17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

“Hey, Coach, can I see you for a sec?” Brody asked, ducking his head into Coach B’s office, twenty minutes before practice was set to begin.

He’d planned this meticulously. Giving them enough time to talk it through, but not so much time that things got awkward.

Coach B looked up from his laptop. “Oh, Brody, sure, come on in.”

Though he’d wanted to, Brody could admit that he’d never gotten as close to Coach Blackburn as some of the other guys. Ramsey, for one, and both Mal and Elliott, even though they seemed so fundamentally different in every other way.

Coach B had seemingly tried to get close to Finn, but Brody had noticed that instead, Finn kept to himself, resisting anyone’s outstretched hand.

Maybe Brody should’ve done more with him. But he hadn’t, too caught up in his own struggles.

“Everything alright?” Coach asked, taking his glasses off, rubbing his eyes.

He looked tired. But still less worn out than he’d looked when he’d arrived in Portland a few months ago.

“Yeah, I just wanted to . . .uh . . .talk about my situation.” The moment had arrived and now that Brody couldn’t focus on the comfortable minutiae of how to time the meeting, he found himself tongue-tied and frozen.

“Yeah?” Coach B leaned back in his chair. “You want me to call Zach in?”

“No,” Brody said, with certainty. There was a . . .well, he could call it an “air” around the two of them that didn’t make anything easier, but instead, the opposite. A tension that wouldn’t dispel, and Brody was currently full up in the tension department because of this conversation.

“Alright.”

“You said if I didn’t want to make the NHL my future, I could still play—”

“And I stand by that. This team is a launching point for that, sure, but Brody, I’d hate to lose you. You’re a great skater, really a natural out there, and I can tell you love it. There’s something to be said for that too.”

“Even though you came here to send as many of us as you can to the pros?”

Coach chuckled. “I did, sure, but I came for other reasons, too. There’s more to life than just hockey.”

“Sir!” Brody gave a faux shocked gasp.

Coach laughed now, not even bothering to hold it back. “Don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“You’ve decided then?” Coach asked.

Brody barely held back his eye roll, but he did ask, “Did you figure it out, too?”

“I had a hunch. A week or so ago, you took the ice and you seemed different. Less hesitant. Like you were wanting to enjoy every second. That’s not someone who’s going to play forever.”

Brody sighed. “No, it’s not.”

“There’s plenty of rec leagues.” Coach grinned. “You’d skate circles around them.”

“I’m sure I will,” Brody said. Maybe he should be looking forward to that, but he wasn’t. He’d miss the intense competition of NCAA hockey, but he’d still get to skate.

“You gonna tell anyone?” Coach asked.

Brody was surprised. “You’re not going to tell them?”

“Son, you’re going to finish out this season and play the next, right?” When Brody nodded, he continued. “Then I appreciate knowing your future plans. It helps me understand how I can help you—and how you can help me, to win hockey games. But it’s not their business what you’re doing in a year and a half. If you’re gonna end up heading to Carolina, to their camp, or to medical school. That’s your business. All that matters is that you’re their teammate, on and off the ice.”

Brody was surprised. He didn’t know why because what Coach said made sense. What did it matter what he was going to do after he graduated, as long as he committed himself to the team now?

He’d told Ramsey—or Ramsey had told him— because Ramsey was more than just a teammate or a line partner. He was a friend. One of Brody’s best friends.

“Okay,” Brody said, nodding. “I worried . . .I worried they might not take me seriously. Or treat me different, if they knew.”

“Brody, you’ve earned their respect. If they don’t, then that’s on them. And if you choose to tell them and they choose to disrespect you because of that, then you let me know, okay?”

Brody nodded, though he didn’t have any intention of squealing about anyone being shitty to him.

But Coach B leaned forward, his gray eyes intent on Brody. “Don’t pawn me off with that bullshit, Faulkner. Anyone’s shitty to you because of this choice, you come to me, okay? Promise me that.”

“I . . .” Brody hesitated. He didn’t want to promise, not verbally anyway, if he didn’t intend to.

“I get not wanting to be a tattle. But this is important. I’m not just teaching you to play hockey, but how to be men. What you’re doing is brave and impressive.”

“I haven’t done it yet, not officially.” Even though he knew he needed to let the Hurricanes know his decision. “And anyway, it doesn’t feel brave. More stupid, if I’m being honest,” Brody protested. But that didn’t mean he was going to do anything differently.

“Hockey’s never a sure thing, but you’d be excused from believing it’s more of a sure thing than med school,” Coach said. “It’s brave to look at your future and see a different path than everyone else. So you’ve got to promise me, if anyone gives you shit, you tell me.”

“I will.” Brody caved. What Coach said made sense. And he couldn’t deny it felt good that he’d continue to have his back, and that Coach didn’t seem to respect him any less for the decision he’d made.

“Besides,” Coach said as Brody stood, “do you think I thought any less of Zach for deciding he was done in the pros?”

“No,” Brody said. He hadn’t even had to hesitate before he’d declared it. Of course Coach hadn’t thought less of Zach for that, and Zach was here, wasn’t he? In grad school and yet still helping Coach B coach this team. It proved that there wasn’t just one path to loving hockey and having a life.

“Of course I didn’t. Everyone’s journey is different. And if you want to talk to him about it, you always can, too. He’d be a good resource.”

“He would be,” Brody said. He wondered why he hadn’t considered talking to Zach before. Maybe because in his head, he’d seen Zach as an ex-pro player. A guy who’d made different choices than Brody. Not as someone who’d picked something else they loved over hockey. But Zach had made a way to have both in his life, and Brody could see that was a pattern he might want to emulate.

“Good. Think on it,” Coach said, rising to his feet. “I’m honored you still want to play on my team, Brody, and we’re lucky to have you.”

He knew if he’d been smarter, he’d have made this year his last, with the difficulty of balancing the demands of NCAA hockey and all his homework, but just for another year he wanted it all. After all, he’d done it this far, hadn’t he?

Brody went to the locker room to get ready for practice feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Maybe even lighter than he’d felt since the beginning of the season.

Even though the decision hadn’t been easy, the aftermath sure felt easy.

Ramsey was sitting on the bench in front of his locker, a grumpy expression on his face.

“You feelin’ alright?” Brody asked as he passed him.

“Ugh,” Ramsey said. “Fucking protocols.”

“They’re for your own safety,” Malcolm said from across the room.

“Ugh,” Ramsey repeated. “Did you hear that? A fucking parrot in this fucking room.”

“Ramsey,” Brody warned.

“If you want to play, they should just let you play,” Elliott chimed in.

More, Brody thought, because it would bring a frown to Mal’s face than because Elliott actually thought it was a good idea to duck the concussion protocols that Dr. Robison put into place.

But that was a whole different-ass problem.

It was weird how two people on the ice and then off the ice could be so different.

On the ice, the Evergreens’ first line was a well-oiled machine.

Off the ice, though, it was an entirely different story and it felt like half the shit Elliott said and did in the locker room was to rile Mal up.

Brody wanted to say it didn’t work, because Malcolm had always been a pretty level-headed guy, but with Elliott, he always rose to the bait.

It was baffling, and more than a little frustrating.

“No way, if you’re not passing, you need to stay on the bench,” Brody stressed to Ramsey. “Coach wouldn’t even put you in, anyway.”

“Believe me, I know that,” Ramsey said. “I practically fucking begged him earlier today.”

“Well, I know you’re frustrated, but I can’t say I’m surprised. You gotta sit this week out. Heal, right?”

“Right,” Ramsey agreed reluctantly. “But it’s fucking bullshit! I hate watching you skate with Greene.” Ramsey glanced up and saw Nate Greene watching them, and he added, quickly, “not that you’re doing a bad job. I swear. It’s just . . .Brody’s mine .”

“Think Brody’s man might have something to say about that,” Elliott teased.

Brody froze, eyes glued to Ramsey’s.

But it seemed nobody in the locker room was even slightly bothered by this or even really noticed . Everyone else kept moving along, taping up and gearing up, Finn doing his warmups on the other end of the cavernous room.

“Ell, you can’t fucking say that shit,” Malcolm hissed at him.

“Why not?” Elliott looked genuinely confused. “Aren’t they together? But at the fundraiser—”

Brody found his voice and cut this speculation off. “Yeah, you’re right. Dean’s my man,” he said, with a casualness he knew sounded studied. He couldn’t quite make it sound natural, but maybe that was okay. Maybe it was fine because coming out to your teammates was a big deal.

“Thought so,” Elliott said, shooting Mal a smug look.

“I didn’t say they weren’t ,” Malcom hissed back at him. “I only was saying you can’t go around outing people without their permission.”

“Does he look bothered?” Elliott demanded. Mal shot him a look full of frustrated annoyance.

“Children,” Brody said, even though Mal was actually older than he was. “Let’s get along, okay?”

“Oh, so you’re finally gonna say something to these two, huh?” Ivan said, rolling his eyes. “Where you been all year?”

Brody pulled off his shirt and tugged down his sweatpants. “I’ve been here, I just thought they might work it out on their own without interference.”

“We’re not fighting,” Malcolm objected. “We’re fine.”

It was Brody’s turn to roll his eyes. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“Maybe you should fuck it out,” Ramsey suggested, and Brody leaned over, elbowing him in the side.

“They should not ,” Brody said under his breath.

“Agreed,” Zach said, striding into the room half a second too soon to miss Ramsey’s suggestion.

“Don’t worry, I have good taste. I wouldn’t ever,” Mal said, shooting Elliott another one of those daggered looks.

Elliott just shrugged. “I think you’ve got more like non taste, myself.”

Zach’s gaze went from one to the other. “Enough,” he said shortly. “We’ve got practice to prep for.” He turned to Ramsey. “I know you can’t do any cooperative drills, but you can drill some basics. Anything non-contact.”

“Joy,” Ramsey said, not exactly sounding enthused at the prospect.

“Maybe give Finn some shots to block,” Zach suggested.

Ramsey glanced over at Brody and Brody could tell they were both on the same page. Maybe Finn didn’t need any more testing. He felt brittle enough, already. The last thing they wanted was to test him right out of the net.

“Sure, can’t hurt to work on that,” Ramsey said.

“Good,” Zach said, nodding. “As for you, Brody, I’m gonna work with you and Greene on your communication. You’re way too used to skating with Ramsey.”

“For good reason,” Ramsey said mournfully.

“Hey, it’ll be over soon,” Brody said. “I stopped by Dr. Robison’s office today, on my way in, and he said your scans were clear.”

“You asked the doctor about my scans?” Ramsey sighed. “Why am I even surprised?”

“You shouldn’t be?”

Ramsey’s frustration broke into a fierce grin and the next thing Brody knew, he had his arms full of his best friend.

“You know, I’m gonna fucking miss you,” Ramsey said under his breath.

“You aren’t even going to be on the team next year,” Brody reminded him, after clearing his throat a bit.

Ramsey pulled back, and he was grinning that old carefree Ramsey grin. The one that Brody had seen the first day he’d skated onto the ice at Hossa Rink and knew he’d found the right place to play hockey.

The path Brody was taking might be different now, but it still felt like reassurance, like he was coming home.

“Yeah, still,” Ramsey teased. “Guess you’re gonna have to come visit me, once I’m a big shot hockey player.”

“Try and keep me away,” Brody said. And that was a promise.

“Shouldn’t have let Wes talk me into this party,” Dean said as he and Brody walked up to the frat house.

“Why not? You had a free evening. Our game was earlier, so it worked out.” Brody grinned at him. “What, are you not feeling social this evening?”

Dean shot him a look. He knew it was full of heat and full of promise. “You know I’m not. Except when it’s you.”

“Except,” Brody retorted, grinning over at him, “we wouldn’t be doing much talking.”

Dean leaned in, feeling his blood quickening. Brody was potent tonight. Hot as fuck—all smug and cocky—knowing just the effect he had on Dean. “Oh, I’d be talking alright.”

Dean could give it right back, because he watched as Brody’s pupils dilated, his body angling closer, like their two bodies were magnets and he was inextricably drawn in and couldn’t fight it any longer.

“Yeah?” Brody’s voice had gone gruff as they climbed the stairs up to the front porch.

“Later,” Dean promised. He shot Brody a grin. “You dragged us to this party, after all.”

Brody rolled his eyes but he was still glued to Dean’s side as they walked into the living room, crowded with people.

“You still happy we came?” Dean teased.

He actually wasn’t that disappointed he was spending part of the evening at this frat party. As long as he was with Brody, he was practically guaranteed to have a good time.

“Yeah,” Brody said, and Dean followed his gaze. There were some of his football guys on the other side of the room—Wes and Marcus, of course, and Damian, the starting running back— but Brody was looking at the other side, where a knot of hockey players had gathered.

Ramsey was there, holding court. Dean recognized Elliott, too, one of their young forwards, and an older guy, with dark hair and dark eyes, glowering over at him. The goalie was there, too, Dean only realizing it was him because they’d played him in beer pong during the last party they’d been at.

His hand had shook, with nerves or pressure, and he’d actually gotten more intense when someone had brought up his dad, who was apparently some big shot famous hockey player.

Dean didn’t know; he’d barely given hockey a second thought before he and Brody had moved in together.

Before he’d fallen for Brody.

“I’m gonna go over there, you want to—”

“I can talk to those guys any time,” Dean said, not wanting to leave Brody’s side. “I don’t mind slumming it with the hockey guys.”

Brody elbowed him, but his eyes were glowing as he gazed up at Dean. “You wanna grab us some beers?”

Nobody watching them would think for half a second that they were just two platonic bros, hanging out at a party. This felt like a date, and Dean discovered he liked that.

“Yeah,” Dean said and let his hand brush against the small of Brody’s gorgeous back. Felt Brody relax into his touch. “I’ll be right back.”

It would be so easy to lean down and brush a kiss across Brody’s mouth.

He knew, from the way Brody’s gaze flicked to his lips, that he was thinking about it.

But they hadn’t even had the conversation about how serious this was. Or how Dean was head-over-heels, fucking-wildly-in-love, yet.

Dean figured they had time for that. Maybe if he gave it enough time, gave Brody enough time, by the time it came up, Brody would feel a fraction of what he did. He wouldn’t just shake his head, regretfully, as Dean bared his heart and his soul.

“Okay,” Brody murmured. He reached up, curling his fingers into Dean’s T-shirt, like he wanted one last touch to ground him, to remind him Dean was real. “I’ll be right here.”

It hurt to move away from him, but Dean made himself do it, heading into the kitchen and its makeshift bar. Dean made quick work of grabbing two beers from the cooler while making bland small talk with a guy and a girl, her mentioning he was impressed by a sack during Dean’s last game, and him gazing up down at her like she was saying something life-changing.

Did he and Brody look at each other like that?

Dean was pretty sure he looked at Brody like that. Every time he opened his mouth, Dean probably stared at him like he was spouting the mysteries of the universe.

Well.

He’d never promised to be subtle. Or discreet.

Brody hadn’t seemed to mind at the fundraiser that they were pressed together in an entirely unplatonic way. And he hadn’t been shy about touching him tonight, either.

Maybe he wouldn’t have minded if Dean had kissed him.

Maybe he should’ve.

Maybe Dean was already disappointing him . . .

Shut up , he told that annoying voice. Brody likes me just fine.

But you love him .

He did.

With the kind of dedication he’d previously reserved for his football career.

He returned to the living room, and to Brody, handing him the other bottle, and Brody clicked it against Dean’s own. “Hey, everyone this is Dean,” Brody said, and the few people Dean hadn’t met yet nodded back at him.

“My . . .uh . . .roommate,” Brody clarified. He glanced over at Dean, and Dean knew all his expressions well enough at this point that he could see the apology in it.

He knew not everyone in this group played hockey. Some were friends of players. Which would explain why even after Brody had told his team about them, he was still being circumspect here and now.

Dean told himself that he wasn’t disappointed. That they were still figuring this thing out, and that Brody didn’t need to tell everyone. Not when they both knew the truth.

“Heard your dad was in town,” Ramsey said, blissfully changing the subject, directing the question to Finn. Who looked up, surprised. He downed the rest of the drink in his red plastic cup and lifted it up, like he was toasting an imaginary person.

“Yeah,” Finn said in a dry voice. “He sure is. Wanting to make sure his investment is paying off.”

Dean understood a little of Finn’s bitterness. His bitterness was different, of course. More of a why do my parents both think I’m worthless flavor, but he imagined that having an overly invested parent would be hard, too.

“Hey, if my dad was a famous hockey player, I’d fucking love it,” one of the guys Dean didn’t recognize said. One of the guys Dean was pretty sure wasn’t a hockey player.

Ramsey and Brody exchanged a knowing glance.

“You don’t know anything,” Brody said slowly, as Finn’s gaze drifted back to the ground.

“All those genes and the money and the exposure,” the guy kept arguing.

Ramsey cuffed the guy on the back of the head. “Hey, you,” Ramsey said, turning to the guy with his most flirtatious smile, “why don’t you go get me another drink?”

“Me?” the guy squeaked. Looking downright floored that anyone who looked like Ramsey would trust him to do any kind of errand involving Ramsey’s mouth.

Brody rolled his eyes and Dean stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, you,” Ramsey said.

“Sure, be right back,” the guy said. Leered one more time and then left.

“Sorry,” Ramsey said to Finn, who just shrugged. Like he didn’t want to be bothered. But Dean could tell he was bothered.

“We know it sucks,” Elliott said.

Finn shrugged again. Clearly he didn’t want to talk about it, and that much was obvious to everyone, so why had Ramsey brought it up in the first place?

“You need anyone to take some of his attention, you just say the word,” Ramsey said.

“You couldn’t walk for days after his last private lesson,” Finn said, barking out a laugh.

“Drills are all I can do anymore. No contact til I’m cleared.”

“Soon, right?” Dean asked, deciding that he might as well join in the conversation. He was here, wasn’t he? And he was dating, whether or not they used the actual word in public, a hockey player.

Ramsey nodded. “Next weekend I’ll be clear, for sure.”

“Good. I missed you,” Brody said.

“Oh, I just bet you did,” Ramsey said, and to Dean’s surprise, he sidled closer to Brody. “Bet I could do a few other things you’d miss too.”

Dean hadn’t been very far away from his guy, but he’d been at least trying to keep a respectful distance that said, we might be dating but I’m gonna make everyone speculate . Ramsey split the distance and gathered Brody close.

Everyone knew when Ramsey turned on the charm—it was like he flicked on a spotlight—and he was grinning at Brody now, hand stroking up and down his side.

Brody didn’t look surprised or bothered or anything .

“Yeah?” He laughed. Like Ramsey wasn’t serious. Like it was normal. Like it was okay .

Dean wanted to howl.

Put a fist right into Ramsey’s smug, handsome face.

He didn’t, because he was possessive but not crazy. Besides, Ramsey and Brody were friends, weren’t they? Dean wouldn’t say he was this touchy-feely with his friends, but he and Wes touched plenty, and it wasn’t like Marcus ever wanted to punch him.

Right?

Suddenly Dean wondered.

He glanced back at where Wes and Marcus were laughing together with Damian.

Maybe he should have asked, before this.

“Come on,” Ramsey said to Brody. “I wanna talk to you about something.” He was tucking his head close, like he wanted to tell Brody a secret, and Dean hated it—not the fact that Ramsey was doing it, but the fact that Brody wasn’t leaning away.

Maybe his closeness with Dean wasn’t special. Maybe it was something he did with everyone, and Dean was just now noticing this.

There’s certain things you know he’s only done with you , that voice inside Dean reminded him.

“I . . .I’m gonna go talk to Wes,” Dean said, hating how uncertain he sounded.

And how Brody just gave him an absentminded nod as Ramsey dragged him off to God knew where.

“What’s going on?” Wes asked Dean as he wandered over, probably looking something close to blindsided.

“Yeah, you look weird. Like someone just stole your favorite toy,” Marcus pointed out.

“Someone did, I think,” Damian teased.

And okay, maybe nothing about this was subtle.

He hadn’t been subtle.

But what about Brody? Was he not . . .

Dean didn’t let the thought out, but it was hovering in the back of his mind, still. Ugly and poisonous and potentially life-destroying.

“You should just tell him you’re in love with him,” Wes said bluntly.

“Now? But—”

“He’s probably thinking this is kosher because you haven’t ,” Marcus pointed out.

Dean stared at the doorway they’d disappeared through.

He didn’t think Brody would do anything with Ramsey. He trusted Brody.

But Ramsey was Ramsey. He could have anyone in his bed. All he had to do was give them a come hither glance and they were his .

Dean was not nearly that smooth. Or charming. Or skilled.

“We did talk,” Dean said, hating how defensive he sounded. How defensive he felt. “We’re . . .I thought we were getting there.”

“And why didn’t you drop the big L then?” Wes wanted to know.

God, why hadn’t he? Maybe he should have. The night they’d broken the bed. Or any other night after that, when he’d woken up next to Brody, so fucking in love and unsure what to do about it. He should have, the night he’d guessed the truth about Brody. He’d thought, earlier that evening, at the fundraiser, when Brody had made it clear he didn’t care if people knew, that maybe Brody was beginning to really care about him.

“I . . .I thought it might be too soon,” Dean said.

“Please. You’ve been practically inseparable for months now. Ever since he moved in.” Marcus looked like he was gearing up for a closing argument, and Dean let his certainty wash over him. “He’s crazy about you. You’re crazy about him. You’re the only two who don’t realize what you look like together.”

“Like a couple,” Wes said, finishing his boyfriend’s argument.

Dean let out a heavy sigh. “What if he . . .what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Wes shrugged. “Then he doesn’t. But I’m thinking he does. Sometimes, we all have to risk something to get something in return. Did football ever give you any guarantees?”

“No.” Dean could acknowledge that.

“There’s no guarantees at all, in life,” Wes continued. “You’ve got to take the hand you’re given and play it the best you can.” Marcus nodded his agreement and gave Dean a little shove. But Dean had about six inches and about a hundred pounds of muscle on Wes’ boyfriend so he didn’t really budge.

“Come on. Go play that hand,” Marcus added.

Dean was beginning to realize he needed to.

He didn’t want to go to another party and have Brody introduce him as his roommate. He wasn’t just his roommate. He was his best friend and his lover and the person he wanted to wake up every morning to and whisper every secret to at night.

The only person he’d ever trusted to have his back the same as he himself did.

“Okay,” Dean said.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brody played along until they were out of sight and then he pulled away from Ramsey’s grip and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Helping you two, because God knows you can’t help yourself,” Ramsey said.

“What do you mean?” Except that Brody had a pretty good idea what he meant, and he hated it. “I just fucked it all up, didn’t I? God, I did. I fucked it up.” He’d known, the minute the word roommate exited his mouth he’d fucked up, but now he knew, one hundred percent for sure.

“You just told your friends and teammates that you’re dating Dean, but tonight, with a few other randoms, that Dean is your roommate . Not even your friend. You’re pushing him back into the bro zone, and I don’t have to tell you that was shitty to do. You don’t gotta come out all at once, guns blazing, but geez, give that guy a little consideration.”

“I . . .I know I should have said something else.” The moment the word had come out of his mouth, Brody had regretted it. But Ramsey was right; he could have fixed it. He could have at least added, and a friend . And, by the way, a guy I happen to be wildly in love with.

But he hadn’t.

“Yeah, you fucking should have.” Ramsey leaned against the wall. “I shouldn’t have to flirt with you—which was gross , by the way—to get your boyfriend to tell you he loves you. Or for you to tell him back. For God’s sake.”

“It was gross ?” Brody was stuck on that.

“You’re my best friend. We don’t . . .it’s not like that between us. Just . . . ew . Gross.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Brody said. “And we did talk. We’re together.”

“He tell you he wanted to stay in the closet?” Ramsey challenged.

“No,” Brody said, shaking his head. “In fact . . .he told me the opposite.”

“And I know you don’t give a fuck about it either, so what are you doing, Brody?”

“I’m . . .” Brody didn’t know. He only knew that the further he got into this with Dean, the more he didn’t know how he’d live without him. “Did you really mean what you said, that I’d end up chasing after him? Dropping all my dreams for his?”

Ramsey’s eyes bugged out. “Is that why you’re pulling this shit?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I have a plan . . .I decided on a whole fucking plan, and the moment it came to me telling him, I freaked out. I chickened out. And I’m still fucking chickening out. What if that’s what people think? That I’m dickmatized or something. Or that I think he’s my fucking meal ticket?”

“Brody Anderson Faulkner. Your parents own three houses and gave you a BMW for your twenty-first birthday. Nobody is gonna think you’re chasing after Dean’s coattails for his NFL money.”

“True,” Brody said morosely. “Maybe only that I’m dickmatized.”

“Let’s face it, you are a little dickmatized. But as an expert in that state, I can tell you, that’s not all it is. You genuinely like that guy. You love that guy. You light up when you’re together. And also being an expert on you , I can promise you that’s what it is. Sure, the sex is good. The sex is great. But you’d want him anyway.”

Brody thought about this. “Yeah,” he agreed and then looked down at the dusty floorboards, scuffed by so many pairs of feet. “At the end of next year, Dean’ll be drafted, but I’ll take a year off. Get all my prereqs out of the way, and then I can apply to med schools wherever he’s at.”

“Have you told him this yet?” Ramsey challenged. His blue stare was hard as ice chips.

“You know I haven’t. I’ve barely decided it myself. We’re . . .we’re still figuring things out. We talked about the rest of the year, about next year, but . . .”

“You don’t want just a nice college hookup. You don’t want just a college boyfriend. You want a future.” Ramsey gestured towards the doorway they’d just come through. On the other side, Dean was probably confused, wondering what the fuck had just happened. Why Ramsey had flirted with him. Even though Ramsey flirted with everyone with a pulse, he’d never done it to Brody. “The truth is when you decided you didn’t want to play hockey, sure, you wanted to go to medical school. You love that science shit. And you want a life. But even more than that, you want a life with him.”

It was true. Brody did.

He wanted to help himself. He wanted to help others. And he wanted to help Dean be the best version of himself, too.

“Don’t be ashamed of wanting that,” Ramsey said in a low voice. He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against. “Embrace it, okay? Because it’s special. It doesn’t come along all that often.”

Brody nodded.

“Brody.”

He looked over and Dean was standing there in the doorway. His heart lifted. Had Dean come looking for him? He was frowning, too, like he hadn’t liked Ramsey flirting.

And Brody got that. Because if anyone else put hands on his man, he’d have been fucking furious.

Because Dean was his , and goddamnit, he was Dean’s.

“I need to talk to you,” Brody said, and Dean nodded.

This time he didn’t hesitate. He took Dean’s hand and led him out the kitchen, down the stairs, and they settled there, same as they had the last time they’d come to a party here.

Dean hadn’t said a word, but the moment Brody sat down and looked over at him, it all spilled out of his mouth.

“I love you, you know? I didn’t think I could love anyone. But I do. I love you. And if you love Ramsey or want Ramsey . . .well, I don’t know how okay I’ll ever be with that. But I want you to be happy, however that happens. If that’s not with me, that’s going to fucking suck, no lie, but I . . .” Dean’s voice cracked. “I love you.”

Brody reached out and gripped his hands, squeezing them hard. “I love you, too. And I don’t want Ramsey. Not now. Not ever. I want you . I want you so bad I . . .I don’t just want you this year and next year. I want . . .I want us to build something together.”

“You do?” Dean looked surprised by this, and Brody kicked himself, a little. Or a lot.

God, he’d called Dean his roommate . And that was so far from the truth, it was a fucking cosmic-sized joke.

“ Yes , you idiot,” Brody said and leaned in, kissing him firmly.

The kiss was just getting good—though frankly every kiss with Dean was pretty fucking amazing. Still, this was pretty high up on the scale, considering Dean had just told him he loved him and Brody had said it back.

“What do you mean?” Dean said, trying to clear his head and wrap his head around what Brody had just said. “How can we even build something? I’m gonna get drafted. You’re gonna get accepted to like every medical school you apply to, cause you’re so fucking smart.”

“Oh, you’re cute, I like you,” Brody said, patting him on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” Dean said.

“It means, if it works out the way I hope it will, I’ll take a year after we graduate and get some pre-requisite classes out of the way. Set myself up so every medical school will accept me. After you get drafted, I’ll know where all those are gonna be.”

“Wait, you’re gonna come with me to wherever I go?” Dean didn’t look dismayed by this possibility but thrilled by it.

“If you don’t mind,” Brody said. It was stupid to still be hedging his bets at this point. After all, Dean had just said, If that’s not with me, that’s gonna fucking suck , and it wasn’t like that it would suck less in two years.

Probably it would suck more.

“If I don’t mind ,” Dean retorted. Then he was being pulled into his big boyfriend’s even bigger, beefier arms and held so tightly Brody wasn’t sure he could breathe.

Or maybe that was the joy rushing through him, one thrilling wave after another, leaving him breathless.

Brody wiggled, trying to get a real breath out. “I take it you like that idea,” Brody said.

Dean’s face told him everything he needed to know.

“I love you,” Dean said, “and I fucking love that idea.”

He kissed him again, and the first time they’d ever done it, on that dirty, dingy couch, had felt like a beginning, but this felt so much more like one.

Like the rest of his life.

Like the rest of their life.