Chapter 36 - Hunter

I 'm a piece of shit human.

Even though I didn't supply the drugs, I may as well have. I shouldn't have taunted him to take them—should've never encouraged it. I should've known he wouldn't be strong enough to fight the urges. But I wasn't thinking clearly. My judgment was clouded—that much is obvious to me. I just wanted him out of the house, and I feel horrible about how I went about it. I can't watch him hurt like this anymore. It hurts me to see him broken down. I'm not physically capable of taking this much pain. Yet I'm also incapable of making him mine, because that hurts just as much.

Fuck. Me.

I left Ollie at home, dry-heaving and miserable. He asked me to lock him in because he couldn't trust himself, and I did it because I couldn't trust him either. I propped a chair against the doorknob so he couldn't turn it. But fuck, if that doesn't also make me feel like a piece of shit. I don't want not to trust him, I know how weak he is. I've been on the receiving end of that weakness—it's already ruined my life. But this time, it was all my fault.

Deep pain darts up my arm as I'm checked into the boards—hard—effectively breaking me out of my thoughts. I watch as the opposite team ices the puck, slapping it toward the other end of the rink. I roll my eyes and go face off.

It's a challenging game, with us being tied two-two at the end of the third period. But we're relentless in our pursuit of the win, and when we don't score during three on three in overtime, we move on to a shootout. I'm surprised when they chose me for it. I don't argue. Coach is clearly putting his faith in me. And after everything I've done, I don't want to let him down.

It's my turn after two others score. Standing at the blue line, I stick handle as if I'm alone, shooting the shit on my own. Then I skate toward the goalie, fake left, then right, and get it through in a high-slot goal. The crowd erupts, and suddenly, my teammates are on the ice, hugging me and tapping my helmet for scoring.

There's only one problem.

The person I wish could be here to witness this moment is locked up in a bathroom instead, throwing up his guts and hating me for it. I don't blame him, at all. I wish I didn't want him here in the first place.

We walk through the tunnel and return to the locker room, where everyone begins taking off their skates and layers. The coach comes in and gives us his usual speech about how we kicked ass—then congratulates everyone who did the shootout. People go back to their business, no longer paying attention to us, as the coach comes to sit next to me on the bench in front of my locker.

"You did good today, son," he says. "I was beginning to lose faith in you there for a moment."

I scoff and look at his face—his strong nose and jaw and narrowed brown eyes. "Why? Because I got into a fight?"

"You've been different this semester," he says in a soft voice—too soft—and it makes me want to beat his ass. "I know how hard your mom's passing has been on you?—"

"You don't know shit," I growl.

"—But you're part of a team, and I need you to act like it." I nod, and as exhaustion hits me, I realize there's no point in acting like a child anymore. "The scouts are gonna be here next game. Try to keep it together."

I hate that I'm in this spot because of Oliver, where even my coach doesn't trust me anymore because he thinks I will flip my lid about everything. All people see when they look at me is the aftermath of my mom's death.

"Yes, Coach," I grumble.

An hour later, I end up outside the dingy shit hole that Oliver's dealer calls his house. He lives in the worst part of town, and I know he has money to live better. The fucker just chooses not to. Maybe it's because he lives off other people's weaknesses. He can reach the desperate ones faster residing in a place like this.

Knocking on the door, I put a little more force behind my fist than necessary, but I do it on purpose. I'm here because I need to make sure this asshole keeps to himself and stays well the fuck away from Oliver. I don't even want to think about what he said earlier in the bathroom. How he's weak. No way in hell am I letting him put that shit in his body again. I'm ashamed of myself for goading him in the first place. Now, I just have to make sure he has no access to it.

Ollie's old dealer comes into view as he opens the door, and he looks me up and down with a grin on his face. "Looking to score?" He chuckles, and I grin because, damn it, I'm going to enjoy this. "What's your poison?"

I reach out and grab him by his neck, then punch him right on the nose. Blood trickles down his face, dark and thick, and I smile at him. "Here's how it's going to go," he reaches for his blood and rubs it between his fingers like he can't believe it's real. Well, he had better believe it, or I'm going to make him bleed even more if he doesn't do what I say. "You're not going to sell jack shit to Oliver Scott ever again." He rears back, "And you're going to tell every single dealer you've ever known in your pathetic life, that he's off limits."

"And why would I do that?" He has the nerve to chuckle, even though his face is bloody. "He used to bring me a lot of money."

"Yeah, I bet he did." I huff. "But if I find out you're selling to him, I'll tell the cops exactly what's happening in that little lab of yours. Or maybe I'll blow up your house with you in it." I shrug nonchalantly, and he widens his eyes.

"Fine." He raises his hands in defeat. "You win."

I grin. "I always do."

And with that I leave him behind, getting in my car and driving back to the apartment. To let Ollie out of the bathroom…and finally face him. I know we need to talk, and I need to get my head out of my ass and apologize—profusely. What I did wasn't right, regardless of how I feel about him or how badly I want him to move out. I crossed a line that I can never un-cross. And it fucking guts me, knowing that I hurt him like this.

It's deadly quiet in the apartment when I arrive, and as I get closer to the bathroom, my hands begin to shake. Was one bottle of electrolytes enough? Is he okay in there? It's so damn quiet I'm afraid to check on him in the first place.

The chair is still jammed under the doorknob; I bet he didn't even try to get out. I remove the chair silently, then open the door, gasping at the sight of Oliver lying on the ground in the fetal position, shaking and covered in sweat. I drop to my knees next to him and grimace—he smells like puke—but I don't let it deter me. Instead, I get up and get the shower ready, making sure we get lukewarm water. He seems to be breaking a fever, and I don't want to shock his system.

"Ollie," I say softly, picking him up from the ground. He comes up with effort and sways on his feet. Fuck, he's not going to make this easy, is he? "Let's get you cleaned up."

"No." He shakes his head, "I'm tired…let me go back to sleep."

"After," I reassure him. "I promise."

"Don't make me any promises, Hunt." He whispers so low I almost miss it, straining my ears over the sound of the water beating down on the shower floor. "You never keep them."

I quickly take off his pants and put him in the shower, and he braces himself by placing both hands against the wall. I don't even think about what I'm doing—I just take off my clothes and jump in with him. It's not like he can do it on his own. His toothbrush and toothpaste are on the little shelf, and I hand them to him.

Oliver's body shakes repeatedly as he shivers, his teeth chattering when he goes under the spray of water. I know he's probably cold, I know I am, so I hurry up and squirt some shower gel onto my hands and begin to lather him up. The soap bubbles up quickly, and I slowly wash his whole body, starting with his neck and ending with his feet. I give him care and effort, more than I ever have, and I just hope he feels it. I know he's fucked up because he lets me, doesn't even fight me on it. If he was his normal self, this wouldn't be happening.

After washing him, I place him to the side of me but still let him be partly under the spray so he's not too cold. He watches me intently, bloodshot eyes narrowing on me as I soap my body. A soft smile curves his lips when I make it to my dick, and I let my eyes fall closed before I do something stupid. He makes me that way. It's getting harder and harder to tell him no, and I don't know if it's because that's my usual response to him or if it's out of guilt now. But it doesn't matter. I need to be stronger. I can't give in to him, not fully.

After I get us out of the shower and dry us off, I put him in a pair of my sweats and one of my extra-large shirts. I know he usually sleeps shirtless, but I don't want him to get too cold since he has a fever. There is also a sick and twisted part of me that wants him in my clothes.

I take him to bed, and we both lie down on our sides, looking at each other. I study his face—the perfectly straight slope of his nose, the deep cupid's bow that drives me insane, and lastly, his eyes. They're not as cloudy as yesterday, but they're not clear like they've been for the last four months.

My hand cups his face before I can stop myself, and he takes in a sharp breath. I trail my fingers over his forehead, his nose, his lips. His skin is so damn soft under my fingertips, and I smile, knowing he takes good care of it. I've seen him putting all kinds of lotion on it, always wanting to look his best. Doesn't he know he's already perfect? He's the prettiest person I've ever seen.

"Ollie," I whisper, leaning in until our foreheads touch and our noses brush against each other. He searches my eyes, and I try to apologize with mine. It doesn't matter, I know I need to say it, out loud. Otherwise, I'll feel guilty for the rest of my miserable life. "I'm sorry I did this to you. I'm so fucking sorry."

He closes his eyes. "Just stop."

"No." I grab his ass and scoot him even closer toward me, then tangle my legs with his. That has him opening his eyes quickly, and they widen. "I'm not leaving until you forgive me."

Ollie tries to pull away, but I'm stronger, and I force him onto his back, then spread his legs with my knees. He seems to relax under me however, spreading wider to accommodate me. He's fucking made for me—every part of him is made to fit me.

"I forgive you," he says, a smirk on his face. I tense, knowing I'm not going to like what his bratty self is about to say. "Now get out."

I take a deep breath, trying not to scream at him to just let me in. For five minutes, just let me fucking care for you. "I mean it." I get closer to him and kiss his temple, letting my lips linger. Then I rest my forehead against his cheek and breathe in his vanilla cupcake scent. "I'm staying here as long as it takes."

"Then you're gonna be staying a long time."

I lean back and try to look into his eyes, but they're averted, looking to the side. I slowly turn his face toward me, pinching his chin, and he sighs. "Look at me, Ollie." I smile. "God, those pretty eyes make me so fucking stupid."

Oliver's breath hitches. "All of you makes me stupid," he whispers, and I lean in, brushing my lips against his again. "Kiss me or get out."

I give his lips a long lick and groan, my dick hardening immediately when he rubs himself against it. "Kiss, it is."

And then I take his bottom lip into my mouth and suck, dragging my teeth over it as I let go. My tongue thrusts into his mouth languidly, like we have all the time in the world. And maybe we do. But I know it's going to suck when I wake up in the morning, and I can't do it again.

After some time, we're both breathing hard and turned on as fuck, but as much as it pains me, I roll over onto my side and get off him. He looks disappointed but doesn't say anything. Instead, he rolls the opposite way, giving me his back. I know exactly what he wants from me, and this time, just for tonight, I'm going to give it to him.

"I got you, Ollie," I whisper. "I'm right here. I will always be right here."

He doesn't reply.

Even though I do mean it. I'm right fucking here. For as long as he needs me.

Even though I shouldn't be, I should logically walk away right now. Only I can't bring myself to. Because no matter what I say, there's something that's always pushed us together. We're like magnets, always gravitating back to each other. And right now, I don't want to fight the pull. I want to give in to it. I want to let the ocean that is Ollie take me under, deeper, until I can't fight against the current anymore. I want no choices anymore. I want to just let this thing between us happen and evolve.

And I've never been more confused.

I reach under his shirt and trail my fingers over his back, lulling him to sleep. And when I'm satisfied he's finally resting, I plaster my front to his back and bury my face in the crook of his neck, letting his breaths be my sweet lullaby. My arm goes around his waist, pulling him closer to me, not wanting even an inch of space between us. Seeing as I don't know when the next time I'll be able to have him will be—if ever.

And I want to memorize everything about this moment.