34. 34

34

Ant Decker

Robbie doesn’t move. He just keeps holding me, his breathing slow and steady as he waits until I go still. When I do, he tilts my face up so he can see me. I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but what I see on his face shocks and surprises me. It’s not the sweet boy whose kisses make me dizzy. It’s not the impossible man who makes my blood pressure spike. It’s the man I see on the ice. A hard, unstoppable force. A boy once called a wrecking ball now grown into a man. A man with split-second reaction times and the ability to make things happen if he wills them to.

A man who’s currently holding me up as my insides shake.

“I’ll never push you to come out, Ant. I won’t ask you to do it or put pressure on you. Personally, I don’t mind if people know about us. I don’t care what they think. I want them to know, and not even for some big, major reason. I just want to be able to hold your hand when we walk down the street and not have to let go because someone might see us.

“That’s something I want, but I can wait as long as you need me to because coming out is something that’s yours, and I want you to get to do it on your terms. I want you to do it when you’re ready, and not a second before. I want that for you.

“But know this”—he looks at me in the way that used to scare the unholy shit out of me, and it occurs to me distantly that I don’t hate it so much anymore—“I’ll be by your side when you do. I’ll be there like I am now. Sure. Proud. Because I’m sure and proud of you. I’m sure and proud of myself when I’m with you. And I’m sure and proud of us.”

I start to struggle in his arms, fighting because as scared as I am, I’m sure and proud of him too. But I’m also sure people are assholes, and the thought of someone hurting Robbie and me being the cause, makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.

He subdues me with a little shake that’s just hard enough to remind me that every time I’ve ever bested him, he’s let me.

“Wanna know why I’m so sure?” he asks.

I nod once and breathe through my nose as my eyes and throat sting.

Everything about him softens. His eyes, his posture, the grip he has on me. Even his voice is different now. “It’s because I’ve been in love before.”

Even though I know it makes me pathetic, I don’t love hearing that. I manage not to growl, but a snarl spreads across my face that I have trouble tamping down.

“It’s true, I have, so I know the signs and recognize them. I know what it feels like to fall in love.”

He leans in and kisses me so softly and deeply that my throat stops stinging and my eyes start to water. I hate feeling like this. I never should’ve let it happen. I'd push him away now and get the hell out of his room if it wasn’t for the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m something. Something big and important, that matters to him.

“I know I’m in love with you, Ant. I know it, like really know it.” He sighs gently. He looks intensely vulnerable, heart open and exposed, beating in his chest cavity with no protection, but he doesn’t look weak. He’s laid bare, but unlike me, he accepted his condition a while back, and instead of thinking of it as a weakness, he sees it as a strength. “But also, I know this time it’s different. It’s unlike the other times I fell in love because this time…” He kisses me again, softer. Deeper. “This time, it’s the last time. The last time I’ll ever fall in love. It’s you and me , baby, from now till the end. It has to be ’cause I’ll never feel like this about anyone else.”

My heart spasms, contracting so hard it aches, and then it beats. Aches and beats. Aches and beats. Squeezing so hard in my chest it strangles me, and I can’t make myself form words.

He holds me and rocks me gently, whispering, “I love you,” over and over. He says it until I start to believe it’s real. That it’s really happening. That he means it. That this is my life.

He says it until I start to believe it.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he says when he pulls away, shifting in my lap to get a better vantage of me. Maybe I’d feel a modicum of relief if it weren’t for the fact he has that crazy glint in his eyes. The glint that’s made a lot of really strange, out-of-control shit happen in my life recently. He lets me see it and lets me see the second it changes from soft and sweet to fucking impossible. “’Cause I know you love me too, Decker.”

“Goddammit, Robbie,” I cry. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to say I love you from you to me and also from me to you. That’s not a thing. Everyone knows tha—”

“Oh no? How’s it supposed to work then?”

“You’re supposed to say you love me, and then you’re supposed to let me say I love you.”

I hear it as soon as I say it. He does too. The air in the room stops moving. For all I know, the planet stops turning. The only difference between Robbie and me right now is that he’s not even a little surprised.

But then I wind my fingers into the hair that’s fallen into his face and brush it back, exposing his face. His beautiful face. His mouth. His cheekbones. His eyes and all the good things they contain, and holy shit, how did I ever think I could come within a hundred feet of this guy and not fall for him. I must have been fucking insane.

I had no chance. No choice at all. I never did. I look into big pools of hazel-green, watching as they ripple. The dappled shadows I see in them clearly spell out my name. Calling me softly at first and then louder and louder. I answer the call. I take a deep breath and dive in without looking back. “I love you too, Princess. I tried not to fall for you. I really did. But I couldn’t help it.”

It’s Robbie’s first game back. We’re about to go on the ice, and Bodie is standing near the door, handing out cage helmets like they’re confetti.

“What’s with the cage, bro?” asks Jeff Sams, one of the rookies. “This ain’t college.”

“Um,” says Bodie, twitching his head in annoyance, “Robbie had a serious concussion, and we’re not about to let him go out there wearing a cage helmet on his own. It’s called being a team player. Look it up.”

“He doesn’t need a cage helmet. No one else uses one after they get concussed.”

Rookies in general can be irritating, but this one in particular is an acquired taste.

And I can’t say I’ve acquired the taste.

“Well, Jeffery,” says Bodie, slowing his words to make them more easily understandable, “Robbie’s mom is a doctor, you see, so I think you’ll find she knows a little more about the dangers of brain injuries than you do.”

“Yeah, asshat,” I say to the rook as I pull my own fucking cage helmet onto my head, strapping it on pointedly, “it’s a matter of health and safety.”

Pejic and Luddy each take a cage helmet as well. They both look a little reluctant, and I can’t blame them. I feel like a prize-ass wearing the damn thing, but Robbie’s been difficult about it, and the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized his mom is right. It’s crazy that people play this game with their faces exposed.

Especially people with crazy beautiful faces.

Faces I want to wake up to in the mornings.

Faces I want to be the last thing I see at night.

Faces I don’t, under any circumstances, want to come to any harm.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” grumbles Robbie. Bodie and I ignore him, vigilantly supervising as he puts on the helmet.

It’s not that I don’t like Bodie. Hell, in the past week or so, I’ve seen a side to him I respect the hell out of, so I might be wrong, but I do slightly suspect there’s a mild competition happening between us. I’m not one hundred percent sure about it, and I hope I’m wrong, but it does feel a tiny bit like we’re competing for the position of Mr. and Dr. McGuire’s favorite son-in-law.

Not son-in-law, obviously. That’d be crazy. It’s way too soon to be thinking like that.

Jesus. No. I mean, favorite boyfriend of a McGuire sibling.

It’s a thing. And even if it isn’t, that’s what I mean.

Robbie takes to the ice like a duck to water. There’s no hesitation, no hint of a waver or a flicker of uncertainty in his performance despite what happened the last time he played.

Having him back feels really good. Surprisingly good. Even better than I thought it would. Like slipping your hand into a glove on a cold day. A warm glove that fits perfectly. A glove made for you.

We pick up where right we left off. A well-oiled machine. A left and right hand. Speed and strength. Light and dark.

Two halves of the same whole.

We’re up by one goal to zero, and I have to say, I’m pretty impressed I’m playing this well. Having Robbie back is great and all, but it’s distracting as hell. And I’m not entirely convinced it’s an accident. He’s Robbie McGuire, after all. He likes making my blood pressure spike.

We’re about to head into the third period, and I watch the clock longingly before it even starts running down. There are twenty more minutes to go. Twenty hockey minutes. In other words, a lifetime.

You’ve got this, Decker. Come on. Hold it together .

I’m doing my best to keep my head in the game, but it’s almost unbelievable how sexy Robbie McGuire is when he plays hockey. Like literally unbelievable. As in, I cannot believe a human being this hot exists .

He’s playing like a fiend tonight. A man built for speed. For victory. A man who moves like an arrow shot from a crossbow. A man who plays like he lives, like it’s easy and fun. A man with a pretty face and a killer white smile.

A smile he’s currently trying his best to hide.

A smile I know is meant for me, and me only.

We discussed it beforehand and agreed on a set of protocols for the game. We’ll celebrate goals like we always do because fuck anyone who tries to stop us. We play to win, and we’re going to fucking celebrate when we do. We’re going to try to keep our banter to a minimum and avoid cameras as much as possible. If we have to talk to each other on the bench, we’re going to cover our mouths with our gloves, and we’re going to try not to look at each other because that shit is fodder for the shit show we have heading our way.

It’s been going well, I think. I’ve been handling myself okay, and Robbie’s been doing a decent job sticking to the protocols. If we keep this up, we might be okay. This whole thing might blow over. We’ll be fine…

Oh shit.

I spoke too soon.

I’m not fine.

Whatever the opposite of fine is, that’s what I am .

Robbie’s on all fours on the ice. He’s taken it upon himself to do some deep stretching before the period starts. Why he’s stretching at this late stage in the game is beyond me. He has his stick in his hands and he’s using it to brace himself. His knees are spread wide apart, skates almost touching.

He rolls his hips, undulating slowly.

Again.

And again.

He’s drawing big, slow circles on the ice with his knees.

Clockwise.

Counterclockwise.

He’s positioned himself right in front of me. All I can see is a sea of white. Pure white. Snow white. Ice, as far as I can see. And Robbie. The back of Robbie. The back of his helmet. The back of his muscular legs. And his ass.

Sweet Jesus. His ass.

I can’t breathe.

He’s on his hands and knees, back arched slightly. Ass aimed squarely in my direction.

He stretches his groin. Then his glutes. Then his hamstrings.

Christ above, how much can one man possibly stretch ?

I start to sweat in my fucking cage helmet. More than I usually do in a game. My scalp prickles with heat and salty beads run down my temples. My heart beats harder than it usually beats in a game. Harder and faster.

I feel myself slipping.

It’s one of those things that happens slowly, then all at once.

“McGuire,” I hiss when I’m gone and he’s finally scraped himself off the ice and has his beautiful ass on the bench next to me. I raise my glove to my mouth. He keeps his head turned away from me, like we agreed, and I talk quietly. So quietly even the guy sitting directly behind me can’t hear me, but I talk all the same. “When we get to the hotel, I want you like that.” I move the pointer finger of the hand in my lap fractionally and point to where he was stretching.

He doesn’t nod or move, but he clears his throat to show he heard me, so I continue, “I want you on your hands and knees. Ass in the air, so when I open the door, it’s the first thing I see.” I shift my leg slightly toward him. I don’t mean to do it, but I can’t help it. “I want you on all fours so I can teach you what happens to little sluts who mock-fuck the ice.”

“Gee, Ant. I’m sorry you think I acted like a slut.” He snorts behind his glove but quickly catches himself. His voice is dripping with mock innocence that borders dangerously on sarcasm, yet it still somehow manages to sound like music to my ears. “I was only trying to let my boyfriend know I was thinking of him.”

My chest inflates involuntarily. I can’t help that either. It does something super embarrassing to me every single time Robbie calls me his boyfriend.

I know I should stop talking, but whatever the thing is that takes over my mind and body when I’m near Robbie McGuire is in command now. “I want you like that, but I want you naked.” Blood is thundering in my ears, roaring as it rushes through my veins. “I want you prepped,” I say, and he hums in agreement.

His reaction time is a little slower than usual, but not by a lot. Still, I can tell I’m affecting him, and I like it. I more than like it. I love it. “Not just cleaned out, okay? I want you open as well. I want you on the floor, legs spread nice and wide. I want your hole stretched out and pre-lubed…like a good girl.”

His face is still turned from me, but there’s a broad, cocky smile in his voice when he speaks. “You’ve got yourself a deal, number eight.”

Then he throws himself over the board and into the thick of the game. As if it’s not enough that he’s already turned me on so much I can barely see the puck, the little fucker has the nerve to score a blinding goal and make it look easy.