Page 45 of Antidote

Don’t take this away from me now.

“Kiss me,” I say softly. “Put me out of my misery…I can’t fucking do this anymore, Hunt.”

Hunter gives me a small grin. Our noses brush against each other, and my breath hitches in my throat. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Because you killed my mom.

“Because I won’t be able to stop.”

If I were standing up, my legs would’ve given out on me right about now. I don’t know what’s more devastating, that he won’t kiss me, or that he wants to. “Then don’t stop.”

Hunter chuckles roughly. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Go to sleep, Oliver. I don’t want to do something I’ll regret in the morning. I don’t want to hate you more than I already do. So please, please go to sleep.”

It’s painful to close my eyes, but I do it, trying my best to fall asleep. The way his breathing slows and deepens is what relaxes me, the way his nose is pressed up against mine, the way our foreheads are meeting. Fuck, I hate this. I hate how much I’ve missed this—how much I’ve craved him. Oxy was never my drug of choice—it’s always been him. And yet, when the poison fills my body, he’s always been the antidote.

I’m not sure when I fall asleep, or if I even do, but I stir at the cold feeling of his body leaving mine. I miss him immediately but choose not to reach for him. I’ve already shown him enough weakness, and so has he. And if I know him—and I do—he will regret this in the morning and hold it against me. I’m not even the one who sought him out, though I’m going to fucking pay for it.

I pretend to be asleep, turning over onto my opposite side, if only to open my eyes and see if he’s left. Then I feel body heat and hear rustling, and I realize he’s kneeling in front of the couch, his eyes probably on my face. Forcing myself to breathe normally, I just lie there.

His lips meet my forehead, and I hold my breath. “You’re still a fucking brat.” He comes back for a second kiss, his full lips lingering on my skin. “But God, I’ve missed you, Blue.”

I melt into the couch, my stomach bottoming out, and I fight everything inside of me not to whimper. It’s hard to keep my eyes closed, to not reach out and yank him toward me. To not take his lips the way I’ve been wanting to ever since I laid eyes on him again—but somehow, by some true fucking miracle, I keep myself from doing all of that.

Hunter lays a blanket on me, tucking me in the way I love, and then I hear his footsteps getting further and further away as he retreats, leaving me to question everything. I already miss him. He’s so far away and yet so fucking close. I can almost taste him, but I can’t have him.

I feel my heart crack in my chest just a little bit.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins is making my heart thunder in my ears, forcing me to take a deep breath. I skate as fast as I can toward the guy with the puck, slamming him into the boards as Connor takes control of it and all but flies toward the net, scoring a goal.

We’re now up three to one, and I grin at the celebration, which consists of Connor pretending his stick is a guitar. Skating up to him, I tap his helmet and pull him into a hug. “Atta boy,” I yell, and the rest of our guys on the ice pile up on us.

Dylan is one of those guys, and my blood heats in my veins. Fuck, I never thought I could hate a teammate before, but just looking at him makes me want to kill him. So I look away, focusing on Connor, even though I catch Dylan’s smirk right before I do. My fists tighten in my gloves, and I choose to ignore it.

We get into formation for the faceoff, with Jake—one of our forwards—in the middle, and he wins it. With a smile, I sail after the puck, crossing the rink until I reach past the blue line toward the other team’s defensive zone. Connor is on one side of me, while Dylan is on the other side, and even though I know Connor can’t make it, I still pass to him.

“What the fuck!” Dylan yells. “I fucking had it, Hartman!”

I smirk, but then Connor passes to him and I roll my eyes. He scores—of fucking course he does. And this time, I don’t stick around to watch anymore. The coach calls me back to the bench as new players fill the ice.

My chest heaves as I sit on the bench, taking one of the electrolyte drinks available and squirting it into my mouth. Dylan is still playing, but I try not to keep my eyes on him. He only reminds me of Ollie, how I fucked up last night.

What the hell was I thinking anyway? Going to the couch was a mistake—I knew that before mustering up the courage to do it. But the shit I said to him? How I kissed his forehead and put a blanket on him? I can’t even make up excuses for that. It was just plain fucked up.

The problem is that he’s not the only one confused. I’m struggling to figure out why I acted that way, knowing I still hate him. It wasn’t even to confuse him on purpose; I just had a moment of weakness. And I have to blame my dad for it. He’s the one who put me in this impossible position—not that he knows our history.

Oliver knows I can’t stand him. He just doesn’t know I also can’t stand how much I want him. Or maybe he does now—after I spilled my guts last night. I should’ve never said it to him; I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut. The hope on his face was enough to bring me to my knees for a split second right before I crushed it.

“Yo, Hartman!” Dylan yells as he skates toward the bench. “I didn’t know my boyfriend would be here tonight. I would’ve dedicated my goal to him.”

I narrow my eyes at him and he smirks, getting closer to the bench. Except I fly over it and square up to him. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Oliver’s here.” He nods toward the crowd, and sure enough, he’s sitting right behind us. I hadn’t even seen him. “And God, I miss that tight little ass. I swear to fuck, your brother can get it.”

Grabbing onto his helmet, I yank it clean off his head, then throw it onto the ice. My gloves are off next before my fist meets his jaw, then I cock it back again, and hit his nose. I feel the moment it breaks against my knuckles and hear the unmistakable crunch of it. I take off my helmet to make it even, and he hits me back. I relish in the pain.

I’m a fucking fighter.

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