Page 6

Chapter 6

Jacob had told Finn he’d think about practice, and he’d meant it, but to his surprise, the thought lingered.

Through him seeing Finn off. Through his shower.

All evening, through the TV he watched, forcibly trying to turn his goddamn mind off.

He was lying in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, when he suddenly wondered if the reason the thought kept hanging around was because he wanted to do it.

Maybe not go one-on-one with Finn. Maybe not go to every practice. But to strap his skates back on and see what he could do to help? Yes.

The last thought he had before falling asleep was that he’d call Coach Blackburn— Gavin , the man had insisted Jacob call him, when they’d met up earlier this fall—first thing in the morning.

It didn’t happen, though.

Instead, he cycled through everything he could find, giving himself anything and everything to do but make the phone call. He wanted it, yes, but it also terrified the shit out of him.

“Stop this,” he told himself as he finished wiping out his nearly bare refrigerator. “You’re braver than this.”

Was he though?

Moira would’ve told him there was nothing to be gained by being hard on himself, but it was hard when Jacob could look back over the morning and see every fucking thing he’d done to avoid making the phone call.

Wallowing in bed, which he’d excused because he’d had restless sleep—thanks to the dream of a naked, sweaty Finn dancing in his head.

Extra-long workout, even though his hip had been screaming from the night before.

Followed by an equally lengthy shower and breakfast.

Then scouring the kitchen and the fridge, even though his cleaning service was supposed to be stopping by tomorrow.

Jacob collapsed onto the couch and pulled his phone out. Stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then finally dialed.

He really hoped that he’d just have to leave a voicemail but a kind, gruff voice answered on the second ring.

Jacob made a face, glad he wasn’t on FaceTime.

“Jacob, I’m glad you called,” Gavin said, sounding pleased and surprised.

Jacob made another face. “Yeah,” he said. “I . . .uh . . .” Stop this fucking waffling. Either you wanna help Finn or you don’t. “I was wondering if that offer from earlier in the year was still open. Helping out with some coaching.”

“Sure is,” Gavin said. He didn’t ask specifically, but Jacob knew he had to be wondering. “The offer’s always open, if you want to stop by practice. I can send you a schedule, so you can just drop by whenever, or if you have a more specific timeframe in mind . . .”

Jacob wasn’t stupid; he knew Gavin was digging to know exactly what had motivated this change of attitude.

He shouldn’t tell him about him and Finn—not that there was anything specific to tell. But anytime he paired up with a Reynolds it would undoubtedly be big news in the hockey community.

Still, Gavin was Finn’s coach. He should know the truth. Maybe if he even knew some of what Jacob was trying with him, he could reinforce the ideas.

“I’m hoping to come to at least one practice a week.” He could manage that, right? He could. He would. “Specifically to work with Finn. And uh . . .the other goalie.”

There was a long pause. Jacob told himself he was imagining things—it was just silence. But it felt loaded, like there was a whole list of admonitions Gavin was thinking and then discarding.

“Finn and Nick?”

“Yes, Nick.” He hadn’t even known the other guy’s name, even though he’d technically asked for one-on-one coaching before Finn ever had. But sure, he could help him, too.

Gavin chuckled wryly. “So Finn got to you, huh?”

“You could say that. You know—”

“Oh, I know,” Gavin said. Of course he’d know about him and Morgan. Everyone knew.

“I don’t suppose we could keep this sort of under wraps?”

“Like give you a heads-up when I know Morgan’s coming into town?”

“He does that?” Finn hadn’t mentioned it, but that might explain why Finn felt like he was slowly being crushed to death under the pressure.

Unsurprisingly, Morgan never took his foot off the gas.

“Oh yeah, he swings by at least every few weeks.” Gavin paused. “I’ve told him it doesn’t help. He laughed that right off.”

“He would,” Jacob muttered.

“You’d know.”

Jacob sighed. “Yeah, I would. So he swings by, and what? Makes his son feel like shit and then fucks off, leaving you to pick up the pieces?”

“To be clear, I don’t think he realizes that’s what happens after he takes off, but yeah.”

“How can he not know?” Jacob was reconsidering not flying to New York to beat Morgan’s ass. He’d deserved it for years, for all the shit he’d pulled with Jacob, and now there was Finn—and that really pissed Jacob off.

“Probably because he thinks he’s helping.”

“He’s not,” Jacob said flatly.

“I know that. Finn knows that. Now you know that. He doesn’t know that.”

“Ugh. And you’ve talked to him?” Jacob considered that maybe the next one to tell Morgan to leave Finn alone might have to be him, but what good was that going to do? Morgan had never listened to him, and he couldn’t imagine that changing now.

“Mentioned it a couple of times.”

“Okay. Well, if you know he’s coming, yeah, give me a heads-up. I don’t want to make things harder on Finn.”

“No, you’re trying to do the opposite,” Gavin guessed.

“Yeah.” He didn’t know if he could, but damnit he was going to try.

Hadn’t even realized just how determined he was to try until this phone call today. Last night he’d felt it too, but hadn’t wanted to look too closely at it. Probably because he’d been afraid. Worried that his desire to help was caught up in an entirely different kind of desire.

You need to get laid. By someone not named Finn Reynolds.

“I’m glad,” Gavin said. “He’s got good instincts, when he listens to them.”

“That’s what I’m telling him.”

“Good. I’ll send the schedule, but you’re welcome anytime.”

“What about non-practice ice time?” Jacob couldn’t believe he’d asked the question. Before this conversation, he hadn’t even been sure he could go to a practice. But now, here he was asking about more ice time.

Moira would be proud. Confused, probably, but proud.

“I can arrange that, too.” Gavin paused. “You’re not gonna wear the kid out, are you?”

Jacob choked on air. Because of the wear him out or the kid— he wasn’t entirely sure. Both, maybe.

“No. No ,” he repeated with as much certainty as he could.

“Okay, good. You know the line. And he’s young. Hungry.”

“He sure is.” Jacob wished Finn was a little less hungry. A little less honest, too, because the more they talked about what they weren’t doing, the more obvious it became that if Jacob crossed that line, Finn wouldn’t turn him away.

“I’m sure glad you’re doing this,” Gavin said, “and if you need anything else, you just let me know, right?”

“Right. Will do,” Jacob said.

A different brain maybe. A new hip. And don’t get me started on my libido.

After he hung up with Gavin, Jacob pulled up his email and shot Moira a quick message.

Helping out a local guy who’s trying to improve his skills. Gonna get back on the ice. Why am I not more freaked out about this?

He should’ve known that tossing something like that Moira’s direction would get him a phone call.

She called five minutes later, just as he was heading into his office to deal with some other business.

“Who’s this local guy?” she asked.

Ugh, of course, she was going to start with that.

“Funny story,” Jacob said. “It’s . . .uh . . .Finn Reynolds. He plays for a local college and asked for help and I figured why not?”

A vast oversimplification, but even though Moira was his therapist and he trusted her because she’d seen him through some tough times, he didn’t want to confess everything. Like how Finn had called his bluff by nearly getting naked. Like how Jacob was attracted to him even though he didn’t want to be. Nevermind that hearing about Morgan’s treatment, inadvertent or not, and how it tore Finn down made Jacob want to kick his ass harder than he’d ever been tempted when Morgan’s insults had been flung in his direction.

“Finn Reynolds. You mean Morgan’s son? That Finn Reynolds?” It took Moira a second, but she got there.

She’d have gotten there faster, but he knew she normally saw football players, not hockey players. Jacob was her first.

“Yep.”

“Well, this is a development,” Moira said. “Do you want to talk about it?” He’d been working with her long enough that he knew what she actually meant was, do you need to talk about it?

“No, not necessarily.” He was hoping they didn’t have to go there, though that was probably a pipe dream.

“Jacob, this Morgan Reynolds has come up more than once.”

“I thought it was just the once—”

“No,” Moira corrected gently. “More than once. And one session, you spent quite a bit of time telling me about how you wanted to be his friend—how you tried to be his friend—but he insisted on continuing your feud. On and off the ice.”

“Well, that’s not really why I messaged you. I really just wanted to know why I could barely get on the ice at the fundraiser and now? I’m asking Finn’s coach if I can come to practice. About additional ice time,” Jacob said, awkwardly changing the subject.

“And you don’t think those two things are related? Finn’s last name and your sudden desire to get back on the ice?”

“It’s not a desire . I do want to help him, and the ice part is kind of non-negotiable.”

“Ah,” Moira said. One of those noises she made that said about a hundred things, just not out loud.

“It’s just . . .I was curious.” Jacob knew how stupid it sounded.

“My guess is, you found something that was more important, more compelling, than your fear or your regret. Your desire to help this boy.”

“He’s not a boy.” The words escaped out of Jacob before he could snatch them back. He wasn’t used to being so circumspect with Moira. That was what he told himself anyway, why he’d said anything at all when he’d been determined that he wouldn’t touch on Finn as a person.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked archly. She could always sense it. He should’ve known better than to try to hide anything.

You did. That’s why you emailed instead of asking her to call you.

“No. Nothing’s happened. Nothing’s happening .”

Moira clucked, and then a second later said. “Oh, Jacob, he’s cute, isn’t he? I just googled him. Really cute. And you’ve been single a long time now.”

“Moira,” Jacob said weakly. They hadn’t not discussed his sex life, but he’d tried to only allude to his interminable dry spell.

“And he’s twenty-one. As well as being the child of a very famous hockey player. He’s not a kid. You’re right about that.”

Jacob made a face, hoping it wouldn’t get worse, but of course, she kept going.

“If you want to talk about it—”

“No,” Jacob said. “No. It’s not . . .no. I’m just helping him with hockey, that’s all.”

“You’re not the kind of man who’d be attracted to someone because they’re young,” Moira reminded him. “If you like him, it’s because you like him.”

“I don’t,” Jacob said, pretty sure that was a lie. How could he not, when Finn had seen him at his worst and he’d reacted with grace and compassion and even some gentle teasing? It had all done what almost nothing else could: forced him out of his own head.

“Right, of course not. But if you did . . .”

Jacob didn’t want to pick up her bait. He did not. But he did anyway. “And if I did?”

“If you did, one , I’d tell you to tread lightly, because it could get messy with the father, and two , to trust yourself. Your own instincts.”

Ironically, what he kept telling Finn to do.

“Well, I don’t, and I won’t. It’s not happening.”

“Alright, Jacob,” Moira agreed quietly.

“But you think that’s it, then? I want to help him more than I’m afraid?”

“It’s likely. And that’s a good thing. A very good thing.”

“It feels good.” It did, after so long spinning his wheels.

“And I’m sure there’s some part of you that wants to make it right, with Morgan, and you can’t, so Finn is a good substitute.”

“Finn’s not a substitute for anyone ,” Jacob growled.

Moira just laughed, though. “There you go,” she said lightly, “already proving me right.”

He didn’t ask what she believed, but he was afraid he’d already guessed.

Finn hadn’t heard from Jacob in a few days, but from the way they’d left things, he hadn’t really been sure he would see Jacob at practice.

Or maybe ever again. Had he pushed too hard?

Finn had worried that he’d done exactly what he’d told himself not to do.

So he was unbelievably surprised when he skated onto the ice to finish his warmups before practice started, and there Jacob was, in a lightweight gray zip-up and black track pants, skating around the ice like it was nothing.

Like his voice had never wavered, the other night, just talking about coming back.

That he hadn’t said he couldn’t, because now he was.

“Hey,” Finn said, skating over. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Jacob looked up at him. Shrugged. “Wasn’t sure I would be either. Wasn’t sure so I didn’t mention it.”

“Coach’s okay with it?”

“Yep. Even sent me the schedule. And he got me in touch with the facilities manager here. We’ll have some non-practice ice time, too.”

“Really?” Finn could barely believe it. “Are you sure? I don’t want to push you. Not if it’s something you’re not comfortable with.”

“I know my limits,” Jacob said firmly.

“Alright.” Finn smiled then extended his arms. “You gonna kick my ass again?”

Jacob chuckled. “You need your ass kicked?”

“Actually . . .” He’d wanted to text Jacob this more than once but then he’d worried it would be too pushy—or would make Jacob think he was trying to make this thing between them about more than just hockey. “It’s going good. Better.”

“Yeah? When’s the next game?”

Finn smiled even wider. Enjoying that he was totally going to catch Jacob pretending ignorance—but he knew better. They both knew better.

“Oh so you were just telling someone else Coach sent you the schedule,” Finn teased, nudging him.

There were so many layers of fabric and cushion between them, but he felt it like they were still naked in the sauna.

It would be so much easier if this electric chemistry faded but Finn was beginning to think that no matter how many times he reminded himself to focus on hockey, it would always be there, lurking in the background.

“I . . .well, yeah,” Jacob said, sounding flustered. “He did send it. But Gavin could be starting the other goalie.”

“Nick? He’s a freshman. He’ll get a start every so often, to give me a breather, but mostly . . .it’s on me.”

“How’d you feel about that?”

For a second, Finn considered lying. If Jacob was his dad or Coach or one of the other players, he’d have put on a confident front, talking some bullshit about what a great opportunity it was to get more work.

But Jacob knew. He’d been there. Surely there’d been some time in his career when a team had leaned on him maybe a little too hard.

“Not great,” he admitted. “You know how it is.”

“I do. If you ever need to take a break in practice, you tell me.” Finn was sure he saw approval in his eyes. For Finn’s honesty?

“I’m good,” Finn said and meant it. If Jacob was actually here , and willing to help—he was going to give him every minute he could.

“You warmed up?”

“Give me ten,” Finn said, and Jacob nodded.

He went through his final stretches, making an effort to shift his focus from excitement—he’d come , he was here— to the headspace he sank into every time he took the ice.

By that point, Coach had taken the ice, Zach skating closely behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, Finn watched as they greeted Jacob. When they’d finished with him, moving over to where the lines had started to arrive on the ice, Mal and Elliott snarking at each other and Ivan rolling his eyes, Finn headed over in Jacob’s direction.

He’d set up next to the goal. Had a stick in his hands now and was moving a few pucks kitty-corner to it.

“You ready?” Jacob asked, and Finn nodded.

“Okay, some footwork first,” Jacob said. “Your speed, but we’ll get faster. That’s the idea. Compress your reaction time, your physical response, and then we’ll work on stringing some movements together.”

He was a Reynolds, so he had good technique. His father would have never stood for anything else and had always hired the best coaches to come in and make sure that Finn not only had a grasp on the basics, but that he excelled at them.

They drilled footwork until Finn’s thighs were aching and his calves were burning. Jacob had the same intensity and single-minded focus of the other night, and it helped Finn too. Physical effort leading to mental focus.

“Good.” Jacob tapped his stick on the ice. “Now faster.”

He did it again and again.

When Jacob finally let him stop for a quick break, Finn pushed his helmet and his sweaty hair back, squirting Gatorade into his mouth.

“You good?” Jacob asked, and Finn nodded.

“You know, it doesn’t take a single day of practice to go from good to great. It’s a hundred times repeating the same time drills. A thousand. Until it’s second nature.”

Finn nodded.

“Let’s work on your transitions.”

Finn hated transitions, even though he knew how they could change an entire defensive stand. They were a bitch to drill, but apparently Jacob had decided to throw him in the deep end.

Hoping to make him a better goalie, for sure, but maybe also hoping to exhaust them both enough they couldn’t even think about sex.

But even as tired as Finn was—and he knew he’d be more worn-out after this—the awareness of Jacob as a man, not just a coach, sizzled under his skin.

“You’ve got better movement, your positioning is better, and what does that mean?” Jacob asked.

“First save’s better,” Finn said, finishing his Gatorade and slipping his mask back on.

“If you’ve got better control on your first save, then your rebound is better. More deliberate, less instinctual.”

“Right,” Finn said.

“Position,” Jacob barked.

Finn got ready, and what followed was much like what they’d done at Jacob’s house, but more intense somehow.

Maybe because Jacob wasn’t behind the machine, removed from the action. He was the action, peppering him with pucks, sometimes one right after another, over and over again, getting right up into his face, until it felt like there was nothing but Jacob’s dark brown gaze challenging his.

“Good. Good.” Finally Jacob stopped. He’d run out of pucks, for the third time, and Finn let out a hard breath. “You’ve got great technique, but you’ve been relying on your instincts.”

“I thought I didn’t listen to them enough,” Finn complained.

Jacob grinned. “Different kind of instincts. There’s a feel for the puck, for the players. How they’re going to approach, the way they might take the shot, etcetera. But when you block, when you commit physically to a save? That’s preparation. Execution. Recovery.” He paused. “But you’ve got the ability and the foundation. I can see why the Sentinels took you in the third.”

Finn’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Jacob’s smile morphed into a smirk. “Don’t tell me you thought it was because your last name was Reynolds.”

“Well, yeah, I did. So did everyone else.”

“You gotta stop giving a shit what other people say. Listen to me. Listen to your coach over there. Listen to your teammates. But most of all, listen to yourself. Block the rest out. Let their words just bounce off you.”

“You do that?”

Jacob shrugged. “Mostly, yeah. Can’t say I never let anyone rile me up.”

“My dad. More than once.” Finn knew he shouldn’t have brought it up, but it was true, wasn’t it? And that was exactly what Finn was looking for—some magic bullet of advice that would mean he no longer gave a shit that his dad was Morgan Reynolds.

“Your dad is a special case,” Jacob said with a reluctant sigh. “He’s . . .he tries to get around that wall you build. Dig under your skin. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He knew. Probably better than anyone else. Eventually it had pushed his mom away, and she’d left.

It was what had given Finn the idea to move across country.

But distance to Morgan was nothing.

“But I also know this,” Jacob said, and he reached out, gripping Finn’s arm through its heavy pad. “Your dad is fucking proud of you. Does a shit job of showing it, but he is.”

Finn rolled his eyes. It was easier than arguing. Than saying the blunt words, No, he isn’t.

“Don’t do that. He is . I know. He told me. More than once.”

“You? He hates you,” Finn said, and wished, the moment the words were out of his mouth, that he hadn’t said them. Jacob knew it was true, of course, but he didn’t need to say them. Didn’t need to lash out, when all Jacob was doing was trying to help.

“I know.” Jacob said it matter-of-factly. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t say it. Told me that someday, you’d be me, holding some hockey god back from breaking his own records.”

“He did not,” Finn said.

“He did,” Jacob argued. “How did Morgan become the best?”

“I don’t know,” Finn retorted. He’d wanted Jacob to help him, but it turned out, he didn’t actually want to talk about this.

“Yeah, you do. You just don’t want to talk about it or think about it—but that’s not doing you any fucking favors. You can’t ignore him and hope that it’ll mean you’ll stop giving a shit.”

“Yeah?” Finn felt temper spiking in him. Dredged up from that place inside him, the one Jacob was right, the place he tried to pretend didn’t exist.

The one that Jacob was forcing him to look at.

Jacob shot him a look, skated around the goal. Like he needed an extra minute. But that was Finn, who felt dangerously close to the edge of losing it. He was tired, but not tired enough.

“Has it helped so far?” Jacob wondered. But then he pushed more, because he knew, of course, that it hadn’t. “Come on, Finn. You know this. How did your dad become the best?”

“He had talent. Skill. But he worked his ass off, too.”

“Exactly. He drilled constantly. He never took a day off. He pushed himself every single moment. He never accepted less.”

Which is why he’s never accepted you.

That yawning chasm of hurt threatened to reach up and devour him whole.

Finn swallowed hard, pushing it back down, but he didn’t know how long he’d be able to hold it at bay.

But like Jacob knew, he drew close again, and this time it was his hands that pushed up Finn’s helmet. He turned his head, but Jacob reached out. Forced his gaze back. “I’m telling you this, I’m reminding you of this, because this is what he’s like. To himself. To others. To every other person. You’re not special, Finn.”

The pain screamed.

“Don’t you think I know that?” His voice felt raw. Exposed.

“Not the way you think I mean. I mean, your dad’s hard on everyone. But he’s the hardest on himself. Once you accept that, once you accept that his approval isn’t ever coming, because he doesn’t even fucking accept himself , it’s easier to brush him off.”

Finn knew that, of course. Nobody was as good as Morgan if they didn’t have a force inside, pushing them as hard as possible. But it had never occurred to him that as unrelenting as Morgan was towards Finn, the spotlight he shone inside himself was even brighter. Not ever letting a single thing go.

“That’s . . .” Finn trailed off.

“Sounds really fucking miserable? Yeah.” Jacob let go of his chin, but Finn could feel the ghost of his touch, even after it was gone. “Just remember that, okay?”

“That’s what you did?”

“I wanna say, yeah, but I didn’t even realize that until the very end. Until it felt like he got angrier and angrier and it bothered me that I couldn’t figure out why. Most guys I played with and against, they mellowed as they got older. But not Morgan. Never Morgan.”

“No,” Finn agreed.

“That’s when I realized that he couldn’t accept less. He couldn’t figure out how to do it. And that changed things.”

“Didn’t change the way you never let him score on you,” Finn said, swallowing the lump in his throat. It was easier to tease than to talk about it.

It hurt to even consider the possibility that his dad would never accept he’d done his best, no question about that, but if he could stop worrying about it, and start worrying about living up to his own expectations, instead?

Well.

“Fuck no,” Jacob said, chuckling. “Let him win by getting to me? Never.”

Finn realized that was what he’d been doing.

Unlike Jacob, he’d been letting Morgan win. In every way. He’d won by dictating their relationship. By dictating Finn’s own feelings about it. By controlling the way Finn felt about himself. About his capabilities. Even about his own goddamn future.

Finn nodded. Realizing what Jacob was saying without really saying it.

“Got it,” Finn said quietly.

“Think you do. Now let’s go again. I want you to think about your angles. Shifting your hips, angling into the movement, before you move, that gives you the kind of control I want to see.”

Finn nodded, but to Finn’s surprise Jacob reached out, and his hand was warm, firm, even through all the layers he wore. “God, it fucking sucks, okay? I get it. I get it more than anyone. But you’re so much more than a Reynolds.”

Jacob was so fucking earnest, his brown eyes so warm on Finn’s face. But Finn wanted him to say it again. Again and again and again.

“I am?”

“Anyone else would’ve let this beat them down. Let it beat them. But you never did. You fought, every inch of the way.”

“And now you’re telling me not to fight.”

“Don’t fight him . Fight for you? Yeah. I wanna see you do it.”

Finn flashed him a smile. He’d never imagined it, but by shining a light on that spot, by not pretending it didn’t exist, by acknowledging it, and starting the process of coming to grips with it, he did feel better. Less out of control.

More hopeful.

“I wanna do it, too,” Finn said.

“You’ve got this,” Jacob agreed.

“So that was the surprise you were sneaking off for,” Ramsey said.

Finn looked up. He’d showered and changed after practice, moving slowly, in deference to the ache in his muscles.

“You convinced Jacob Braun to coach you,” Ramsey continued, settling down on the bench next to Finn. “What did you promise him?”

Practically nothing.

Jacob had said something about getting his temperature on the coming out process, but so far there’d been nothing about that. He hadn’t even brought it up again, but he had been completely committed to helping Finn.

“I just asked and he said yes,” Finn said.

Ramsey shot him a look. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Are you fucking him?”

“Ramsey,” Finn warned.

“I mean it, are you fucking him? ’Cause you probably could. He thinks he’s sly about it, probably, but the way he looks at you a little too long? And all those years of painful repression? He’s ripe for the picking, Reynolds.”

Don’t remind me.

“We’re not fucking,” was all Finn actually said.

“But you could be.”

“Ramsey,” Finn repeated. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying, he’s hot. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” Finn said dryly. “But this is about way more than getting off. He’s helping me, and I fucking need it, okay? Way more than a few orgasms.”

Ramsey grinned. “Would it be just a few though?”

Finn punched him in the arm. “You’re actually the worst.”

“So I hear. But seriously, why can’t you do both?”

“I don’t know, because some of us aren’t controlled by our dicks?” But even though Ramsey absolutely gave that impression, loud and clear and front and center, Finn had realized long ago how hard he worked to keep the playboy front up. It was more misdirection from the king of it.

“I’m hurt. Really hurt,” Ramsey teased.

“Truly suffering. I can tell.” Finn reached out to grab his bag. Winced a little as a muscle he hadn’t even known he had pulled. Jacob had worked him over good.

And he’d work you over some more, if you asked real nice.

Great. Now his subconscious sounded exactly like Ramsey.

“Maybe I am.”

The seriousness in Ramsey’s voice caught Finn’s attention. He turned back to the other guy. “You are not.” But suddenly Finn wasn’t sure.

“I just can’t believe you figured out the solution to your problems before I did. I knew Braun lived here, but I never considered it.” Ramsey looked earnest and also impressed, which was kind of terrifying. “Maybe because it was so fucking messy, I didn’t think it would be a good idea.”

“I’m definitely not telling my dad. Which means you’re not telling my dad.”

Not that he’d actually thought Ramsey would. In fact, whenever Morgan came into town, Finn could always count on Ramsey playing interference. He’d been hurt by it and more than a little embarrassed, the first time he’d realized what Ramsey was doing, but those feelings had long since faded into gratitude.

But then, by relying on Ramsey to keep Morgan out of his hair, all Finn had really been doing was avoiding the problem.

Not embracing it. Not like Jacob wanted him to do.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ramsey said. “And next time he shows up—”

“I’ll handle him,” Finn said resolutely. Would it suck? Without a doubt. But if he didn’t grasp the problem and learn to live with the sting, learn to accept the sting, he’d never be able to move past it.

Jacob was right about that.

“What? Why?” Ramsey looked annoyed, probably because he’d surprised him twice now.

And nobody ever surprised Ramsey.

“It’s time I man up, deal with him on my own.”

“But—”

“No.” Finn patted Ramsey on the arm. “Thanks for what you’ve done. But I gotta . . .I gotta deal with this in my own way. On my own terms.”

Ramsey looked floored. “Who are you? Did Jacob perform brain-swapping surgery with someone else? Is his dick that good ? ”

“His dick’s not anything.” In fact, he was very much trying to not think about Jacob’s dick, thank you very much.

“God, you really mean that.” Ramsey made a face. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“You want it, you go get it.” Finn regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He didn’t want Ramsey propositioning Jacob. He didn’t want Ramsey anywhere near Jacob.

First, Ramsey would chew Jacob up and then, because he was Ramsey, casually but kindly discard him after. And Jacob deserved better than that, deserved better than a few orgasms.

Second, because Finn really didn’t want to share.

It was unfair, but there it was.

“You don’t mean that.” Ramsey called him on his bluff, grinning.

Finn made a face. “I don’t mean that.”

“See? I told you that you wanted him.” Ramsey slung an arm around Finn’s shoulders. “It’s so much better when we’re honest about these things.”

It sounded painfully like what Finn had told Jacob the night they’d agreed to this exchange. But it hadn’t really felt better. Instead, it felt like really fucking unfair, because if they wanted each other, couldn’t they just take each other?

No. Absolutely not.

“Or not,” Finn said wryly.

“Aw.”

“It’s not happening. No matter how you push and prod and attempt to maneuver us into it.”

Ramsey made a transparently sad face. “I’m offended.”

“Oh come on, you know you’re the master at moving us around like fucking chess pieces.” Finn picked up his bag and headed towards the door to the locker room.

“Well, yeah . I’m offended that you’d call it an attempt ,” Ramsey teased.

Finn wanted to tell him he was wrong, that sometimes it was just an attempt, that he didn’t get to dictate to everyone, but then, where had he gone wrong recently?

Behind him, he knew he’d see Mal and Elliott’s heads close together, miraculously on the same page after over a year of intense bickering. And later that night, if he popped into Sammy’s or the library, he’d probably see Brody studying with his boyfriend, Dean, the way they looked at each other making their mutual affection blatantly obvious.

“I’m not a project for you to fix,” Finn said. “Or even worse, to pair up.”

He gestured behind him at where Mal and Elliott probably were.

“But that worked out, didn’t it?” Ramsey nudged him. “See? Better to just bow to the inevitable.”