10. Chapter 8

The second the door clicks shut, I rush into the bathroom and vomit. But that only makes the pain worse. Each heave sends bolts of agony lancing through my torso, stealing my breath and blurring my vision.

I clutch the porcelain, my knuckles white and my forehead pressed against the cool plastic, trying to will the pain away through sheer force of stubborn determination.

But it"s no use.

The throbbing ache in my ribs is a constant, pulsing reminder of the hit I took this morning, the one I"ve been trying so hard to ignore. My ribs crackle with each shuddering inhale, a sickening counterpoint to the pounding of my heart.

I can"t hold back the tears that slide down my cheeks, hot and shameful. I"m Jackson fucking Reed. I don"t cry. But here I am, sobbing like a child because it hurts, it hurts so fucking much and I don"t know how to make it stop.

My ribs have got to be broken. Can't deny it anymore. There's no way this amount of pain is just from them being bruised. But we still have games to play and like fuck am I going to sit on the bench.

Didn"t count on Killian coming by either. Definitely didn't count on how good it would feel to have him inside me, stretching me, claiming me, only to have that euphoria shattered by a blinding burst of agony when his arm tightened around my chest.

Every inch of my body throbs in time with my racing pulse. And beneath that, a new ache is making itself known. A deep, insistent throbbing from where Killian pounded into me.

Jesus Christ, my ass hurts.

Okay, that one's my fault.

And Killian's.

The motherfucker railed into me like a beast, and I loved every minute of it until his stupid arm squeezed the ever-loving shit out my ribs.

Ruined my damn orgasm. All the pleasure I felt vanished into blinding pain. Think I may have passed out for a second, which is why the moment he finished, I kicked his ass out.

What eats at me more than this pain . . . the hurt look on his face. Same one I probably had the night he kicked me out.

The hotel door clicks and I try to get up, but I'm too slow. Alexei and Eli come rushing over a second later and help me to the bed, their touches careful, almost reverent. Like I"m something fragile, something breakable. It makes me want to scream, to lash out, to prove that I"m still the same old Jackson, indestructible and untouchable.

Alexei stands to his full height. "I take it your dumbass lied to the trainer."

It"s not a question. He knows me too well, knows my stubborn pride and reckless disregard for my own well-being.

I try to shrug, but even that small movement sends daggers of pain radiating out from my ribs. "Don"t want some stupid doctor benching me for the rest of the season."

Alexei shakes his head. "Buckland was muttering some nonsense. Swear the fuckhead even smirked seeing you go down."

My jaw clenches. Not sure what's up our assistant coach's ass, but he'd made a comment to me about playing like garbage.

Granted, none of us were really giving it our all against Cornell. Didn't really need to. We were reserving our energy.

And after the hit, when I needed a little extra help getting on the bench, the asshole was rougher than he needed to be, as if he wanted to cause me more pain.

Eli hovers at the foot of the bed, his big eyes filled with worry like some freaked out momma bird.

"Stop staring at me like that. I'll be fine." I fold the blankets over my lap. No doubt I look like shit, but I'm also naked.

"How bad is it?"

I scrub a hand over my face, wincing—even that small movement jostles my battered torso. "Pretty sure they"re broken. But if I tell Coach, I"m out. So keep your mouth shut, yeah? I can handle it. Just need something to take the edge off."

Eli searches my face, gnawing on his bottom lip, a sure sign he"s got something to say.

"Spit it out. You"re thinking so loud I can practically hear the gears turning."

Alexei growls and grabs him by the hair, yanking his head back. "Keep your mouth shut."

I look between them and hate that they seem to be speaking to each other without actually talking. "Keep his mouth shut about what?"

Alexei must tighten his grip because Eli whimpers, though I'm not sure if it's from pain or being turned on. Feisty Mouse—fuck Viktor because now we all call him that—likes when my friend is rough with him.

"Nothing," Alexei says as he wraps his arms around his boyfriend.

"Bullshit." I look back at Eli, who's staring at the floor. "I take back liking you enough to not want to kill you."

Of course Alexei snarls, glaring murderously at me.

"I'll kill you too. Bury both of you in the same grave if you want. Now spill it."

"We've been back for at least twenty minutes," Eli blurts out.

"Okay?"

"Shut it, Solnyshko."

But Eli just ignores him. "We heard you having sex, then saw you push Killian out of the room. You know he fell, right?"

Oh.

Fuck.

Alexei"s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare. "You thought getting railed was a good idea in your condition? Knew you were reckless but didn"t realize you were actively suicidal."

"Who said—"

"The way you sat down and shifted, more than just your ribs hurt." Alexei waggles his stupid brows and I want to punch his stupid face, but he continues. "Figured you'd be the one fucking him."

Me too.

Eli pulls away from his boyfriend, then walks over to Alexei's bag. As he rifles through it, I stare at my roommate, waiting for him to judge me.

"Is it really the ribs or did Blackwell do something he shouldn't have?"

Well, that's not what I was expecting. I shake my head. "Everything was consensual."

Eli comes back and hands me a bottle. I take it and stare at him. "Apricot oil? I know I"m not exactly an expert here, but how's this supposed to help my ribs?"

Alexei lets out a bark of laughter, the sound startling in the tense quiet of the room. "Is not for injuries, idiot. It's for after."

I stare at him blankly.

Eli huffs out an exasperated breath, his cheeks pinking. "It"s for your butthole . . . for when you bottom. Helps with the, uh, soreness and stuff."

Why can't the world swallow me whole when I actually want it to? Seriously, can I just die?

And butthole?

But I know fuck all about anal sex, so if this shit helps I'm not turning it down. If only this conversation wasn't happening with me sitting here naked. "Can someone hand me my clothes?"

Alexei grabs my sweats from the floor then kneels and helps get my feet into them.

Motherfucking fuck.

Did Killian fuck me into an alternate reality because these two idiots have turned into Mom and Dad?

Un-fucking-believable.

I grew up in a caring household. I was never abused. Sure, I'm a pure-blooded asshole. Entitled even. My parents are fighters, literally. They met taking kickboxing class.

Actually, they met at Crestwood. Think Mom beat the shit out of Dad for something.

But I never had friends care for me the way these two are. Or maybe I just never let anyone.

It"s . . . weirdly touching, making my chest tight and this time, it's from more than physical pain.

Eli helps me with the sweatshirt, then smirks. "Guess what they say is true, there's a thin line between love and hate."

"Fuck off, Feisty Mouse. I don't love Killian."

The second the words leave my mouth, something flutters in my stomach and my palms start to sweat. Like Killian said, we're past hate.

But it's not love.

He's just mine or some shit.

"So, why him?"

I roll my eyes. "Because bad decisions make the best stories."

Eli giggles. "Love stories."

That's it. Need to get out of here because if I stay, they'll poke more. And now, different kinds of feelings are bubbling up, ones I'm not ready for.

Not when Alexei flops down beside his boyfriend and wraps his arms around him. I don't need to hold someone the way Alexei holds Eli nor want to be held like that.

Or so I keep telling myself.

But seeing them together, seeing the way they fit like two puzzle pieces sliding into place . . . it makes me wonder, makes me question all the things I thought I knew about myself, about what I need and want and deserve.

It"s terrifying. And exhilarating.

But it's a problem for another day.

"Going for a walk." I stand, then slip on my sneakers. "Need to find some Motrin and food."

And it's not a lie. But not entirely the truth.

Between the pain and all the unchecked emotions, I'm suffocating. So, before they can offer to help or stop me, I leave, hoping getting some fresh air will calm the chaos.