Page 26

Thierry

I ran away. Full-on made a mad dash for the door and never looked back.

The emotional overload coursing through my body made me an irrational mess.

I couldn’t think straight, let alone wake up one more time in Pope’s arms. Being there with him brought back all those old feelings I’d spent years trying to shove into a box, ramming them so deep into the pits of my soul, I’d never be able to retrieve them.

Stupid me.

The minute I kissed him again, everything welled up inside of me.

The fact we’d engaged in a hungover jerk session while in Pope’s bed should have thrown up all kinds of red flags for me.

Instead, I sank into the sensations, smitten and accepted by the one person I’d loved for years.

He said to give him time. To allow him to figure out what he wanted.

Well, we went from baby steps to running in a matter of four hours.

Still, I obliged while also keeping a healthy arm’s length from him.

I wouldn’t allow myself to plummet into the same pitfalls again.

Then, two hours after I left, a text popped up on my phone. Derrick wanted to talk. I’d said everything that needed to be said to him. Being accused of abuse and cheating when it’d been him gave him zero right to ask for anything from me.

Narcissist: Come on, baby. Answer my texts. I know you miss me. I’d miss me too.

Sounded more like he’d gotten dumped by his boy-toy, and he needed some place to stay.

Too bad for him. I moved back to Murfreesboro.

That house we shared with the decorative touches that made the place a home?

Gone. I threw it away. I couldn’t stand having the reminder of him in my house. Not after what he’d done to me.

I should’ve blocked his number rather than answer him.

Stupid was my middle name. I don’t know why I answered the damn text.

Blaming moments of weakness or confusion after my night with Pope was an excuse.

What I got for my idiocy was a paparazzi ambush, with Derrick clinging to me worse than clothes from a static-filled dryer.

Crueler? I knew Pope would see the pictures.

What’s more fucked up? Derrick started showing up at Mountaineer games wearing my Thunderbirds sweater.

I had no clue what to do to fix the mess I made. No way in hell Pope would believe me if I told him the whole thing had been a setup. He’d think I was lying to cover up, leaving him after the best orgasm either of us experienced. So, I did what I’d always done best.

I stayed away.

That’d been two weeks ago. The emotional wounds that never seemed to heal properly, was tucked away, hiding my shame and uneasiness from everyone.

In my drunken stupor, I mistakenly allowed a small glimpse of my issues to rear their ugly head.

I’d never allow that to happen again. As for Pope.

.. I didn’t have the guts to call him, and he didn’t talk to me.

Yep, best solution for both of us. At least I got a glimpse of our future if only I’d been stronger.

I should’ve been happy I had him for a night.

That was a lie.

Staying with him made the last two weeks abysmal. At least when I’d been fourteen, Derrick didn’t exist.

Also, lucky me, I could relive those humiliating moments at the compound, because July videoed the whole confrontation without either of us knowing.

The second my words—spoken in anger—registered on his face, I knew I’d hit Pope way below the belt.

I’d demanded and received something from him he couldn’t give me unless I was drunk and didn’t care about the consequences.

I used him to bust a nut then, like a coward, I ran.

That wasn’t fair to him. I was a dick for that.

So, when my phone rang, and Pope’s name appeared on the screen, apologizing was the right thing to do.

Instead, I chickened out. I let the call go to voicemail and shoved my head deep in the sand.

I blamed the stress of being a coach as to why I didn’t answer.

Or the fact Derrick somehow always knew when my phone was about to ring.

The nth stage clinger wouldn’t take a hint and leave.

Then again, I hadn’t given him any reason to.

When I finally did gain enough courage to listen to the voicemail, all Pope asked about was my knee and how I was doing.

There hadn’t been a hint of anger or rejection in his voice.

Maybe he thought I’d paid him back for being an asshole.

Or he figured out he was straight? Deep down, I wondered if the questions about my knee had been a euphemism for how I was doing mentally after our night together.

Honestly, I couldn’t answer either question.

Whether it was about my knee or about the fact Pope jerked me off and it was the best moment of my life.

The travel time and games away from Tennessee, Murfreesboro, more specifically, should have given me perspective about everything.

Yet, I’d felt more lost and alone than I ever had.

So much so, I couldn’t reconcile what I was feeling.

The only place where all the noise stopped had been the ice, and I couldn’t even be out there now.

“You have been walking around with a look of consternation on your face along with a forced smile since we came home. It’s the most unnerving thing I have ever witnessed, Thierry.” Pavel tapped my arm with the water bottle drawing my attention. “What has you in knots?”

Pavel wouldn’t understand. “Life decisions.”

He lifted his mask, exposing his bearded face and silver eyes. “That sounds a bit like love problems. Can I ask you a question without offending you?”

“You could always ask me anything,” I replied.

“Who is the bedazzled asshole and why are you with him? He’s...” Pavel frowned. “Not good person.”

No, Derrick wasn’t. Somehow in two weeks’ time, he insinuated himself back into my life.

Thank fuck he wasn’t staying with me. I’d have gone insane if he’d tried that shit.

Still, I’d let it happen. I took my fear of Pope rejecting me and allowed it to manifest with the return of Derrick because he was safe.

And I didn’t mean safe in any sense of the word.

I knew a snake in the grass when I saw one, and Derrick was just a more colorful version of a cottonmouth.

“You could say that again,” I muttered around a swallow of water.

“There is someone better for you,” Pavel replied.

I snorted. “Who’d round me up?” I tried to keep my tone light but failed miserably as the corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips thinned in protest.

“You have always thought so little of yourself. Who gives a shit,” he snapped. “No one out here will care whether you have a man or woman by your side. At some point you need to get over your hang ups.”

My brain understood the simplicity of what he said. My heart and the anxiety of being rejected, again, kept me from saying a word. Self-repression was a bitch. Now, I wasn’t so sure what I wanted.

Not to mention Pope.

Though my chance with him was long gone by now.

“I give a shit,” I answered, keeping my tone low. “I always have.”

“And you are miserable.” Pavel eyed me. “Think it over. You know what you want, Thierry. The question is, what will it take for you to understand what you have before you lose it all?”

I exhaled as Alexander blew the whistle. “I’ll think about it.”

“You think too hard. Go with your heart.” He patted his chest. “You’ll see.”

I smirked. “Rosemary has you wrapped around her little finger.” Changing the conversation gave me a moment to breathe and smooth out the rough edges and collect my erratic thoughts.

Guilt ate away at me. Would it ever be as easy as Pavel thought it could be?

I had to admit, before I ran away, Pope tried to understand what I was going through.

The conversation on his balcony area replayed in my mind several times over the last few days.

The genuine curiosity in his voice and the way he asked questions should have been enough to show Pope was looking for a lifeline.

So, what exactly caused me to not want to give over to him?

Why couldn’t I step out of that protective barrier I’d placed around me and give him, my best friend in the universe, a chance?

Pain.

It already hurt beyond explanation when he abandoned me, well-meaning or not.

Putting myself out there with him had the potential for him to discard me once more.

I couldn’t take the heartbreak of his rebuff again.

I wasn’t strong enough to go through the torment of knowing I’d finally put myself out there and he said no.

Did that mean I was taking his choice away?

In some respects, yes.

It was better this way. For both of us.

After eating our pre-game meal together, the guys went to the locker room to dress out for our last home game while I went to find Coach so we could plan our strategy.

Starting tomorrow, we’d be on the road for the next four weeks, preparing for the playoffs.

We sat within striking distance of the number one spot, which meant turning the intensity up a notch.

I glanced at the small staple scars across the front of my kneecap and the two others from where Doc Jay placed the scope on either side of the joint while I sat across from Alexander.

Hard work and determination had brought me to this point.

Staring at the healed puffy redness, mostly from overuse, worried me.

So did the low-grade fever that began yesterday morning when I woke up.

Yes, the joint always acted like a temperamental two-year-old having a meltdown, but I expected it.

In the past two weeks, we’d played eight games, and I was standing more than I ever had in a full game.

Three twenty-minute periods. That didn’t account for timeouts, intermission or pre-and-post-game meetings and interviews.

Then there was this incessant itch. Right under the skin.

I’d tried to ignore it for the last week.

I figured it was the hazard of having an artificial knee.

Or the nerve endings knitting back together.

Which, wasn’t that a good thing?

Either way, once we got through this final push, I’d have to tell Alexander and the doctor for the team.

Not something I looked forward to. But even as an assistant coach I had a duty to the team and the organization.

When I signed my contract with the Mountaineers I agreed if there was any change in my knee or the scar, I’d report it immediately or else face severe penalties that included the possibility of losing my position on the team.

The biggest ticking time bomb in the agreement.

This job was supposed to catapult me into bigger and better things within the NHL. I wouldn’t screw up my chances.

For now, I ignored the inevitable. I felt good on my leg; I wasn’t going to jeopardize my ability to coach from the bench because of a little swelling or some fatigue induced fever.

Tomorrow before the start of the last road trip game of our season, I’d tell Dr. Matthew.

He’d probably want me to ice my knee more and keep it up.

Remind me of all the things I could do when we weren’t playing for a playoff spot and remind me acetaminophen and ibuprofen worked best if I alternated them every four hours.

The usual.

At a quarter to seven, the team headed down the tunnel for the final warmups before the beginning of the game.

A part of me hoped to see Pope in the stands.

The other part of me wondered if perhaps it was better we got to experience a single moment in time, instead of always wondering, what if?

Personally, I’d rather part on a good memory than a moment in anger.

“How’s the knee?” Alexander asked, stopping me before I took my spot behind the bench.

“Strong,” I said, without even batting an eye. “Better than I’ve felt in a long time.” The longer he stared at me the worse I felt for lying to him.

“Good to hear. I saw you itching the scar earlier, I thought I should check in with you. The last few regular weeks of the schedule can be stressful.”

“Scars always itch for some reason,” I said with a little laugh. “Nerves knitting together. New skin tugging on old. Plus, the joint isn’t mine.”

Alexander laughed. “True enough. Still, we need you out here with us. If anything changes, I need you to tell Doc Matthews. No need for you to be in pain if we can help it.”

“You’re right. I promise if I need anything, I will go to him.” I glanced out at the ice and a pang of longing hit me in the chest.”

“I know this isn’t where you want to be, son,” he said.

“I wish you came to us as a player too. But you’re an invaluable coach, now.

You’ve seen things I hadn’t, and your knowledge of the game is far vaster than the average player.

What you’ve got is natural. I want you by my side for the long haul. Understand?”

“I do,” I answered, guilt eating away at me.

He patted me on the back. “Great. Let’s have a good game tonight and start this trip off right.”

AKA no pressure.