Page 5

Chapter 5

“Hey,” Jacob said, opening the door and gesturing him inside. He was wearing a plain navy blue T-shirt and a pair of loose gray sweatpants. His hair was lighter, less black than chestnut brown, the ambient light in the house picking up little hints of red in it. But his beard was dark as ever, even though it looked to Finn like he’d trimmed it.

“Hey,” Finn said, suddenly nervous.

He wasn’t sure if that was due to him realizing just how little he didn’t know about Jacob Braun—or whether Jacob’s appearance, clothed or naked, apparently had the same effect on his cock.

Unfortunately.

Jacob was eyeing him up and down. They were dressed similarly. He’d just thrown on the sweatshirt because of the early December chill, but otherwise, he was dressed to work out.

But would they be working out? It was a big house, but surely not big enough to hold any ice. They’d need to figure out a solution for on-ice practice. Maybe Jacob had some connections they could use, or Finn could ask Coach B how they could use Hossa Rink during off hours.

These were all things, Finn realized belatedly, they should’ve discussed last night. Not how badly they wanted to hop on each other’s dicks.

“What are we up to tonight?” Finn asked, shifting from one foot to the other, because Jacob’s silence was freaking him out a little.

“You still want to do this?”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s a serious question.” Jacob hesitated. “Maybe why I said no at first bothered you. Maybe you don’t want to be alone with me.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried about you at all. I’m only worried that . . .” Suddenly the emotion of it felt too close to the surface. What if he had to keep going this way? What if there was never an end to this relentless pressure? What if he never felt comfortable on the ice again? What if all this bullshit ended up chasing him away from hockey? What if, even worse, it meant that he never succeeded?

He’d been drafted in the third round by the Tampa Sentinels. Everyone had said, at a volume impossible to tune out, that he’d only been taken that high because of his last name. And even if they hadn’t said it, Finn would’ve believed it.

When he’d changed colleges last year, moving from the east to the west coast, they’d barely seemed to care. He’d been worried they’d insist he move to the AHL or another one of the development leagues, thinking that would be a better use of his time than a new college. But they hadn’t said a word, and that had ended up feeling even worse.

Morgan had pointed out, bluntly, that to get them to give a shit, he needed to have a killer season.

“I’m so close. I’m so fucking close.” To making it. To falling right off that edge. I need a hand, to pull me up, and it’s sure not gonna be my dad’s.

Jacob stared at him, like he knew how close to falling apart Finn was.

Like he not only understood it, but that he’d experienced it, too.

“Okay.”

It was all Jacob said, and he turned abruptly and started walking farther into the house. Finn followed, eyes barely taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the picture-perfect woods, barely visible in the darkness.

Jacob took him to a door and then a staircase, narrow and winding, that led down.

Maybe he should’ve hesitated. Maybe he was about to be murdered, in Jacob’s serial killer basement.

But to Finn’s surprise the narrowness ended abruptly, in a large gym that might’ve taken up the whole downstairs level of the house.

One side of the room was lined with shelves, full of memorabilia and awards from when Jacob had played. Framed jerseys lined another wall. Jacob’s, and several other famous players, including some who’d been teammates and some who hadn’t.

Finn was not surprised that a Morgan Reynolds’ jersey was not included in the display. His dad had played for a division rival and even more than that, there’d been so much venom exchanged between the two of them over the years.

Half the gym was devoted to equipment. Finn took in the treadmill, the rower, and an elliptical. A huge cushy looking mat, with stacks of weights.

But the other side was entirely different. There were only two pieces of equipment. A full-sized goal and a machine that Finn recognized could randomly shoot pucks.

The concrete floor was smooth, and might not be exactly like ice, but it would be close enough, on skates. Roller , not ice.

“Here,” Jacob said, speaking up from behind Finn. He pointed to a bench pushed all the way to one side of the room. There was one set of in-line roller skates underneath that looked well-used. Jacob’s, then.

And another pair, still nestled in a box.

“How’d you know my shoe size?” Finn asked, walking over to the bench. He’d practiced like this before. Not everyone had access to ice year-round. His dad had a setup like this in their Italian villa.

“Not that hard to find out,” Jacob said. “Your equipment manager was all too happy to tell me when I texted him this morning.”

Marcus could be a bit of a chatterbox.

“Did you tell him why?”

“I agreed to send over a signed puck, and why never even crossed his lips,” Jacob said.

Finn didn’t need to hear more. He understood, had watched it with his dad too many times to count. Most regular people froze and then became completely pliant when faced with a famous person. They couldn’t even help it.

“You ever get tired of it?” Finn wondered as he sat on the bench, toeing off his sneakers and pulling over the skates.

“All the fucking time?” Jacob sighed. “Of course when it’s convenient, no. And that’s worse. Makes me a hypocrite.”

“But a cute one?” Finn teased.

Jacob made a face. Like he was trying to be anything but cute. “I thought we said—”

“Listen, you have to stop worrying about this. I . . .” Finn hesitated. “I make jokes, ’cause it’s easier than feeling all the bullshit I feel. So get used to it.”

“Alright,” Jacob said stiffly. He looked like he wanted to ask what the bullshit was but he didn’t. Maybe he already knew—or could guess.

Finn laced up the skates. “Any particular drill you want to run after I get stretched out?”

“Nope—I wanna see what you’ve got.”

“But you’ve seen me . . .” Finn trailed off as he got his first skate laced up. Suddenly, he was nervous. What if he was crap? What if that was what Jacob said, when he finally saw him in action?

What if he said forget it, that he couldn’t help Finn after all?

“Hey, cut that shit out.” In a second, before Finn could even react, Jacob was across the room, right in front of him, hand smacking him on the shoulder.

“I—”

“No. You wanna be confident, be confident. Don’t think, I’m gonna play in front of Jacob and he’s gonna think I’m shitty. Instead, I’m gonna play in front of Jacob and he’s going to see that I’m better than he thought I was. I’m gonna see I’m better than I thought I was.” Jacob hesitated. “I can’t be the first person to tell you that. Not if you’ve seen any mindset coaches.”

“No,” Finn admitted.

“But you’re still doing it.”

“I got . . .” It was hard to admit, but maybe necessary. “I got sloppy. Complacent. Easier to let myself flail around than fight this all the time. I’m . . .I’m tired of fighting it.”

Jacob’s gaze—that hard flinty darkness—softened a bit. “Doesn’t help to hear that you’re gonna be fighting that insecurity forever, does it?”

“No.” That had been his breaking point. That it would never change. Never go away. That he’d be pushing against it for as long as he played. And once he’d realized that, it had been easy to let it creep back in.

Easy to let it take back ahold of him, like it had never left.

“But we’re gonna find a way that it’s not so loud. That it’s not so tough to fight against,” Jacob said, and he did sound confident that was true. “’Cause I’m gonna tell you, it’s not that I let things slide off easy. It never came easy. You give a shit about being good? It’s never gonna be easy.”

Finn wanted to be angry at Jacob’s bluntness, but it was hard when he was right.

He nodded, and Jacob raised up. “Stretch out and get yourself ready.” And to Finn’s surprise, he joined him on the bench, pulling on the worn pair of skates.

Finn glanced at him.

“How am I gonna show you if I don’t do it myself?” Jacob asked wryly.

“Lots of coaches don’t.”

“Well, I’m no coach,” Jacob said with finality.

Finn didn’t know if that pronouncement was meant for him or for Jacob himself, but he decided there was no point in arguing. He was only here by Jacob’s good graces, and if those evaporated . . .

He finished lacing up his skates and began his regular stretching routine.

Trying to ignore Jacob as he did the same.

Even as he tried to focus, it was almost impossible not to look at the muscular curve of Jacob’s ass in those gray sweatpants as it slowly rose and fell.

Finn tore his gaze away, digging his fingers into his palms. He wasn’t here for sex, even though it felt like it had crawled, uninvited, into every moment of silence that fell between them.

“You ready?” Jacob asked, interrupting his litany of don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it . . .

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Jacob shot him a look.

“I’m ready,” Finn revised.

Maybe he didn’t feel supremely confident, but he could fake it at least well enough that Jacob might believe it. And if he was very, very good, maybe even he’d believe it.

Jacob had a variety of sticks on a rack on the wall, behind the goal. Finn skated over, testing out the new skates, and after a minute perusing the selection, picked one.

“No pads?”

Jacob tossed him a pair of form-fitting ones, one after the other. Finn caught them easily out of the air, raising a questioning eyebrow.

He knew perfectly well this wasn’t the normal setup he wore. Jacob knew it too.

But Jacob’s eyes gleamed knowingly. “Wanna see what we’re dealing with. But put the helmet on.”

Finn made a face. “But—”

“Let’s see how you do without your gear,” Jacob said. “But I’m not about to let you take a puck to the head.”

“But—”

“I’m interested in how you move without it.” He moved over to the machine and checked its feeder.

“Those aren’t cheap,” Finn said, picking up one of the helmets on the shelf. Slipping it on. “And they’re hard to find.”

“Good thing I’m rich then,” Jacob said dryly.

“You need to find someone to spend all that money on,” Finn teased.

Jacob grimaced.

“Or not?”

“No . . .no, I want to.” This was not what they were supposed to be discussing, Finn knew it. Jacob knew it too, from the deepening crease between his brows.

But that didn’t stop Finn from saying. “What’s stopping you?”

He really didn’t want to know. But he asked anyway as he strapped on the kneepads and maneuvered into the goal. Getting a feel for the space as Jacob repositioned the machine another foot back.

“The closet?” Jacob asked, the edge of his voice hard.

“That shouldn’t stop you,” Finn said. “Not if there was someone you really liked.”

It wouldn’t stop me. Even for a second.

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Stop digging, Reynolds.”

Finn had told himself he wasn’t, but maybe he was, a little. A guy like Jacob—rich and famous and hot, would have guys pounding at his door at a chance to pound—

He cut that thought off hard and fast.

Ignored how his fingers were shaking a little as he curled them around the stick.

“Ready,” Finn said, nodding at Jacob.

Hoping he was. Ignoring the insidious voice deep inside that said he wasn’t.

“It’s set at three-quarter speed. For now,” Jacob said, and Finn raised his chin.

Even at partial speed, the pucks came in hard and fast.

He wasn’t as used to the in-line skates or the concrete beneath him as he was the ice. And playing without the pads he usually relied on meant he had to react quicker, more instinctually, not letting them take the easy shots.

Three shots in, his forehead was already damp as his focus narrowed to three things.

The stick he gripped in his hand, the next puck coming at him, and Jacob standing there, expression opaque.

Finn had been doing drills like this since he’d started playing goalie, but it had been a long time since he was pushed this hard or for this long.

His last coach and also Coach B both knew he had the basics down and both believed in quality of practice, not necessarily quantity.

But Jacob clearly believed differently. Because he left Finn in there longer than he’d ever dreamed, until sweat was running down his face, down his back, until he felt broken down, until all that was left was the puck and the goal.

Not even Jacob.

He didn’t even register anymore.

It became a test, one Finn was determined, with every aching muscle in his body, to pass.

Finally, the machine clicked on an empty chamber, and Jacob reached over, turning it off.

“Hundred pucks,” Jacob said casually. “Not easy, is it?” He wandered over to a mini fridge set against the wall and grabbed a bottle of water, tossing it over in Finn’s direction. He caught it with his free hand, because his other hand seemed permanently clamped around his stick. He tried to loosen it, but his fingers cramped, rejecting the idea it was over.

“No,” Finn said with a short, humorless laugh. He finally got his hand to loosen, letting the stick clatter to the floor. Pushed the helmet off and chugged half the water, set it down, and yanked his T-shirt up and off, wiping off his face.

When Jacob’s gaze traced over his abs, his chest, at least the pulse of attraction was easier to ignore since he was fucking exhausted.

They’d have a chance in hell of not acting on the heat between them if Jacob kept working him this hard.

“You weren’t terrible,” Jacob said matter-of-factly. “By the time we’re done, I want you to be able to make it through that whole stretch without a single goal.”

“Seriously?” Finn spluttered. He’d let in maybe a dozen or so shots. But considering the difficulties—the sheer number of pucks shot at him and the lack of pads he usually relied on—he’d been pretty proud of how low that number actually was.

“I do it a couple times a week, still,” Jacob said. Like that wasn’t completely fucking certifiable.

“You do realize you’re retired, right?” Finn said, annoyance coupled with frustration making him crueler than he’d ever wanted to be.

“Oh, I realize it,” Jacob said, not insulted, even though maybe he should’ve been. “But it keeps the mind sharp and the body primed and ready to go. It reminds me to lead with my instincts. You got there, towards the end. You let all that shit and your baggage drop and you just played . You gotta get into that headspace every single damn time you take the ice.”

“I—”

“I know,” Jacob said as he started gathering the pucks up into the machine’s hopper. “It’s gonna take time.”

“I was gonna say I can’t do that. It’s fucking impossible.”

Jacob shot him a look that spoke volumes. Like, you can’t say that word here. Like, you’re never allowed to give up that easily. Like, I’m not fucking giving up on you that easy.

“Yeah? Okay.” Jacob didn’t argue though. Not with words.

He skated over, and his big body moved with a state of grace that Finn could barely believe. Before Finn could react, he plucked the helmet right off Finn’s head, apparently not caring about Finn’s sweat slicked inside. He picked up the stick Finn had dropped and tested the weight.

“Not my favorite, but it’ll be fine. A challenge,” Jacob said, his eyes suddenly not flinty but hot . He hip-checked Finn out of the way and gestured towards the machine. “Turn it on, okay? And turn the speed up to full.”

Exhaustion was making him slow—not just mentally but physically. “Are you joking?”

Jacob made an exasperated noise. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Listen, I know you’re good, you don’t have to prove anything—”

“You think that’s what this is about?” Jacob laughed. “Oh baby, I’m not proving anything to you. Or to anyone else. I’m proving it to me .”

It occurred to Finn, as he found the speed switch, changing the setting, and then re-loaded the pucks, watching Jacob prepare himself out of the corner of his eye, that he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d set out to prove something to himself. To just himself.

His team, his coach, the hockey community, his dad , they were always there, in his head, cluttering up his motivation until it was all twisted up.

That, Finn knew as he finished loading the pucks, was the biggest problem. And Jacob hadn’t even had to fucking tell him. He’d just showed him.

“You ready?” Finn asked. Jacob nodded and he pressed the start button.

And then Jacob proceeded to keep showing him.

He moved so naturally, so easily Finn thought he could skate right onto the ice today and give a performance that wouldn’t only be sufficient, it would be extraordinary.

It wasn’t until the nineteenth puck, Jacob having easily swatted away the first eighteen, that the only crack in Jacob’s armor appeared.

It was a corner shot, when Jacob had just been on the opposite side. Finn knew exactly how he’d have relied on his hips to push him over, quick enough that he could easily deflect the puck.

But Jacob clearly knew he couldn’t. He didn’t move that way at all. Instead his stick shot out, and even though he was moving slower and more carefully than Finn ever would’ve, he still managed to catch the puck on the far edge of the blade, barely flicking it away.

Finn had been sure that shot was going to get by him, and each subsequent puck that forced Jacob into that position, he held his breath, waiting for him to move just a fraction too slow this time around.

But he didn’t.

Jacob knew exactly what his capabilities were. Had practiced with them enough that he knew exactly what he could and could not do.

It was an impressive display, and Finn shouldn’t have been turned on—this was hockey , not sex, after all—but the incredible control he showed over his body made him inevitably wonder what else Jacob was capable of.

He’d be great in bed. Focused and intent, with the kind of control Finn would long to break down, to own .

When Jacob finally finished, accomplishing what Finn hadn’t, Finn couldn’t even be mad.

Okay, he was a little mad because he wouldn’t ever be getting an invitation to Jacob’s bed.

“Shit, man, that was crazy good,” Finn said as Jacob lifted his helmet, wiped his own face with his T-shirt.

Finn didn’t ignore the ripples of his abs or the trail of dark hair that led down to his sweatpants. He was long past not looking.

“Good, but you saw, I’m sure,” Jacob said, barely out of breath.

It was annoying, because Finn was in good shape—in great shape—but it was also aspirational. If Jacob could do this at thirty-five, with a bum hip, then Finn could do it too. He could be this good.

It felt like the first positive thought he’d had to hold on to in so fucking long.

The first bit of light in a long darkness.

“Yeah,” Finn said. But he didn’t want to focus on that. He wanted to focus on what was possible .

Because suddenly, the whole universe felt possible.

“And now you know why I retired.”

Ironically, Jacob appeared to have lost his own confidence after that. Which was fucking baffling.

“Yeah, you don’t have the range you used to, but you still did it. You worked around it, and you were amazing. Absolutely fucking amazing—”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Jacob said dryly. He went for his own water and guzzled it down.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” Finn argued. Let me have this. “Why’d you retire?”

“You saw it,” Jacob said simply.

“But you compensated for it.”

“Yeah. But it takes attention and focus to do that. Takes attention and focus away from what matters. I wasn’t the same goalie I was before.”

“Still damn good,” Finn muttered.

“And really good players would learn how to take advantage.” Jacob hesitated. “If your dad had still been playing, you don’t think he wouldn’t have shot towards that opposite corner every single damn time?”

He would’ve. It would’ve been the only smart thing to do, against a partially hampered goalie, even a goalie who’d figured out how to mostly get around it. And Morgan wouldn’t have even been wrong to do it.

“See, you get it,” Jacob said, and Finn really hated the heavy resignation in his tone.

“I do,” Finn said, and something in his voice must’ve finally caught Jacob’s attention, because he lifted his head, their eyes meeting.

“Yeah?”

“Watching you do that, like you just did, it . . .” Finn took a deep breath. “I feel different. Not a lot different, but different.”

“A good start then.” Jacob motioned to the goal. “Come on, let’s try it again.”

Finn didn’t argue. Just took the helmet and the stick.

It was easier to sink into that headspace this time around, now that he understood it a little better.

And he was deep into the hundred shots before he mistimed slightly, and one slipped by him.

Finn growled deep in his throat, annoyed with himself, but Jacob called out, his presence registering for the first time in what felt like dozens of shots, “It’s all good. Re-focus. Finish strong.”

And he did, not letting in a single other puck for the rest of the series.

“Better,” Jacob said, when it was finally over, giving Finn a single nod of approval that he’d probably see when he closed his eyes tonight, exhausted and wrung out but still caught on the man in front of him.

“Thanks,” Finn said. Suddenly realizing just how tired he was.

He skated over to the bench and hunched over, untying his skates. Jacob followed him, gingerly setting himself down.

“You alright?” Finn asked, glancing over as Jacob winced, shifting around on the hard bench like he was trying to find a more comfortable position.

“Oh yeah. Just . . .just a little stiff. Should’ve stretched while you were doing your second round, but I got caught up . . .”

Finn wondered if Jacob had gotten caught up the same way he had, when he’d watched Jacob.

But before he could open his mouth and ask this potentially very stupid question, real pain crossed over Jacob’s face.

“What is it? You okay?” Worry spiked inside Finn. Did Jacob not normally do this and he’d only done it today in order to coach Finn? Had he been doing it to show off and now he’d fucked up his hip even more?

If that was true, then Finn shouldn’t feel guilty—that was all on Jacob. But guilt swamped him anyway.

“I . . . ugh . . . just normally use the sauna right after, to prevent it from—” Jacob exhaled sharply. “To prevent it from locking up.”

“Like it’s doing right now?” Finn didn’t tell him that he shouldn’t have waited through his second round. He didn’t have to; Jacob already knew.

“Yeah,” Jacob ground out. He glanced over at a small door, set into the other side of the gym that Finn assumed led to his sauna.

He bent down, like he was going to unlace his skates, but his wince was obvious.

Finn didn’t think; he just acted.

Slid down to the floor at Jacob’s feet, fingers picking at the knots he’d tied into the laces. Reached up and put a hand on Jacob’s knee, for leverage. Froze when he froze.

“This okay?” Finn asked, worried that somehow he’d hurt him more.

“I . . .” Jacob trailed off, his dark eyes intent on Finn’s. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I know. But I want to.” The lace finally came untied, and Finn braced Jacob’s foot against his thigh, pulling sharply.

When he glanced back up, Jacob’s cheeks were flushed. And Finn didn’t think it was from the exercise.

“Don’t get used to it, though, me on my knees for you,” Finn teased.

The flush deepened, going dark red. “I wouldn’t. I won’t .”

If Finn was Elliott or Ramsey he’d probably keep pushing. Say something about how he probably looked good like this, but even though he hoped it was true, he didn’t say it out loud.

The solid warmth of Jacob’s knee under his palm and the way Jacob gazed down at him—like he was afraid to look and also afraid to look away—was enough of a tease.

Finn’s fingers were shaking slightly as he reached for the lace of Jacob’s other skate.

He knew he should let go of Jacob’s knee, but he didn’t want to. Liked how solid and warm it felt under his touch. Wished he could slide his fingers up farther, and then farther still, wondering what he might find hiding under Jacob’s sweatpants.

You’re here for hockey—not for sex.

The reminder was a bucketful of ice-cold water dumped on his head. But more importantly, on his crotch.

He picked at the knot, loosening it and then finally untangling it completely.

Finn got the skate off a minute later, and there was no reason to stay here, bent down at Jacob’s feet, so he lifted himself. Considered offering a hand to Jacob, to help him up, but Jacob shot him a look full of wry embarrassment when he considered it. Like he knew what Finn was thinking and it was the last thing he wanted.

But the shaky way he lifted himself to his feet changed Finn’s mind.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and wrapping an arm around Jacob’s waist. It was narrow, unlike his much broader shoulders, and a knowing heat streaked through him.

“I’m good,” Jacob said, making a half-hearted attempt to shake him off, but Finn was determined and wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“No,” Finn said firmly. “Let me help you.”

“God, I’m not—” Jacob muttered a whole string of four-letter words under his breath. “I’m not a fucking invalid.”

“Not at all,” Finn said. “You headed to the sauna?”

Jacob shot him a look that might’ve been hotter than the steam inside. “Yeah. But—”

“No buts,” Finn said. “I could use it too.”

Jacob’s gaze drifted down to Finn’s sweatpants. “You gonna wear those in?”

“No,” Finn said. Trying—and failing—not to be excited about the prospect of a naked Jacob again. “And neither are you.”

“You seem very sure about this,” Jacob said bluntly.

“It’s just a little skin.” Gorgeous skin, but you’ll live.

“It’ll be fine,” Finn said.

“Not playing with fire?”

Finn let Jacob shake him off this time, only because Jacob had the wall to lean on as he hit the instrument panel for the sauna, turning it on.

Finn had already shed his T-shirt, and he wasted no time pushing down his sweatpants, fingers tucking into the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs.

Jacob was looking everywhere but at him. “We’re doing pretty fucking great,” he muttered. “First coaching session and we’re already getting naked, together.”

“Think of it as necessary medical treatment,” Finn teased, letting his briefs fall. Jacob was studiously staring at the door, even as he pulled it open and walked in.

He’d sat down on the wooden bench, arranging himself in what he hoped was both a flattering yet not flirtatious pose, by the time the door opened again.

Finn knew he should avert his eyes. It was only polite. And he did, technically, but not before being graced by the glory of shoulders—chest—abs—dick—thighs—calves.

It wasn’t a sight he’d forget anytime soon. In fact, Finn already knew that much later tonight, in the shower, what he’d be thinking about when he touched himself.

Maybe Jacob had been right and this was playing with fire.

Jacob settled down on the bench next to him, with at least two feet as a buffer between his naked thigh and Finn’s. Finn supposed he should be relieved and not disappointed that he hadn’t taken the bench opposite him.

At least he wouldn’t be missing anything when he closed his eyes and let the crown of his head hit the back wall.

“That better?” Finn asked.

“Yeah,” Jacob said, and Finn could hear the receding tension in his voice. The alleviation of the pain.

“Good,” Finn said.

Jacob didn’t say anything else for a long moment, and Finn decided that sitting in silence, just soaking in the heat, was okay, too. That was the purpose of this, anyway.

He’d just remind himself of how it had felt the second time around. How his confidence had grown. How he’d been able to shake off the one puck he’d let score. That was way better to dwell on than the fact that only a few feet away, Jacob was naked.

And so are you.

But Jacob had other ideas than letting him visualize. “I didn’t want you to see that,” Jacob said.

“It’s fine,” Finn said. “Not like I’ve never been around an injury before.”

“I know, but . . .” Jacob trailed off, but Finn had a pretty damn good idea of what he’d been about to say.

I know, but those guys weren’t attracted to you.

Finn was no longer quite as certain that them being bluntly honest about their mutual attraction had been the right move.

How long would it take before one—or both—of them decided the pleasure would be worth the risk and the mess?

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” Finn reassured him.

He wanted to reach out and touch him, but that would be even worse now that he was naked than it had been before, through the thick fabric of his sweatpants. Instead, Finn tucked his hand under his own thigh and reminded himself again that he’d be keeping his touch to himself.

“Sure,” Jacob said sarcastically.

Finn considered and then discarded half a dozen ways of convincing him that was true.

Or you could be very stupid and be blunt again.

“Trust me, I’m still gonna be thinking about you, later tonight. Bum hip and all.”

Jacob seemingly choked on air. “I don’t need to know about that.”

Finn took a risk and glanced over at him. His eyes were still closed, but his hands were clenched fists resting on the top of his bare thighs.

“Just making sure you know it wasn’t actually a turn-off,” Finn said, forcing his voice to remain light.

“Good to know.” Jacob’s voice was cold. Flat. But Finn couldn’t take it personally, not when he knew exactly why.

“Next time—tell me, okay?”

Jacob grunted, but Finn had a feeling that it wouldn’t be a problem again.

Finn decided if they were being blunt about sex, they could be blunt about hockey, too. “You good getting back on the ice with me? Giving me some pointers?”

“Would Gavin—Coach Blackburn—be okay with that?” Finn heard the waver in Jacob’s voice.

“Didn’t Coach B offer t o bring you on as a coach at the beginning of the year?”

Jacob was quiet for so long that Finn almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Some people could do that in a sauna. Not Finn, but maybe Jacob was built that way.

“Yeah. I said no. For good reasons, but . . .”

“But?”

Jacob sighed. “Finn, I know we agreed I’d do this, and I do think I can help but . . .”

“You can’t keep starting to give me a goddamn reason and then saying but without finishing,” Finn objected.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Jacob took a deep breath. “I don’t talk about this—well, except with Moira and my brother, I guess. But, I don’t know if I can go back on the ice.”

“Not medically,” Finn clarified.

“Not medically,” Jacob agreed.

Finn looked over at him, right in the eyes. He wasn’t surprised to see Jacob looking back at him. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I wouldn’t have—”

“No, that’s not why I told you,” Jacob said. “I told you because . . .well, because I think this might be good for me, but it’s not gonna be easy and you might have to be patient. I guess if you can tolerate my hip and the way it locks up, you can deal with this bullshit too.”

“I can,” Finn reassured him.

“I’d like to come to practice. And to games. But . . .but it’s hard. I’ll get there, but it sucks in the meantime.”

“That why you stayed on the wall during the fundraiser? Staring at me?”

Jacob chuckled. “Uh, yeah. Number one for sure, number two . . .you’d grown up.”

“Oh, that’s what you decided, huh? That I was all grown-up and fair game?”

“Uh. No. Yes.” Jacob went bright red, and Finn knew it wasn’t entirely due to the steam.

Finn decided to let him off the hook. “I can be patient. At least if we’re working together here, like this.”

“You need more though,” Jacob objected.

Finn tamped down his outraged ego, as Jacob made a face and kept going. “Not like that. Not like it sounded. I mean to really help you, I should be at practices. At games. It’s what you meant. It’s what you wanted.”

It was, but how selfish and demanding would Finn be if he told Jacob to just get over it? People liked to say that to him, sometimes. That he should be grateful that his dad was Morgan Reynolds and surely it was easy to just change his perspective. Like Finn hadn’t tried to do that a hundred times already. A thousand .

“Yeah, but I can work at your speed,” Finn said. “It’s way better than nothing. Way better than the way I’ve been playing.”

Jacob nodded. He didn’t look one-hundred-percent convinced and unfortunately it wasn’t as easy to persuade him as it was about Finn’s attraction. All that would’ve taken was a few blunt words and maybe a picture, post-jerkoff session.

But this was trickier.

“Trust me,” Finn said, and Jacob nodded again.

“What if you just came to practice? Didn’t come out on the ice?” The moment the question was out of his mouth Finn wanted to take it back—it made him sound so freaking desperate for even the barest scrap of Jacob’s attention. But he didn’t. Because he needed every single goddam scrap.

Jacob frowned but didn’t immediately dismiss the idea, not like Finn had imagined he might. “You think your coach would be okay with that?”

“I can ask, but I can’t imagine Coach B would be mad about it.”

“Alright. No promises. But I’ll try to do it this week. And let me be the one to ask, okay?”

“You sure?” Finn did regret it now, because he’d pushed him into this.

But Jacob just nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” Jacob said. Finn reminded himself that if Jacob didn’t want to do this, he didn’t have to. If he didn’t want Finn around, he’d just tell him to fuck off—or not bother texting him in the first place.

Finn didn’t think Jacob would do that, though. Not now. But still, that didn’t mean he was ready to go back to the ice. Maybe he would be someday.

But he wasn’t today, and Finn needed to make his peace with it.