Chapter Two

White walls surrounded him, broken up by only the occasional generic image of flowers. Storm hadn’t decided yet how ugly flower paintings improved mental health. Then again, he also had no clue what images they could choose that would be better. He spent a few minutes genuinely considering different things. Maybe cats or dogs? Then again, pets died, and who knew what would send people over the edge? Of course, flowers died too. He supposed no one gave a shit about dying flowers. Anything at all was better than listening to his agent try desperately to get Storm back to work while having no idea how long he would be trapped in flower hell.

“I’m told I’m not allowed to talk to you about anything stressful.”

Storm rolled his eyes at Warrick. His agent would do what he wanted. Storm knew him too well. “It’s fine. I’m in a nuthouse. What can I do to myself? Die of boredom?”

Warrick nodded. “That’s the spirit. We need to talk about your contract.”

“I figured.” Storm couldn’t help his smart-ass tone. He didn’t want to be alive, but everyone acted like—since he hadn’t died—he needed to get on with the show. Storm had no intention of doing that.

“Mr. Paige called me.”

“It’s Tanner. He doesn’t like to be called Mr. Paige.”

Warrick pressed on, ignoring Storm’s disinterested tone. “Tanner called, and we had a lengthy discussion about your health and current position. Obviously, your place on the team is covered, but we have to make some decisions. Tanner said your spot is secure… for now. He expects you’ll make a full recovery and be right back on top. I told him I would pass along the message. Plus, as your agent, I need to know where this contract stands.”

What could he say? Storm hadn’t died. No one would let him. He supposed, if he ever got out of this place, he had nothing left except hockey. Storm supposed it had been that way all along. He had just been too blind and stupid to realize it. “I’ll be back.” Even he heard the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. It wasn’t personal. He had moved beyond any desire to do or have anything. Maybe to the world, Storm looked dramatic. No one understood how important Barrett had been in keeping him sane. Now that was gone, and Storm embraced the darkness. There was cold comfort in having nothing left.

“Have they given you any indication of how much longer you’ll be here? You’ve been allowed visitors for a few weeks. Surely, you must be close to getting sprung.”

Storm couldn’t be honest. He chose to stay. Barrett hadn’t stopped trying to visit, no matter how many times they turned him away. Storm knew the moment he stepped from this building, Barrett would be there. He wouldn’t let Storm go, even though he already had. It was like pissing on the ashes of them. Unnecessarily cruel. Of course, Barrett was the son of the Cattaneo. He had been raised to be ruthless.

Warrick kept staring at him, waiting for an answer. Storm’s gaze moved over Warrick’s dark blue eyes and perfectly styled blond hair. His suit was pressed and looked uncomfortable. Storm wondered if Warrick had ever experienced an ounce of pain in his entire life. “I don’t know anything about you.”

Warrick looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Storm shrugged. “Exactly that. You’ve been my agent for over three years, and I don’t know how old you are or if you’re married. Do you have kids? Has anything ever gone wrong in your life or were you born with a briefcase in your hand? I don’t know you.”

To his surprise, Warrick’s features softened. “I’m thirty-eight. No, I’m not married, and I don’t have kids. As much as my parents would have loved it, I was not born with a briefcase in my hand. I actually came from a poor family. If I hadn’t played football and played it well, I never would’ve gotten a college education or ended up here.”

Storm nodded along. He understood the struggle of trying desperately to be more. To get away. “I’ll be out by Monday.”

A smile exploded across Warrick’s face, making him look more human. “That’s great. You’ve obviously made a lot of progress. I’m proud of you. When should I tell Tanner and Coach Murphy to expect you back?”

Fuck. He was tired. Just mentally, completely drained. “I don’t know. No one’s told me when I’ll be released, medically, to play again.” He had fucked up some tendons in his arms when he slit his wrists. Storm hadn’t intended to live. The tendons hadn’t mattered.

“Well, one day closer, I suppose. I’ll get with the team’s physician and have him take a look at everything. Maybe you’re closer than you think.”

“That’s fine.” Why did no one see he didn’t care about any of this?

Warrick stood. “Okay. I’ll get out of your hair. Keep up the good work. This’ll all be a bad memory in no time.”

Storm didn’t have the energy to roll his eyes again. The way everyone pretended he’d only had a momentary bout of insanity was ridiculous. Warrick ran through a few more platitudes before finally leaving. Storm went back to staring at nothing. Maybe it was the meds. Likely, it was just him. Storm didn’t give a fuck about anything anymore. He just wanted to forget.

To say Barrett was a complete mess would be a grave understatement. For the millionth time, he walked through the house, ensuring everything looked perfect. He had replaced the floor in the bathroom and the bathroom door. Barrett had taken the opportunity to choose a different type of flooring. Engineered bamboo was beautiful and durable. It was better for the long haul and resell value if Storm ever decided to return to Pickering. Barrett doubted that day would come. He had known that much for a while. It was the catalyst for his bitterness and their downfall. Pickering was home—for Barrett. For Storm, it had always been the place he wanted to escape. In many ways, he couldn’t blame Storm for feeling that way, but then again, he could. Maybe Storm’s parents were shit, but Barrett and his family had always tried their best to give Storm a second home. A loving one. That took him back around to his bitterness. Storm had left him so fucking easily. Barrett had to let that go. None of it mattered anymore.

Barrett’s nerves were ready to snap. He was scared as hell of what would happen when Storm walked through the door. Three months in a mental health facility had felt like forever to Barrett, especially since he wasn’t allowed to see Storm. That was fair. This was his fault. Today was the first day of a new start. Life was on its head, but it had always been them against the world. Nothing could change that. Storm would fucking remember it if it was the last thing Barrett did.

Keys rattled in the door. Barrett rushed to help. He knew Storm had at least one overnight bag. As much as Barrett hated that Storm had probably taken an Uber home, he had known better than to try to pick him up at the hospital. Storm likely would have refused to leave. As it was, when Barrett opened the door, Storm froze. His empty gaze stared at Barrett. Barrett nearly heaved at the deadness of his eyes. It was like Barrett had never breathed life back into his lungs. He had stayed dead on that bathroom floor. Still, Barrett couldn’t stop fighting.

“Hey, baby. Give me your bag. You don’t need to be carrying that.”

Storm passed the bag along. He didn’t speak, but neither did he flee. Storm stepped inside the house. He eyed his surroundings. Barrett knew what he saw. The last time Storm had been there, nearly everything had still been in boxes. In his absence, Barrett had made the place into a home.

“It looks different with furniture.”

Barrett’s breath left him in a shaky whoosh. He hadn’t realized he had been holding it. Tears threatened to overtake him. He had expected the absolute worst. At least Storm spoke to him.

Barrett tried going with the flow, keeping things as normal as possible. “The place had furniture when we toured it.” He headed to the laundry room and dropped the bag on the counter. He unzipped it and separated the dirty clothes from the rest of the things inside. Storm followed and watched him. With all the clothes taken care of, Barrett carried the bag to the bedroom and into the bathroom. He unpacked the toiletries. Storm wasn’t as quick to follow this time. He hung back and watched from the bedroom. Barrett tried to keep moving. Normalcy and steadiness were the key. He used to be Storm’s rock. Storm needed to remember it.

With the suitcase empty, Barrett moved to the closet and opened the door. Storm sat on the bed while Barrett placed the bag on the top shelf.

“The house smells like you.”

That was almost Barrett’s undoing. Storm was the only weakness he had, and he had been stabbed directly in that Achilles' heel. Every second of the day, he struggled to breathe. Memories of them haunted him. Storm’s words proved Barrett wasn’t alone. Still, Storm needed him to be strong.

He managed a smile. “I’m nose blind, I guess.”

Storm’s dead expression never wavered. Not for a second. “How long have you been here?”

Barrett shrugged. “I never left. Well, that’s not exactly true. I had to make a trip to Pickering to see my dad and make some arrangements. Tavey packed my things and worked with the moving company to have them delivered. Not that there was much. You know Mom. She picked all the furniture, and it’s hers. If we dare leave, it’s with only our personal things. It was the same when Travis moved.”

“Moving company.”

It obviously hadn’t been a question. Storm seemed to be just going through the motions, filling the room with sound. Barrett leaned into it, hoping to bring him back to life. He moved to the second closet and opened the door, motioning toward his clothes and shoes. “It was barely a van load.”

Storm didn’t respond, nor did he show any reaction.

Barrett didn’t know what to say. They spent a moment staring at each other.

Storm broke first. “You should go home. That guy you’re fucking is probably missing you.”

Confusion washed over Barrett. He crossed the room to stand over Storm. He would be damned if he gave Storm another chance to dart into the bathroom. While Barrett didn’t want to fight, and he knew it wasn’t good for Storm, he couldn’t let that thought stand. “The only person I’m fucking is you. If you would’ve given me five goddamn minutes, I could’ve explained I bought those condoms because you’re famous now.” Barrett made a helpless gesture. “You’re probably dodging dick like I could never imagine, and it made me insecure. I don’t know what you’re doing on the road, and I don’t know if I can even expect you to stay faithful to me anymore. You made this decision for the both of us, and I’m just left behind.” Barrett couldn’t breathe. He knew he was getting angrier than Storm could likely handle. Barrett couldn’t stop. Everything about them had been a mess for more than three years now. He didn’t know how to make it stop. No matter how angry he got, there still wasn’t life in Storm’s eyes. The guilt suffocated him every hour of the day. He didn’t know how to fix them.

Barrett took a few breaths. He set his hands on Storm’s shoulders. “I don’t know where to start changing whatever is wrong with us. But I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“So now I get to spend the rest of my life knowing you finally moved in with me out of pity. Great. Let’s top that off with me not being trustworthy. Or is that just the story you’ve decided to run with now that you know I can’t handle any confessions of cheating?”

Barrett didn’t get a chance to reply. Storm obviously already had his mind set on a few things.

“Not that any of that matters. Like always, you’ll do what you want, and I’ll still be in love alone. As always, I’ll walk around knowing I worked my ass off so we could run away, and you didn’t even want me. I was just convenient. So I guess knowing you’re here out of pity is just one more goddamn thing.”

“How can you not know I love you?”

He watched Storm swallow. The lifelessness in his eyes turned to despair, punching Barrett in the throat. “I’m tired. I think I’ll sleep.”

Barrett had known they couldn’t be fixed overnight. He had moved in with his eyes wide open, knowing Storm might throw his shit in the street. So now he had to be strong and take the punishment. Barrett knew he deserved it. While he hadn’t cheated, Storm was still right to be hurt and angry.

He moved to the other side of the bed and pulled back the covers. “Come on, then.”

Without looking at him, Storm circled the bed and climbed beneath the covers. Barrett tugged the blankets over him, tucking him in. “I’ll wake you at dinnertime if you’re not up by then.” He kissed Storm’s cheek.

Storm flinched.

Barrett’s throat swelled, but he moved away. He pulled the blackout drapes and turned out the lights. As he closed the door behind him, Barrett tried telling himself he had ensured there was nothing in the bedroom or bathroom Storm could use to hurt himself. The PTSD was real, though. He had to find something to keep him busy. Maybe he would be the one with the slit wrists next.