Page 34 of The Boyfriend Zone

"Sean," I said softly, "I'm not going to write about this. Not if you don't want me to."

"Why should I believe you?" But there was a flicker of something in his eyes—hope, maybe. Or the desperate wish to trust someone.

"Because I care more about you than any story," I admitted, the truth of it settling into my bones as I spoke. "I have from the beginning."

Sean seemed at a loss for words, his anger deflating slightly. He winced as he shifted his weight, his gear still half-on and clearly uncomfortable.

"At least let me help you with the pads," I offered again. "Then if you want me to leave, I will."

After a moment's hesitation, Sean gave a terse nod. I approached carefully, moving behind him to unfasten the straps he couldn't reach. I worked in silence, trying to be as gentle as possible as I helped ease the gear over his head.

When my fingers accidentally brushed his neck, I felt him shiver. Not from pain this time.

"Thanks," he murmured as I set the pads aside.

"You're welcome." I stayed close, not quite touching him but near enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Sean, please. Talk to me. How bad is it, really?"

He was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. Then, still facing away from me, he said, "Bad enough that I can't sleep some nights. Bad enough that I've been taking painkillers like candy just to get through practices."

The admission, so quietly devastating, broke my heart. "Why haven't you told anyone? Dr. Shaw, or Coach?"

"Because I can't afford to be benched," Sean said, turning to face me at last. There was raw honesty in his eyes now, the walls temporarily down. "Not with scouts watching. Not with the Frozen Four in reach. Not with my father—" He cut himself off, looking away.

"Your father," I prompted gently. "He's a big part of this, isn't he?"

Sean laughed humorlessly. "My father lives for hockey. His career ended with an injury in college. He's made damn sure I won't make the same mistake."

"By playing through an injury that could permanently damage your shoulder?" I couldn't keep the incredulity from my voice. "Sean, that makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense if you're my father," Sean countered bitterly. "Hockey is everything. Pain is weakness. Dreams don't pay bills."

"But they're your dreams too, right?" I asked. "Playing professionally—that's what you want?"

Something flickered across Sean's face—doubt, maybe. Or realization. "I don't know anymore," he admitted quietly. "I used to be sure. Now, I just don't want to disappoint him. Or the team. Or myself."

I reached out, tentatively touching his uninjured arm. "Getting help isn't disappointing anyone. It's being smart. It's protecting your future, whatever that looks like."

Sean looked down at my hand on his arm, then back up to my face. The vulnerability in his eyes made him look less sure of himself than the confident defenseman I'd watched command the ice.

"I've handled everything alone for so long," he said. "I'm not sure I know how to let someone help."

"Start small," I suggested, my heart aching for him. "Start by telling Dr. Shaw the truth about your shoulder. Get it properly examined. Then decide what to do next."

Sean's eyes searched mine, looking for something—reassurance, maybe. Or understanding. "And if it's serious? If I have to sit out games? If scouts lose interest?"

"Then we'll figure it out," I promised.

Something in Sean's expression shifted, softened. He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until we were just inches apart.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "Why do you care so much about what happens to me?"

I could have given him a safe answer—something about journalistic integrity or basic human decency. But in that moment, with his eyes holding mine and his warmth so close, only the truth would do.

"Because I'm falling for you," I admitted. "Have been since that night at the club."

Sean's breath caught, his eyes widening slightly. For a heartbeat, I thought I'd made a terrible mistake. Then his good hand came up to cup my face, his touch impossibly gentle.

"I've been fighting this," he confessed, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Fighting whatever this is between us. Fighting everything that doesn't fit with the life I'm supposed to want."

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