Page 19

CHAPTER 19

JETT

Five days later, I was diagnosed with a mild MCL tear.

“It appears that you’ve managed this with ice, compression, and elevation, but no rest. You need PT and a lot of rest. A knee brace will help too. Any questions?”

No. It sucked, and I couldn’t do anything about it. The doctor passed his recommendation to our trainer, who of course consulted Coach Beekman.

“Why do you look like I’m sending you to the guillotine? For fuck’s sake, Erickson, it’s a grade one, bordering on a grade two, tear. It’s not the end of the world. Get rest, wear the brace, and you’ll be a hundred percent in no time.”

“How much rest?”

“You’re out for three to five games, light practice…”

I tuned out as blood drained from my face, panic gripping me by the throat. I was in no position to lose two or three weeks of hockey. Time was ticking, and the phone had been eerily silent for weeks. That happened sometimes with Randall, and as much as I tried to tell myself everything was okay, this was…bad.

“It won’t take that long,” I assured him. “One game and?—”

“Don’t argue,” he chided, holding my glower with an impressively placid stare. “I need you healthy for the playoffs. And with the way we’re playing lately, we have a chance to make some magic. You’re part of that, Erickson. Trust me, you’d rather be on the bench now than later.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know, but…I’m still waiting for my agent to…you know.”

“Scouts have already seen you, Jett. They know your game. And let’s face it, you’re more valuable with two good knees than one, eh?” He gave an exasperated huff. “Quit worrying. Honestly, I think you’ve been playing better than ever ’cause you’ve broadened your horizons. Keep it up. Do some more physics stuff. I think the scientist is a good influence on you.”

Coach escorted me to the door with a shoulder squeeze and a “See you tomorrow, kid.”

That was it.

I moped all afternoon, more distracted by my fucking knee and my silent phone than ever. This was usually where I’d head to the gym, hit the treadmill at a steep incline and blast my music so loud my ears would ring for an hour afterward, or go to a party and get absolutely obliterated.

I texted Malcolm instead.

Want to grab some dinner? I’ll swing by your classroom.

My cell buzzed as the physics building came into view. I’m at home. Tired. Professor F thought I might be contagious.

Be right there.

* * *

I showed up on Malcolm’s doorstep with a container of soup from the diner, cold and flu medicine, and a packet of tissues. I figured those items checked all the boxes and if not, he could use them later. Selfishly, I really needed to see him.

Layla ushered me inside, her brows arched as she looked me up and down. “Soup and hockey lessons. That’s a new one.”

Okay…this qualified as an awkward situation. Layla was the one person I was sure knew that our experiment had ended months ago. Hell, she was Malcolm’s close friend and roommate. She had to know something was up, but neither of us had told a soul…for an obvious reason: this wasn’t supposed to last.

An unsolicited drop-in with chicken noodle soup and cold remedies was tough to explain, so I fudged it. “Yeah, um…I was at the diner, and everyone likes soup.”

Layla didn’t buy it. “This seems suspicious.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re being too nice or something.”

“I am nice,” I argued.

“Maybe.” A smile ghosted the corner of her red-stained lips. “But be warned, ‘My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.’ Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice .”

“Noted.”

“Stay put and don’t steal the silverware. I’ll get Mal.”

Malcolm had obviously been asleep. He shuffled into the living room, his hair was standing on end and lines from his pillowcase etched on his skin.

“I wasn’t sure what you had, so I brought the cold season starter pack.” I held up the paper bag in my hand.

He cocked his brow curiously. “I’m not sick. I’m just…tired and a little worn down. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open while Professor Finkwell was commenting on a student’s inability to understand physics of productivity.”

“Sounds snoozy.”

“No, no, it’s actually fascinating. But…not today.”

He smiled and I smiled back. Neither of us said another word. We just stood there, looking goofy as fuck until Layla cleared her throat.

“Looks like this is a party for two. I’m going to the library for a couple of hours.” She retrieved her coat from the rack and grabbed her bag. “Be good, boys.”

I waited for her footsteps to recede. “She knows, huh?”

“Possibly? I’ve been having quite a few sleepovers lately and she’s inquired about my new paramour. I haven’t uttered a single word, but…”

“I showed up with soup and gave us away,” I finished, raking my fingers through my hair. “Shit.”

Malcolm set a comforting hand on my back. “Layla wouldn’t say a word. I promise.”

“Oh. I wasn’t thinking about me. I’m sorry if I made things weird with you and your best friend. I don’t know why I assumed you were sick. I should have called, but my day was shit and I really…I needed to see you.” I brushed my thumb across his bottom lip and kissed him. “I feel better already.”

He hummed. “I’m glad. Tell me everything.”

We sat side by side on the sofa, sharing soup while I spilled my news.

Malcolm sympathized but was glad my coach had insisted on rest. He cited scientific reasons the body needed downtime—repairing damaged muscle tissue, improving mental health, reducing inflammation…the list was long and nothing I didn’t already know. It sounded different coming from Malcolm, though.

He stated facts with a measure of calm, reassuring me that I was going to be okay. I was still on track. No worries.

Okay…not true. I had plenty to worry about, but he reminded me that I had options and that maybe time was working in my favor. I just had to relax and trust the process. The same stuff I told him when he was feeling blue.

It was strange to think that a few months ago, I didn’t know Malcolm at all. And now…I was glued at the hip to a genius who felt like my best friend.

A wave of gratitude overcame me. I didn’t take friendship lightly and I’d definitely never fucked a friend, so to infer this was new was an understatement. I felt lucky to know Malcolm, lucky to be someone he’d want in his life.

I reached out to push a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He shot a puzzled glance at me, setting the empty soup container on the coffee table.

“Listening to me whine, being wise and cool. Sometimes I think I should give up, but?—”

“Don’t,” he intercepted. “Don’t give up. Keep going, keep trying. Scientifically speaking, forward momentum creates energy, energy drives movement and progress.”

“Is this another one of those ‘if you put your foot in water, it’ll get wet’ examples?” I teased.

“Yes, and it’s that simple. You might not get exactly what you want, but if you stop, you get nothing.” Malcolm gave a self-deprecating shrug.

I cupped his chin and pressed my lips to his temple, his cheek, and the corner of his mouth. “And that’s science?”

“Y-yes.” He closed his eyes and leaned into me. “Science.”

Malcolm sucked my tongue, grinding and swaying as he rubbed the heel of his palm against my denim-covered erection. He unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, then stopped—his fingers hovered on the zipper as if awaiting my permission. Fucking tease .

I didn’t beg, but it was a close call. I moaned aloud when he finally pulled my dick out and stroked me a few times before lowering his head. I closed my eyes as Malcolm took over, licking me like a popsicle. He was so good, so good, so?—

A noise from the hallway jolted us apart. It wasn’t Layla, but she’d be home soon and this wasn’t smart.

“I should go,” the guy with his aching cock saluting the ceiling said.

Malcolm hopped up, held his hand out, and wordlessly led me to his room. I noticed a lot of plants and books stacked into mini towers on a desk and in the corners. After that, everything got fuzzy.

We were good at this now. This give-and-take, push and pull. I knew his body well and I knew how to make him wild—my stubbled jaw rubbed on his inner thigh, my tongue on his balls, two fingers in his ass. He loved the burn.

Our eyes locked as I stretched him open, driving my cock deep inside Malcolm. He loved being on his back, his legs wide, his hands all over me…tweaking my nipples and raking patterns along my sides.

And me? I loved everything about this. About him. From his glasses, freckles, and pretty mouth to his smooth skin, slim body, and the feel of his thick shaft wet with precum between us.

I folded him in half, his legs on my shoulders, as I upped the tempo, holding his hands and fucking him into the mattress.

This was where I’d praise his tight hole, graphically narrating my every move with F bombs galore… I’m fucking you so hard, baby. You want my fucking cum in your sweet ass, don’t you?

Not tonight.

The things in my head were sappy as shit. I like this, I like us, I want this, I want you, I need…I love ? —

I came without warning, shivering through a mega orgasm, showering his face with kisses until he joined me.

Not gonna lie, I was mildly freaked out by the well of emotion that clung to me after we cleaned up and said good night.

My mind whirled on my walk home, replaying my day and reassembling puzzle pieces of my life. What if you kept moving, but you changed direction? What if you took someone with you? Would that future work? Would he want it too?

I stood on the path outside my building and shook the cobwebs clear, shocked by the strange turn my thoughts had taken. It was one thing to enjoy great sex with someone you liked and admired and something else to wish you could have him for the rest of your life.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Like it or not, this wasn’t forever.

* * *

My agent left a message three weeks later.

“I have an offer for you…ECHL. One year contract with the Syracuse Spiders, and on to the AHL, baby. Obviously, that’s not a guarantee, but hey, this is a good team and a great opportunity. Call me, Jett. Things are looking up!”