Page 58 of One More Time

“Fine, but if I think you need to be benched at any point during the game, that’s what I’ll do. I think you should also visit the university’s counseling services given that—”

“I’ll consider it, sir,” I interrupted—but it was a lie. There was no way I was going to sit in some therapist’s office while my carefully constructed walls were broken down. There would be time for that once the season was over.

“Good. I am sorry for your loss Tyler, truly. Please know we’re all here for you—the staff, and the team. I hope it’s okay that I kept them informed. Your absence was noted and the team really cares about you.”

I nodded because I had expected as much. There weren’t very many secrets kept when you stayed in such close quarters with people.

Unfortunately, the locker room was filled with my teammates upon my return—except the face I truly needed to see.

A horde of sympathetic eyes met mine, and I endured all the awkward hugs and condolences. Though the only thing I wanted in that moment was to return to a time when I was just the new kid from another country.

“Thanks, everyone. I’m getting through it, but please don’t treat me any differently. I’m not some fragile doll that’s going to break at the drop of a hat. I’m here to play hockey and win hockey, and we can’t do that if you’re pussyfooting around me, okay?”

They nodded and all took turns patting my back before they thankfully went about getting into their gear. Once we were on the ice, it was all systems go. Coach was on a mission to iron out some cracks, and I couldn’t be more thankful.

What I couldn’t ignore, however, was Hunter. I was laser-focused on Hunter on the best of days but that day, he was a red flag on skates. With every move he made, every swing of his stick, his face twisted. I had never seen him play so… shit. Coach seemed to agree.

“Graves, what’s up your ass!? Do I need medical to check you out? You’re as slow as a sloth and as stiff as a board.”

“Sorry, sir. I’m fine.” After that, I watched him push himself harder, and to give credit where it was due, he did look better. But it was as if I felt his every flinch in my core. Something wasn’t right.

If anything was going to break me, it would be if something happened to him.

I stayed on the ice until Hunter and I were the last ones standing. I knew the rest of the team had already showered and changed to get lunch before we sat down to watch tapes. “Alright, boys, that’s enough!” Coach called. He’d been more than generous with our ice time. “Cool down, get ready and eat. See you in the media room in an hour!”

Hunter moved as quick as his body would allow. I kept a close eye on him as I trailed him into the locker room. The steady hum from the Zamboni filtered into the empty space, bouncing off the walls and making our silence seem even louder.

Seeing that I wasn’t going to back down, Hunter took his shirt off, a hiss escaping between his teeth. Now it made sense why he didn’t want to sleep over: so I wouldn’t see his black and blue torso.

“It’s nothing, Tyler,” he said, his tone void of emotion. I didn’t like it.

He started toward the showers, ignoring the fact that I’d already taken in how bruised his body was. It didn’t take much for me to put it together. I was no stranger to knowing someone with abusive parents—it was a horribly common occurrence.

But it had never hit so close to home. Never had it pulled such a visceral reaction from me. I was behind him in an instant, spinning him and softly pressing him into the cool tiles with my hands on his waist. He didn’t look me in the eyes, but he didn’t fight me either. I didn’t like this version of him at all. I wanted my hot-headed Boston boy back. I wanted him to challenge me, show me that whoever did this to him hadn’t broken him.

“Boston, look at me,“ I nudged his chin up with my own, crowding his space and not caring if anyone saw. Our eyes finally met, and my heart sank.

“Who did this to you?”

I felt when goosebumps pebbled over his skin at my bare chest touching his. I was mindful not to touch the bruising.

His eyes fluttered, long black lashes fanning against his angular cheekbones.

“It doesn’t matter who did this to me.” The words assault my lips.

“It matters to me, Boston. Do you think I could survive something happening to you?”

You are my home now.

The realization hit me like a freight train, and I was close enough to confessing how I felt about him right there and then. His eyes closed, but he didn’t give me an answer.

Instead, our noses brushed before he tilted his head to bring our lips together. He ate up my mewls of pleasure, fingers possessively clenching my hips.

A clatter from the locker room had me jolting back and desperately trying to adjust myself in my underwear. “Fucking stupid” I mumbled. “Promise me you will come to me for help, with whatever this shit is going on in your life? Because seeing you like this makes me go all ragey and when I go ragey I’m clearly not thinking straight.”

He laughed at my choice of words so I gave him a playful shove, regretting it instantly when he winced. “Shit! I’m so sorry.”

I lightly brushed my hand over his bruises., “I don’t like this.” The words meant more than just his bruises, and the softness in his eyes made me think that maybe he understood that too.

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