3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Brody glanced up at the clock, butt shifting on the bench, and knew, right before the opposing coach made the sign, that they were going to pull the goalie.

Coach B knew too, had probably known it was going to happen even before Brody did. But he had realized it, right before it happened, so he was ready. Ramsey was too, and the moment it happened, they were over the barricade, swapping out with the other defensive team.

Out of the corner of Brody’s eye, he watched as Ramsey circled around the left side of the ice, and the rest of the line gathering up, everyone watching as the Cougars’ best two forwards shifted the puck back and forth between them.

But Brody and Ramsey weren’t the best defensemen on the Evergreens for nothing.

They had this handled.

At least Brody sure fucking hoped they did.

They’d held the Cougars to only one goal, and they’d scored when he and Ramsey hadn’t been on the ice, a stray puck that one of the Cougars’ forwards had slipped right past Finn’s skate.

It had been overall a good performance, Elliott scoring on an absolute sick breakaway goal, and Mal adding another.

It was their third game, but it seemed the team was gelling in the exact kind of way Coach G kept pushing for.

Probably through all the intense practices that he’d led.

They’d come together because they didn’t really have any other choice.

Brody would respect Coach for that if he wasn’t so exhausted.

But it didn’t matter how fucking tired he was. They had three minutes left, and they’d need to keep them scoreless to finish the Cougars off.

Ramsey was on the Cougars’ highest scorer, Brody doing what he did best, which was to cover the corners, hoping that his pressure would be enough that they’d waste too much time to take too many shots at Finn.

Brody could see him now, eyes glued to the puck, gloved fist clenched around his stick, ready to react instantly the moment any of the Cougars made a move towards the goal.

But they didn’t, passing the puck around, the time ticking down one long second after one long second.

It had already been a fucking eternity of a game, he was so tired, but he was going to give it his last effort, to pull out this win.

Brody certainly wasn’t going to let them score this way and grab a victory from the jaws of defeat.

Not if he had anything to say about it. Sweat dripped down his forehead and down his back. He’d been gradually working his way up, with his skating, and he already could tell when he checked the stats of this game, he’d have the most minutes played since last season.

Since his injury.

His knee ached, but it didn’t feel all that different than the rest of him, frankly. It all fucking ached.

But it didn’t matter. He was gonna make it happen anyway.

That was when the forward, the one Ramsey had been shadowing, cut over sharply, and the puck slid to him, a quick little pass that Brody nearly missed, but he was tracking it.

But Finn had missed it, and in a second, everything was going to be over.

All the forward needed to do was flick the puck behind Finn’s back and they’d be tied. Going to fucking overtime.

But Brody wasn’t going to let that happen.

He pushed off, not even thinking in the moment that it was off his bad knee, the one he still didn’t quite trust yet, and skated harder than he’d skated all game—all season . Pushing hard, he hit the crease, and slid in front of the puck, right before the forward could flick it in.

It bounced off his stick, and Ramsey grabbed it with his, and sent it back down the other way, clearing it all the way to the other end of the ice.

The Cougars chased after it but it was too late.

The last seconds ticked off, and the game buzzer sounded.

“Shit, man,” Ramsey said, breathless, panting as he skated over to where Brody was still perched, on the ice, lungs working hard as he tried to catch his own breath. “You fucking saved that goal.”

“Yeah,” Brody said.

“Glad you did,” Finn said, but there was a ghost of worry in his face.

Like he was already beginning to blame himself.

Brody knew they’d have to deal with their goalie’s attempts to blame himself for every little mistake—but for right now, he just hoped that Finn and the rest of the team took the win.

“Great work out there,” Zach said, slapping backs as the team filed in through the tunnel, heading to the locker room at the end of the game. He paused in front of Brody. “Sick play there, man. I loved what you did there.”

“Thanks,” Brody said. There was no denying it. Every time he stepped onto the ice that little frisson of worry slid down his spine, the concern that when he needed it most, his knee was going to fail him, but when it had come down to it today, it had carried him.

More than carried him.

It had given him the strength and the push he’d needed, when he’d needed it most.

But the best part was that when the moment had come, he hadn’t hesitated.

He’d just expected it to hold him, and it had.

“Great fucking game,” Ramsey said, collapsing onto the bench next to Brody. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them overhand into the equipment bin for cleaning.

“You too,” Brody said.

“Party tonight at Gamma Sigma,” Ramsey said. “You better be there.”

“Aw, a party ,” Brody complained as he bent down, unlacing his skates. “I’m worn out, man.”

“You sound like you’re a hundred and one, not twenty-one,” Ramsey said, a gentle reprimand on his face.

“Well, I feel like a hundred.”

“You’ll get a second wind. Seriously, you’re coming. You’ve ducked out on the last two.”

“My classes are murdering me, that’s why,” Brody said. Nevermind hockey. He’d not regretted his science major more than he did right now.

“Not surprised,” Ramsey pointed out dryly. “You’re coming anyway. And while you’re at it, bring Dean with you.”

“How do you even know he’s free?” Brody said, forgoing arguing about his schedule, instead focusing on the one thing he could , which was Dean’s somehow crazier schedule.

“They’re on bye this week so he’s home,” Ramsey said. “How do I know this and you don’t?”

“We don’t see each other all that much,” Brody admitted.

“Well, you gotta change that. Guy needs more friends.”

Brody rolled his eyes, but he nodded too. He could agree with that.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do,” Brody said.

He finished shucking his gear, took a shower, and then headed back to the apartment he shared with Dean.

The whole way home he expected to see that Dean wouldn’t be there, after all, because he so rarely was. If Brody had been home more himself, he might’ve assumed that Dean was avoiding him on purpose, but he knew how much busier the other guy’s schedule was, because he worked , too. What seemed like at least twenty hours a week, monitoring the gym that the college maintained for the general population.

Brody had run into him a couple of times on his way to the weight room reserved just for the sports teams, but they hadn’t done more than exchange semi-friendly waves.

After trudging up the two flights of stairs—he did regret those, in the end—he unlocked the front door of the apartment, and to his surprise, Dean was there, on the couch, sprawled out, with one of the Marvel movies on TV.

“Hey,” Brody said.

Dean glanced up. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Good game? I saw you guys won.”

“Yeah. It was, actually. We’re coming together, I think.”

“I’m glad for you guys,” Dean said, giving him a swift smile that told Brody he meant it. And frankly, he’d looked up their game schedule and was keeping tabs on their wins and losses. Brody might’ve believed Dean’s distance meant that he didn’t give a shit, but he kept being proved wrong, over and over again.

He was beginning to think Dean didn’t know how to be a friend . And how to tell that friend that he totally gave a shit.

It was that realization that pushed him to say, “Ramsey’s going to the Gamma Sigma party tonight. Invited me.”

“Yeah?”

“And you,” Brody added. “Apparently we’ve both been working too hard.”

For a long moment, Dean didn’t say anything. Just looked at him, that brain churning away. For a guy who didn’t say much, there was a lot going on in his head. Brody had learned that much about him, even in the handful of conversations they’d had since moving in together.

“That isn’t a lie,” he finally said.

“Then you’re gonna come?”

“Don’t know. Frat parties aren’t typically my kind of thing.”

“Mine either,” Brody said wryly. “Come with me and keep me company.”

Dean gestured down, at the pair of gray sweatpants he wore. “I’d have to get dressed.”

“Just throw some jeans on,” Brody suggested.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You think I can go to this frat party in a worn-out T-shirt with a hole under the armpit?”

Brody looked him over. The shirt was clearly old, the fabric washed a hundred times and clinging tightly to his biceps and pectorals and stomach. He looked . . .well, if he’d been into that, it would’ve been a wet dream-worthy sight.

It was kind of wild how Dean didn’t realize how attractive he was. But it was clear he had no idea.

“I think you’re fine,” Brody said.

“Alright, well, if I’m fine ,” Dean teased. He pushed himself off the couch and disappeared down the tiny hallway. A few minutes later, he was back, a pair of jeans maybe as old as the T-shirt clinging to his thighs.

Brody’s mouth went dry and he looked away.

He couldn’t explain why Dean’s body was affecting him this way. He’d seen hundreds of guys naked in the showers over the years. Maybe more. And his brain had never caught on thoughts of them.

One of Dean’s big hands ran through his chestnut hair. “Am I presentable now?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

Dean nudged him as they headed out the door. “Maybe I’m not pretty like you, but I think I’m not that bad looking.”

Brody nearly tripped down the stairs, and only at the last second, Dean caught him, one of those big hands wrapping its way around his waist and tugging him back.

Pulling him against his bigger body.

Brody’s breath went out in a harsh whoosh.

“You alright there?” Dean asked.

“I . . .uh . . .yeah.”

“Good,” Dean said and released him.

They made it down the stairs without any further difficulties and turned down Washington Avenue towards frat row.

As they walked, Brody tried to consider the problem—was it even a problem?—from a scientific angle. A safe angle.

Maybe he’d have been better off showing up at the frat without Dean and dealing with Ramsey’s crap than he would be spending the evening with the guy.

It would probably have been the safer option. Because something kept teasing at the corners of his consciousness. Images of Dean, every time he’d seen him, flickering through his mind.

Dean blending up a protein shake in the morning, eyes sleepy and hair mussed and wearing only a low-hanging pair of athletic shorts, ripped abs on full display.

Dean with only a towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping onto those broad shoulders.

Dean in the weight room, demonstrating a move to a simpering blond girl clearly angling for more than just a lesson, muscles bunching and relaxing as he went through the reps.

Dean, leaning towards him on the couch, those crystal clear green eyes so amused. So open. Surprised, even, like he hadn’t expected to laugh with Brody and he liked it anyway.

Brody didn’t want to think about why it was that he was so hyper-fixated on the guy. Or why the memories he kept catching on were these particular ones.

He wasn’t stupid.

Clearly, maybe Ramsey was right and it had been too long since he’d had sex, if his very male roommate was able to turn him on.

“You’re being quiet,” Dean said.

“Pot, kettle,” Brody said.

Dean chuckled. “That’s fair.”

“Just thinking I haven’t seen much of you around,” Brody said. Maybe if he saw more of Dean. Saw more of Dean’s potentially bad habits and got to know him a little better, he’d snap out of this.

“Been busy. Told you I’d be a good roommate. Best roommates are absent roommates, right?”

“I guess,” Brody said. “I just don’t want you to think you have to avoid being at home, just because . . .uh . . .we weren’t always going to be roommates.”

“Nah.”

“’Cause I like you just fine. Maybe even more than Ramsey.” He knew Ramsey better, that was for sure. But could he like Dean more? Well, if his uncooperative mind—and dick—were any indication, he sure could. Because he’d never, not in a million years, ever been tempted sexually by Ramsey.

“Aw, that’s sweet, pretty boy,” Dean teased.

Brody tried to tame his flush. “Just the truth.”

“I like you just fine, too. You’re better than anything else I’d end up with by accident or necessity,” Dean admitted. “And that’s not just because of that crazy fancy blender your mom bought.”

They turned down Clackamas and there on the corner was frat row, people already spilling out of the houses onto the ragged front lawns, noise echoing in the night from at least half the houses on the block.

“It’s this one,” Brody said, gesturing at one of the houses in the middle with the front door open, multi-colored lights and music pouring out of the gap.

“You really sure about this?” Dean asked skeptically.

Brody got it. He didn’t really want to go to this party, but what was the alternative? Sitting at home, alone? Going over one of his lab reports? He was a college student. Some fun should come with the territory.

“No, but we’re going in anyway,” Brody said with determination.

“Alright then. Lead the way, pretty boy.”

Brody flashed him a hard look and Dean flashed him back an easy grin.

“That’s annoying,” Brody told him as they walked up to the front porch.

“But true,” Dean retorted.

And yeah, as they entered the house, packed with people, they were all staring at the pair of them with the kind of hungry gazes that weren’t so hard to interpret.

“You want to hook up with any of those . . .” Dean scratched his neck, looking vaguely uncomfortable with the attention as they headed towards the back of the house, where Brody knew the bar was. “Puck bunnies? That what they call them?”

“Yes and no ,” Brody said.

“Me either. I’m not into being wanted for my accomplishments.”

“Just your hot body?” Brody said it before he could even think about it, could dream of taking it back. Of leaving it unsaid.

Because Dean did have a hot body. Straight or not, that much was kind of a certifiable fact.

Dean gave him a startled look.

“Hey, you call me pretty boy,” Brody retorted weakly.

“True,” Dean said. Shot him a conspiratorial smile. “Guess we’re both hot, then.”

“Guess so.”

Not that he wanted to acknowledge that fact. It was pretty fucking inconvenient and Brody didn’t have the time—or the inclination—to want to unpack it.

They finally hit the back of the house with its bar, and sure enough, there was Ramsey, flirting with a girl and a guy both, flashing them one of his easy let’s hook up grins.

Brody rolled his eyes. “Ramsey. See you’re already working it,” he said.

To Brody’s surprise, Ramsey actually turned away from the pair and greeted both him and Dean with hugs.

Dean looked vaguely uncomfortable with it, but he didn’t push Ramsey away.

Probably because he was too surprised.

“Glad you two both made it. I thought you’d be too comfortable growing into your couch to come out,” he teased lightly. “Grab a drink. A girl. Enjoy yourselves.”

“We’re good with the drink,” Dean said. He rooted around in a cooler and pulled out two beers. “You good with this?” he asked, showing Brody the label.

“Yeah,” Brody said.

“But first, before you escape into some dark corner to talk very seriously about your bright futures,” Ramsey said, pointing at the table that they’d set up like a makeshift bar. “Shots.”

“Ah—” Brody was about to argue, to say he didn’t really want to take shots, but Dean said instead, “Sure.”

Surprised the hell out of him, but when he met Dean’s eyes, he just shrugged. Like he’d given in because it was easier than arguing with Ramsey.

Which was generally true.

Ramsey poured out three shots of tequila from a bottle he grabbed from his own personal stash.

“This isn’t watered down, unlike the rest of this,” he told them with a shit-eating grin as he gestured at the rest of the bottles sitting on the countertop.

Dutifully, Brody licked the salt, downed the tequila, and then sucked on the wedge of lime Ramsey handed him.

Most definitely did not watch as Dean did the same.

“Oh, come on, one more,” Ramsey persuaded.

“You tryin’ to hook up with us ?” Dean asked with a straight face, but Ramsey just burst into laughter.

“Oh,” he said, “ oh , I’m so glad I found you, Scott. You are an absolute fucking delight.”

“Thanks, I think?”

“It’s a compliment. Take it,” Brody said, patting Dean encouragingly on the shoulder. “He doesn’t give those out very often.”

“And in honor of it, one more,” Ramsey said, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“Fine, fine,” Brody said.

The second shot went down even easier than the first.

Dean licked his lips as he tossed his lime wedge into the trash. “Damn, that’s good stuff,” he said.

“I know. You’re welcome,” Ramsey said smugly, handing them back their beers. “Now go forth and enjoy yourselves. Dance. Drink. Find someone to flirt with. Or God forbid, someone to hook up with.”

Brody opened his mouth, ready to argue that he didn’t need to hook up with anyone, fuck you very much, Ramsey , but before he could get any of it out, Dean wrapped one of those huge hands around his forearm and was dragging him out of the kitchen.

“Sure thing,” Dean said, calling back, and Ramsey just cackled with amused laughter.

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” Brody grumbled as they headed back to the living room.

Dean hadn’t let go of him yet, his grip was firm and Brody was trying to pretend it wasn’t sending sparks shooting though him.

That’s just the tequila talking.

Except that he wasn’t sure it was, entirely.

“He’s harmless,” Dean said.

“You say that until somehow he’s invited someone to your bed and you don’t even know them and God only knows what they expect from you.”

“Would he do that?” Dean frowned. “Did he do that to you ?”

“No, no, I’m just saying, would he? Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him. He seems determined to get me to . . .” Brody trailed off, staring up at Dean’s concerned face.

And wasn’t that a fucking trip? He was six feet tall, and he had to look up at Dean. Brody didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

“You’re good just as you are,” Dean said.

The sparks had moved down from his arm and seemed to be pooling in the base of his stomach now, with the two shots of tequila.

Brody didn’t drink much, and if he did, he usually just grabbed a beer. He took a long sip of his now. It wasn’t going to clarify anything, but the booze did help him pretend all of this didn’t exist.

“Thanks,” Brody said. He thought about saying something else. Something like, you ever think about it? Not girls, but guys.

Because he was pretty sure he was thinking about it now.

Dean tilted his head. “Oh, there’s Wes and his boyfriend.” He gestured at a tall blond man in a T-shirt and jeans like nearly every other guy here, and the shorter guy trailing after him, holding his hand and wearing, to Brody’s surprise, a suit complete with bow tie and matching pocket square.

“Wes,” Dean said, greeting him. “And Marcus. Good to see you.”

“Oh, stop pretending and come hug me, you big lug,” the shorter man said, dropping Wes’ hand and pulling Dean into a hug. “It’s been too long. I never see you during the season.”

“We’re a little busy,” Dean said. He turned to Brody. “And this is my roommate, Brody. Wes, of course, and his boyfriend, Marcus.”

Brody shook Wes’ hand and then Marcus’, giving him another quick glance.

“I know,” Marcus said, chuckling under his breath, “it’s a common question. What’s a fine guy like me doing with this one?” He elbowed Wes in the side. “Someone who wouldn’t know good tailoring if it came up and bit him in the ass.”

But it was clear from the looks they exchanged—fond, with just a lingering bit of heat—exactly what they were doing together.

“Oh, you love me,” Wes teased.

“What’s not to love?” Marcus retorted with a soft smile.

“How did you two meet?” Brody asked.

“See?” Marcus pointedly asked. “He wants to know, too. To answer your question, it was in high school. We got assigned the same project our sophomore year. I was not amused.”

“The dreaded group project,” Wes inserted, but he was beaming, like just hearing Marcus tell this story lit him up inside.

“Yes, definitely. I did dread doing it with you, because I expected that I’d be doing all the work. ”

“Hey, I might’ve been a jock, but I’m not a complete idiot,” Wes argued playfully.

Marcus smacked him lightly on the chest. “Nobody ever said you were. Just that jocks like you might expect someone . . .discerning like me . . .to handle the whole thing.”

“Did you?” Brody asked.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t let him. I made him work for it. I made him work for me ,” Marcus teased.

“He sure did.” And Wes didn’t look upset about it at all; he looked enthralled.

“To answer your question,” Dean said in a low voice, “yes, they’re always like this.”

“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Marcus proclaimed.

“Oh, we all know how cute you think he is. You know how many nights he’s been caught sneaking into Wes’ room during away games?” Dean shot the pair a knowing look. “You are not subtle.”

“Not in the least,” Marcus agreed.

“Wes here is gonna get drafted and end up a starting QB in the NFL,” Dean said.

“And what about you?” Brody asked Marcus. “You look like you’re going places.”

“You know it. Law school. Wherever this lunk gets drafted to.”

“That’s impressive.” Brody was undeniably impressed. He spent so much time around the guys on the hockey team, most of whom were just happy to get good enough grades to stay on the team and graduate on time.

There were the students in his bio classes, of course, but it often felt like they were on a different planet than Brody. Certainly, even though Brody was smart and pulled in great test scores, they kept him apart. Talked about him like he was some kind of aberration they didn’t know how to categorize.

“It is,” Wes agreed.

“And you’re not worried at all about this?”

Wes and Marcus exchanged a long glance full of certainty and unconditional love. “Not at all,” they said, nearly at the same time.

“Come on,” Marcus said, winding a hand around Wes’ neck, “let’s go dance.”

Wes didn’t fight, just went, following him like his whole life was wrapped up in the man with the gorgeous brown skin and limpid dark eyes.

“Yes, they really are like that all the time,” Dean said when they were out of earshot.

Brody finished his beer. Noticed that Dean had, too. “You want another?” he asked.

“Sure,” Dean said, “but I’ll come with you.”

“Aw, don’t want me to leave you alone. Worried you’re gonna get swarmed as soon as you’re alone?”

Surely Dean had noticed all the girls, in clusters and in packs, ringing the living room, eyeing him. Eyeing them.

“Of course not,” Dean blustered. But Brody knew.

“Maybe they think we’re here together,” Brody teased. “And it’s keeping them at arm’s length.”

“Whatever’s doing it, I’m happy about it,” Dean admitted, following him into the kitchen. Brody grabbed two beers from the cooler and wiped the condensation off with the hem of his T-shirt then flicked the tops off, handing one to Dean.

He didn’t have abs like Dean—did anyone have abs like Dean?—but he didn’t miss Dean’s gaze snagging on the flash of bare stomach before he dropped the fabric back down.

He didn’t know what they were doing. They weren’t even friends, really, so how could they be anything more?

Nevermind that they’d both told each other they were straight.

“Not looking to hook up tonight?” Brody asked.

It would be easier—would make everything easier—if Dean ditched him and found some girl who would pant over him the way Brody was trying not to.

But Dean just shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “There’s always strings and who’s got time for that?”

“Not you,” Brody agreed. He didn’t think he knew anyone busier than his roommate.

“Exactly.”

Brody tilted the neck of his beer bottle, tapping it against Dean’s. “To not hooking up with anyone,” he said.

Dean grinned. “You not doin’ it to make Ramsey crazy?”

“I’m not doing it because I don’t want to. I . . .” It was hard to explain. Especially hard to explain to the guys Brody knew, especially the guys on his team. None of them understood his reticence. His dislike of casual relationships. His need to be comfortable and familiar with someone before he got naked with them. “I don’t really want to, that’s all.”

“Understood,” Dean said quietly, and Brody thought he maybe actually did.

“Thanks,” Brody said, meaning it.

“’Course. Who am I to judge? I work all the fucking time. And when I’m not working, I’m at practice, or in class. I’ve got no time for anything else.”

“Why is that?” Brody asked.

Dean’s expression went wry and he took a long drink of his beer. “Let’s just say that my parents aren’t both doctors. Or that either of them are actually involved in my life.”

Brody wasn’t surprised; he’d observed enough about Dean’s life to realize that he’d grown up very differently. But he still felt a pulse of sadness. Dean was a great guy, with such a bright future. One he’d apparently fought for on his own.

“Yeah,” Dean continued, suddenly looking awkward. “I don’t talk about this much.”

“I understand.” And even though Brody knew his situation had been like night and day from Dean’s, he did .

They were both lone wolves, fighting for what they wanted, for what they needed, in a world that didn’t always understand them.

A world that assumed that with Brody’s face and his hockey prowess that he’d want to have sex with as many people as possible. A world that assumed every kid who got this far, with this bright of a future ahead of him, had two supportive parents.

Out of the corner of his eye, Brody saw Finn walk in, a far-too-bright smile plastered across his face, eyes dark and a little haunted.

“Hey, one of my teammates just showed up, and I wanted to talk to him real quick. You okay here?”

“You gonna abandon me, Faulkner?” Dean teased in a low voice.

“Just for a minute,” Brody promised.

“It’s alright. Take your time. I get it. I’ll go find Wes and Marcus, make sure they don’t get carried away in a dark corner.”

Brody headed Finn off before he hit the kitchen—and the booze.

“Hey,” he said to the goalie, “great game today.”

Finn shot him a look, bleak and tinged at the edges with something ugly. The something that Brody had slowly been growing more and more concerned over.

There was a desperation to be good, to be the best , baked into Finn’s DNA. Maybe Brody couldn’t fix it, couldn’t take it away, but he could try to make it easier to deal with. Show Finn that he understood the pressure, too.

“They almost won. If you hadn’t saved that goal—”

Brody interrupted him, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. “But I did. That’s what I’m there for. You don’t have to handle the whole defense on your own, Finn. That’s what we’re there for.”

“But—”

“You weren’t out of position, even.”

“I didn’t see the puck.” Finn’s voice was heavy, nearly dripping with that particular kind of pressure that only he could put on himself.

Brody hadn’t been sure that he had seen the puck. Had worried that he hadn’t, because of exactly this problem. “We’ve won two games and lost one, barely. We’re getting better. And we can’t do that if you melt down every time someone almost scores.” He tried to keep his voice calm. Even. Soothing.

But Finn didn’t look particularly soothed. “I’m not melting down . I’m trying to be good. I’m trying to give the team what it needs.”

What the team needs is for you to cut yourself some fucking slack.

The problem was Finn would never believe that, and they could thank Finn’s father and his storied NHL career for that.

“You are,” Brody said. “I promise, you are.”

“Who appointed you team cheerleader?” Finn asked, and before Brody could respond to the venom in his voice, he sighed with resignation. “God, I’m sorry. Forget I said that. You’re just trying to help. You are helping.”

Brody wasn’t sure he really was, but he was going to keep making the effort. “Good. That’s all I’m trying to do. You don’t have to shoulder the whole burden of the defense. We’re a team out there. Remember that, okay?”

“Okay.” He looked a little better. Less self-destructive anyway, and Brody supposed that was all he could ask for.

“Don’t drink too much either, or do something I’d regret.”

“Why do we have to use you as a standard?” Finn teased. “Why can’t I use Ramsey instead? Or Elliott?”

“Because Ramsey’s antics aren’t for amateurs, and someday Elliott is going to learn that too, the hard way,” Brody cautioned.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of myself.”

“Just make sure of that, okay?” Brody said.

“It’s alright, Dad. I’ve got this.”

Brody rolled his eyes, but he let him pass, Finn moving to the kitchen. He’d text him in the morning, make sure he was okay.

When he returned to the living room, a group of girls had indeed pounced on Dean.

It wasn’t surprising. After all, he was a tall hunk of a man, and on the football team to boot—and if all the chatter was to be believed, heading to the NFL. He was basically an irresistible temptation to anyone who was into hooking up with jocks.

One girl with long blond hair tossed it playfully and looked up into Dean’s eyes.

Brody might’ve left him alone, thinking that maybe he was doing the guy a favor, but the tense line of his back and his shoulders and the blank expression on his face made it clear that he wasn’t happy about this situation.

It would be mean not to rescue him, especially when he’d promised not to stay away too long.

Brody approached and without thinking too hard about it, slid an arm around Dean’s taut waist and leaned into him. “There you are,” he announced loudly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Dean glanced down, and for a second, the rest of the room seemed to evaporate in the intense look in those green eyes. Clear and opaque both, like glass.

“I’m right here,” Dean said and tucked an arm around Brody too.

“Oh, oh ,” the blond girl said, like she was just beginning to realize. “You should’ve said you were here with someone.”

“Maia, you didn’t let him get a word in edgewise,” her brunette friend teased. “Come on, let’s get some drinks.”

Brody let go of Dean the moment they were out of sight, but he didn’t miss how Dean’s touch lingered for just a second longer.

He ignored how it lit him up inside. That was so much easier than thinking about it. Considering what it might mean.

“You ready to go?” Brody said. They’d put in their time. Had a few drinks. Talked to people. Surely Ramsey would count that against their hermit status.

“Yes,” Dean said gratefully.