25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Cody

If I were to enter a contest called Guess Luke Carrington’s Teenage Room, this is what I would guess it would be like. It’s just so… him. Like Luke, his room is colorful and overwhelming at first glance. And at a second glance, too. It’s the definition of chaos. Hockey posters of all the great defensemen adorn the walls, not even one of them hanging straight. They’re all crooked, and I can’t help chuckling to myself. I bet he just blew in the door fifteen or sixteen, a brand-new poster in his hands, and just stuck it to some random spot on his wall. The tape has given up on some of them, corners hanging loose from the wallpaper, cutting famous hockey players in half. Stickers, too, with team logos are placed around the room, some on the walls, others on the furniture.

A wooden desk stands in front of the window, light spilling in through the pale blue curtains with hockey sticks on them. The desk is overflowing with what looks like old essays, history books, and hockey magazines. A pencil holder is tipped over, pencils scattered across the wooden surface, and on closer inspection, not even one of them has the tip left. An image of a young Luke blasting through his pile of homework, yelling ‘ fuck! ’ every time a pencil breaks, moves through my mind. Oh, how I would’ve loved to have known him back then. How different would my teenage years have been if I’d had someone like Luke in my corner? Someone who believes in me. Encourages me. And accepts me for who I am. Someone who’ll walk that extra mile for me and always have my back. Luke is that person and my chest tightens with a feeling of loss because of the years I didn’t have him in my life and fear over the possibility of one day losing him again. What if I’m traded? What if he is? Shit, the thought alone is unbearable, and I quickly push it away before I spiral into a full-blown panic attack in the middle of Luke’s room.

Nothing about Luke’s room surprises me and yet I can’t stop staring, taking it all in. His room reminds me of my first day at our shared condo. As focused and organized as Luke is on the ice, he is equally chaotic and easily distracted in his home life. While it’s so damn adorable, it also takes a certain type of roomie. Luckily, I can cut through all the clutter and noise and appreciate him for the remarkable person he is. To be honest, it’s kind of liberating to share your space with someone like Luke after living with a control freak for the first eighteen years of your life. My mom would have a meltdown if she saw this and would probably start stacking things compulsively into neat piles and organizing Luke’s hockey magazines alphabetically.

My eyes drift to shelves upon shelves stacked with hockey memorabilia and trophies of various materials and sizes that take up an entire wall only interrupted by a large flatscreen with a massive gaming console beneath it. A tangle of cords runs across the carpeted floor, disappearing behind a large wooden chest that probably holds more stuff like Antoine jerseys and a year’s supply of expired Reese’s.

Throwing himself on his bed with a loud groan, Luke places his hands behind his head and smiles at me, his eyes swimming with happiness and fatigue. The combination looks good on him. Like really fucking good. Like promises of lazy Sunday afternoons in bed watching some random show, my face buried against Luke’s armpit, breathing him in, and his strong arms…

“So, whatcha think?” Luke grins, stretching languidly, his hoodie riding up, showing a glimpse of his smooth stomach.

I think you are the most gorgeous being I’ve ever seen.

“Your room is…” I trail off, waving my hand around.

“A dump?” he smiles like the cat that got the canary.

“No?” I nod my head yes.

“I know. It’s awesome, right?” He winks. “You wanna nap or play NHL24?” His voice is slurry, but I know that being tired is no hindrance for the likes of Luke Carrington. He can run on sugar and adrenaline until the end of time.

“Uhm,” I smile, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “If I nap, I’ll probably be out for the next 24 hours and then I’ll miss your mom’s tagliatelle.” I run my hands through my post-flight hair, the soft bed giving way beneath me, calling out my name.

“She’ll never recover!” Luke gasps in horror. “Hockey it is!” Luke beams, sitting up and patting the spot next to him on the gray comforter. Then he rolls to the other side of the bed, his upper body leaning over the side while he rummages around under it. Please don’t tell me he has a stack of Reese’s under the bed, too.

“Aha! Here we go, baby,” he throws me a victorious smile, holding up his hands, a controller in each one while that small endearment echoes through my head. Baby. Baby. Baby . As Luke blows at the controllers, dust drifts through the air between us. I can’t help smiling back at him, that familiar flutter in my stomach returning full force. His laughter is so infectious, and I just want to live in the sunlight that is him for the rest of my days. I can’t possibly go back to life in the shadows now that I know how good—how phenomenal—it feels to be basking in the warmth of Luke’s attention.

“You have your controllers under your bed?” I shake my head as I scoot closer to him. I need to be closer.

“Of course,” he leans back against the headboard. “Once I get in bed, I don’t get up for nothin’ until my mom yells that magic word.”

“What magic word?” I rest the right side of my head against the soft headboard, looking into his eyes, which are now bright and alert. He bites his bottom lip as he seems to contemplate something before a devilish glimmer flashes in his eyes, lighting up the brown.

“DINNER!” he hollers, and I nearly jump in the air, startled out of my mind by the sheer volume of his voice.

“Jesus Christ, man.” I push at his shoulder as I fail to bite back a loud laugh that seems to surprise the both of us. Luke’s gaze flickers between my eyes and my mouth a couple of times, an expression of wonder painted across his face. Biting his bottom lip in contemplation, his pink tongue sneaks out and licks at the left corner of his mouth.

“I love the sound of your laughter,” he whispers. “It’s… it’s beautiful, Cody. You know, when you truly laugh with abandon. It’s fucking beautiful. You don’t do it often. Laugh. So, when you do, it’s like a gift. Like a special treat.” Fuck. Me. As Luke’s words settle inside me, I’m at a loss for what to say. What does one say to such a… such an unconditional display of affection? Because there’s no doubt about the origin of Luke’s words. It is written across his gorgeous face, lingering in his eyes and seeping through his tender voice. Affection. I matter to him. I, Cody Mitchell, matter to Luke Carrington and it feels amazing to matter to someone in such a way.

“Thank you,” I settle on as I accept the controller that he’s handing me. “That’s a… that’s a kind thing to say,” I offer lamely, looking down at the controller in my hands.

“It’s true,” he shifts next to me. “Everything about you is…” He seems to catch himself, a long exhale leaving his mouth. “So, which team do you wanna be?”

“Uhm… the Hawks,” I say.

“Good one,” Luke nods in recognition. It warms my heart because the Canadians truly are my favorite team and for the first time since 1993, they may secure Canada the Stanley Cup. Kit Lawson, their starting goalie, is nothing short of amazing this season, and Lyle Galloway, their second choice, is right behind him. It’s my dream to one day play for the Hamilton Hawks. I know it’s unrealistic, but one is allowed to dream, right? If you’d asked me one year ago if I thought I would be playing in the NHL, I would’ve laughed in your face too.

“What about you?” I ask as Luke runs through the list of teams on the screen.

“The Caribous,” he winks at me. Ah yes, of course. I should’ve guessed. Quinn Benson, who’s played four seasons for the Mississauga Caribous, has been in a league of his own this season. “So, we’ll both end up in Canada,” he smiles. “Choose your guy.” Luke nods at the screen. Choose your guy. I’m pretty sure my heart has already chosen my guy. At least, judging by the elated thump, thump, thump right now as Luke’s shoulder brushes against mine.

We play uninterrupted for the next couple of hours until Luke eventually throws his controller through the room, where it lands with a crash against the doors to his closet.

“Fuck you, man!” he whines, his voice drowning in my cackles and hoots of victory.

“Shit, dude. That was pathetic,” I wheeze, my stomach cramping with laughter. “I’m sorry,” I pant, “but that was really fucking bad. Have you even played this game before?” I tease. Luke groans, then throws me a death glare that’s sure to make Hades green with envy. Then, before I have time to react, he’s on me, pinning me against his bed, tickling my sides. I struggle to avoid his ministrations, but even though he’s smaller than me, he’s pure muscle.

“Say ‘ Luke, you’re the greatest .’” His warm breath ghosts across my face as he basically straddles my hips. Damn, the guy’s heavy.

“Okay, okay,” I pant. “Luke, you’re the… worst!” I yell into his face. His eyes sparkle with trouble as he frowns. Leaning closer, his face only a few centimeters from mine, he smirks.

“You’re gonna get it now,” he sneers. And then he goes for my sides again, tickling me ruthlessly until I beg, “Stop! Please, stop. I can’t…” My voice comes out in labored puffs, tears trickling from my eyes and into my hair. Leaning in against my right ear, he pants, “I love it when you beg. Do it again.” His words tickle my skin, igniting small fires where they land. I use all my strength to lift my head, our noses brushing together. “Please,” I beckon, all my wants and needs in that small word. And then it’s just there. That all-consuming need to just feel him. Taste him. And where before I would’ve convinced myself that I shouldn’t, there are only two words going on repeat in my head. Why not? Why. Not.

I close the gap between us, my lips finding his. As soon as I feel his softness against me, it’s like coming home. It’s like every unanswered question I’ve ever had is now resolved. It’s him . It’s always been him. It always will be him , my mind echoes.

Luke moans into my mouth and I swallow the sound eagerly. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. It’s I want this . I want you, too . It’s finally and more and never stop . It’s a secret language only he and I know. A language that was written down ages before there was ever a Luke and ever a Cody. A language that was waiting patiently for the day that we would need it.

His tongue peeks out and sweeps along my bottom lip and I reach out and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer against me. He tenses momentarily, then he relaxes again, losing himself in the kiss. Our kiss. Holding him against me, I explore his mouth, no longer afraid that I’ll unintentionally start something that’ll be the end of us. The end before we’ve even begun. I trust Luke. I trust him completely. And I could just cry tears of joy when I realize that although Luke is making love to my mouth, his tongue grazing hungrily against mine, he’s not hard. He. Is. Not. Hard. He wants me but not like that and it’s the best fucking feeling ever.

And then, all too soon, his lips are gone, and I miss them instantly, the phantom feel of him against me still causing my skin to buzz.

“Why did you stop?” I rasp needily, chasing his mouth, trying to pull him back where he belongs. Then it dawns on me. What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough after all? “Are you—”

“Are you sure?” he says, stealing my words. His eyes are filled with pent-up longing intermingled with concern. “I mean… Is this okay? It’s not… it’s not too much?” I shake my head furiously, tears pressing behind my eyelids.

“No,” I rush out. “It’s not too much. It’s… it’s just right.” You are just right. Then I start laughing with relief. “It’s fucking better than right. It’s everything.” And then the tears come after all, my attempt at holding them back futile. It’s impossible not to feel everything all at once when you suddenly get the one thing that you never thought you would have with another person. Intimacy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“I’ve been so stupid,” I sob. “I’ve been so focused on not getting hurt again that I forgot how great it feels to just allow myself to let go.”

“You’re not stupid,” Luke murmurs. “You were just afraid.”

“I was,” I admit. “Afraid that your way of being ace didn’t match my way of being it. Shit, and it’s not even about that, is it?” I look at Luke, really look at him, anger burning in my chest. “It doesn’t matter if you’re ace or not. I realize that now. Victor made me realize that. All that matters is if we respect each other and listen to each other and…”

“And if we want the same things,” Luke smiles, brushing at my tears.

“Yes,” I whisper, wiping at my nose with the back of my hand. “If we want the same things.”

“I think we do.” Luke grins. “Want the same things. And if somewhere down the road, we run into obstacles, we’ll figure it out too. Together. Just like any other couple.” Down the road. There’s a road. For Luke and me. I nod, burrowing my face against his neck, feeling him move against me.

“You’re not hard,” I blurt stupidly, crying and laughing at the same time. “You’re not.”

Luke looks down to where our crotches meet and laughs, too. “I’m not.” Then he shrugs, looking back up at me, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “Guess I’m just not that into you,” he teases.

“Fuck you, man!” I knee him in the gut, eliciting a muffled oomph from him. “You’re so into me,” I grit, flipping him onto his back so that I’m now the one straddling him. He’s still not hard and I feel like the king of the world. I want to run to the window, open it and yell at suburban Pennsylvania, “Luke Carrington is not sexually attracted to me!”

“You’re sooo into me,” I repeat, leaning down to his face, my lips ghosting against his. He pretend-struggles, but I hold him down. “Say that you’re into me!” I demand. I have no idea where my boldness is coming from. I’ve never been this brave before. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s him that’s making me brave. Maybe it’s his unconditional acceptance.

“I am. I’m so into you,” he wheezes between laughs. His eyes are swimming beneath me from unshed tears. “I’m so fucking into you, Mitchell,” he repeats against my lips, and I gobble up every single word as I kiss him again. And again. And again. I kiss him until I no longer know where I end, and he begins. Until I forget my own name. I kiss him like he’s my new favorite ice cream flavor, and he kisses me back unapologetically. And he’s still not hard. Even when I moan and suck and lick, he’s not hard. He’s so perfectly un-hard for me that I won’t ever be able to stop kissing him. And I don’t. At least, not until his mom yells DINNER! And we reluctantly let go of each other, our lips bruised from kissing, our hair all messed up. Laughing into each other’s faces like it’s the best day ever, we scramble from the bed, adjusting our clothes. Because it is. The best day ever.