16. Denny

16

DENNY

H ank moved a new bale of hay into the stable, refreshed Bess and Fred's water, and checked the alarm system while I wandered around the stall, restless and edgy. Or maybe I was just horny. My worlds had collided today, and it had gone pretty damn well.

I shouldn't have been surprised. Hank was always charming, and he seemed to navigate new social situations with ease. I was proud of him.

Weird sentiment, but it fit. Watching him from across the lawn at the barbecue today, chatting away with my old high school coach and my friends, had given me a funny, buzzy feeling. He looked like he belonged. It was hard to remember this was a ruse.

I pushed the thought aside and spent a few minutes brushing Bess's mane.

"Do you ever braid her mane? I saw this documentary about show horses and they were doing all these detailed braids. Looked cool. I must have been bored out of my mind at a hotel in between games. I'm not much of a documentary guy. I'd rather watch sports. Any sport…or play video games. My brother gave me his old console before he left for college. I dragged it with me to Grams's house and she still has it. Not sure why. I bought a new one for myself. I sent one to Kai too. A belated thank-you, I guess. It took him two weeks to acknowledge the gift. I guess he travels a lot for work. It's like, ‘Fuck you, so do I,' but I wouldn't say that. Grams thinks I'm too non-confrontational for my own good. She's probably right."

I was babbling and I knew it. I bit my tongue to shut myself up and chanced a look at the hunk spreading hay on the other end of the stall. God, Hank Cunningham was a sexy motherfucker.

He glanced up on cue. "What's wrong? You went quiet on me. First time in an hour. Did you swallow your tongue?"

"Yeah, but that's your fault," I replied in a huskier than usual tone. "You look so hot."

Hank snorted. "You're drunk."

"No, I'm not." I followed him out of the stall and grabbed the hat he'd left on the ledge. I set it on Hank's head and whistled. "This, right here, is a fantasy moment. You in that hat…fucking me like an animal."

He stared at me for a beat, and damn it, my cock swelled on command.

"C'mere," he rasped.

I walked to an empty stall, away from the horses, unbuckling my belt and wiggling my shorts and boxer briefs over my ass. "No, you come here."

Hank obeyed, smacking my hard ass enough to leave a handprint before whirling me to face him. Then he crashed his mouth over mine as if to quiet my yelp. I groaned, fumbling with his belt and zipper. My dick was a steel rod and damn it, I needed to touch him.

Hank sucked my tongue, squeezing my ass and parting my cheeks as we feverishly humped and made out like horny teens.

"No lube, sweetheart. We should go to the house."

"My back pocket. I bought those travel packets…just in case of emergency," I croaked out. "This is an emergency. I need your cock now."

My mouth was dry, and my veins were thrumming with desire. The way he looked at me, like I was something special, was an incredible rush. Everything in me wanted to pounce and claim him, but I wanted him to do the taking tonight.

And just like that, he dropped to his knees behind me and got to work, licking, laving, feasting on my hole. His hat fell off his head as he pushed the tip of his tongue deeper still, adding fingers to the mix.

I bucked my hips, demanding more as I stroked my cock. He knew what I wanted, but I'd beg if I had to.

"You want me to take you for a ride, sweetheart?" Hank taunted.

"Fuck, yes. Ride me." I twisted to offer him my mouth. "Hat."

He chuckled as he bent to pick up his hat, setting it on his head and shoving his boxer briefs lower. "Better?"

He slathered my hole with lube, then lined his dick at my entrance and slowly slid inside.

There was nothing romantic or pretty about it. This was raunchy sex—the slap of skin, roving hands, sloppy kisses, and a chorus of grunts and nasty commands—and I fucking loved it. At some point, I lifted my leg to rest on a higher slat on the stall door. It changed the angle and fuck, it changed the game.

Hank's balls slapped obscenely against my ass as he drilled me, holding my knee with one hand and reaching around to jack me with his free hand. Pleasure tingled up my spine, and I knew that was it for me.

"I'm gonna come." I shot my load over his fist and on the hay, shivering through the aftershocks.

Hank pulled out and waited for me to stand, his cock thick and proud and begging for release. I turned slowly and met his gaze. And damn, I was positive no one had ever looked at me like that in my life.

He tugged his shirt off and laid it on one of the bales he'd brought down, pointing earnestly. I didn't need to be told twice.

I lay flat on my back and opened for him, moaning like a ho as he slid home. Hank fucked me relentlessly, pumping his hips double time, his rhythm faltering just before he fell apart.

I held on tightly, pulling him close so our noses brushed. I breathed him in and felt something shift inside me. It took the air from my lungs and burned my eyes. I didn't know what to do with the excess emotion, so I buried my head in the crook of his neck and hid like a child.

Clarity washed over me like a tsunami.

This felt right and real.

And probably bigger than a summer fling was supposed to.

"Where've you been?" Grams asked, pointing at my house from her kitchen window. "I haven't seen your truck in your driveway any night this week."

"I've been around. Hey, I'm going to change the battery on the bedroom fire alarms, then head over to the rink. Kids are checking in for camp and we're skating tomorrow, so I might be busy and I don't want to forget," I babbled.

My grandmother folded her arms across her tiny frame and regarded me suspiciously. "You can tell me anything, you know."

"Grams, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about."

" Hmm . Does Mary-Kate know?"

"Know what? Never mind," I huffed. "MK and I aren't together."

"And I'm the only one who knows about that."

I winced. "Well, yes…"

"All right. Not my business, but you smell funny. Take a damn shower," she grumbled, shuffling down the hallway.

I sniffed my pits and scowled after her. I'd showered before I'd come by, which meant that was her crafty way of telling me she knew something was up. I loved Grams, but I had no plans to tell her about Hank. We were fuck-buddies, not boyfriends.

That didn't explain the butterflies in my stomach at the sight of Hank at a volunteer table in the lobby at Elmwood Rink an hour later. I'd known he'd be here. I'd known he'd be wearing a lanyard, looking official and friendly as he greeted the new campers and handed out backpacks and name badges. I hadn't counted on him looking like he belonged here.

Fuck, he had a great smile—warm and open, as if he'd been waiting all damn day for the next person to approach his table to say hello. I wanted a piece of that. I wanted?—

"Denny Mellon! How ya doin', Hotshot?"

Half the lobby turned, twittering curiously. Shit . I'd forgotten I was a minor celebrity.

I waved at the campers and strode toward Jake and our loudmouthed agent, Gary McDermott, lurking in the doorway to the rink. I greeted them with fist bumps and followed them inside, inhaling the intoxicating scent of refrigerated ice. I hadn't known Gary was going to be in town, but he was a prolific agent and Jake and I were a couple of his recent success stories. Maybe he had business with Jake. Maybe he wanted to talk about New York. If so, I wish he'd called. He knew I hated surprises.

"McD just happened to be in the neighborhood," Jake reported as if reading my mind.

"That's true," the older man commented. "Vinnie mentioned that camp started this week, and you'll probably notice our PR team around town."

"One of them shoved a camera in my face while I was eating breakfast at the diner this morning. If I have parsley in my teeth, that's on you." Jake clapped my back and inclined his chin. "We should check in with Ronnie and Vin. Good to see you, McD."

"Hang on, Denny. I need a quick minute of your time." He waited for Jake to move on before getting straight to the point. "Are you thinking about New York City?"

"Why? Do you have news?"

"They want you, and they're willing to make it very worth your while. I need fifteen minutes to give you the scoop, including contract buyouts and logistics, but it's interesting stuff. No…it's outrageous, Den. Out-fucking-rageous."

He looked like a kid with a big secret who might literally burst if he had to hold it for another second. I'd never seen him so…giddy. Gary McD was slick and kind of full of himself. I didn't associate him with barely-contained, childlike enthusiasm.

In the end, he folded like a cheap suit, spouting a string of numbers so insane I was sure I hadn't heard him correctly.

My mouth dropped. "That's more than you said on the phone."

"Oh, hell yeah." Gary hooted, shoving my chest playfully. "This is why I'm here, man. I had to see your expression in person. Priceless! Listen, we'll talk this afternoon. Lots to think about and there are a lot of moving pieces, but my God…I've been doing this for years, and I've never seen anything like this. The press is going to freak out when the news leaks and I'm going to need you in front of the cameras, but it's okay. We got this. Your rookie season has made you the most sought after player in the league. Congrats, Hotshot. You're on your way."

I had no words. Not an uncommon thing for me, and neither was the sudden surge of panic. It didn't make sense. More money was good, recognition was good, but darker emotions were bubbling to the surface that didn't feel so great.

And this, right here, was what was wrong with me. I couldn't be happy like a normal person. The desire and pressure to be the best was countered by deep-seated, ugly guilt.

It was my fault they were gone.

If I hadn't insisted on taking one more run down the mountain, my parents would both still be here. They'd be happy and together, and life would be different. There'd be no multimillion dollar contracts. There'd be no fans calling my name, kids wearing my jersey, looking for my autograph.

I didn't deserve this kind of success. I didn't deserve to be happy at all.

That was wrong. My therapists had helped me work through some of my worst demons, and I knew it was wrong, but my head was a messy place. And there was only one way to lose my ghosts.

Skate.

I glided onto the ice, right foot over left, gaining speed and momentum with each pass.

Skate faster, skate smarter, practice, practice, practice. Again and again and again.

Ten minutes in, I sensed I was being watched. I spun in a circle, my chest heaving as I looked up at the stands at a group of young teenagers, probably thirteen or fourteen years old, staring, eyes wide with admiration.

For me.

I almost glanced over my shoulder to see if they were looking at someone else, but no…it was me. I wanted to scream at them, "I'm not special, I'm not amazing. I'm not a fucking hero."

The words were stuck…like all the others. I wiped my brow and let out a jagged breath just as a new face stepped up to the boards.

Hank.

He smiled.

That was it. Just a lazy smile, a silent "Hey, how are you?"

But somehow it shook me out of my spiral and grounded me—reminded me to stay in the moment and fucking relax 'cause right this second, everything was good, and I deserved a measure of happiness, and I was enough the way I was.

Not the hotshot hockey player…just me.

I didn't know how he did it or why it mattered, but it felt kind of amazing to have Hank Cunningham in my corner.