Page 29

CHAPTER 29

RIVER

I wake up to my cell phone ringing. When I don’t bother to answer it, the person calls again, fucking with my gameday ritual. I like to sleep late if possible, hydrate, and pamper myself. My body is more than a temple. It’s my ticket to the NHL.

But the asshole won’t stop calling me. I fling an arm over the side of the bed to grab my cell phone from the nightstand. My fingers touch the phone, but I miss and knock it onto the floor.

“Fuck,” I groan and hang off the mattress to retrieve it. “What?” I yell into the receiver without looking at the Caller ID.

“Is that how you speak to your father?”

Oh, dear lord.

Make it fucking stop.

“What, Dad? I’m trying to sleep. I have a big game tonight against Penn State.”

“Yeah, I know. And I want you focused, but… I just talked to Alanna. Someone leaked a video of you, and it’s gone viral.”

At that, I sit up straight, eyes wide, heart pounding. “What kind of video?”

“You and Nate hugging by his car.” He lets out a deep sigh. “I thought we talked about this River. No more gay shit with Nate.”

How the fuck dare he?

I go from panic to full-blow rage monster in one second flat, shouting into the phone. “A hug, Dad? Really? Have you never hugged one of your teammates or friends? Come on. This is bullshit. How many of your teammates have you slapped on the ass after a game? No one made a big deal about it. No one called you fucking gay.”

“I never engaged in the kind of activities that you and Nate are into.”

“Oh my god. Stop. If you think for one second I’m going to believe you never had a threesome before you met Mom?—”

“Not with other men,” he interrupts. “Not with my teammates. Do you see where I’m going with this, River? Have all the threesomes you want with women?—”

“Just not with Nate. Got it. Can I go now, Dad?”

My blood feels like it’s boiling in my veins. Every inch of my skin is hot, now covered in a thin sheen of sweat. How can one person make me so angry? I don’t even care those girls from the movie theater filmed us. People have been doing that shit my entire life.

“Sure,” my dad says. “Alanna will call you after your first class to discuss cleaning up your image.”

“My image is fine,” I snap, anger dripping from my tone.

“This isn’t the first time someone accused you of being gay, River. If you are, you need to tell me or Alanna. We can fix this.”

“I’m not gay. And I don’t need fixing .”

Some days, I think I’m mostly gay. Not even bisexual. But other days, I see a pretty girl on campus and think I would fuck her . Then, Nate flashes into my head, and all sense goes out the window. I can only see Nate when he’s in the room, consuming every aspect of my life.

“Please don’t call me again today. I have a game tonight and don’t need any distractions.”

He blows air into the receiver, annoyed with my request, but says, “Good game, good luck.”

My dad says this before every game. He’s a little superstitious. I don’t need luck or his well wishes, not with my skills.

After I hang up the phone, Nate stumbles into my room, a pair of black boxer briefs sitting crooked on his hips. My cock notices him before my brain does, so I place a pillow on my lap.

Nate sits on the bed beside me, unaware of my hard dick peeking out of my boxers, wanting to say hello to him. “Did you see TikTok yet?”

I shake my head. “No, but my dad just called to yell at me.”

“Yeah, figured he would. I used to idolize your dad. But he’s such a dick once you get to know him.”

“Tell me about it.”

He shoves his phone at me. “We’re gonna have to fuck half the girls on campus just to prove we’re not gay.”

“Not happening.” I take the phone from him. “Dr. Swanson said no sex until you get your urges under control. Fucking a bunch of women isn’t going to prove shit.”

Nate frowns. “Just watch the damn video. It doesn’t look or sound good for either of us. The audio is really clear.”

The Kingston Spy has thousands of comments on the video. God, I hate this fucking girl. It has to be a puck bunny or someone out for revenge.

I hit Play, and I’m standing in front of Nate on the screen, but his eyes are on his shoes.

“I hate this,” he mutters. “I don’t want to be this way.”

“Your addiction is ruining our lives,” I say, stepping closer. “But we can figure this out together.”

“Promise?”

I nod. “I got you.”

Nate throws his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. I hug him back like my life depends on it. We cling to each other, looking more like lovers than best friends, which is how it feels anymore. We became more than friends once we crossed the line, even if Nate couldn’t see it.

“Is that River Rousseau?”

In the video, I turn to look at the girl filming the video, but you can’t see her. She zooms in on me, then wanders to Nate, getting a good shot of his face and glassy eyes.

“Holy shit! He’s into dudes.”

“So hot,” her friend says. “Are you guys gonna kiss or what? I’m dying over here.”

The camera angle changes to Nate as he grits his teeth and moves toward them. “Give me that fucking phone.”

“Hell, no,” she yells, the video shaking as she runs toward the movie theater. “You want it, come get it, sexy.”

The screen flips to images of Nate and me over the years, and then The Kingston Spy does an AI-generated voiceover.

“I wonder what River was talking about,” the fake voice says as photos from my Instagram flash on the screen. “Anyone got the deets on Nate Brooks and his addiction? Or is he just addicted to River Rousseau? Can’t say I would blame him. Share this video with a friend and comment with your theories.”

After the video ends, I scroll through the comments. A bunch of trolls talking shit. Girls hoping we’re hooking up and want pics. They also want in on the action. Of course, we get some Bible thumpers bitching about God and gay people and how it’s unholy.

Whatever .

Fuck them .

I close out of the app and hand Nate the phone. “Doesn’t matter. They have no proof of anything.”

He nibbles on his bottom lip. “My dad will want to know about my addiction.”

“Mine didn’t mention it. Maybe he won’t tell your dad. He doesn’t spend any time on TikTok.”

“Yeah, but his PR team keeps tabs on me. They set up Google alerts so they know if anyone posts about me. And they check all of the social apps.”

“We can tell the world whatever we want. Without proof, they have nothing.”

His arm bumps into mine, and my skin sparks with heat, going straight to my cock that is now awake again and wants to play. With him.

Down boy .

“I’m not worrying about this shit on game day,” I tell Nate, slapping a hand on his back. “Can you make us breakfast? I’m starving.”

He winks, and then he’s gone, leaving me to deal with the massive boner he left in his wake.

* * *

When Coach Marten calls for a line change, Parker and Nate hop over the wall, sticks in hand. I follow behind them, skating down the ice. Fueled by adrenaline and rage, I want to take out my pent-up aggression on the opposing team.

I need to hit something.

Anything.

I’m wound too tight.

Thankfully, I have a distraction. We’re playing Penn State at home and winning by two goals. I check a defenseman into the boards, fighting him for possession of the puck. He’s not as good of a puck handler as me. No one in the league can touch my skill, and how could they? An NHL legend trained me.

The defenseman attempts to knock the puck through my legs instead of taking the toe of his stick blade to move the puck away from me. A winger throws his right shoulder into my left, trying to push me out of the way. But I’m quicker and better than them, tapping the puck away from the defenseman’s stick using a toe drag to slide it to the other side of my body.

At least I’m good at hockey.

Lately, I feel like I am failing at life. Being on the ice gives me an instant pick-me-up. A thrill rolls down my arms and spine, sending a ripple of excitement through me.

I set off down the ice on the breakaway, crossing the puck in front of me with my eyes on the goalie. Players trail behind me in a poor attempt to match my speed. I can skate circles around them. While I may lack confidence in many areas, this is not one of them.

I’m as good as people say and know it.

My stats don’t lie.

Staring down the goalie, I switch the puck from my left to right to fake him out and then quickly change at the last minute, smacking the puck to the right side of his skate. He attempts to stop it, but the puck sails over the crease and hits the back of the net.

The goal horn sounds.

Another victory.

The packed rink erupts into chaos. Everyone rises from their seats, dressed in a sea of black and gold jerseys and hoodies, screaming my name.

I love the admiration.

At a time when I’m feeling low and shitty, I need all the praise I can get from strangers.

My teammates rush over to me. Gloves slam into my back, on my shoulders, and a few land on my helmet.

“Because of this guy,” Parker says to my teammates, “we’re winning another Frozen Four this year.” He taps my back with his glove. “Good game, Rousseau.”

I spit out my mouthguard and nod. “Thanks, Hale.”

Other players congratulate me and skate away. Most of the crowd still stands, cheering my name. This never gets old. I grew up watching people do the same for my father. Hockey is all I have ever known, and I don’t want to lose this feeling.

When I reach the bench, Nate grabs my arm. “Killer game, Riv.”

I nod as his breath warms my cheek. “Thanks.”

“We need to talk,” he says in a hushed tone.

He holds my gaze, his long eyelashes framing golden-brown eyes, and while his words say one thing, his eyes say another. Something has shifted. I can’t put my finger on what is different about Nate. There’s so much subtext hidden in our interactions.

He tips his head at the crazed puck bunny in the front row, her big tits mashed on the Plexiglass. Samantha is wearing a replica of my jersey, the number twenty-three splayed across her chest.

I follow my teammates toward the locker room.

Nate walks beside me and whispers, “Do you want to find another girl?”

“Nope.”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You , I want to yell. My obsession with you is the fucking problem !

But as usual, I hold my tongue, locking up my feelings like a traitorous prisoner consuming space in my heart.

“Neither of us will ever have a normal life if we keep this up,” I say as we strip off our gloves at our lockers. “It’s for the best, Nate.”

“I don’t get you anymore,” he hisses, tossing his gear on the floor. “We’ve been sharing women for a long time. I thought…” He sits on the bench and unties his skate. “I’ll find someone better for us. She wasn’t right anyway.”

He sounds like the lawyer he will one day become, negotiating his way through a deal. But he can’t settle matters of the heart with a new girl or even the right words.

“I mean it, Nate. I’m done. If you want to fuck Samantha, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

He storms toward the showers, keeping his distance. After I shower, Nate is gone when I return to my locker with a towel wrapped around my waist.

That fucker left without me .