Page 50 of Save the Game

“Yeah, I’ll be all right,” he says to my stomach, where his eyes are trained on my happy trail.

“If you want to change, help yourself. I’ll be quick,” I promise, before walking into the bathroom and closing the door until only a crack remains so that I can hear him if he tries to talk to me.

I wouldn’t say I shower at the speed of light, but I definitely come close. I’m pulling on a pair of boxers in record time, opening the bathroom door and marveling at the fact that the mirror didn’t even get a little steamy. Apparently, the way to save money on the water bill is to have Max Kuemper waiting for you on the clean side of a shower. Rubbing the towel over my hair, I peek into the bedroom to see Max sitting in the exact same place I left him on my bed.

“Hey, Maxy.” I eye him from under the towel, still rubbing vigorously at my scalp. He’s changed into a pair of my grey sweatpants and an old baseball shirt of mine, which is the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen him wear. “You want to brush your teeth?”

“Sure,” he replies, but makes no move to get up. “I can wait for you to finish, though.”

“No need. Room enough for both of us.” I grin at him, slinging the towel over my shoulder and brushing the damp strands of hair off of my forehead. He follows me into the bathroom and I fish out a new toothbrush for him. Smiling around my own toothbrush, I watch him in the mirror, enjoying the way he’s blatantly checking me out. Nudging him with my hip, his eyes find mine and he blushes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth and spitting into the sick. “It’s just really fucking distracting when you walk around in your underwear.”

“Noted.” I lean over and spit, feeling ridiculously pleased at the sight of our toothbrushes sitting next to each other inside the glass on the vanity. Cupping a hand gently around the side of his face, I skate the pad of my thumb over his cheekbone tenderly. “Quality check,” I warn, before leaning in and kissing him.

It’s quick, and not at all the way I really want to kiss him, but he looks absurdly pleased and still a little bit nervous so I don’t push it. I can’t tell if he’s worried about the fight we had, or if he’s still tripped up about me knowing he’s been assaulted. Either way, probably best I don’t jump him the second we make up.

I wish we could stay up and talk for a bit; I’m starved for him—the sound of his voice and the way he banters with me. But he looks like a stiff breeze could blow him over, and I’m not selfish enough to keep him awake when he so obviously needs rest. Grabbing his hand, I turn off the light and pull him back to the bedroom, crawling into my usual spot in the bed. He doesn’t hesitate to follow, or appear to have any reservations about tucking himself against my side.

“I missed you, too,” he says, in case I hadn’t figured that out on my own yet. “I missed everything about you. I was mad at you for treating me carefully, and then I missed it—how fucking stupid and hypocritical is that?”

“Anybody ever told you that you’re too hard on yourself?” I ask, not bothering to gentle my hold on him as I pull him across my chest. I want him to be so close to me tonight, we might as well be fused together.

“No,” he lies.

“Well, you are.” I rub his shoulder to take the sting out of the words. “And, uhm, just to put this out there…if you ever do need to talk about what happened, you can talk to me. If you want, obviously. No pressure, but I want you to know that you can tell me anything.”

I don’t expect him to respond, and that’s all right. I want him to know I’m here for him if he needs me, and as long as he believes it, I’m good. He shifts closer, eyelashes tickling my chest where his face is resting against me.

“I know. Thank you,” he mumbles. “I…I had a meeting with Coach Mackenzie this week. About finding a doctor.”

“What?” I ask, alarmed. “What happened? Did you get hurt at practice?”

“No, like a therapist. A psychiatrist, or whatever. He—Coach, that is—thinks talking to a professional will help.”

“Oh, I see.” I happen to agree with Coach Mackenzie, and the constant anxiety I have concerning Max lifts a little bit. He’s obviously been suffering, and is reluctant to ask for help from his friends; perhaps a stranger is the perfect solution. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah. Kind of embarrassed about it, to be honest. I mean…I’m fine. I don’t even remember what happened.”

“No,” I say, trying to tread carefully now that he’s finally opening up to me, “but maybe it will help with the panic attacks and the insomnia. And…well, I’ve noticed you don’t eat a lot, and that’s not good for anybody, but certainly not for an athlete.”

I stop there, not wanting to overwhelm him. The truth is, there are a lot of things I’ve noticed about Max that make me worry for his wellbeing; his penchant for wearing the most shapeless clothing he could possibly find, like he’s trying to dissuade people from finding him attractive. Hell, he once told me he wanted to be invisible, and if that isn’t concerning, I don’t know what is. Abandoning all pretense, I hook a hand over his hip and pull him over me until he’s practically laying on top of me.

“Oof,” he grunts, adjusting his legs so that he’s straddling one of mine, hips aligned perfectly with my own. “Is this how you want to sleep? Can you breathe?”

“Who needs oxygen when you can have Max?” I counter, and he laughs. “I’m not sure if you’ve picked up on this or not, but I’m a bit of a cuddler.”

“Are you?”

“I dabble,” I say primly, and he huffs another delighted laugh against my chest.

“It’s nice,” Max says decisively. “Most guys I’ve been with were too, I don’t know, macho to snuggle. But I like that you want to do it; it makes me feel like you want me here.”

Well goddamn, Max, go ahead and stab me in the heart while you’re at it. I dive a hand into his hair, running my fingers through the mess and kneading his scalp. He hums, turning his nose up and brushing against the underside of my jaw.

“I want you here,” I answer, disappointed in the inadequacy of the words. There is simply no way to verbally describe how much I truly want him.

“So…we’re good right? We’re not mad at each other or fighting anymore?”

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