16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Dean said dubiously. He stared out across the ice. It looked different than it did for Evergreens’ games. No goals. No players. The lights were low and bolstered by banks of soft colored lights flashing across the glistening surface.

Music was playing, and it wasn’t the Evergreens’ goal song. It was bright, happy pop music. Taylor Swift maybe? And the ice wasn’t crowded with hockey players, but Evergreen students, laughing and falling down and skating around in slow circles.

“Oh, you wanted to come, I know you did.” Brody shot him a dimpled smile. “Secretly, maybe.”

“It’s for charity, that’s why I’m here,” Dean said gruffly. Though that wasn’t entirely true, either. He was here because Brody had asked him to come. He hadn’t understood exactly what that meant until they’d arrived and seen the many, many couples together on the ice.

This was totally a date. Or a date-ish kind of thing.

Dean didn’t really do dates, which was probably the reason it hadn’t even occurred to him.

But even though he was new to this—new to all of this—he still wanted to take Brody’s hand. Make sure everyone knew the gorgeous guy they kept eyeing next to him was here with him . That when Brody left, it would be with him, and he’d be coming home to their bed.

But instead of reaching for Brody’s hand, Dean shoved his own into his pockets. He didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of him and he really didn’t care if they figured who he was, but Brody should get to come out to their classmates and his teammates the way he wanted to, on his own timeline.

“Right. No other reason whatsoever,” Brody teased, giving him a sideways look that made it very clear he knew exactly why Dean was here.

“You said it would be for charity, and a good time,” Dean said. “You didn’t say there’d be ice skating.”

“Ice skating’s not so scary,” Brody said reassuringly. He gestured towards where they’d set up a skate rental in front of the Evergreens’ locker room. “Come on, let’s get you outfitted.”

“You’re going to regret this,” Dean warned again. He’d never been on the ice before, and while he was good on a field, ice was very different. Slippery. And wet. And requiring coordination that Dean was almost one hundred percent sure he did not possess.

“Oh, no, no, I’m definitely not,” Brody said, smiling.

Dean huffed. Worried he was going to humiliate himself. That wouldn’t be so terrible, but what if Brody laughed at him humiliating himself? Enjoyed this evening because he did?

That would be pretty freaking terrible.

But then Dean reminded himself that this was Brody . He wouldn’t do that.

As they approached the skate rental, Brody suddenly grabbed his arm and tugged him to the side. “What?” Dean asked. “Am I going to have to do this on one leg now, or something?”

Brody laughed. “No. No. Actually, I wanted to say . . .if you don’t want to do it at all, we don’t have to.”

“But you have to be here.”

“It’s our fundraiser, for the hockey team, so yeah,” Brody said, nodding.

“And if I want to be with you . . .”

Brody’s smile grew. “Oh, you wanna be here with me, huh?”

Dean hadn’t known for sure that he’d do it until this moment, and now he knew he would. Because he loved this man and he was pretty sure they didn’t have unlimited time together. If he wanted to take advantage of what they did have, then he’d have to strap those skates on and almost definitely humiliate himself.

“I’m going to ice skate with you, aren’t I?”

Brody nudged him. “You’re the worst. Always answering my question with a question.”

Dean didn’t even know he did that, but he was, wasn’t he? Deflecting, because at the heart of it, he worried that Brody didn’t feel the same bone-deep desperation he did.

He wanted Brody forever. Even if it was insane. Even if it was impossible.

“I . . .” You can do this. Put yourself out there. After a lifetime of holding everyone at bay, it was hard. Impossible, almost, but if anyone could push him out of that holding pattern, it was the man in front of him. “Yeah, I want to be here with you. All the time, if I’m being honest. I’d do way worse than ice skating.” Dean paused as Brody’s eyes lit up. “But don’t do it, okay? Just . . .take it easy on me.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m gonna.” Brody nudged him, softer and sweeter this time. “And I want to be here with you, too.”

“You invited me.” Dean cleared his throat. “I kinda assumed you did.”

Brody gazed up at him, and it felt like his heart was in his eyes. Just like how Dean felt.

But he’d already said enough, so he said, gruffly, “You ready to skate now?”

“And here I thought I’d have to forcibly drag you onto the ice,” Brody teased as they went over to the skate rental.

Ten minutes later, Dean glanced over as Brody finished tying his own skates on. They were pretty different than Dean’s. Real hockey skates, unlike whatever Dean was wearing.

Brody’s warm brown eyes met his. “You ready to go?” he asked.

Dean sighed, glancing back down at his skates. They felt wobbly, loose, but it also felt like he’d done the best he could to lace them up. He didn’t know what was wrong, only that he should ask Brody for help. But before he could, Brody saw what was wrong.

“Oh no, no ,” Brody said under his breath, and before Dean could stop him, he was down on his knees in front of him, re-lacing his skates with quick, expert motions.

There was no time Brody being on his knees in front of him that wouldn’t get him worked up, and today was no exception.

His cock twitched as Brody’s hair, mussed and longer than it had been since they’d met, shone under the lights, calling to him, asking him without words to tangle his hands in it. Pull Brody in closer.

Dean resisted the urge, but when Brody glanced up, he could tell from the heat in his eyes Brody knew just what he’d been thinking.

“There. Now you’re all set,” Brody said, tightening his lace one last bit. He patted him on the knee. Anyone might think it was just a friendly touch, but Dean knew different from the way Brody’s eyes flashed with an undeniable heat.

“Thanks,” Dean said. He reached out, helping Brody to his feet. When he got to his own, unlike Brody, he wobbled a little.

Or a lot.

Okay, definitely a lot.

“You alright there, big guy?” Brody asked under his breath. He was taking advantage of Dean’s imbalance to lean close, to tuck a hand around his waist, holding him firmly.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Don’t tell me it’s gonna be easier on the ice.”

“But it will,” Brody promised, and slowly they made their way to the rink.

“Now,” Brody said, “I want you to promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Dean said, feeling a bit more desperation as the wide expanse of ice stretched out in front of them, shining and undeniably slick. “Just don’t abandon me, okay?”

“See? You got it already. Promise me you won’t try to be a hero. Hang on to me if you need to. You might be a big boy, but I’m strong enough to keep both of us up.”

Brody took the ice first, moving better on it than he had off, if Dean was being honest. He ground his teeth and took his first cautious movement onto it, and damn , it was slick. Like stepping onto a freshly polished linoleum floor, wet with rain.

He was sure he might’ve just ate it then, but Brody hung on to him tightly, making sure he didn’t, as Dean took one hesitant step and then another.

“No, no, like more of a glide, or a slide,” Brody murmured into his arm. “Like this.”

He demonstrated, moving like he’d been born to move on the ice—and frankly, maybe he had— and there was no way Dean was going to be able to match his innate grace, but he tried to duplicate the movements anyway.

He didn’t get close, but it was easier to move like that. Long strides versus short, uncertain steps. A minute later, they were moving, not fast but just fast enough to keep up with the flow of traffic around the rink.

“This is . . .nice,” Dean allowed as they neared the end of their first rotation.

Brody chuckled. “Yeah?”

“I’m not gonna lie. I like having the excuse of hanging on to you.”

He did. Feeling Brody pressed against him was wonderful, and he never wanted it to end, even if they had to keep ice skating to do it.

“You can do it anytime you want,” Brody said, and there was that look in his eyes again as he gazed up at Dean. That warm gooey look he’d worn the other night and tonight, too. Often, now, once Dean thought about it.

“But—” Before Dean could stutter out what that could mean—exposure, for both of them, adding another layer of seriousness and intent to their relationship—Brody waved a hand.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, and Dean was far too aware of the way Brody’s body tensed against his own.

Dean wanted to let it go. He’d let Brody inside, hadn’t he? He’d tried his best to stop deflecting, and wasn’t that going to be enough? But even as he thought it, Dean knew that couldn’t be enough.

Brody wouldn’t just want his non-deflections, but he’d want his truths, too.

“I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t like it if meant people knew,” Dean said. “I don’t give a shit what people think of me, or what kind of opinions they have of who I want in my bed or holding my hand.”

“Even the NFL?”

Dean shrugged. “If you can play, they don’t seem to care the way they used to. There’s lots of queer guys, living openly now, who play in the pros. I’m not going to worry about it.”

Brody grinned. “Dean, you worried about how much you were smiling on the sideline.”

“Yeah, that was fucking ridiculous.” Dean could see it now. Could feel it. But he also understood where Ian and some of those scouts had been coming from. He could look back on the Dean of the beginning of the year and see how tensely wound he was.

“But you worried about it,” Brody said, loyally.

“I’m not worried about it now,” Dean said. Hesitated, but plunged forward anyway. “If it meant . . .if you wanted . . .”

Brody smiled, soft and tender. There was no way else to describe it and Dean felt floored that he’d put that look on Brody’s face. That he made him feel . . .well, however he felt.

Maybe even the way you feel.

“Noted,” Brody said, nodding. And he slid his hand down from around Dean’s waist and tucked it into his, squeezing it once.

“Don’t go too far away, though,” Dean warned. “I’m still half a breath away here from wiping out completely.”

“Nah,” Brody retorted. “You’re good.” He leaned in. “So fucking good, Dean.”

Dean completely missed his next slide, toe pick catching on the ice, and he went down, hard , and to his embarrassment, he dragged Brody right down to him.

But Brody was laughing the whole way, even as his ass hit the ice. “Whoops. Note to self, don’t turn you on while we’re skating.”

“Too late,” Dean said, still chuckling, as they tried to untangle their legs and get back to their feet.

A minute later they were back up, and skating again, but this time Dean wasn’t going to take a fucking thing for granted. Damn toe picks.

“Hey, look,” Brody said, gesturing across the ice, “it’s Wes and Marcus.”

Sure enough it was them. There were other players there, too. The whole hockey team, for sure, even Brody’s coaches, who were settled at one end of the rink, Coach Blackburn, arms crossed, leaning down as Zach said something to him.

“Who’s that guy?” Dean asked, pointing to an older man with dark auburn hair and broad shoulders, cutting through the crowd with easy, quick strokes that spoke of a history of familiarity on the ice.

“Oh, that’s Jacob Braun. He played in the NHL for a few years. A goalie. Knew Finn’s dad. But he retired near here. Comes in sometimes to give Finn and Nick some tips.” Brody shot him a look. “He’s weird, though. Like a lot of goalies. Keeps to himself, now.”

Brody pointed out Mal and Elliott, both forwards on the Evergreens, names that Dean recognized from following Brody’s games this year. They seemed to be deep in the middle of a discussion, verging on an argument.

“They okay?” Dean wondered as they passed by them.

Brody just shrugged. “They’re always arguing. Very different approaches to the game. And life, honestly.”

“Ah,” Dean said.

If he had to guess, there was more going on there than just conflicting opinions, but he wasn’t going to say anything if Brody hadn’t picked up on that, yet.

“Didn’t Ramsey say he was coming by too?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, where is Ramsey?” Brody wondered. “He’s supposed to be here.”

Next rotation, they slowed near where Elliott and Mal were skating. “Where’s Ramsey?” Brody asked them.

Malcom shook his head. “No idea.” He glanced over at Elliott. “Though this idiot here might know. He’s plugged into every opportunity at this place to cause trouble. Same as Ramsey.”

“Unfair,” Elliott complained.

“But true ,” Mal stressed.

“Hm, alright,” Brody said. He looked concerned, the crease between his brows deepening. Dean wanted to reach over and smooth it out. Tell him everything was going to be okay, but it was hard to when there were no guarantees Dean could make.

“You’re worried,” Dean said as they skated away, Brody digging in his pocket for his phone. Dean could never have pulled that move off, but then Brody was a damn fine skater.

“Yeah. I’m gonna text him.” But then before he could, his phone blared out, ringing. Brody stared, uncomprehending, at the screen and then answered it. He cut sharply over to the boards, leaving Dean to fend for himself, which he did. Barely.

Then he could only watch as Brody’s frown grew more and more pronounced the longer the phone call went on.

Finally it ended, and Brody looked up at him, and Dean realized he was more than worried. He was upset.

“That was the hospital,” Brody said, panic rising in his voice. “Something’s happened to Ramsey. He was riding here on his bike and something happened. An accident? He’s hurt, and in the ER.”

Dean put out a hand. “Tell me where and we’ll go, right now.”

Brody looked shaken, and Dean knew that as much as Brody had been there for him, now he could return the favor. “Come on,” he coaxed him. “We’ll get our shoes, and I’ll drive.”

“He’s just this way.” The nurse motioned to them.

Brody’s heart was in his throat and had been ever since he’d answered the phone, about half an hour ago.

It had taken time to get their shoes and for Dean to lead him to his car and to take the wheel himself, driving them to the hospital. Then they’d had to find out where Ramsey was.

It had all taken time. Time Brody was worried he didn’t have. Nobody would give him a straight answer about what had happened. Only that Ramsey had been hit, while riding his bike to the rink for the fundraiser.

He’d gotten the call because apparently he, Brody Faulkner, was listed as Ramsey’s emergency contact.

He knew Ramsey didn’t know his parents and had spent years in foster care, but he didn’t realize that out of everyone Ramsey knew—and that was a lot of people, both in the naked and clothed sense—he was the one Ramsey trusted the most to have his back when it counted.

And how had he paid Ramsey back? By taking half an hour to get to the right spot in the fucking hospital.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean soothed next to him, his voice pitched low for only Brody to hear him. “It’s gonna be just fine.”

Brody wanted to retort he didn’t know that, but he also couldn’t help but be incredibly grateful for Dean’s calming, supportive presence. Without it, Brody was pretty sure he’d have flown apart into a million pieces.

When the nurse had told Dean that he wasn’t Ramsey’s emergency contact, he’d stared back implacably at her, and Brody had added, hurriedly, that he wasn’t going anywhere without Dean. To the point of reaching out and grabbing his hand.

The nurse had finally nodded and led them back to where Ramsey was supposedly being treated.

She pulled the curtain back, and there was Ramsey, a small bandage above his left eye, a woozy look in his expression, and then he smiled, like nothing was fucking wrong.

Brody wanted to throttle him.

For scaring him this way. For being alright, in spite of it.

“He’s got a mild concussion,” the nurse said. “He’ll need to be watched, after release. But he’s fine otherwise.”

“I’ve been promised this won’t scar, but I’m holding out hope,” Ramsey said, touching the bandage. “I think it’ll give me a real devil-may-care, rakish look to have a scar.”

Brody did smack him now, on the arm. “You fucker, you freaked me out.”

“Sorry, I told them not to call you, but they wouldn’t release me to my own devices.” Ramsey rolled his eyes. “I’ve got a headache, but I’m fine. Really.”

“You have a concussion. You are not fine,” the nurse retorted, but she was smiling, like even in this short time, Ramsey had charmed her.

This was Ramsey so it was entirely possible that he had— and that he’d grabbed her number, while he was at it.

“Here’s his care instructions,” the nurse said, turning to Brody. “He’ll need to be checked every few hours. There’s a list of sample questions in the paperwork, but mostly anything works. Anything you both know the answer to.”

“Am I the most handsome, intriguing man you’ve ever met?” Ramsey said, in a singsong voice.

“You’re the worst,” Dean said. “And no .”

Ramsey slapped a hand over his heart. “I think you actually mean the best.” Ramsey’s gaze dropped to where Brody was still clutching Dean’s hand. “Especially now.”

“This isn’t because of you,” Brody retorted.

“Sure it’s not,” Ramsey said, grinning.

The nurse went over what he could take for the headache—ibuprofen, and if he needed something stronger, he could call in, but he’d need to come in for that, again—and how long he’d need to be observed.

“As for hockey,” the nurse said with a reluctant sigh. “He’ll need to pass whatever protocols you have for the team.”

“Damn,” Ramsey said, sounding upset for the first time since Brody showed up.

“Will you contact the team?” Brody asked. Realizing that he was going to need to speak up, make sure that Ramsey followed the doctor’s instructions.

“The doctor will, yes,”

“Could I talk to him?”

The nurse looked surprised at the question, but Ramsey said, hurriedly, before she could respond, “Why do you need to do that? They’re gonna talk to each other. I promise. I’m not gonna—”

“I know what you’re gonna do,” Brody retorted, shooting his friend a firm look. “And what I’m gonna do is talk to the doctor.”

“Let me just get her,” the nurse said.

“Why is this necessary?” Ramsey asked after she ducked out.

“I want to talk to him about specifics. Specifics that aren’t on this.” Brody shook the packet of paperwork. “And specifics that might not get communicated to Dr. Robison.”

“God, you’re practically already a fucking doctor,” Ramsey complained.

“I’m a friend,” Brody insisted.

A minute later, the nurse returned with a middle-aged lady, hair shoved onto her head and anchored with four or five different colored pens.

“Hi,” Brody said, extending his hand. She shook, her expression blank but expectant. “I’m Brody Faulkner. I’m Ramsey’s teammate.”

“His emergency contact,” the nurse inserted.

“I wanted to know what exactly you did to diagnose him.”

Her expression softened. “We didn’t do the CT scan, if that’s what you’re asking. But that might be something Dr. Robison from the hockey team might still want to do. He lost a minute before the accident, and a few minutes after seemed blurry too, when I questioned him. But other than the headache, he didn’t seem to have any significant trauma.”

Brody nodded. “That’s why you’re having him go home with me. To observe.”

Her chin raised, and there was undeniable approval in her gaze. “If anything changes, if you feel like any of his brain function is slipping, you know to call us.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“I will be sending Dr. Robison the full report,” she said.

“You’re gonna have to forgive him. He’s got doctorate envy,” Ramsey inserted.

Confusion creased the doctor’s forehead.

“I’m thinking about going to medical school,” Brody explained. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, you’re definitely one of the more detail-oriented athletes we’ve gotten in here. So . . .might be a good path for you,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks,” Brody said, pleased, even though he had to admit he wasn’t thrilled it had been under these circumstances.

With the way Ramsey was playing right now, he wasn’t going to want to follow the protocols. He’d have to keep an eye out. Make sure Ramsey didn’t bend the rules or bully Dr. Robison into letting him on the ice sooner than he should be.

“Come on,” Dean said to Ramsey, after both the doctor and the nurse had left. “Let’s go.”

Ramsey slid off the bed, and Dean caught him as he wobbled a bit.

“Did I crash a date? Oh, man, you brought him to the fundraiser, didn’t you? Did you at least get some extra super-duper romantic skating time in first?” Ramsey questioned as they walked through the hospital towards the front door.

“We did,” Dean said.

“Sorry.” Ramsey made a face. “They weren’t supposed to call you.”

“I’m glad they called me,” Brody retorted. “But it was fucking terrifying, too, because I didn’t even know I was your emergency contact.”

“Who else would it be?” Ramsey’s voice was light, but Brody knew he was fronting.

“Glad about that, too. That it was me.” Brody unlocked the car door. “Come on, get in. Do you need us to swing by the frat and get some stuff for you?”

“I’ll just borrow some sweatpants. Between the two of you, you’ve probably overflowing with them.”

“Alright,” Brody said.

This time Dean took the front seat without a word, even when Ramsey made an offhand comment about being a passenger princess. But other than that, the drive home was quiet.

Brody finally pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex and realized, as they climbed up the stairs, that they were going to have explain to Ramsey why Dean was in his bed every single night.

Besides the fact that hopefully he wanted to be.

After the bed had broken, Dean had said he’d talked to someone about fixing it, but then the next week had gone by and there hadn’t been any more talk of it. Every night Dean came to his bed and they woke up every morning together—and Brody never wanted it to change.

But now, they were going to have to explain this situation to Ramsey.

Ramsey, who had been giving him a boat load of shit about Dean being his boyfriend. And sharing a bed? That was undeniably boyfriend-y. Maybe they hadn’t used the word yet, but Brody didn’t think it was that far off from the way they’d been talking to each other.

“Uh,” Dean said under his breath as Brody unlocked the door. “I can take the couch, if you need to monitor him . . .”

“What?” Ramsey questioned. “Why wouldn’t you use your own bed?”

You’ve been doing it, you can own it.

“We had . . .uh . . .an unfortunate incident with Dean’s bed. So it’s currently . . .ah . . .out of service. So we’ve been sharing mine.”

Ramsey looked from Brody to Dean and back again. “You broke his bed?”

Brody shoved his hands into his pockets. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

“It is a big deal. And sharing—”

Dean growled under his breath.

“Okay,” Ramsey said, throwing his hands up. “ I’ll be fine on the couch. I already deprived of you of your romantic date night, I’m not gonna deprive you of your even more romantic bed-sharing. Besides, Brody kicks at night.”

“I do not,” Brody retorted.

Dean winced.

“Do I?” Brody couldn’t believe it. “You didn’t say anything.”

“You’re too cute in the morning,” Dean said, lowering his voice and tucking his head down, near Brody’s. “It’s alright. I don’t mind it. It’s . . .it’s worth it.”

Brody’s heart melted, right there in front of Ramsey.

“If I leave you on the couch, are you going to sneak out? Avoid me in any way?” Brody asked Ramsey in the sternest voice he could manage with his heart currently in a puddle at his feet.

“Swear to God I’ll be good. I won’t even sneak over and press my ear to the door. Hope that I can hear some of your antics for myself.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “There aren’t going to be any antics.”

“Guess I should apologize for that, too,” Ramsey said.

“No need,” Brody said, clearing his throat. “I’ll go grab you some sweatpants. The couch is pretty comfy.”

Ramsey glanced from Brody to Dean. “Do I want to know the sexual history of this couch?”

“No,” Brody said and hoped Ramsey would leave it at that. And finally, he did. In fact, as Brody glanced over at him, he looked tired.

“I’ll grab you some blankets. A pillow,” Dean said, slipping out of the living room.

Brody made sure Ramsey was all settled, couch made up as best he could, and after leaving him with a bottle of water and a pair of loose sweatpants, he ducked into his own bedroom, and sure enough Dean was there, stretched out on the bed as he scrolled through something on his phone.

“He all good?” Dean asked.

Brody nodded. “Not happy about staying here. Not happy about the concussion. But he’ll stick around. He knows if he doesn’t, I’ll report him to Dr. Robison.”

“Did you get out of him what happened?”

“Some fucking fool in one of those pedi-cabs ran a stop sign, and Ramsey had to swerve to avoid getting hit. Fell over the curb and smacked his head on the sidewalk. A faculty member saw it happen and insisted on taking him to the hospital. The idiot wasn’t wearing his helmet. He got lucky, but ugh .”

“Could’ve been worse,” Dean pointed out.

“Could’ve been better too.” Brody let out a frustrated breath. Sat down on the bed, and took Dean lifting his arm as an invitation, nestling his body against Dean’s bigger one. “You know how easily a promising career can be derailed.”

“I do know,” Dean said.

“And here I am . . .” Brody trailed off. He didn’t even want to say it. But that didn’t change it. It was still true. And here I am, thinking I’m gonna throw away perfectly good prospects. Prospects anyone else would’ve killed for.

“You can’t think like that,” Dean said firmly.

“It’s hard not to think like that,” Brody retorted.

“You’re you , not anyone else. You know what you gotta do, what you believe is right, more than anyone else.”

Brody knew Dean was right, but that didn’t make it easy. Or easier. He didn’t say anything else, just sighed, the sound muffled by Dean’s T-shirt-covered chest.

“Besides,” Dean said, “if she’d been worried, she’d have done the CT scan.”

“Maybe you should be the one going to medical school,” Brody teased, because it was easier to make the joke than it was to think about if the doctor should have done the CT scan, checking for deeper and more pervasive brain damage.

“Nope. Think the best one of us is.”

Brody considered what he’d said. How he’d taken it as a fact. And how there’d been a complete lack of judgment in Dean’s voice. How he’d just taken it for granted.

“How’d you know?” He hadn’t told a soul yet. Was still adjusting to the idea that he’d made his choice.

“I know you,” Dean rumbled.

Brody relaxed against him. In more ways than one. “Yeah,” he agreed. He knew he should say more. But before he could, Dean settled a hand, heavy and warm, on his hip, stroking him there. It was arousing but also strangely soothing.

“Go to sleep,” Dean said gruffly. “I set the alarm for two hours from now. You can go check on him, then.”

It was the second time Brody checked on Ramsey that he said it, sleepily as he gazed up at him.

“You’ve made your mind up, haven’t you?” Ramsey asked.

Brody, settling down on one of the couch’s arms and trying to force his tired brain to conceive of a question to ask Ramsey, froze.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve decided. You’re going to medical school.”

Brody opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again.

“It’s alright, you know?” Ramsey continued. He wasn’t looking at Brody. Instead he was gazing down at his bare feet. “You’re gonna be a fucking amazing doctor. Maybe not as amazing as you’d have been as a hockey player, but you want it more.”

“I do,” Brody admitted. He considered asking Ramsey how he’d known, but probably he’d get the same answer Dean had given him. They knew him.

He hadn’t imagined that anyone would ever know him as well as Ramsey or his teammates, but then Dean had come along, and he’d not only changed Brody’s perspective, he’d altered his whole fucking world.

Now there’d be no world without him in it.

“I figured,” Ramsey said with a sigh. He glanced up, met Brody’s eyes. “Can’t imagine anyone deserves you to chase after them, but he gets close.”

“I’m not—”

“I know,” Ramsey interrupted. He yawned. “That came out wrong. I know you’re not doing it for him, but it’s part of it, it has to be.”

“I tried to not let him be part of the choice,” Brody argued. But he knew the truth. Of course Dean had been part of it. “It wasn’t just about following him, Ramsey. It was about me wanting a life .”

“Yeah,” Ramsey said. “You gonna ask me your question now?”

Brody patted him on the arm. “You’re good,” he said. “I don’t think you’d have been able to have a conversation of such emotional complexity and depth if your brain was irrevocably broken.”

Ramsey grinned, teeth flashing in the dark. “You fucker.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ramsey said, and Brody stood up, ready to go back to bed.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Brody said, pausing in the doorway.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” Ramsey asked.

Brody swallowed hard and kept walking. Afraid that if he stopped—if he responded—he’d give all his emotions away.

When Brody finally returned to his bed, Dean, big and warm and perfect on the other side, opened one eye. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Brody paused. “Yeah, it really is. It’s gonna be okay.”

Dean slung an arm around him and dragged him over onto his side. “Yeah, it is,” he agreed.