Page 42 of Interference

At least this was a short road trip. We’d be here tonight and tomorrow night, then we’d play a game, and we’d fly home right after.

Two nights with Simon. I could do this.

It would be good practice for January when we headed east for a five-game road trip.

Ugh. Fuck my life.

I got up and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I brushed my teeth, then paused to inspect a fading bruise. That one was from blocking a shot the other night. My entire forearm and hand had been numb for a few minutes after that. Fucking sucked, but it kept the puck out of our net, so I couldn’t complain too much. A few more days and the bruise would be gone. Not a moment too soon, either, since the edge of my chest protector rubbed against it and—

“Are you going to preen all night?” Simon demanded from the doorway. “Or can I get ready for bed?”

I met his gaze in the mirror, and then stepped out of the way with nothing more than a murmured apology. Without meeting his eyes for real, I squeezed past him and slipped out of the bathroom.

Alone in the bedroom, I stripped down to a pair of gym shorts, plugged in my phone, and climbed into bed. At least this was a king-sized bed. Most of the high-end hotels the League put us up in had huge beds, and I was grateful for that. Early on, I’d joked with Simon that they could probably stick us in a room with a queen bed or smaller and we’d be fine. These days, I wished someone would make a mistake and give us two beds. Or better yet, put us in one of those suites with separate bedrooms. God, that would be nice.

Simon emerged from the bathroom and also changed into a pair of shorts. As he got into the bed, I couldn’t help but notice he hugged the edge, same as I did. We’d sometimes fantasized together about having a threesome, though neither of us had ever seriously tried to initiate it. Tonight, a third person could’ve fit comfortably between us. Hell, a third person dressed in goalie gear could’ve fit.

I must’ve been wearing my melancholy thoughts on my face, because Simon looked at me and sharply asked, “What?”

I shook myself. “Hmm?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve got that look like you want to talk.” He threw up his hands, then let them fall into his lap. “What do you want to talk about, Anthony?”

“I…” The truth was that I didn’t want to talk about anything. We were both way too exhausted, and hotel walls could be surprisingly thin. The last thing we needed was our captain, assuming he was still awake, overhearing us having a fight. Because judging by the angry glint in Simon’s eyes, this would turn into a fight. I shook my head. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Simon huffed. “Uh-huh. So do I, but you’ve clearly got something on your mind, so just spit it out now instead of waiting until you’re sleep-deprived in the morning.”

I blinked. Did he want to fight? Because for all we’d fought over the last year or so he wasn’t usually one to just pick a fight for no reason. He usually came to me with something—or a laundry list of somethings—that had pissed him off, or he’d fly off the handle after I’d said or done something wrong. And yes, I’d started some of those fights, too. I was no angel in this. But neither of us had ever been just raring to go over nothing.

“I don’t want to fight,” I whispered. “I’m just tired, and I’m—”

“You’re obviously unhappy,” he said through his teeth.

“Of course I’m unhappy!” Even as I said it, I was furious with myself for taking his bait. “Look at us! We can’t even fix us because we’re too busy convincing everyone else we’re happily—”

“Do you think this is fun for me?” Simon glared at me. “Do you think I enjoy having my balls in a vise over us?”

“It isn’t fun for me either!” I snapped. “I don’t like the pressure from the team, but the alternative was staying in the closet.” I threw up my hands. “What choice did we have?”

“I don’t fucking know,” he fired back. “But what’s going on now—it’s fucking bullshit, and I hate it.”

“So do I,” I admitted more softly. I was acutely aware of the wall behind us and the man who was hopefully sound asleep on the other side. I did not need our captain confronting me or us in the morning. Carefully keeping my voice down and hoping Simon followed suit, I said, “I don’t know what to do, okay? Nothing we’ve done so far has worked. The only thing I can think of is—”

“We’re not getting a fucking shrink,” he growled, but at least he wasn’t too loud.

I sighed. “Simon. There’s nothing wrong with a counselor. There’s—”

“No. We’re not hiring someone who sees the League insurance as their own personal jackpot and will just drag this out forever, probably blaming me for every damned—”

“Then what else can we do?” I hissed.

“You could stop moving strange men into our bedroom.”

I groaned. “For fuck’s sake. He’s not in our bedroom.”

“No, but he’s in our house,” Simon growled. “And you insist you’re not screwing him, but—”

“Because I’m not.” I put up my hands. “I’m not going to argue about this. Okay? Wyatt is staying in a guest room. I haven’t touched him.”

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