Page 116 of Breakneck Hockey

Alderchuck scowls. “I’ve had about enough of your yap when you’re with your stupid friends, Sutter.” He crosses his arms, not planning on going anywhere. “Youput some fucking clothes on.”

Lane’s enjoying my plight, especially because he—for some reason—thinks what I said meant I’ve got CPS on the way to the West’s home.

“I’m not going anywhere either. We need to talk about Charles, and we’re doing it now.”

“Who the fuck is Charles?” Alderchuck says. “Sutter, I swear to God, if you went back on our deal…”

Lane’s eyes sparkle with the revenge he wants for something I didn’t do. “You don’t know about Charles? Mitch was talking to him earlier. He does a lot of shit you don’t know about.”

Casey’s face is a knife through my gut and boy does it fucking twist. His lip trembles.

“It’s not what you think,” I say, which only makes it sound more like it’s what he thinks.

“Know what? I don’t even wanna know.” He shrugs. “Second thought, I will get dressed. I’ve gotta head out.”

Lane gets to see way too much of my man’s ass as he heads into the bedroom. I glare murder at Lane.

“He’ll be fine once you tell him. Fuck. If he leaves you over this, he isn’t worth it. You’ll thank me later.”

Goddammit. He doesn’t get it. Lane might never get it, and it’s fucking sad. I want better for him, even when he’s acting like a total dick. But I’ll have to deal with him later.

Casey’s already in a hoodie and sweats, his bare feet planted on the carpet. He’s spinning his old ball cap into place, trapping his curls with it. I grab a pair of black sweats off the floor, hopping into them like my life depends on it. It does.

“If you wanna go home, fine. I’m driving you. I’ll catch you up on everything.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to, Sutter. Your life is yours. Mine is mine. That’s the beauty of a situationship.”

I can’t get his face outta my head. The sad one. The heartbroken one. Even though what he believes right now isn’t true, that still happened.

Lane is a dead man.

“Wished you’d waited till I was out of your damn bed, Sutter. Seems like the fucking human thing to do, but I’m not human to you, am I?”

What the fuck? I took him to see my dad’s bike—I’ve never done that with anyone—and he’s gonna accuse me of shit like that? Yeah, I’m a dick sometimes, but no worse than he ever is. Maybe I was wrong to assume we had something.

“You can’t be fucking serious. You met my parents.” All of them, I don’t add.

“That wasn’t on purpose, Sutter, and you know it. Don’t try to use that. I know I’m nothing but a fuck toy to you, but you don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“I wasn’t rubbing it in your face. Charles is a fifteen-year-old boy from the Moose Scouts thing I do with Dad. I’m helping him through a tough time. But it’s nice to know where I stand with you.”

“Oh my God.” He adjusts his hat. “Where you stand with me? You’re un-fucking-real. Look, it’s my bad for running with what douchebag Lane said, but I stand by what I said. Feel however you want about it, but that’s my experience with us. And Sutter, I’m okay with it—mostly. Guess I’m learning I wouldn’t be fucking okay with you talking to another hook-up while I’m right fucking here?—”

“Which I didn’t do?—”

“I know, I’m just sayin’ so you can take notes. And I actually believe that you didn’t do it but …”

But he lived it for a second and it hurt him enough he’s still reeling from it. Kinda like his comment to me. He probably mostly said it because he was hurt, but in his case, he meant it. None of the shit I do makes him feel he’s anything more than a sex doll.

And he is my sex doll—he should fucking accept that part—but he’s so, so much more than that.

He closes his eyes, letting go of a long exhale. “This got fucked up fast, which is exactly why we’re not supposed to do more than fuck.” He gets in my space, pulling me to him by the waistband of my pants and then he sinks his hands inside letting his fingers claw at my bare ass cheeks. “We’re good. We’re as fine as we always are—on the verge of our next brawl. Fuck yah later, okay?”

By later he means whenever the hell we see each other next in between our crazy hockey schedules. It’s a shitty note to leave this on, but it’s gonna have to do. There’s no way in hell I’m laying my damn heart on the line after this. All the locks around my heart click back into place, relieved we didn’t let Casey in to tear us up.

He plants a quick peck on my lips. “You should punch Lane in the face for that.”

Oh, I will. “Wait, how are you getting home?” I drove him here.

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