Thirty-Two

THIRTY-TWO

REN

Felton does not improve throughout the rest of the away games. It wears on him and we all know that he blames himself for the string of losses we've seen because of it. No matter how much I assure him it takes more than a goalie to win, he's convinced that it's his fault.

It's not. I think we've all been feeling his stress. It's more than stress, though. It's deep sorrow and hurt. Added on top of that, I think any confidence he had in himself just crashed to rock bottom. The anger sits heavy on my chest, knowing his asshole father took away the light and happiness Felton; it's beginning to feel permanent. It doesn't go away. Doesn't fade.

What I wouldn't give to bring his smile back. I'm just not sure how. I need to and want to, but I'm not sure how to make that happen.

Coach had Felton sit out for the last two away games, but I think the entire team feels Felton's turmoil and hurt because we don't perform at the level we usually do. We lose. Not horribly. They were really close games, especially considering one went all the way to a shootout. But we lost, and I know Felton feels guilty for it.

I look down and a smile touches my lips. I'm not sure how he's managed it, but Felton's sprawled across his plane seat and my lap, fast asleep. His legs are bent and at weird angles, going up the wall and against the back of the seat in front of us.

My hand is over his chest, feeling his heart beating steadily, and both of his hands are over mine. Keeping me there? Making sure I don't disappear while he's asleep? I'm not sure he's figured it out yet—I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for as long as he'll have me.

He looks peaceful, with his face slightly turned into my stomach. My other hand runs through his hair softly. I'm not sure if the comfort is for him or me. His hair is so silky.

For a while, I stare at his sleeping face. I hope he's not dreaming of his father.

"Hey."

I look up as Dasan sits in the seat across the aisle and offer him a small smile. "Hi."

"He okay?"

As if that was a prompt to look back at Felton, I do. I get lost in admiring the shape of his face. The curve of his nose. His long dark lashes on his cheeks.

Asleep, he looks… well, not as carefree as he had, but he doesn't look nearly as beaten as he does when he's awake.

I shake my head. "I don't know," I admit.

"You're good for him, Ren," Dasan says. I look up, meeting his eyes. "I've known Felton a long time and I can see how much you mean to him."

"You've been on the team for less than two years."

He grins. "We met in passing half a dozen years before that and instantly clicked." My eyes narrow as I study him. When his smile climbs, I think we both know I don't think he's giving me all the details. "We've been friends for a long time, and I know him pretty well. So I feel confident in telling you I can see the way he sheds some of the stress and anxiety as soon as he sees you. His smile may not be big right now, but it's only there at all because of you."

I look down at Felton again. He deserves to smile. Always. I'm just not sure how to make that happen. He can't seem to shake this last confrontation with his father.

"I really hope you plan to stick around," Dasan says.

I nod absently, not really in answer to him, but because I'd just been thinking about that. I'm supposed to take him home when we land. But the idea of leaving him makes me unsettled. It's not even just for his sake that I feel that way, but for mine too. I don't want to go home without him.

"I have sixty acres," Dasan says and I glance up at him again, wondering what this has to do with anything at all. "A lot of it's forested."

"I have a shovel," Willits says from somewhere behind us.

Dasan grins. "It'd be a long time before someone found the body."

"If you're going to contemplate murder, please do that where you don't have two dozen witnesses," Coach Shively deadpans.

"Just making sure you're paying attention, Coach," Dasan teases, his smile wicked. I swear, there's a glint in his eyes as he stares into mine.

I shift slightly so I can glance around the seats, finding Coach toward the front. I can only make out a bit of him from this angle. He hums in acknowledgment.

Righting myself, I look at Felton again. "Honestly, if I thought that would help, I'd make it happen. But I don't think that'll give him the peace he needs."

A tap on my arm has me shifting again, though I'm careful not to disturb Felton. Nason hands me a card. "The number to my therapist. When I tell you I have some serious mommy and daddy issues, I can't express that shit enough. She's real good."

I accept it with thanks and study Felton's face. That'll likely help, but I'm not sure he wants to talk to someone. I promised to do everything within my power to make him happy and what's good for him, but if this is going to make him unhappy and resent me, I definitely don't want to push. I sure as hell don't want to make this decision for him.

We'll talk about it.

Looking up, I catch Zenia's eyes. He's watching me and if no one else has truly caught on to what's really going on between me and Felton, Zen has. He gives me a half smile before turning around and facing forward again.

I stare out the window for most of the remainder of the flight. Or admire Felton sleeping. The flight is quiet except for the brief flurry of amused conversation after Denny announces the latest headline with Winnipeg's owner. Apparently he disappeared to the mountains alone for Christmas and came back married—to a male pro-hockey player. Edries Franklin must have hit some record for most mentions in weird headlines at this point.

By the time we land and are on the bus, I'm contemplating how to make sure Felton comes home with me. He hasn't been home in over a month. Not since before the break. If for no other reason, he probably should make sure his house is in one piece. Undisturbed.

Back at the arena, I put our bags in my trunk and load him into the passenger side of my car. He's quiet. I take his hand as I drive down the road, seeing his absent smile as he stares out the window from the corner of my eye.

I've made an abrupt and possibly disastrous decision by the time we pull into his driveway. Leaving the bags in his car, I gesture to the front door. "Let us in."

Felton glances at my trunk but doesn't argue. Once inside, we kick off our shoes and I follow him in. "Go choose your favorite wind chimes."

He studies me for a minute before slipping his shoes back on and heading for the balcony off the living room while I go search his bedroom for suitcases. I find a couple. In the spare room, there's a stack of folded boxes in the closet that I commandeer as well.

I'm in the middle of emptying his drawers into a suitcase when Felton comes into the room with three wind chimes. He watches me silently. When I'm finished arranging the pile I have, I turn to him. "Just those three?"

With his head tilted to the side, he shrugs. "I don't know what we're doing, so I didn't really know how many I'm allowed."

"As many as you want to start with. I'll make sure we bring them all. The rest you should bring inside to keep them safe, though."

He nods as he considers. I gesture to the bed and he carefully sets them down.

"Do you have packing tape?"

His eyebrows knit together before he nods and leaves the room, returning a minute later with a roll of tape.

"Thank you. Finish with your chimes."

Felton licks his lips but turns out of the room again. It's clear he wants to know my plan, but his contentment at not having to make any choice at all overpowers the curiosity. He brings back a total of seventeen and I pack them between his clothes within the suitcases and the boxes. I concentrate on his bedroom suite, bringing whatever I think is most important to him.

By the time I'm finished with my preliminary search, Felton is sitting on the edge of his bed watching me. Speaking of bed… he actually fits on this one. Will it fit in my bedroom?

"What size is this bed?" I ask.

He looks down. "California king."

I nod. I'll look that up later. Might need to buy a bigger house with a bigger bedroom. My man is just too big for my bed and he needs to be comfortable.

"I'm about done in here. Do you have any other important possessions you'd like to take with us?"

Felton studies me before shaking his head and shrugging. "I guess I'm not really sentimental." He glances in the mostly empty closet. "You already have my jerseys."

"You finished bringing in all your wind chimes?"

He nods.

"Let's load these up, then." I push the suitcases toward him and, without question, Felton wheels them to the front. I stack the two boxes and follow. "Lock up the house. Make sure the alarm is on. You have security cameras?"

"Yes," Felton says.

"Good. I'll get these in my car while you finish up."

We make a single stop before heading home, during which Felton watches me curiously but doesn't ask as I buy hooks to hang his wind chimes on. We unload my car inside the front door, and I bring him right to my covered porch with a step-ladder in hand.

Felton remains behind me, his hands on my hips or thighs to keep me safe. Something that doesn't cease to keep a smile on my face. By the time I'm installing the last hook, his forehead is pressed to my spine.

I can feel his sadness. More than anything, I wish I could take it away.

"Done," I declare, resting my hand over his.

He inhales and stands straight as I make my way off the small ladder. "Come on. You hang your wind chimes as I unpack them."

This is how we spend the next hour. With every wind chime I pull out and hand him, Felton chooses where it hangs. Then I make room in my drawers and closet for his clothing and other belongings. One thing is clear by the time we're finished—this space is perfect for a single person. Not quite as spacious for two.

After I've pushed the mostly unpacked luggage and boxes into my closet, deciding I'm going to need to move some things into the spare room, I pull Felton into me and begin undressing him. His eyes are on mine, a soft smile on his lips.

I have him down to his underwear and push him into bed, following once I'm stripped to the same. "We'll work on bringing your bed here, but I think we're going to need a bigger place."

"What's wrong with your bed?" he asks.

"You don't fit, my beautiful giant."

He snorts. "I like your bed."

I nod. "For the short-term, I think we'll manage well enough on it. But not for the long-term. You need a bed you fully fit into."

Felton moves so he can meet my eyes. "Long-term?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Fel? I'm not going to live without you. I want to wake up to you every day. Every single day. I want to go to bed with your smile and your face in my neck where I can feel you breathing. That's much easier to do when we live under the same roof. Don't you think?"

His lips have parted as he looks at me.

"I didn't ask if that's okay"—carefully scrutinizing his expression—"because we agreed that I'm making your decisions for you." I feel like I should be asking for his affirmation. But that's not how he thrives. It's not what he wants. So I don't.

Felton nods. "You want me to live here?" he whispers.

"No, Felton. I want you. Period. Wherever you are, that's where I'm going to be. I don't really care where we live. I chose here because few people know where I live."

He doesn't need me to say what I really mean. His parents don't know where I live. He's safe from them here.

"You-you really want that."

It's not a question, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"One day, you won't question me."

Felton shakes his head. He's not questioning. He just doesn't believe that someone could want him when he's spent his life being told that he's a fuck-up. A disappointment. Literally everyone has more to be proud of than him.

He's wrong.

"There's something that I want to talk about, though." Felton nods and I can see his fear shine back at me. "I'd like you to consider talking to a therapist."

Felton's eyebrows knit together. "About what?"

I smile and press a kiss to his lips. "Everything. I'm not sure how to give you what you need in a way that's going to help you heal. That's not where my profession took me." He flashes me a grin, and I'm relieved that I finally get to see a real smile. "This isn't something I want to tell you to do without question. I want to know how you feel about it."

"Where would I find someone?"

Already, I can feel his anxiety. I pull him close and press soft kisses all over his face until he relaxes, laughing quietly. "You don't. I will. All you have to do is tell me if you're comfortable with this. If you'll consider it."

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes," I tell him. "I think it's the help you need."

"What if they tell me I'm sick because I want to do CNC?" he asks.

"Then we'll find someone else, but I don't think they will."

"You already have someone?"

"Maybe," I admit. I pocketed the number Nason gave me, though I haven't checked her out yet. "Right now, all I want to know is how you feel about it. Then we'll go from there. But just so you know, there's nothing contingent on whether you want to do this or not. You're still mine. I'm still keeping you."

Felton's eyes get glassy before he presses his face into my neck. After some time, he nods. "If you want me to, I will. I don't know that I feel strongly one way or another. I'm just… I'm so tired."

Tired of feeling this way. Tired of the burdens and the stress and the pressure. Tired of the disappointment and being told he never does anything right or good enough.

"I know," I tell him, wrapping around him as tightly as I can. "And I'm going to do everything I can to take it all away, Fel. I promise."

He sighs and, for the rest of the afternoon and night, we stay right there. We don't move from our bed until the next day when we have to report to the arena for our next game.

Felton remains on the bench for the next two games, but when he finally says he's ready to return to the ice, my big beast of a goalie is back. We win 4-1 and though I know he's not mentally at the point where he needs to be, we're taking little steps. Together.