11. Zacky

ELEVEN

ZACKY

Zacky could swear that they had a moment when they were both on the couch together, hurting physically, aching emotionally, seeking comfort in each other the way Zacky was so used to.

He wondered how normal it was for this Cameron to hold him like that, close to his chest, ear over his heart, so he could listen to the blood pumping through his favorite person. Zacky had intimate knowledge of this heartbeat, of the little murmur Cameron had when he was a kid that made his parents overprotective enough to never let Cameron do anything fun, but not so overprotective that he couldn’t play hockey.

That was Canada for you.

Zacky could fault them for not being consistent with what was “the best for Cameron,” but he could never be angry at the years of intense hockey training Cameron received as a child because that’s what brought Cameron to him.

And by the time he was a teenager, his heart wasn’t an issue anymore. And what Zacky and Cameron were left with was a weird codependent relationship in at least two universes, but Zacky assumed they had to be weird and codependent with each other in every universe.

By the time Zacky calmed down about having Cameron home, verifying that the cut on his eyebrow wasn’t too bad and he didn’t have a splitting headache after taking some Advil at the arena, they parted ways to get ready for bed.

Zacky was in an enormous sleep-shirt phase, so he stripped to his boxers and found the shirt that was his current preference. He didn’t care that he had to pull it out of one of his dirty laundry piles on the floor. It didn’t smell. He brushed his teeth and wandered back into the living room, hoping for an invitation to share Cameron’s bed. He didn’t want to be the needy whiny injured one, but, well, he was the needy whiny injured one, and he was going to take all the comfort he could get.

Instead of an invitation, Cameron smiled at him from the kitchen, bare-chested in his boxers, grabbing two waters from the fridge. He held them both in one hand and used the other to first flip off the kitchen overhead light and then to guide Zacky with soft fingertips on his waist toward his bedroom.

Being herded toward Cameron’s bed was better than being invited. He liked the assumption that they should, by default, be together. No, this wasn’t his Cameron. It didn’t feel the same as sharing a bed with a man who couldn’t get through a day without telling Zacky he loved him at least twenty separate times and was obsessed with Zacky’s body, but it was a lot fucking better than sleeping alone. They’d shared rooms in Junior and the A, so they had a long history of sleeping together before they ever slept together.

Without ever discussing it, they had ended up gravitating to the sides of the bed they preferred in Zacky’s real life, and he discovered, a few nights into sharing Cameron’s bed, that he put a phone charger, a coaster (they were adults now), and a box of Kleenex on the previously bare table on Zacky’s side. He set one water bottle on Zacky’s bedside coaster and one on his, and then he waited for Zacky to get under the covers before he turned the lights off and climbed into bed.

Their small movements toward each other were still hesitant, but finally Cameron breached his space, and Zacky easily looped his arms around Cameron’s shoulders as Cameron pressed his bruised face to the soft cotton of Zacky’s sleep shirt.

“Thanks, Zack,” Cameron whispered into the dark.

“Zacky,” Cameron called out from across their apartment. Their Texas apartment that Zacky was getting used to, against his will. “Can you come here?”

“Yeah,” he shouted back, heading toward Cameron’s room. He could hear the shower when he got closer. Maybe he forgot a towel? The bathroom door was open, and before even crossing the threshold, Zacky could see Cameron, facing away from him, bare ass on display, rivulets of water running down his back.

Zacky knew every inch of this man’s body with his very soul. His thick thighs and hockey ass, the light dusting of hair that concentrated at his groin, back muscles that flexed as he reached for the shampoo. Suddenly, Zacky’s mouth was dry. He had a keen awareness that this Cameron was not his husband. And yet, his arousal spiked.

Cameron threw a look over his shoulder and smiled when he caught Zacky staring. Zacky averted his gaze.

“Sorry, man. What did you need?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to join me.” He turned toward Zacky, shamelessly displaying his own erection. What was going on?

Zacky wasn’t thinking clearly enough to refuse, though. He ached for his Cameron’s body, and while he might feel guilty about touching someone who wasn’t his husband, being in an alternate universe probably granted him a hall pass to mess around with…well, his husband. Platonic version. If pro-hockey-playing Zacky landed in his universe like he theorized, he wouldn’t feel bad about him and his Cameron having sex.

Right?

He took a cautious step into the bathroom, heavier with steam than seemed normal. Something was off, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His face was pristine and unbruised. Cameron reached a hand out, and the moment before their hands touched?—

—Zacky woke slowly, the haze of the shower hanging in his mind. He remembered Cameron being not quite right, but not much else. Zacky was horny , his erection aching as he shifted his hips, waves of pleasure rolling gently over him as he rutted against—fuck. Fuck .

His body stilled instantly, but the jerk of it caused Cameron to stir, the arms that were still wrapped around Zacky tightening, pulling them together. They were in that one last sweet moment before Cameron realized what was happening and never let Zacky sleep next to him again.

Zacky resisted being reeled in. He wouldn’t be able to take it if Cameron realized.

“Hmm?” Cameron asked, eyes still shut, still on the edge of sleep. Face still bruised. Zacky looked over his shoulder. It was 3:36 a.m.

“Nothing,” Zacky whispered, and with his guard down for one moment, one of Cameron’s hands found his lower back and scooped them back together, closer than Zacky would have slept with any other friend. But Cameron was cuddly. He knew that about his husband. He hadn’t realized it would translate pretty similarly outside of romance.

“Oh,” Cameron said as he pulled their bodies together, realizing why Zacky was panicking, his hand disappearing from Zacky’s waist.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I?—”

“It’s fine,” Cameron said, letting out a yawn. He still hadn’t opened his eyes all the way yet, peeking at Zacky from under heavy lids. This was already mortifying, and the fact that Cameron was being so fucking cute right now was not helping. Zacky had always been obsessed with sleepy Cameron. Accepting an invitation to his bed was both a terrible choice and an offer he would never have been able to turn down.

“I’m going to…uh…” He didn’t want to say I need to go jerk off now, probably while thinking of your thighs, which I was just rubbing off on and already miss or looks like I’m due for my dying-from-embarrassment appointment. He slid out of Cameron’s bed and escaped to his own side of the apartment.

In his bathroom, he gave himself a few rough strokes, trying to gauge whether or not he was still even feeling horny after what he just had to go through, and because he had no fucking luck in this universe, he may have been hard, but he wasn’t into it enough to jerk off at half past three in the morning. Instead, he plopped himself down crisscross-applesauce on the cool tile and rested his face in his hands. His head throbbed from not being gentle with it during his quick exit, and he was so unbelievably frustrated—sexually and otherwise—that he could barely breathe.

He had been trying to cry as little as possible, but he cried then in the harsh fluorescence of his bathroom lights. Outside, the world was sleeping, and even farther away, the man he loved was hopefully missing Zacky as much as Zacky was missing him. How on earth was he supposed to get back to Cameron? If he had to sustain another head injury like the one he wasn’t even healed from yet, he was doomed. His brain was already foggy, the cogs sticking as he tried to crank them. If he had to go through this again, he and this universe’s Zacky would both be in dire straits.

“Zack?” Cameron asked, knocking softly on the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Zacky said, hearing how not fine he was in his voice, thick with tears. His erection was now only an embarrassing memory.

The door cracked open, and Cameron peeked in. He had no idea what the contents of the dream Zacky had were, but the parallel was funny to Zacky. Cameron pursed his lips when he saw Zacky on the floor, the worry on his face skyrocketing from his regular levels of worry, as of late.

“Slide forward a bit,” Cameron said, and Zacky did as he was told, sliding away from the wall so Cameron could sit behind him and wrap him up in a hug. He didn’t say anything for a long time. He let Zacky cry and held on to him.

The haze of the bathroom in his dream had dissipated fully and left the unyielding, echoey surfaces of his own bathroom and the soft warmth of Cameron’s body, keeping him afloat.

In his dream, where his mind could have taken him anywhere to see anyone, it took him to the Cameron who was holding him now. The Cameron who had been googling things to do with a concussion so you didn’t get bored and had taken every chance to take care of him since he woke up here. The Cameron who never made him feel insane for either the memories he was missing or the ones he had instead. The Cameron who kept inviting Zacky to his bed because he knew how comforting it was for him. Zacky was beginning to suspect Cameron liked knowing he was right there if something happened in the night.

“Do you want to talk about it? I know you’re missing him.”

At least he thought Zacky’s boner was about his husband. That was only one notch less embarrassing.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“How about we go back to bed, and tomorrow you can work hard on healing your brain. And then we can do the same thing the day after tomorrow, and after that. And when you’re able to walk outside in indirect sunlight without sunglasses, we can figure out the next step.”

“Okay,” Zacky said, not moving from his spot in Cameron’s arms. Would Cameron expect him to sleep in his own bed now? He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the moment Cameron left him in the bathroom and went back to his bedroom alone.

Zacky stood and held out a hand for Cameron, pulling him up to his feet. Cameron had always insisted they were the same height despite being an inch shorter than Zacky, because he thought they were “emotionally the same height.” Zacky had never figured out what the fuck that meant, but he loved it. It was so stupid. Cameron’s beautiful, bruised face was right in front of him, and just when he was about to pull away to prevent himself from kissing Cameron, Cameron pulled him close for a hug.

“How are you being so patient about how fucking weird I’m being?”

“I love you,” he said, the depth of his sincerity clear in his voice. Zacky loved that about him deeply. It’s what made him fall in love with Cameron—the unwavering depth of his feelings.

“You’re my best friend,” Zacky said, because while this Cameron wasn’t his husband, one thing was the same in both worlds. They were CameronandZacky.

“Okay, back to bed,” Cameron said, flipping the lights off as he followed Zacky out of the bathroom. Zacky paused for a beat, and Cameron caught his wrist and gave him a tug. “C’mon.”

He bit his lip as he followed Cameron. The bed was still warm as they snuggled back in, and while Zacky tried giving Cameron some space, Cameron wasn’t having it. And, well, Cameron knew the risks now, and if he was signing up for a potential repeat of this mess, Zacky would enjoy it while it lasted.