Page 10

Chapter 10

RYLAN

T he door clicks shut behind me as Jamie and I walk back into our room. Charlie was trying to convince everyone to go to some late-night poutine joint, but I'm not in the mood.

My dad has been calling and texting me nonstop, but I did my fucking duty already by calling him earlier. Today would have been Nick's birthday. He's been gone eighteen years, and it never fucking gets easier.

I take off my suit jacket and hang it in the closet, ready to go for the flight tomorrow. Dress shirt, underwear, and socks go into my laundry bag. I double-check that my shirt and tie for tomorrow are pressed and ready. Everything in its place.

Jamie moves around the room with his usual casual grace, humming some pop song under his breath. His tie lands on the desk chair. His dress shoes get kicked off near the window, one standing, one flipped over.

The chaos of his existence should irritate me, but for some reason I can't understand, the way he fills up the space in my normally empty hotel room is almost… soothing.

My phone vibrates against the nightstand. Again.

My hands start trembling—fight or flight kicking in. If I don't answer, he'lljustkeep calling and texting, so I should get it over with. My pulse pounds in my throat. I really don't want to pick it up, but there's no way to avoid what's coming.

It keeps buzzing. Jamie's humming stops.

The thought of my dad alone inthathouse, probably sitting in his old armchair with a bottle nearby, makes my chest tight.

The phone keeps vibrating like it knows I can't ignore it. Like it knows I never could.

The screen blurs as I swipe to answer."Hey, Dad."

"Thatwas some fancy skating tonight."His words slur together, confirming what I already knew."Your new linemate's got some moves."

My jaw clenches. I start pacing between the beds, three steps one way, three steps back.

"Yeah, he's good."My voice comes out steady,eventhough I'm anything but calm. Years of practice.

"Reminds me of Nicky."A glass clinks in the background. Ice cubes maybe. Or a bottle against the rim."The way he handles the puck. Natural talent, like your brother."

The comparison hits me right in the chest. I'd thought the same thing, but hearing it from my dad is different.

"Game wasn't good enough though, was it?"His tone shifts, turning sharper."Four unanswered goals. Nick wouldn't have letthathappen."

My free hand curls into a fist, the familiar burning shame rising in my throat.

"We'll do better next time."The words taste sour.

Jamie's stopped whatever he was doing in the bathroom. I walk to the window, keeping my back tothatside of the room.

"Better."Dad laughs bitterly."You always saythat. Always trying to be better. But you're not him, are you? Never will be."

"Dad, maybe we should--"

"He would've made it."The ice cubes rattle again."First overall round pick for sure. Everyone said so. If he hadn't..."His voice cracks.

Fuck. My legs areweak. I press my forehead against the cool window glass, trying to ground myself. The city lights blur below.

"Yeah, he would have."The same words I've said a thousand times. They never help.

"Would've been easier if it'd been you."

The whispered words hit me like a slapshot to the chest. I've heard them before, or at least versions of them. I know in my heart he doesn't mean what he says,thatit's the alcohol and the eighteen years of relentless pain talking. But all the air leaves my lungs anyway, my knees almost buckling.

"Dad--"

"I'm sorry."He's crying now. "I didn't meanthat, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it. Christ, I'm sorry, Rylan."

Behind me, Jamie moves. A soft footstep. Concerned. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to keep breathing. To keep standing.

"It's okay."My voice sounds far away, feels like it's coming from outside of myself."Get some sleep, Dad. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Rylan--"

I end the call before he can say anything else. The phone slips from my numb fingers onto the carpet.

I keep my forehead pressed to the window, hoping in vainthatthe cool smooth surface will ground me, but it's useless. I can'tevenfocus on the city lights anymore. My eyes are blurry with tears and the glass is foggy from my ragged breaths.

A gentle touch lands on my shoulder. I flinch, my muscles tensing.

"Hey."Jamie's voice is soft."What is it?"

I need to calm down. I can't let him see how badly I'm shaking. Can't let anyone see me like this.

"Fine."The word comes out rough. I clear my throat, trying to pull myself together."Justneed a minute."

His hand stays on my shoulder, warm and steady. Something inside me wants to lean into his touch. But I can't.

"Your dad..."Jamie hesitates."He didn't mean it. Whatever he said."

A harsh laugh escapes."You don't knowthat."

"No,"Jamie agrees quietly."But grief makes people say awful things they don't mean."

His thumb moves in small circles against my shoulder blade. The simple gesture breaks something loose in my chest, and suddenly I can barely breathe.

"It's been almost twenty years."My voice cracks."It shouldn't still..."

"Hurt so much?"Jamie finishes when I trail off."I don't thinkthatkind of grief follows a schedule."

His other hand comes up, resting between my shoulder blades. The warmth of his palms seeps through my shirt.

"You don't have to be okay,"he murmurs.

The gentleness in his voice undoes me. A shudder runs through my body. My carefully constructed walls start to crack.

"I can't…"It comes out as a broken whisper. I don't know if I'm warning him or pleading for something from him.

He rests his forehead against the back of my neck, moving so his chest is pressed into my back. His big, body is solid and warm and... safe solid warmth feels... safe.

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I let myself break.

The first sob catches me off guard, ripping through my chest. Jamie wraps his big arms around me, turning me away from the window. I should resist. Should pull away. Should keep my distance.

But I let him guide my head to his shoulder. I clutch at his shirt, desperate for an anchor. The fabric grows damp under my face, as I let him hold me while violent sobs wrack my whole body.

He doesn't shush me or offer empty platitudes. One hand running slow circles on my back while the other cups the back of my neck. His touch is gentle but firm. It's grounding.

The scent of the shampoo from the locker room fills my lungs. It surrounds me, mixing with the warmth of his skin.

I should be embarrassed. Should be mortified at falling apart like this in front of anyone, let alone a teammate. But there's something about Jamie Pirellithatmakes it... okay.

His fingers thread through the short hair at the nape of my neck, and a different kind of shiver runs down my spine. My sobs gradually quiet, but I can'tseemto make myself pull away. Can't face going back to holding everything together yet.

"I've got you,"Jamie murmurs against my temple. The words sink into my skin.

My hands are still fisted in his shirt. I should let go. I need to put myself back together, putthatarmor back on. It keeps me safe. Lets me function.

But forjustthis moment, I let myself be held. I let myself feel something other than the constant pressure of being exactly who everyone else needs me to be.

Jamie's heartbeat is steady and strong against my cheek. The rhythm helps calm me and the vice grip around my chest starts to loosen.

"Fuck. I'm sorry,"I mumble against his shoulder, voice rough."I don't usually..."

"Don't."His hand tightens slightly on my neck."Don't apologize."

I feel limp and drained, but somehow lighter too. It's a cliche, but I feel like I've let go of something I've been carrying for a long time.

He traces small circles at the base of my skull with the pad of his thumb, and I have to suppress a shiver. The touch is innocent, meant to comfort, but my body responds against my will, the blood rushing south to my cock.

Fuck. I can't do this.

But I can't make myself let go either.