Page 20

Pope

B efore Thierry could get two steps from me, I said, “What, since you’re a famous rich boy, you don’t have time to slum it up with us?

” Worst thing I could’ve ever said to him.

I don’t know what got into me. Why, I thought I could seduce him one second, then shun him the next.

I didn’t know a damn thing about what I was doing.

Figured I’d treat Thierry like I would any woman I was trying to score, and the longer I stood there, the deeper and wider the chasm between us became.

I’d fucked everything up.

Royally.

The second I stepped onto the compound grounds, I knew he was there.

Thierry and me, we had this weird synergy thing going on.

If we’d been siblings, thank fuck we weren’t, we’d have been twins.

I didn’t care who saw me actively looking for him.

If it seemed stalker-like, so be it. I had to get my eyes on him in the flesh.

Know my ex-best friend had taken care of himself over the years.

Until then, the insatiable need to seek him out consumed me.

Then I went and fucked it all up by kissing him.

I’d meant for it to be chaste, like that night all those years ago.

However, the second my mouth covered his, I lost my senses.

Call it the heat of the moment, but thick, syrupy tendrils of arousal wrapped around me, knocking me stupid.

Each swipe of his tongue stirred this indescribable need within me.

It pissed me off. I’d convinced myself the action would repulse me.

The opposite happened. He retreated and I surged forward, not wanting to break the connection with Theirry.

I wanted to consume him and rather than talk to him; I said something stupid.

Then, acting like I won some contest, I walked out of Flame with a hard dick.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Watching him coach from the bench at the game was the same way.

The cruel yearning to reconnect and make Thierry mine tore through my gut, leaving a gaping wound there.

I didn’t understand the feeling trapped in my gut.

I never thought of myself as being bisexual.

Still, I also couldn’t deny the connection I had with Thierry and what that could mean.

Or perhaps, what I’d missed all those years ago because I’d been so focused on the game, not what happened around me.

At one time, I’d been like Danny Rojas, that soccer player in the hit streaming series everyone loved.

Only hockey was life. I couldn’t wait to lace up my skates and step onto the ice.

For years after I quit, I craved the adrenaline rush of stepping into the box and banging my stick against either side of the goal frame, something all tendies did when they were in their goal.

I even thanked the goal for having my back at the end of every game. That’s how in the zone I’d been.

However, Thierry, he had that it factor.

The grit and determination to be the best, and fucking hell, had he done that in spades.

I don’t know what I expected going to see some dinky AHL game, but watching the Mountaineers was electric.

I couldn’t tear my gaze off the ice. Now I wished I’d seen him play at least once before the accident.

If the way his team flew up and down the ice was any indication on how well he’d prepared them for the game or coached them through the periods, they’d be at the top of the standings in short order.

He looked strong out there. Good too. Ever since I started watching his previous games, catching up over the years, some kind of switch flipped inside of me.

I questioned everything I knew about myself and wondered if the reason I couldn’t keep a woman by my side was because I’d been gay too and just hadn’t realized it.

Then I watched porn.

As much as gay porn was interesting, to say the least, I didn’t experience that rush of adrenaline and excitement that got my dick hard and throbbing.

Yet when I put on something with two men and a woman, especially men who fucked the women then each other, shit.

Katy bar the door. But I couldn’t be bisexual, right?

I mean, the thought of touching other men on the sly held no appeal to me.

Even imagining going farther than trying to kiss a guy left me feeling weird.

Thierry on the other hand...

I don’t know.

My mind shifted back and forth on that point and that question.

Now, watching him sit there at the opposite end of the bar surrounded by the Maysons and a few others I hadn’t had a chance to meet yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way I masturbated to the thought of seeing him on his knees in front of me. Or the feel of his mouth on my cock.

I groaned.

If anything, I’d been more confused than sure about what I should’ve done.

One minute I thought I knew what I wanted and how to achieve those goals, and in the next, I was tripping over my tongue with Thierry, trying to stay upright without looking too much like a fool.

It was as if I never talked to him before or had, and I hated his guts, which was the farthest from the truth.

Accosting Thierry like I’d done Flame , wasn’t one of my finer moments.

Tonight, made the kiss seem innocuous. I came in way too hot and way too strong.

I didn’t even apologize to him for being a dick all those years ago or the other day.

I just wrapped my arm around his waist, reveled in the way he felt in my arms then, like a drunken, caveman asshole, I pushed my dick against his ass.

Who did that shit?

If I could have gone back and redone the whole situation, I’d have met him head on and asked to talk.

Maybe then I’d have had a chance to explain everything to Thierry and figure out what this feeling was growing inside of me.

As it was, one minute excitement raced through my veins and in the next, terror paralyzed me.

Sadly, our come to Jesus meeting would have to wait for another time.

I’d made such an ass of myself, there was no way I could initiate a truce between us and try again.

Not after the shit I’d said anyway.

“You’re batting a thousand tonight,” Wes stated, joining me at the bar while I kept one eye on Thierry.

“Tell me about it,” I muttered with a heavy exhale. “The second I get close to him; my brain flies out the window and my dick takes over.”

“So, you like him?” Wes hedged.

“I don’t know, man. It’s all so new. I don’t even know what my preference is anymore.

I’ve been questioning my sexuality since the minute we talked at the shop—probably since I was a teen.

Now, when I had the chance to reach out to the one person who could help me the most, I shoved him away like he had the bubonic plague. ”

Wes crossed his arms and chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in a pickle.”

That was the understatement of the year. “Well, you know me. I like digging holes to bury myself in.”

“Don’t you ever.” Wes shouldered me. “Look, I’m not one to meddle?—”

I gave him a pointed look. “You said that with such a straight face.”

“Meh,” he shrugged. “Like I was saying, I don’t enjoy meddling.

Stupid shit happens when too many people try to help you figure out your life.

So, I’ll leave you with this instead. Don’t let your self-consciousness or the image of yourself get in your way of having the one thing you’ve been craving your whole life. It’d be a shame to miss out.”

Wes patted me on the shoulder before he walked away, leaving me to my muddled and dangerous thoughts.

If Thierry could be himself, why couldn’t I?

I guess that would always be the million-dollar question, right?

He moved through life, through games, like it was nothing.

Yet he asked me a simple question, why , and I deflected.

Truth was, I didn’t know why.

I couldn’t say I was jealous of him. Then again, maybe I was.

He traveled the world. Had high profile friends.

Been one of the NHLs Hot 100 Bachelors. People’s Choice Player of The Year.

First Star, several times over, for his contribution to protecting the goalie and the goal.

Nominated for a Hart Trophy at least five times and won two.

Those were just a few of the accolades I’d found online while researching his long, star-studded career in hockey.

The one that started the minute we met at eight years old.

Perhaps our roles were reversed now. He intimidated me.

He had all the friends, and I was just some guy who ran away to Vegas and other parts unknown, to become a hot-shot tattoo artist. Maybe my head was still so fucked up because of my mother’s death.

So, I kept everyone at arm’s length because I was transferring my fears onto them.

Like, if I got too close, and they passed away, a piece of me would die with them, too. Like my dad had with mom.

Or, when it came down to the brass tacks of the situation, I didn’t have a heart to begin with, so I couldn’t give anyone what they deserved.

Especially Thierry. That thought hurt. Questions swirled through my mind as I recounted almost thirty years of knowing each other.

Most of them I didn’t want to touch, while others made me uncomfortable.

The single most troublesome question continued to linger at the forefront of my mind.

Was I attracted to him this whole time, and that scared me even more?

Sitting there at the bar, watching him, didn’t give me the answer I sought.

Plus, as much as I might be worried about what came next, I had to remind myself Thierry hated my guts.

He had every right to after the shit I pulled.

I ditched him. Not the other way around.

Just like I protected him while we were kids.

I’d been his savior. His best friend. Then I broke him in the same manner all those little assholes in elementary and middle school had tried to do, but failed.

Crazy to think the person he needed to be protected from the most, turned out to be the one person he trusted with his life.

Me.

Fuck, I messed up so damn bad.

I wished I could go back in time and tell myself to continue to watch over Thierry, that he’d need it in the years to come.

However, I had issues I had to sort through.

As much as my father tried to shield me from those church women or those who expected me to grow up over night, I still had this overwhelming sense of duty to my father and for a long time, our home.

A giggle of happiness drew my attention to where July was dragging Thierry off his stool.

I hadn’t paid attention to what was playing on the sound system, only that I’d been glad it covered the last thing I’d said to Thierry.

When the group began to dance, I couldn’t tear my gaze off Thierry.

He moved like a wounded animal. Stiff and timorous while the women didn’t give a damn what they looked like.

They were carefree while he continued to hide himself.

“You look like you lost your best friend,” Hunter said.

“I think I might have. I’ve got no clue how to win him back either,” I said, unable to look away from Thierry.

“Be truthful,” Hunter replied. “The second you lie, is the second you’ll lose everything forever. Trust me on this. I had to learn the hard way with Posey.”

“What if the truth hurts both of us and destroys whatever is left of our friendship?” I quirked a brow. “Then what?”

“Then at least you know you did everything in your power to stay true to your friendship and to the person who means the most to you.”

Could it be that easy? Could I just walk over to Thierry, spill my guts, and leave it there if he hates me more?

My stomach knotted and my heart lodged in my throat.

I’d gone years believing I’d done the right thing with Thierry.

I cut bait allowing him to keep going and achieve his goals.

But what good were goals when he looked absolutely miserable?

Worse, when I’d been part of the reason, he was miserable too.

He said it outright. “I want a lot of things…” I could hear the desperation and the agony in that sentence.

The question sat on the tip of my tongue; did he want me too? Had those looks from years ago been ones of longing for me, in the context of a relationship, not me being on the ice with him? Or both? “I don’t think after what he said to me; anything can be salvaged.”

“Sure, it can,” Hunter said. “Might not be the same. Might have some dents and dings, even with Bondo and paint, but you might be surprised by the beauty that’d been there all this time.”

“You’re using a car metaphor, aren’t you?” I cut my gaze toward him.

“A little.” Hunter chuckled. “Look, man, it’s always going to be worth it, right?

Putting everything on the table allows both of you to clear your conscience and figure out if you have a chance at making a relationship work.

Denying yourself that, is like denying yourself food, shelter, or water. Why would you do that to yourself?”

Yeah. Why would I?