upset about this,” Jacob said. “He was pissed .”

“Yeah. I guess. More though because I think he believes that he should be. Frankly,” and Finn was smiling now, “I’m just relieved it’s over.”

“It could get worse,” Jacob pointed out. He didn’t want to be the Debbie Downer here, but this was Morgan they were talking about.

Finn shook his head. “No. His heart wasn’t in it. You couldn’t tell?”

Now that Jacob looked back, compared the fire of Morgan today to the fire of years prior, he could see what Finn was saying. He’d been angry, for sure, but also just going through the motions.

“Yeah, I can see it,” Jacob agreed. Hesitated. This wasn’t his place to say, but Finn should know. “Retirement isn’t easy, you know? I’m honest-ish about how I struggle with it. But Morgan?”

“Naturally he’d pretend he was fine,” Finn said, sighing.

“Might be why he’s in town. Besides of course wanting to see you,” Jacob said.

“Of course,” Finn teased, elbowing Jacob gently in the ribs.

“Hey, I know it’s still early . . .” They’d intended to have a late, lazy morning. Breakfast and then getting to training whenever it happened.

“I’m up, and you’re up,” Finn said shrugging. “You want breakfast?”

“Sounds good,” Jacob said, kissing the side of his head. “Grab the eggs, okay?”

Jacob was entering some new wine he’d just had shipped to his wine inventory app when the phone rang.

It was two days after the holiday, and despite the rude awakening on the day after Christmas, Morgan had been suspiciously silent.

Jacob had texted Finn this morning, asking if he’d heard from his dad, and Finn had sent a quick reply of No. Then a longer message a minute later. No, and I don’t know whether to be pissed or relieved. Or hurt, I guess.

He hated it, because he cared so much for Finn. Loved him, actually, and even though he’d made the no blood promise twice now, he wanted to break it because surely Morgan hurting Finn made that promise obsolete.

Then Finn had sent a third message. Doesn’t change the no blood rule, no matter how much you want it to.

Damn it. It sucked how well Finn knew him. Well, sucked and was also totally fucking great. Jacob decided the latter won out over the former, every time.

Okay. How’d you guess?

Finn texted back. Silent too long. Don’t worry, this is just a reprieve. I’m sure my dad’s thinking of some new, fresh hell.

And here it was, now, when Jacob answered the phone.

Unlike the resignation of this morning’s texts, Finn sounded nearly frantic.

“Jacob?” Finn said.

“Yeah, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Jacob told himself to stay calm; that Finn was clearly upset enough for the two of them.

“I’m fine. I’m not the problem. I just got a call from a bar over by 23rd. Apparently Morgan’s drunk. Really fucking drunk, and they want me to come get him, but I can’t. I’ve got an optional skate I told Coach I’d be at, and I really don’t want to skip it.”

“Can’t they pour him into a cab or an Uber or something?”

“He won’t go. And he’s my dad.” Finn sounded utterly frustrated. “So they’re not going to force it on him, right?”

Right. Because Morgan was enough of an asshole on a good day to decide to take a swing. And because he was also Morgan fucking Reynolds.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Jacob said, glancing down at his watch. “He got drunk at three in the afternoon?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Finn said with resignation.

“This isn’t . . .he hasn’t done this before, has he?” Had Morgan been hiding an addiction? Jacob swore he would’ve been able to tell—they’d spent enough time with him recently that if he wasn’t sharp, wasn’t in charge of all his faculties, Jacob would’ve picked up on it right away.

But actually, Morgan had seemed sharper than usual.

“No,” Finn said. “I’ll give you two guesses why today and the first one doesn’t count.” He sighed heavily.

“Finding out about us,” Jacob said.

“Yep. I know . . .I know it’s asking a lot. But . . .can you go get him? He might take a swing at you, too, but you know how to deal with him.”

He always had.

Jacob just really, really didn’t want to. But he also really, really didn’t want to ignore that pleading tone in Finn’s voice. They’d done this— he’d done this, with his eyes wide open to the possible consequences—and now they were here, and it seemed unfair to ignore them just because Morgan was a handful and a half.

“Okay,” Jacob said. Paused. “What about the no blood rule?”

Finn groaned in the back of his throat. “If he takes a swing first, you’re free to defend yourself. I’m not gonna make you a martyr here. Besides . . .I like your face. A whole lot.”

“I like yours, too,” Jacob said. I love it, in fact.

“Good.” Finn sounded relieved, and that was all the payment Jacob needed to do this probably awful thing. “Text me when you drop him off at his place, okay? I’ll probably be on the ice, but I’ll get it when I’m done.”

“Yep,” Jacob said. “What bar is it?”

Finn recited him the address, and ten minutes later, he was parking around the corner from the nondescript squat brick building. It wasn’t the swanky, A-list type of place that he knew Morgan liked to frequent. In fact, it looked downright dive-ish.

When he pulled the door open, Morgan was at the bar, the only person in the bar in fact, laughing uproariously at something the young female bartender had said to him. She was short, at least a foot shorter than Morgan, even with him perched precariously on a stool, and had spiked lavender hair, a nose ring and a whole chain of bright pink studs running up each ear.

If she recognized Jacob, she didn’t show it. She only looked relieved as he walked in. Clearly, whether she knew he was Jacob Braun or not, she had correctly guessed that he was here to collect Morgan.

“Finally,” she said, half-groaning, half-laughing under her breath. “Morgan, someone’s here for you.”

Jacob braced as Morgan turned around.

He was definitely as drunk as promised, and the booze did nothing to obscure or temper the anger that spilled out of him when he saw Jacob.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Where’s Finn?”

“You’re welcome for coming down here to save this poor woman from your inebriated and pathetic attempts at flirting,” Jacob said, bracing himself again.

“It’s alright, I’m a lesbian,” she said, shooting Morgan a fond but I’m-over-it look. “Plus,” she added, her mouth quirking up, “he’s old. Tips well though.”

Morgan made an outraged noise. Jacob wasn’t sure if it was his comment Morgan was just now reacting to, the words finally filtering through all the booze he’d drunk, or that the bartender had called him old.

Well, it was his turn. Two days ago, Morgan had called Jacob old half a dozen different ways, each one less complimentary than the last.

“Come on,” Jacob said, approaching Morgan more carefully now as he got closer. He didn’t want to spook him or maybe make him decide he’d been saving up all his punches for this one golden opportunity.

“Where’s Finn?” Morgan repeated somewhat belligerently, setting his jaw.

Jacob almost said, I know it’s strange but your son has other, better things to do than pick your drunk ass up . But he didn’t, because he liked the bartender, and he didn’t want to cause more trouble for her.

“Practice,” Jacob said, because that was both the truth and the one thing that might pacify Morgan about Jacob’s presence.

Morgan turned back towards the bartender.

Jacob sighed as he skirted around the side, giving Morgan a three-stool berth.

He tapped his glass and the bartender shot him a look, then shook her head. “You’re done here,” Jacob said firmly. “Come on, let’s go and leave this poor lady alone.”

“She’s not poor now,” Morgan muttered. He looked up, met the bartender’s eyes. “A hundred bucks a shot,” he said. “If you keep them coming.”

She looked unimpressed.

“I’ve got booze at my place,” Jacob said, deciding that maybe for once in his whole life, the carrot might work better for Morgan than the stick.

“I don’t want your booze,” Morgan sniffed.

“If you want booze, it’s gonna be mine,” Jacob said.

“Ugh, you’re such a fucking boy scout, aren’t you?” Morgan sneered.

“I thought we established two days ago that I’m not.”

Morgan’s face went white, and that was the only warning Jacob got before he swung a fist at him.

As a goalie, Jacob hadn’t been in that many fights, but he knew how to defend himself. He also knew how to duck, especially when Morgan was about four times slower than he normally was.

Jacob dodged the punch and then wrapped his arms around Morgan’s middle.

Morgan kicked out, but Jacob told him warningly, “I will kick your ass, and I promised Finn no blood. I’d rather not break that promise.”

Surprisingly, Morgan went still. Jacob had been sure he’d have to put him in some complicated headlock to get him to stop fighting him, but he went slack, so suddenly Jacob almost dropped him.

“You’re gonna tell him, aren’t you?” Morgan’s voice was plaintive.

“About?”

“Me punching you.”

“Good try, but you didn’t connect,” Jacob said, really trying to hide his amusement. “No blood, no foul. I think we can keep that moment of shame between us.”

Morgan sighed heavily and struggled out of Jacob’s grasp.

Jacob made a warning noise, but Morgan just shrugged, all the fight gone out of him as he slumped against the bar.

“What does he owe you?” Jacob asked.

The bartender looked over at the pair of them and reported what was left on his tab. He gave her props because it didn’t seem inflated, despite the fact that she had to know by now that Morgan was rich.

Morgan squawked as Jacob reached over and pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

He pulled a couple hundred dollar bills out and set them on the bar. It more than covered the tab—with a lot to spare.

“It’s your own fault,” Jacob said unrepentantly as he tossed the wallet back to Morgan, who barely caught it. “Now come on, let’s go.”

“To your house? With the booze?” Morgan asked, still sounding disgruntled but to Jacob’s surprise, he did follow him, a little unsteadily, out of the bar and down the street to his car.

He paused as Jacob opened the driver’s side door.

“Am I—” Morgan bit off a swear word. “Am I not gonna want to sit in this seat?”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t defile your son there. I’ve got a whole house for that.”

Morgan didn’t look exactly pleased by this but at least he got in, and while he was, Jacob muttered under his breath, “Just don’t go into the backseat.”

But thankfully Morgan missed that in his struggle to get the seat belt on.

He was quiet on the drive to Jacob’s house.

He hadn’t really wanted to bring him here—the last time Morgan had been here, he’d been spitting venom and pissed as hell. But he didn’t want to drop him at his apartment because no doubt he’d just find another place to pickle his liver.

At least if he was with Jacob, Jacob could keep an eye on him.

Morgan flopped down bonelessly onto the sofa in the living room.

Jacob was glad he hadn’t asked about whether he’d defiled Finn there, because he absolutely one-hundred-percent had. A very mutual, very pleasurable defiling.

Then, of course Morgan opened his mouth.

“You promised me another drink,” he said mulishly.

He had, but only to get him to leave. “You don’t need anymore, you’ve had plenty.”

“But—”

“You really want Finn to come get you and find you obliterated on my couch?”

Morgan grimaced, and that reminded Jacob to pull his phone out and send a reassuring text to Finn. Have Morgan at my place. No blood.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“I can hold my booze,” Morgan argued.

“And this is just a great example of that skill set?” Jacob questioned.

Morgan looked even more annoyed than before. “So you’re a liar now, too.”

Jacob decided if Morgan was going to antagonize him, he could dish it right back. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of water from the little fridge under the counter where he stored all his drinks and handed one to Morgan who made a face at it.

“You wanted a beverage, I brought you a beverage,” Jacob said. “Drink it, it might help you feel less like death later.”

Morgan made another face, but he did open it and take a sip.

“Not likely,” Morgan muttered darkly. “Unless water is gonna erase my memory.”

He wasn’t stupid enough to ask what he wanted removed from his memory; Jacob already knew.

“No,” Jacob agreed.

Morgan stood abruptly and began to wander around the living room. First he looked at some books stacked in the built-ins, and a few pictures Jacob had lying around—one of him with the Cup, several others with the Vezina trophies he’d won—and then he wandered over by the wine.

Tensing, Jacob watched as he silently absorbed the information on several of the labels. Wondering if he was going to decide to forcibly take that drink and Jacob would have to physically wrestle him away from it.

Just when Jacob was sure he’d have to, and hoping that whatever bottle Morgan plucked from the rack wasn’t valuable because it was extremely likely to get broken in the ensuing scuffle, Morgan said without even turning around, “Why are you fucking my son?”

Jacob froze and felt his face flush bright, brick red.

Of course, that was when Morgan chose to look right at him, pinning him in place with a sharp look that he shouldn’t have been able to drag out, not as drunk as he was.

“I . . .uh . . .” Jacob rubbed his neck, viscerally uncomfortable in a way he hadn’t been in a very long time. Maybe ever.

“’Cause he’s young and hot, right?” Morgan pushed.

Shame and awkwardness crawled up Jacob’s spine. “Well, he is both of those things.”

Morgan shot him a disgusted look.

“Not just because of that, of those things, in fact . . .” Jacob sighed. “I’d feel easier about it if he was a few years older, but . . .”

“Would you?” Morgan demanded.

God, Finn wouldn’t be here for awhile yet. An hour at least, probably longer. Could he pour Morgan into an Uber and send him off God knew where? He could , but guilt would dog him after. Morgan was a grown ass man, and he could take care of himself. He’d been doing it for a long fucking time. Why then, did he suddenly feel responsible for the asshole?

Jacob swore under his breath and crossed over to the wet bar set into the built-ins. Pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Not usually his thing, but it was Morgan’s, and well, if they were gonna talk about this, he was going to need some liquid courage. More than a glass of wine could give him.

He poured an inch or so into two glasses and handed one to Morgan, who just looked unimpressed.

Jacob itched under his collar. It would be easier to break his promise and punch Morgan in the face for pushing on this.

“I think it’s a pretty damn good plan, don’t you?” Morgan said conversationally, taking a long drink of his whiskey. “Recapture the youth you miss, the hockey you miss, the life you miss.”

“No,” Jacob said.

But Morgan was on a roll. “You can’t live through him. You’ll ruin him, drag him down, suck him dry, when he should be free .”

Now it was Jacob’s fist that was itching.

“No,” he repeated.

Morgan didn’t continue, just shot him a knowing look and went back to drinking his whiskey.

“He is free. He’s . . .freer than he’s ever been,” Jacob said quietly. He’s happy. We’re happy together.

For once, Morgan didn’t argue.

Jacob finished his whiskey and got up and refilled both their glasses, all in silence.

He told himself it was the whiskey that unstuck his tongue, but the truth was he’d been wondering since Morgan had confessed the truth last week.

“That why you did it?”

Morgan glanced over. “Did what?”

“Hooked up with a player.” It was only a guess, but the way Morgan’s fingers clenched white around the glass told him he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Never said I did,” Morgan said, but his voice wavered on the last word.

“Yeah, okay.” Jacob wasn’t convinced.

“We’re not talking about this,” Morgan announced, pulling himself up and walking over towards the wet bar and the bottle, still unsteady on his feet.

“Good,” Jacob said. “Does that mean you’re gonna stop being pissed at Finn for me?” He didn’t ask Morgan if he would ever stop being pissed at him . That was way too much to ask for, and besides, he’d lived with Morgan’s bitter anger for years. He could tolerate it.

“No,” Morgan muttered. “I just don’t want him to get his hopes up. To think this is something it’s not. That you’re something you’re not.”

“And what’s that?”

Morgan turned and leaned back against the counter. “He’s smart, you know? Bright. He could do so much.”

“Believe me, I know that,” Jacob said dryly. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

“You’re gonna lean on him, fuck him, use him, trying to remember something you lost, and then when you realize it’s not gonna work, that there’s no going back, you’re gonna ditch him, and it’s gonna . . .” Morgan looked away.

Jacob itched again. He wasn’t happy about Morgan’s assessment of the situation, but it was more than that. He wanted to know what had made Morgan so bitter.

Who had made him so bitter?

“I’m definitely not leaning on him, and while I am fucking him—” Morgan glared at him with a dark, disgusted look, but hey, he was just using Morgan’s terminology here. “I’m not ever going to use him. I’m not trying to recapture my youth, and I’m certainly not gonna ditch him after. It’s not about that.”

Morgan had the nerve to look surprised. “No?”

“ No . I care about him, I like him so much, I even—” Jacob stopped abruptly, because he might be new to relationships but he did know the first time he said out loud that he loved Finn shouldn’t be to his father .

“It’s not just sex,” Jacob continued.

“Well, I sure fucking hope not,” Morgan said.

It was Jacob’s turn to be astonished. “What? You weren’t pissed that it was me , you were pissed I was just going to . . .what . . .fuck and leave him?”

“Stop saying it.” Morgan’s voice was sullen, matching his expression. He tipped the glass back, finishing his drink.

“Hey, you said it first,” Jacob reminded him.

“I’m not saying I’m happy it was you. Finn knows how . . .how I feel about it, about you.” Morgan cleared his throat. “I don’t want to fucking look at you across the breakfast table, every day, but if he really liked you—if you really liked him . . .”

Jacob was floored.

“I can’t fucking believe that you thought it was just sex, and that’s why you were pissed.” Jacob heard the amazement in his own voice.

“Hey, you know how hockey players can be,” Morgan said darkly. “Would you want one of us around your son?”

Probably not.

“You’re such a dick,” Jacob muttered, grateful and annoyed at the same time. “You should have been talking to Finn about this.”

“Too mad. Too confused. Too something.”

“So you decided to drink half a bar. Yeah, that tracks.”

Morgan glared.

“Well, I’m happy I could explain it to you,” Jacob said, trying not to smile. Trying not to let the relief he felt show on his face.

“Asshole,” Morgan mumbled under his breath.

His phone dinged then and he pulled it out of his pocket.

It was Finn, saying he’d be there in ten minutes.

“When you sober up,” Jacob said, “you’re gonna explain all this to him.”

“Not now?” Morgan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck no. You’re a mess. He’s going to be understandably pissed about that first. Maybe give him a minute to get over that, first.” Jacob shot him a triumphant grin. “Besides, you’re not very good with your words even when you’re sober. Want to put your best foot forward, you know?”

Morgan pointed at him, but Jacob could see the smile twisting the corner of his mouth. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you right back,” Jacob said.