Page 34 of The Substitute (New York Gods #4)

“Cum. All the boys have one. They have a sacred piece of me with them at every game. It gives us good luck.” The fact that he is proud of himself is terrifying.

“Wait, what?” Ambrose says dropping his keys like they burned him.

“Cum. Spunk. Jizz. Ejaculate. Am I understanding this correctly?” I demand.

Rhys is shaking to keep his laughter in, and I’m pretty sure Ambrose is horrified, but I’m afraid to look at him at this point.

“Yeah! I had to fill a bunch of these little tube things, and this lady in the internet does some magic stuff and makes it into clay that she makes into stuff.” Teddy explains this like he’s telling me about the weather while Rhys pulls his own keys out with the same little bear.

Ambrose is gagging next to me, which tells me all I need to know.

“And the boys all know about this?” I cross my arms to keep myself from ripping the bear off Ambrose keys and throwing it at my brother. “They’re all carrying your baby batter around, and they’re all perfectly fine with it?”

“Of course!” Teddy says at the same time Ambrose says, “No!”

Mom comes out of the kitchen to tell us that dinner is ready, and I have never been more thankful for a distraction.

That fucking bear is disappearing the second we leave here. Good luck be damned.

We pass dishes of steaming pot roast and veggies around, followed by gravy and rolls that Mom made from scratch.

It smells amazing, but I’m barely picking at it while my knee is bouncing under the table.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be forced to watch Rhys and Teddy be happy while I’m struggling to not hate them for it.

Can I ever be openly happy like that? Savage doesn’t seem to mind some PDA, but the more I think about it, the more I realize Ambrose only wants me in the dorm room.

He doesn’t want to meet up or go out. I guess it makes sense if he’s trying to keep his sexuality under wraps, but what will that look like long-term for us?

Will he ever come out?

My stomach churns, and I put down my fork. Ambrose looks at me with a question in his eyes, so I give him a little smile.

“Canada is the birthplace of hockey. That’s why we play their national anthem before every game.” Teddy’s words are so confident, it takes a second to register what he said.

“Wait, what?” I ask, now wishing I had been following the conversation so I had a tiny bit of context.

“All the hockey players got together at the conversation center to write it. Look it up.” He has the audacity to look at me like I’m stupid.

I blink at him several times before I respond, “A group of hockey players wrote the Canadian National Anthem to play before hockey games. Is that what you just said?”

“Tobi.” Mom’s warning tone isn’t going to stop me.

“Yeah, it’s in the Jean Eva Convection, just like not fucking the enemy.” He gives a pointed look at Rhys, then turns back to me.

“Are you really this stupid, or is it a bit that we haven’t caught on to yet?”

Mom, Dad, Rhys, and Ambrose all say my name at once.

“No!” I meet all their eyes, furious and frustrated and hurt. Why? Why does he get everyone’s attention, everyone’s sympathy? It’s not fair! Why do I get scolded for calling out his shit but no one else calls him out?

Clenching my hands into fists, I try to get myself back under control, but I can’t. I shove away from the table and stalk down the hall to my old room.

“Tobias.” Ambrose is right on my heels, forcing his way in and pushing me back against the door once it’s closed.

My name in that tone means I’m in trouble, but the part of me that’s hurt and angry doesn’t give a flying fuck.

“Ambrose.”

His eye twitches, and I can see him trying to figure out the best way to deal with my shit. And that’s what it is—petty shit. I know it, yet I can’t seem to stop myself from picking at Teddy. It’s my go-to after a lifetime of being told I’m not enough.

“I can’t tell if what you need is a hug and reassurance that you’re cared for or to be told to knock it off because you’re being a dick for no reason.”

Ouch.

“I’m not a child.”

“Then why are you throwing a tantrum?” Ambrose winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“Fuck off!” I shove at his chest, cutting him off, but his reflexes are much better than mine, so I end up with my hands pinned and Ambrose in my face, pressed against my body.

“I know you’re carrying a lot of hurt, but I don’t think what you’re doing is going to help.”

I don’t want to tell him he’s right. “He’s taken everything from me.”

“Is it even anything you want anymore?” His words hit me and sink into my chest. “He can’t take someone who is yours. The right person for you won’t give him a second glance.”

I close my eyes fighting tears. “I don’t want him anymore.”

“You are so much more amazing than you give yourself credit for. I’m sorry no one has proved that to you yet.

” Ambrose slips his thigh between mine to drag it over my cock while pressing his hard-on into my hip.

Blood surges to my cock so quickly, I gasp.

“Is that it? You need to be reminded that I still want you?”

My face heats, and a pathetic whimper passes through my lips.

“Yes.” The word is barely more than a breath, but he hears it and allows me to take his mouth in a hungry kiss. I need the connection. The proof that I’m still wanted. That him being here as my roommate isn’t about being embarrassed by me.

He drags his mouth to my jaw, then bites gently at my neck.

“Mark me, please,” I groan.

Ambrose pulls back, the frown lines between his eyebrows deep grooves. “Mark you? I can’t, and why do you want me to? Are you trying to make him jealous?”

“What?” Jealous? Who?

“I’m here as your roommate. If you leave this room with hickies, everyone will know it’s more than that, and the only reason you’d want them is for someone else to see them.”

My mind screeches to a halt.

“What are you talking about?”

Ambrose takes a step back, releasing me so my hands fall to my sides. “I’m not an idiot. You’re still in love with Rhys, aren't you?”

It’s not a question anymore. Am I still in love with Rhys? I don’t think so. I’m angry. Hurt. I gained more insecurities that I didn’t need. But if he asked me right now today if I wanted to be with him, the answer would be no.

“I won’t be a substitute for someone else.” Ambrose shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m not going to out myself and possibly ruin my chances at a career in the NHL to make someone jealous.” He shakes his head, cool, calm, and collected while he’s toppling my world.

Fucking hockey players.

“Why are you here? Why did you agree to come with me?”

“I wanted to support you. I’ve seen how hard this has been for you. I thought I was being a friend.”

“We’re just friends?” My lip trembles as I force the words out.

“I don’t know what we are.”

I suck in a deep breath before I speak. “This is how it’s always going to be, isn’t it? It’s fine to want me in the dark, behind closed doors, but not where anyone can see you.”

“I’m trying to make it to the pros—”

“No one in this house is going to judge you or out you.”

“I can’t take that risk. I don’t have that privilege,” Ambrose snaps, running his hand through his hair and pacing a few steps away from me before coming back. “You don’t seem to realize what I’m up against.”

“This is one of the big reasons I don’t fuck with hockey players.”

Ambrose freezes three steps away from me and turns slowly to face me. “You think Savage would be any different here?”

“Yeah, I do. He’s going to med school, so he doesn’t care about being seen with me or what my brother thinks, and he certainly wouldn’t be defending him. He’s never hidden me, but you always will, won’t you?”

Something crosses Ambrose’s face, like he’s figured something out but as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, and he’s locked down his expression.

Can I live with being a secret if it means he doesn’t leave me?

My fear of abandonment is choking off my air and making my knees weak, but goddammit, I deserve to be more than a fucking secret. My jaw trembles, and I know if I try to speak, the words will wobble.

A knock on the door startles a gasp from me.

“What?” I snap at whoever it is. Anger feels so much better than hurt right now. I can be in pain later, but I have to get through the rest of this first.

“Everything okay?” Fucking Rhys.

“Fine—go away!”

Ambrose is watching me like he can read the answers on my skin but I can’t see them.

What do they say? Does it show him how inadequate I really am?

How desperate I am to be loved? Does he finally see through the mask I hide behind?

Does it say right there on my face that he’s right and I’m not worth it?

“I should go.” The finality in his tone tears at the fragile pieces he’s mended the last few weeks. I knew it. He was never going to stay. I will never be enough.

Who would want to stay and deal with your neurotic ass?

You aren’t worth the trouble, and you never will be.

“Fine. Go.” I steel myself and turn away from him, ripping the door open and shoving past a concerned Rhys. “I’m leaving.”

I scramble through my parents’ house, frantic to get away from everyone. I can’t hold it together anymore, and if one person in this house looks at me with pity, I’ll lose it. Mom calls my name, along with Rhys, but I don’t stop.

“Tobi,” Ambrose says my name like a command, and I flinch. I want to listen, but I don’t. I can’t. It hurts too much to be thrown away. Again.

I rush to the stairs so I don’t have to wait for the elevator and run down as fast as I dare. The last thing I need is to fall and break my leg, but I don’t want anyone to catch up with me either.

“Tobias.” His voice echoes in the stairwell, and it makes me jump. He jumps over the railing like he’s done it a thousand times and lands on his feet in front of me. “Promise me.”

I try to shove past him, but he grabs my arms and spins me around.