Chapter 19 - Hunter

18 YEARS OLD

I duck under the bleachers to find Ollie sitting on the dirt. He takes one look at me, and a smile blooms on his face. It's so beautiful it's nearly blinding, and I immediately return it. He doesn't seem to notice how my heart speeds up every time we're together or the way my hands tremble when I touch him. I've never felt this way about anyone, like my feelings are too much for my body and I can't contain them.

Looking around, I make sure there's no one before taking a seat next to him on the ground. My faded blue jeans will be filthy after this, but I don't care. All I want is to spend this time with him before lunch is over and I have to go back to class. We're not supposed to be out here, which makes it even hotter. We're here for a quick make-out session, and then we'll head to class when the bell rings.

"How's your day?—"

I cut him off by slamming my lips to his, and he moans as I thrust my tongue into his mouth. Ollie's hands come to the back of my neck as he holds me to him, climbing onto my lap and grinding against me. I squeeze my eyes shut until there are white spots in my vision, trying to ground myself. My hands lie limp at my sides until I can't hold back anymore, and I cup his ass—squeezing hard until he groans.

There's this feeling in my chest that inflates like a balloon. It's hot and tight, and I can hardly breathe past the lump in my throat. Every kiss with him is this way—full of unnamed emotions. It always makes me feel like I'm going to implode, and I haven't figured out if it's a good or bad thing yet. But I can't control it, that's all I know. And maybe I don't want to. It's probably not healthy to feel like you're going to have a heart attack every time you kiss someone, but the alternative—not feeling anything at all—quiets all the lingering doubts in my brain.

Ollie grinds against me again, his ass against my dick, and I moan. My fingers tighten against him, and he grins against my lips. It's the little moments like these that I wish I could store in a glass jar and never let them go. Just for me to keep—mementos of us.

I have so many of them. Whispered promises under the covers. Stolen kisses under the moonlight. Soft touches. Nose brushes. Butterfly kisses. And most importantly, love. So much of it that I'm dizzy just thinking about it. And I don't think I tell him enough. I think he believes it's just brotherly love. But it's not. Fuck, I think I'm in love with him, and I don't know how to feel about that. It makes me hot and cold all over just thinking about it.

Does this mean I'm not straight anymore?

Shoving that thought to the side, I pull away from Ollie and press my forehead against his. "Ollie." I breathe. "I love you."

"I know."

"No." I shake my head. "I love you."

Ollie's blue eyes search mine, and he slowly smiles and then kisses me again. This time it's soft and tentative, unsure. And I hate it, because that means?—

Someone clears their throat from behind us and I panic, shoving Ollie off me until he's on his back. A loud whooshing sound escapes him as his back meets the rocky dirt, and I feel like a fucking asshole, but goddamn it?—

"What the fuck, Oliver?!" I yell.

He seems hurt, almost like I kicked him, except I beg with my eyes to go along with it. He shakes his head slowly at me in disappointment.

"I didn't know you were gay, Hunter," Michael, one of my teammates, says. Of course, it would be someone I know.

"I'm not." I shake my head once, a jerky movement. "He is."

I beg Ollie again with my expression, but he shakes his head and stands up. I'm really fucking this all up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .

He leans down and whispers in my ear, "Are you ever gonna tell anyone about us and how we really feel?"

My stomach drops, and I shake my head quickly, hoping Michael didn't hear him. "We're not going to do anything."

Ollie pulls away and firmly nods, then gets up once more. When he pushes past me, I let him, not stopping him because Michael is in the way. He glances between us like he knows exactly what's going on. My hands shake as a cold sweat takes over, even though it's nearly ninety degrees outside.

Getting up from the ground, I dust off my jeans and face Michael. He raises one eyebrow at me and I shake my head and scoff. "I'm not fucking gay. So save it."

"Looked pretty gay to me."

I'm a piece of fucking shit. I hate myself. How could I do this to Ollie? "He came onto me?—"

"It's okay," Michael interrupts with a smile. "Your secret is safe with me, Hartman."

"Fuck off," I growl. "I'm not keeping any fucking secrets. Go ahead and tell everyone. See who they believe."

There's a moment of hesitation, barely there, but I see it. And I know I've got him. No one will believe him. I feel horrible for throwing Ollie under the bus like that, but I have an image to uphold. I still don't know any hockey players that are out of the closet, and thinking about coming out—it makes me nauseous. The way my teammates would react. The judgment I would face. So no—I'm straight.

I have to be.

No choice.