24. MILES

TWENTY-FOUR

MILES

I wave after Bilson’s car as he leaves my place, taking Killer with him.

“You know,” Mom says, leaning closer, “I caught your dad looking up Chinese crested last night.”

“Don’t tell me he wants to buy one.”

“No.” Her voice is resigned. “To make sure he was brushing the ears right.”

“Is there a way you can brush them wrong?”

“Beats me. How was your trip?”

“It hurts you didn’t watch me on TV and know that it was shit.”

“I saw, but I mean outside of hockey.”

That’s the last thing I want to be talking about, especially with her. As much as I want to fight it, there’s a rift building between us that she doesn’t even know exists.

Because I can’t ignore those feelings trying to get my attention anymore. The way I ached to kiss Bilson was the strongest emotion I’ve ever had.

I turn away from her. “I don’t exactly get a lot of downtime, Mom.” And that’s all she’ll get from me.

I head back toward my place, needing silence and hating it at the same time. It should have been easy to bullshit Mom about how great the team is and blah, blah, blah, but all I can think about is Bilson. I haven’t been able to stop since I left his room last night, only this time, I went wishing I could stay.

I’m no idiot—well, I am an idiot, a playful, ridiculous, goofy one—but I’m not stupid. This thing has been building in me for a while, and maybe if I’d acknowledged the hold he had on me from the start, I could have stopped things from progressing.

Is it possible there was a small part of me that didn’t want to?

This obsessive need to always be around him sucks, but I like how close we are. I like the butterflies that took over when we kissed. That kiss. His hard, scratchy mouth and strong tongue. The way he gained control again as soon as I braved up and told him what I wanted.

We’re a complete match in the bedroom. I crave sex with him like I’ve never craved anything. If only that’s all it was.

Three days off. Three days that I should be using to get my thoughts straightened out, but I already miss the fucker. My plan to give us both a bit of breathing room isn’t going to be easy.

I need someone to talk to about it. To get some outside perspective. My parents are solidly out, and my siblings aren’t much better. There’s no way I’m talking to my team, and I clearly can’t go to Bilson about all of this. My frat buddies group chat would be a good option, but this feels personal, and a chat with that many people in it is as impersonal as it gets.

There is one brother I can call though. He knows what it’s like to fall for one of his closest friends. For his teammate. His frat brother. And Robbie’s a listener. That’s not to say he hasn’t got a big mouth because he does, but he’s good at reading people, and whenever we talk, I know he cares.

I unlock my place and stumble inside, falling face down on my bed with a groan. The problem with talking is that I need to get the words out.

I’m still not so sure I can. Or that I even know what I want.

Instead of channeling whatever this anxious mess is, I put all my energy into trying to be as confident as Robdog. I mean, damn, as soon as the guy got curious, he went around the house asking if he could touch our dicks.

Good on him for asking first, but he really doesn’t care what people think about him.

Besides, worst case, I can just call and catch up. We don’t need to have the most terrifying conversation of my life.

The phone connects, and I’m scared he won’t pick up, but only a few seconds later, a deep “Miles fucking Olsen, our newest Sigma superstar” comes down the line.

I switch the phone to speaker before dropping it on the bed. “Hey, Robdoggie.”

“What are you up to? How’s the NHL treating you, brother?”

We spend a few minutes talking hockey and my season, which helps to settle the nerves in my gut.

“We catch every game,” Robbie says. “Brando and I have your schedule printed out and stuck on the fridge. He tried to do a shared calendar in our phones, but fuck, they’re annoying. We’re so proud of you. The NHL, dude, it’s your dream. That and doing it from Nashville.”

The bittersweet memory of being in the house, of talking to my brothers about being homesick, right on the verge of dropping out and moving back to Nashville … but they wouldn’t let me. They kept boosting me up and supporting me through it.

“What was it like when you hooked up with Brandon?” I ask so fast I don’t have time to rethink.

I’ve clearly caught him off guard. “Horrible.”

That’s not the answer I’m expecting. “What?”

“Yeah. I proposed last night and everything. The asshole had the audacity to say yes.”

“Holy shit.” Happiness explodes in my chest for them. “Congratulations. How isn’t this all through the group chat?”

“Dooms and Zeke are coming up for Brosgiving. We want to tell them in person, so keep it to yourself.”

“Of course, man, I’m so happy for you.”

Then he says the last thing I’m expecting. “And when you and this teammate you’re fucking get engaged, I’ll be happy for you too.”

“I never said I want to marry the guy.”

He chuckles, and I realize my mistake. “But there is a teammate?”

“Ah … I mean. I—I don’t …”

“I love you, Miles.” The sincerity in his tone helps me breathe again. “You don’t have to talk about anything, and if this guy is closeted, I definitely don’t want his name. How are you feeling about it all?”

I huff. “We’re doing bromotions?”

“Nah, this is real talk. Just because I embraced dick like it was my day job doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone. Want to talk about it?”

“I think that’s why I called.”

“You mean you didn’t want to talk about how awesome my life is? That doesn’t sound right.”

The good thing about Robbie is he can always make the worrying not sound so bad. “We can come back to that.”

“So how long have you known you were queer? Or is this a first time for you?”

“It’s a first, and I … I’m struggling with the whole label thing.”

“Why?”

The answer to that is one of the things I’m struggling with. “I’m not really sure. The things I’m doing are very, very not straight, and I love it, but letting go of that label is hard. And I have no clue why because it’s just a word.”

“We all grow up differently. Being straight was something you connected with. Being bi is something Brando and I bonded over. Have you talked to this guy about it?”

“Nope. We got into this with very clear rules that there would be no feelings involved. We’re super close; I can talk to him about anything … except this.”

“Worried about where it will leave you both?”

“Yep.”

Robbie hums. “It’s hard without the full details, but is it possible he could be going through the same thing?”

The memory of our kiss burns in my mind. “It’s possible. But I’m chickenshit because I don’t know what I want to get out of it. If he doesn’t feel the same, all this ends, and that’d kill me. If he does, that might be worse because I’m not in a position to offer him anything.”

“Bro, there are so many different types of relationships. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Maybe all he wants is to keep going the way you’re going. Maybe he’s feeling the same as you and wants to keep it on the down-low. Maybe he likes you enough to be a secret, and maybe he doesn’t.”

I don’t have an answer for that.

Robbie keeps talking. “I’m just saying the poor guy deserves to know if the deal has changed. He consented to no-strings fucking from what it sounds like, so if that’s changed, you have to say something.”

I hate that someone who once tried to drunkenly swan dive off our staircase is making this much sense.

“One question, and I want you to answer quickly. Take out all the other nonsense. When you think about him, and sex, and being together, how does it make you feel?”

And I’m glad he said to answer quickly, before all the other stuff could hit my mind, because I settle into the emotion that immediately hits. “Good. He makes me feel happy.”

“And that’s probably the most you that you’ve sounded all call.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

“If he was a woman, this would be so much simpler.”

Robbie laughs. “Yeah, but he wouldn’t be the person you’re falling for, dumbass. Do you want him to be a woman?”

It’s terrifying how easily and truthfully I can answer that. “No. I actually really don’t.”

“Cool.” A comfortable silence falls. “It would have been so much easier to go through all this in a house of queer dudes. Trust you to be a late bloomer. You’re telling me that none of us did it for you? Not even Rooster?”

“Rooster?” He couldn’t have picked a worse example. “He’s way too sweet.”

“Ah, Miles likes a bit of an asshole, huh? A bad boy? Brando has a bad-boy kink too, obviously—that’s why he’s with me.”

Brandon shouts something in the background that I miss.

But I can guess. Robbie is the furthest thing from a bad boy. More like a golden retriever who’s always knocking into things at full speed and leaving a trail of destruction behind him.

“No bad boys for me either,” I say. “Clearly, the only reason I wasn’t interested in you.”

“It’s okay. We all have our faults. You gonna be good now?”

“I think so. Still have no clue how I’ll handle this conversation, but you’re right. We can’t hook up again until it happens. I don’t want him to think I’ve betrayed him or whatever.”

“Unless he’s an unreasonable dickweed, there’s no way he’ll think that.”

Bilson is definitely not a dickweed, so that gives me some hope. Even if he’s not interested in me as anything more than a hole to stick it in, I don’t see him being an asshole about this.

Somehow, that only makes it worse.

“How do I do this?” I ask myself more than Robbie.

“Easy,” Robbie says. “You face it head-on like a Sigma. And know you have all your brothers behind you.”