30. Tyler

Ithrew my phone across the room, sending it clattering onto my desk as a stack of textbooks fell to the ground.

Hunter and I weren't officially an item. I wasn't ready to come out so we hadn't had the "boyfriend" talk.

Damn it! In light of my situation, I wasn't in the right mindset to be thinking about calling Hunter Graves my boyfriend.

However, if we weren't on the same page, I at least thought we were reading the same book. I thought he wanted to be around me as much as possible. He claimed he was there for me. He listened to my thoughts, he held me while I cried.

He had sex with me.

I was hesitant to call it making love because we weren't there yet, right? In the midst of my mental spiral, the door opened and Jamie leaned against the frame doing what he did best: reading right through my bullshit.

"What did he do?" Jamie asked, knowing me well enough to pinpoint a certain guy as the cause of my outburst.

"He didn't do anything."

"And I suppose that's the problem? One moment he's picking you up from the airport, comforting you, holding your hand and, calling you baby—now he's AWOL?"

Ding Ding Ding.

I only nodded in response.

"He did go running out of here like a kangaroo with his tail on fire," Jamie said. "Something happen?"

I think back how he was wrapped around me one second, and stiff as a board the next—all because of a phone call.

"He got a call from his dad."

Jamie frowned. "He not a good guy?"

"Hunter's pretty private about his home life. All I know is that his dad practically has his whole life planned out for him."

Jamie hummed, and in that moment I realized that I wasn't the only one who had to grow up quick.

"And that annoys you," Jamie deduced, breaking me from my thoughts. "You've been vulnerable with him, and now he won't do to the same for you."

"Okay Dr. Freud—yes it annoys me. We haven't established what we are or where we want to go with… whatever this is. But he hightails it out of here, goes radio silent all day, then sends me a vague message. It just rubs me the wrong way."

Jamie barked out a laugh. "And they say girls are difficult."

"Emotions are difficult," I grumble.

Jamie nodded and pushed off the door. "Let's eat. I'll even watch hockey tapes with you. I am bored out of my brain."

I didn't miss the way Hunter avoided me as I entered the team gym, or how he ducked into the toilets to change instead of doing so at his stall. The other guys hadn't arrived yet, but I was eager to hit the ice after having some time off. Being away was the longest week of my life. As I began to change, the Coach's gruff voice echoed through the locker room's open door as he poked his head in. "Riley, got a minute?"

I nodded and followed him to his office, shoving my hands into my hoodie as if it could provide some sense of comfort. I had a feeling this was going to be a difficult conversation.

I sat in the seat he indicated while he took his desk chair. There was a beat of silence as he looked me over, almost as if I'd crumble right before his eyes. Been there, done that, sir..

Logistically, I knew that wasn't how grief worked, and the guilt of moving on weighed heavily on my chest. But this was what Mum wanted. I needed to do this.

"How are you, Tyler?" There it was: the magic question..

I wondered if I looked as bad as I felt, if my exhaustion was showing on my face.

"As good as can be, sir. I'm more than okay to still play if that's what you're asking."

The smile he responded with was full of sympathy—maybe even pity—and I didn't like it. I didn't want to be seen as the boy who just lost a parent. I just wanted to be Tyler Riley: the hockey player.

"It's okay if you're not. We have a game in two days, and I think it might be best to have you as a healthy scratch. It'll, give you some time—"

"No. Please, I need to be on that ice. This is what my mum would have wanted—she wanted me to play."

I hated how my voice thickened, how my body vibrated as I fought to hold myself together.

Coach looked at me, really looked at me. I felt as if every detail of me was under intense examination.

"Fine, but if I think you need to be benched at any point during the game, that's what I'll do. I think you should also visit the university's counseling services given that—"

"I'll consider it, sir," I interrupted—but it was a lie. There was no way I was going to sit in some therapist's office while my carefully constructed walls were broken down. There would be time for that once the season was over.

"Good. I am sorry for your loss Tyler, truly. Please know we're all here for you—the staff, and the team. I hope it's okay that I kept them informed. Your absence was noted and the team really cares about you."

I nodded because I had expected as much. There weren't very many secrets kept when you stayed in such close quarters with people.

Unfortunately, the locker room was filled with my teammates upon my return—except the face I truly needed to see.

A horde of sympathetic eyes met mine, and I endured all the awkward hugs and condolences. Though the only thing I wanted in that moment was to return to a time when I was just the new kid from another country.

"Thanks, everyone. I'm getting through it, but please don't treat me any differently. I'm not some fragile doll that's going to break at the drop of a hat. I'm here to play hockey and win hockey, and we can't do that if you're pussyfooting around me, okay?"

They nodded and all took turns patting my back before they thankfully went about getting into their gear. Once we were on the ice, it was all systems go. Coach was on a mission to iron out some cracks, and I couldn't be more thankful.

What I couldn't ignore, however, was Hunter. I was laser-focused on Hunter on the best of days but that day, he was a red flag on skates. With every move he made, every swing of his stick, his face twisted. I had never seen him play so… shit. Coach seemed to agree.

"Graves, what's up your ass!? Do I need medical to check you out? You're as slow as a sloth and as stiff as a board."

"Sorry, sir. I'm fine." After that, I watched him push himself harder, and to give credit where it was due, he did look better. But it was as if I felt his every flinch in my core. Something wasn't right.

If anything was going to break me, it would be if something happened to him.

I stayed on the ice until Hunter and I were the last ones standing. I knew the rest of the team had already showered and changed to get lunch before we sat down to watch tapes. "Alright, boys, that's enough!" Coach called. He'd been more than generous with our ice time. "Cool down, get ready and eat. See you in the media room in an hour!"

Hunter moved as quick as his body would allow. I kept a close eye on him as I trailed him into the locker room. The steady hum from the Zamboni filtered into the empty space, bouncing off the walls and making our silence seem even louder.

Seeing that I wasn't going to back down, Hunter took his shirt off, a hiss escaping between his teeth. Now it made sense why he didn't want to sleep over: so I wouldn't see his black and blue torso.

"It's nothing, Tyler," he said, his tone void of emotion. I didn't like it.

He started toward the showers, ignoring the fact that I'd already taken in how bruised his body was. It didn't take much for me to put it together. I was no stranger to knowing someone with abusive parents—it was a horribly common occurrence.

But it had never hit so close to home. Never had it pulled such a visceral reaction from me. I was behind him in an instant, spinning him and softly pressing him into the cool tiles with my hands on his waist. He didn't look me in the eyes, but he didn't fight me either. I didn't like this version of him at all. I wanted my hot-headed Boston boy back. I wanted him to challenge me, show me that whoever did this to him hadn't broken him.

"Boston, look at me," I nudged his chin up with my own, crowding his space and not caring if anyone saw. Our eyes finally met, and my heart sank.

"Who did this to you?"

I felt when goosebumps pebbled over his skin at my bare chest touching his. I was mindful not to touch the bruising.

His eyes fluttered, long black lashes fanning against his angular cheekbones.

"It doesn't matter who did this to me." The words assault my lips.

"It matters to me, Boston. Do you think I could survive something happening to you?"

You are my home now.

The realization hit me like a freight train, and I was close enough to confessing how I felt about him right there and then. His eyes closed, but he didn't give me an answer.

Instead, our noses brushed before he tilted his head to bring our lips together. He ate up my mewls of pleasure, fingers possessively clenching my hips.

A clatter from the locker room had me jolting back and desperately trying to adjust myself in my underwear. "Fucking stupid" I mumbled. "Promise me you will come to me for help, with whatever this shit is going on in your life? Because seeing you like this makes me go all ragey and when I go ragey I'm clearly not thinking straight."

He laughed at my choice of words so I gave him a playful shove, regretting it instantly when he winced. "Shit! I'm so sorry."

I lightly brushed my hand over his bruises., "I don't like this." The words meant more than just his bruises, and the softness in his eyes made me think that maybe he understood that too.

But he didn't say a word. He didn't promise that he would let me in. I pulled away, unable to leave without kissing his cheek. I left wondering if I would survive a heartbreak like losing Hunter Graves.