34. EASTON

THIRTY-FOUR

EASTON

We played hard out there but still only scraped by with the win, thanks to my angry goal. My face hurts, but it's nothing compared to being on the same ice as Knox, something we've both thought about for a long time, and I couldn't even enjoy it. Instead of going home and fucking each other's brains out, I'm at a bar with the rest of the team, celebrating. Hey, a W is a W.

But I don't feel celebratey, let alone any semblance of happy.

I've parted from the long table where the rest of the team is, and I'm drinking alone at the bar when a large hand lands on my shoulder.

At first, I think it's Connor checking up on me, but it's not. It's Munter. "Are you upset that your pretty face is broken or because you didn't score more than one goal tonight?"

I huff a laugh as he pulls out the stool beside me and sits. "Even with my face all fucked-up, I'm still prettier than you. You look like the love child of Brad Marchand and Zach Hyman." Even though I've insulted him, he's still smiling.

"Maybe I should've taken a stick to the nose, then."

"I could help with that." I sip some more beer, wishing it was something stronger, but we're back in the practice facility tomorrow, watching game tape from tonight and skating to keep warm for the following day's game. If any of us turn up hungover, we'll be pushed until we puke. Though, to be fair, being hungover, it wouldn't take us long to get to that point.

"What's your actual deal?" Munter asks.

I turn my head toward him. "Why do you care?"

His brow furrows like he's actually hurt by my words, but it's not like Munter and I are close. Connor was here first. They're all his friends. It was the same in high school. Because Connor and I are closer in age than Lachie and us, I have always kind of been in Connor's shadow. And after realizing what he did to Parker in high school, I'm beginning to realize why I don't feel like I have any friends. Other than the Collective guys.

I wish we were playing one of them tonight so I could ask their advice.

"You're Connor's little bro," Munter says. "We all kind of see you like that."

And this is why I wanted a trade. It's like I can't get away from being that image. Lachie is lucky he got drafted to St. Louis.

"Maybe that's my problem."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Maybe you all see me like that because you're too scared of Connor to see me as anything other than helpless and weak."

"What are you talking about?"

I turn to him. "Isn't that what you're doing over here? Making sure poor little Kiki is okay or big bro will make your heads roll, but no one actually cares, do they? The only person who does care …" I realize I'm taking this out on the wrong person.

"Dude. Are you okay?" Munter asks. "I don't mean in the casual sense. I'm really asking here. "

"I'm fine." I pause. "You know, guy troubles."

"Ah, so that's the issue. I have no idea what it's like to be gay, but I am good at relationships. Well, relationship." He holds up his hand where his gold wedding band shines. "If you need advice?—"

"Isn't your wife like some big lawyer?" Maybe he understands a sliver of what I'm going through.

"She's a contract lawyer, yes."

"Long hours, I'm guessing. You don't see much of each other?"

"Ah. Yeah, we had real issues in the beginning, but it mainly revolved around trust. She didn't trust that I wasn't out with the team after wins, exactly like this—" He gestures around the bar. "—and wasn't interested in the puck bunnies that try to hang out with us, and then when I'd get home late and she'd still be in the office, I'd pretty much accuse her of the same thing. What lawyer works until one in the morning? The busy kind, apparently."

I stare down at my beer because that's not really the situation we're in. "This guy, it's new, and he travels a lot for work like we do, so even being in the same city at the same time is going to be a rarity. And instead of trying, he asked to take a break."

"New job or new relationship?"

"Both."

"It's Connor's BFF, isn't it? The ref from tonight."

"How did you?—"

"Vibes. I've seen all three of you around the practice facilities because he always seems attached to Connor at the hip, so I've watched as your guy has looked at you with longing. So now he's reffing, and that's the issue? I would've thought the issue would be Connor being all jealous."

"Connor was never jealous. Just protective. And we got past that. But it seemed that the minute we got together, the world conspired to pull us apart, so maybe it's not meant to be, and I need to let go of the man I've been in love with forever. I didn't have him then, so I'm used to it."

Munter shakes his head. "The heart doesn't work that way, and I don't believe in that ‘meant to be' crap. Relationships are fucking work, but when you find the person you love wholeheartedly, you'll do anything to keep them. My wife and I might have taken a while to come to an arrangement that works for us, but I know she's my person, so I fight to make it work."

I want to bang my head on the bar. "That's the issue here. He doesn't want to fight for us. I told him we could make it work, and he asked for a break instead."

"So you're giving up fighting, just like that?"

"I kind of have to." Don't I?

"Your issue is that you're both so busy that you'll hardly see each other, right? But he's here in Denver, and you're at a bar, ignoring your teammates and depression drinking, when you could be telling him how much you want to make things work."

Uggggh. He's right. I stand. "Who would've thought the love child of Marchand and Hyman would actually have brains in his weirdly shaped head? I would've thought all its energy would go toward holding up your big nose."

Again, instead of being offended, Munter laughs. "And you wonder why we all treat you like a little brother."

Ouch. But touché.

"Thanks for the talk, Munt. Seriously."

"Go get your man. Oh, and while you're at it, try to get him to ref more of our games."

My hope dashes. Because even though he's joking, this is one of the reasons why Knox wants the break. People will talk, fans will speculate, and Knox can't have any perceived biases when it comes to the games.

But I want him. I've never wanted anyone or anything more in my life .

I may say I've loved him forever, but that was a longing kind of fantasy love. The kind where you imagine your dream man standing in front of you and vowing to love you forever and doing anything for you. The kind of fantasy where there are no obstacles.

It's not reality.

The reality is like Munter says. It's work. Hard work.

And if I'm willing to give up that easily, that quickly, all because Knox is slightly unsure and needs space to figure it out, then I'm just as scared as he is.

"I was joking, by the way," Munter says. "He wouldn't even call that penalty when I landed ass over tit in Buckard's lap."

"Because it wasn't a penalty."

Munter sneers. "Sure, take your boyfriend's side."

"He's not my boyfriend." But he will be.

I text Connor on the way out of the bar to say I'm getting an Uber home, and luckily, there's a car around the corner waiting for a ride.

I have the whole drive home to think of what I'm going to say other than I want us to give it a shot because I don't think that's going to cut it. It needs to be romantic. Raw. It needs to show how truly in love with him I am to the point he's convinced we can do this.

Eh. I'll come up with something.

"I'm realistically in love with you," I blurt as soon as I see the back of his head from where he sits on my couch.

Out of all the things I could've said, that's not it. That's not going to make him fall to my feet and confess his undying feelings.

He stands and turns to me, his eyes crinkled in confusion. "You're what?"

I take a deep breath. Okay, here goes. "I want realistic love with you," I try again. It's not much better. "I know that blindly saying we can make things work without actually having anything in place isn't real life. To have that much blind trust in each other is like setting us up for failure. It's the whole Pretty Woman thing."

His confusion deepens. "Quick question. Who's the hooker in this situation?"

"Not that part. The part where he turns up at the end of the movie and professes his love to the street ho. He brings flowers, they kiss, and they live happily ever after. It's the same with Disney princesses. So much unrealistic media over what love is."

"Okay." He draws out the word, still confused, but I think he's finally getting it.

"Relationships are work. They're not flowers and true love's kiss and the fantasy of a happily ever after."

The crease in his forehead lessens. "Ah. So you want realistic love with me."

I snap my fingers. "Exactly. And it's going to be rough. It's going to fucking suck. But if we can sort out a schedule or come up with ways we can?—"

Knox steps aside, letting me see what's on the coffee table for the first time, and it's a sight of glory. Of absolute chaotic scheduling glory. "Funny you should say that because it's exactly what I've been working on."

I'm so relieved I could cry. Because this isn't a one-sided thing. This isn't me desperately trying to keep hold of him while he has one foot out the door.

This is us, choosing each other.

"I want to make it work with you," he whispers. "No matter what."

I physically can't hold myself back. Don't ask me how I get around the couch—I fly, for all I know—but the next second, I'm in his arms, and for maybe the first time since we kissed in Vegas, I don't feel like it's going to be temporary .

It's not a fleeting, weak moment.

It's a promise.

I hold on to him tight, my grip only getting firmer with each second that passes. His hands roam all over me, from my hair down to my ass.

His breath hits my neck as he murmurs something against my skin, but I can't hear it properly. I don't need to know what it was because I can gather from the rasp in his voice that whatever it was, it was desperate.

I'm just as desperate for him.

I turn my head and kiss my way up his neck, over his jaw, and then to his mouth. My lips hit the very corner first, barely a touch, but then he shifts so the next kiss is mouth on mouth.

Everything about kissing Knox lights me up inside. The tingles I get all the way to my toes, the constant dance and flip-flopping in my gut, it's all from him.

I start tugging at his clothes, untucking his shirt, trying to work open his buttons, but his hands come up between us and grab my wrists.

At first, I think we're going to play some kind of sex game where he binds me, but then he pulls back and breaks our lips apart. "Before we get too far, don't you want to see what plans I have for us?"

I shake my head. "I can see the work you've put in on the coffee table, and that's all I ever wanted from you. I wanted you to try. To fight for us. Because if we don't even have that?—"

"I'm going to try. I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure we're both happy, even if I'm terrified of failing and hurting you. Of being heartbroken myself. I'm scared of losing you, but if I don't try, then I will lose you."

"Definitely," I agree. Because he already did that by asking for us to step back.

Knox touches his forehead to mine. "I want to keep you. "

I close my eyes and ignore the sting in my sinuses. "I want to be kept."

"So, can we go over those plans now?"

My cock is hard—aching—and the last thing I want to do is step back and analyze exactly what making this work will look like. Mainly because I'm worried it will scare him off again. So no. I don't want to go over them. Not yet.

"I want to suck you off. Cock now, talk later." I want to have what was nearly taken away from me, what I thought I might never get again. I need it now so he can focus on how I can make him feel when we are together that it takes the sting out of when we're apart.

"Hmm, not if I get you off first." Knox sinks to his knees. He has my pants undone and around my thighs a second later, and then goes my underwear.

He stole my move, damn it. But as his mouth closes over my cock, I don't fight him on it. I want to; I just can't. Because god damn, his mouth is the best thing to have surrounding my dick. I want to close my eyes, throw my head back, and revel in the sensation, but a loud, wet slurp echoes around the still apartment, and I decide I can't take my eyes off him instead.

And watching while he bobs his head and takes all of me in his mouth is the fucking worst. Because it's the best sight I've ever seen, and it's almost too much for me to bear. When he moans around me, I can't take it anymore. I pull out of him so fast he blinks up at me as if to ask, "What did I do wrong ? "

"Take off all your clothes," I say while I'm already in the middle of getting rid of the rest of mine.

I'm desperate to come down his throat, but not yet. I need to be touching him, driving him as wild as he is making me.

Knox is shirtless, but he's still working on his pants, trying to take them off without getting up off his knees. So useless.

I push him over so he lands on his side and then yank his pants off. I might accidentally pull some leg hair with it, but it's his own fault .

"Could've done without the waxing, but I do like this take-charge attitude of yours."

"Good, because this is what we're doing." I push him on his back as I get down on my knees next to his head.

He tries to lean in to put his lips around my cock again, but before he can, I lift one leg and straddle his head while facing his feet. His warm breath hits my balls, and it sends a shiver through me.

Knox lifts his head, and his tongue teases my balls and the base of my shaft. It's not going to take me much to push me over the edge, so I have some work to do.

I bend over and reposition myself so Knox's dick is right there, in my face, begging for me to put it in my mouth.

Knox has already gotten a head start, sucking my tip, licking under the sensitive head, and then taking me as deep as he can in this position. I shudder and begin to question if I can actually do this and focus enough on him when he's so good at what he's doing to me.

But then his hips thrust upward, his cock rubbing against my chin and seeking my mouth, and I can't hold it back anymore.

I grip the base of his cock and guide it to my mouth. I suck him down while he does the same to me, and even though I've been teetering on coming since the second he dropped to his knees, having to focus on his pleasure takes the edge off.

I can hold out like this. I can.

Then Knox possessively grips my ass cheeks, and his hands bite into my flesh hard. Suddenly, my confidence in holding out shatters along with the rest of me. I fill his mouth, but he doesn't stop.

I have to pull off him so I can breathe, but I replace my mouth with my hand, even if it's a lackluster attempt at a handjob because I'm too busy coming all over the warmth that is his tongue.

His hips take over for me, thrusting up into my hand, and when I finally stop practically choking him with my cock, he releases me. "Please, fuck. Cover the head of my dick with your mouth. It'll get me the rest of the way there."

I do as he says, sucking the tip into my mouth while I concentrate on keeping the teeth at bay.

While my hand is still wrapped around his hard shaft, Knox cups his balls and then lifts his hips. Over and over again.

He's fucking my fist and barely moving in my mouth, but it's good enough for him. His orgasm bursts inside of me, and I drink him all down. Every. Last. Drop.

I don't know what I would've done if he chose to walk away from this permanently. There's no way I could find anyone who could make me feel a fraction of what I do for Knox.

He's it for me, and while I know we're in for a shit fight to keep us together, I'm willing to do whatever it takes. Hopefully, he will do the same and not cut and run again.