Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Craig

As far as days went, this one was starting poorly.

No. Poorly wasn't a strong enough word. Poorly seemed too mild. Shitful. Yes, that was better. Today had started and was progressing shitfully. Perhaps that wasn't grammatically correct terminology, and sue me if it wasn't, but this morning was a heaping pile of dung.

I'd come awake around four in the morning after some of the best sex I'd ever experienced, with a triple dose of a killer beer headache, a cottonmouth, and my backside glued to some incredibly sticky sheets. Jamie, looking truly gorgeous in repose, stretched out beside me and made a smile appear for a second. And then reality stormed in and destroyed me with its big realness hammer. I'd scrambled out of the bed and shot to my feet. I'd been naked, covered with cum and lube, and experiencing a flashback that nearly toppled me into a panic attack.

"Stupid," I whispered as I slithered down in my seat in the video room to watch game tapes with the rest of the team. I'd weaseled my way out of morning skate by saying I had diarrhea. Coach seemed dubious, Oli looked even more unconvinced, and Cameron tried to get me to drink some holistic green sludge his neighbor had recommended, which he now swore by. I'd passed on the olive-colored colon cleanser. If I had the runs, would I want something to make me run more? No, I would not.

The room was empty, save for me. The lights were low, the AC was cranking away, and my head was full of doubts, worries, and fears. I'd done the stupid thing again. The one thing I had vowed never to do again. I'd allowed myself to become obsessed with a beautiful, intelligent, man then because my dick ruled the fucking roost after a six-pack of beer; I'd then slept with said smart, sexy man.

"Stupid," I mumbled angrily to the empty room once more. This was exactly how things had started with Leon. I'd been drawn to him just as I was to Jamie. His smarts were a turn-on, no doubt, and something I admired greatly. Brainy guys were hot.

No. No. Brainy guys are mean, cruel, sadistic jerks.

Right. Yes, intelligent men were jerks. They came on to you, used all those fancy words and their nerdy good looks to seduce you, and then once they had you, they began chipping away at your self-confidence. They took you to intellectual events, then made snide comments during the damn colloquium about how they would have to explain the points and counterpoints to you later. They showed you off in public, fawned over you in front of the world, and then took you home and criticized you for being too dimwitted to reply to one of their colleagues in a manner befitting the boyfriend of the Schmied of Schmied, Tolliver, and Lawrence.

"Stupid," I whispered as the memories of my two years with Leon rolled over me like a boulder, flattening the self-esteem I'd worked so hard to rebuild after finally ending it with him. A year after I left his abusive ass, here I was, right back in the thick of things with another brainy man who would, over time, start to pick at my faults. Yes, I was dyslexic, but that didn't mean I was stupid. I'd fucking graduated college. Harvard, thank you very much. I had a degree just like Leon and Jamie—well, maybe not exactly like them. Leon was an attorney, and Jamie was a scientist. I'd gotten a degree in special education. Yes, it had been tough having to get special assistance and aids like text in audio, help with note-taking, and getting extended time on papers and exams. That didn't make me lesser, though. I had studied my heart out while playing college hockey. I knew for a fact that Leon had never balanced academics with athletics, so fuck all the way off.

I huffed out an exasperated sigh that made my head twinge. Fucking hell. I'd been doing so well. Well? Doing well? What. Ever. Fuck . And I really liked Jamie. He was cute, funny, and had that adorable accent. He was good with kids, too, which was a significant plus for me as I hoped to someday have a couple of my own and teach kids with learning disabilities. Mom and Dad were always harping about having a career lined up after hockey. Well, I did, and it might not make me lots of money or win me any fancy scientific awards, but seeing the light of understanding in a student's eyes would be its own reward. Of course, paying teachers well would be incredibly nice. We, as a country, needed to prioritize these wages since teachers were the ones who educated the next generation.

The lights flickered on. I blinked and moaned. Oli strolled in with Cam and Charlie Zhang, the captain of the Storm and one of the nicest guys ever.

"You look rough," Cam offered, dropping down to my right while Charlie took the seat on the other side of Cameron. Oli sat to my left, his gaze touching on me briefly before he shifted his attention to the clock on the wall. Odd and suspicious. "Seriously, I can get Finn to run some of his avocado/kiwi/prune mixes over. He's home for a few weeks between shoots. I know we have some in the fridge. Rottie has been on this colon cleansing thing of late and?—"

"No, thanks, I don't need to loosen my bowels," I insisted, sliding down even farther in my seat as the rest of the team filed in, most with wet heads from recent showers. A few shot me looks of commiseration. I smiled meekly at the kindness, then tugged my purple Storm cap to my eyebrows.

The room was loud now; the steady chatter of twenty-five men added to the thrum inside my head. Oliver and Charlie were talking about last night's party. Cam was on his phone, thumbs flying, probably having a lovey-dovey talk with his famous actor boyfriend. I also pulled out my phone and opened a book I was currently listening to. I loved fantasy and had found a complete audio set of The Lord of the Rings on sale, so I grabbed it up. There was no way this could work for me as printed word, but I would enjoy the audio. As I dug out my Bluetooth earbuds from the front pocket of my jeans, a text rolled in with a buzz. Fearing it might be Claudia, my sister, who had this sixth sense when I did something stupid, I chanced a peek at the name as it flashed on the screen.

Leon .

My tender stomach roiled. Fuck. Think of the devil and up he pops, as my father liked to say. If only Dad knew how vile of a person Leon Schmied was, he might not be so confused as to why I'd left him in the middle of the night last summer. My throat felt tight. I swallowed several times to stem the wave of anxiety and nausea seeing his name brought. I should have been expecting the text. He sent two a week. He always asked me to return to him, saying he was sorry he'd been unwittingly unkind. Unwittingly, my ass. He reveled in shoving his big brain into the face of anyone who didn't have an IQ of a hundred and sixty-five. We got it. He was gifted. Those of us who were average should have gotten credit for getting a high school diploma. For the love of?—

"Let's put the phones away and pay attention," Coach announced as he strode into the video room, coffee in hand, wearing a Storm hoodie and a look of consternation. "The Rebels are in our house tomorrow night. We owe them a beating for sending us packing in the finals. I never forget. I'm like a fucking pachyderm. So, we'll spend the next hour trying to figure out how to break their power play and… glad you could join us, Phillipe."

Our goalie slipped in like a tomcat returning home after roaming the neighborhood for a week.

"Sorry, Coach, I am not recouped from the shindig last night," Phillipe answered, then sat to Oliver's left, his big brown gaze skimming over the small group of out and proud queer players, of which he was one. "Cam'ron is not sick, Oliver is not sick, and Charles is also not sick. But I am with Craig and much sick. I think it makes us who are the most sensitive in the brain sickest when we douse our mental matters with alcohol, oui?"

"Yes, sure," I said, then got a gentle nod from the big French-Canadian goalie.

The team knew about my dyslexia. Sometimes, I had to have longer to grasp the plays on the white boards when they were sketched out. Then I would have to walk or skate the play. It took me far longer to get through the thick playbooks we had, but everyone was incredibly cool about giving me aid when I requested it. Not that I asked often. I'd been the same as a kid when I competed in pairs figure skating with Claudia. Our coach handled me differently than my sister, and it worked out. I had most of the plays committed to memory, but when the coaches brought in something new or changed a set pattern, I needed more time to get it down. Things were much more accessible now than when I'd been younger and had been trying to drink in all the X's and O's with a brain that liked to spin letters in circles.

Happy for the phones-away announcement, I silenced my phone and then dropped it into my bag by my foot. I sat in a dark room for the next hour and watched the Boston Rebels special teams. When the video session ended, we all rose, grabbed our stuff, and headed for the exit. There was no game tonight, so I planned on locking myself into my apartment to have my regrets over falling into bed with Jamie Hennessy.

"Hey, you got a second?" Oli called as we made our way to the players' exit. The corridors were filled with team staff, some rolling carts of dirty towels to the laundry drop-off, and some hustling to the ice to lay down the wooden flooring required for a concert tonight. "Are you feeling good enough to grab a bite to eat?"

"I… sure, of course." I gave Oli a shaky smile.

"Great. Meet me at my place. Since we're partners, I want to talk to you about the charity hockey games starting next Summer."

"Already?"

"It's never too soon, and you did volunteer to do this with me."

"I know, I mean… no, I…" He folded his arms over his chest; one eyebrow raised, while I fell over myself trying to devise a reason not to go to his house to eat without sounding rude. "I just…" I threw a pleading look at Phillipe, but the tendie was deep in conversation with our goalie coach, and everyone else had cleared out in a rush.

"I know my place is kind of far out, but I'd like to spend time with the girls," he tacked on to be that guy. Shit.

"Of course, your house sounds great." I lied so big and badly they could have seen the glaring LIAR stamp on my forehead from the air traffic control tower at LAX.

"Cool, follow me. I think Jamie will be serving something light."

"Jamie. Light. Super. Yeah, yum."

Oliver trotted to the car. I schlepped to mine, threw my bag into the back of my new SUV, and then slid behind the wheel to sulk. Fuck. Okay, so this was doable. I had to be polite and smile at the man whose ass I'd ravaged then ran away from a mere twelve hours ago.

I should give up on men and sex and become a monk. Could monks play hockey? I'd check into it if I didn't die from embarrassment and shame in the next two hours.

Jamie seemed stunned to see me slide like a snake into the kitchen. His mouth fell open, and he fumbled to tug the loose-necked tee he was wearing up to his ears. Too late, though. I'd seen the marks I'd left on his pale skin. My dick reacted to seeing the dark love bites with a kick. Monkhood. Yep, I was looking into a life of quiet reflection and abstinence in some ivy-covered French monastery.

It's hard to play hockey for the Storm if you're picking lavender at an abbey in Provence.

Shit. Maybe the French monks had a hockey team. I'd research that as well.

"Hey, we have company for lunch," Oliver announced a bit too merrily. Jamie pasted on a smile that made his cheeks apple up so deeply I couldn't see his pretty eyes. "I hope you have enough for a guest?"

"Guest, yes, of course. We love guests." Jamie turned to the stove, turned the blue flame under a soup pot off, and faced his friend. "May I have a word with you in private, please?"

"Sure. Why don't you have a seat, Craig? We'll be a minute."

I nodded at Oli, sat at the table, and noticed no little girls. Huh, maybe they were upstairs napping. I wanted a long nap that would last until my flight to the monastery for hockey monks took off. I rubbed my knotted forehead to ease the furrows etched on it when Jamie's usually calm voice grew in intensity.

"What the fuck are you doing? Why the fuck did you bring him here for lunch?!"

Oh shit. I gauged the size of the window over the sink. No, not big enough for me to wiggle out of to make a sneaky escape. My phone buzzed. I should have left it in my bag, but no, I had to be an internet junkie. My sister's latest text about a dinner for my parent's fortieth anniversary in four months sat right above the one from Leon.

"We're partners in a hockey event next Summer benefitting the local LGBTQ teen shelter, and I wanted to talk strategy with him," Oliver replied.

"Strategy. For something happening next year?"

"Also, I wanted to see the girls."

"The girls are in school! You did this on purpose; admit it. I shouldn't have told you and Jackson about my mistake last night!"

Ouch. Wow, that hurt way more than it should. A mistake. Shit, that stung. But he was right. What we'd done had been a drunken mistake. It should and would never happen again. My past was littered with terrible blunders. The proof was a text on my phone from the last ghastly screwup I'd made.

"You should keep your voice down," Oliver said in a harsh whisper.

"Sod off. I'm not keeping my fucking voice down. I told you about that in confidence, and then you bring the man here. What on earth were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking you and him could patch things up. You look like you had a good time, and he's a great guy."

Aww, Oliver was so friendly. That made me feel good.

"Good guys do not ghost you in the middle of the night." And that made me feel like shit. "And not even a clean ghosting. No, he had to run into your damn boyfriend, who sleeps far too lightly for any normal human being!"

Oli snorted a laugh.

"Do not laugh at me. I'm fucking pissed at you for this, and I will not be making you lunch. So, you can take your sneaky but not sneaky charity partner to the fucking Arby's for all I care. I hope you choke on a curly fry!"

"Really?" Oliver asked weakly.

"No, but I hope you get acid reflux and burp all day."

With that, Jamie stormed up the stairs and slammed a door. His bedroom door, I had to assume. The same bedroom we'd torn up like two wild animals. My cock twitched at the memory of Jamie riding me, his cock bouncing, his ass clenched around my?—

"Okay, so change of plan," Oliver said as he entered the kitchen, hands in his front pockets. "Jamie isn't up to cooking, so we'll head to a little Italian place I know nearby. They have great manicotti."

I pushed to my feet, bobbed my head, and followed Oliver outside. Jamie sat somewhere in that big house with the bikes in the yard, alone, hurt, and filled with regret. I longed to go back inside to talk to him about last night, but my heart warned me against it. It's better to let things end here. One ragged and painful cut now would heal quickly.

I hoped.