Page 27 of Speed

“That’s candid. And totally wrong. I mean, sure, back in the old days you had goons trawling the ice just looking for a face to punch, but the game now is about speed and skill. Although, a hearty shoulder check is always a good thing.”

“So, I’m learning.”

I poked at a slice of cuke smothered in dressing. “I’m not sure where I sit with you.”

“Beside me at the moment,” he said, then gave my knee a gentle knock with his.

“Yeah, obviously, but I meant with where you are inside your head.” I looked right at him, my cuke still hanging off my fork. “I like kissing you, I do, and I could get into doing more, but I’m not going to screw up what I’ve worked for all my life over some guy who wants to touch my dick one second, then tells me in his next breath that he’s not into guys. I don’t have time for that, you know. I’m working my ass off to make the team. So, if you’re going to stay in your little cloud of denial, cool, have fun with that, but leave me out of it. My future is too important to me to expend all that mental output on a guy who won’t give me what I need emotionally.” He blinked at me as if he’d taken a puck to the noggin. “Sorry if that was too blunt, but I’ve danced this troika before. Dudes that can’t cop to being attracted to the same sex to the world but want to get their dicks sucked by a guy. So, if you’re going to keep being cagey, this lunch is probably the last time you’ll eat with me or kiss me. You hearing me?”

“You’re quite mature,” he said softly. “In many ways, you’re way more together than I am.”

“I’ve just had more time to come to know myself. I was crushing on guys when I was thirteen. And I grew up with two dads and a trans sister. Our house was Rainbow Central all year round, so when I started pinning up Jensen Ackles pics next to my Sabrina Carpenter posters, they were both like yep, we got a bi-boy.”

I smiled at the memory of how cool my fathers had been. I’d been incredibly fortunate to grow up surrounded by inclusivity.

“That’s amazing. My story is vastly different.”

“Well yeah, you dated a popstar.” He winced at that, and part of me wished I could take the words back, so I changed the subject. “Why don’t you tell me your story? We have lots of salad.” I gave his knee a bump and got a smile that made me wonder if living under the sea might not be that bad.

NINE

Brody

I didn’t wantto do this, so to avoid answering immediately, I took the bowls to the sink as if the world depended on my washing up.

“Brody?” Noah prompted and tugged me around, so I faced him.

“Didn’t you Google me?” I asked, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed.

Noah shook his head, one of his curls bouncing free from behind his ear. “I’m not a stalker like you,” he teased.

I huffed a laugh, staring at the floor for a second before shrugging.

Where did I start? Right at the beginning? Or with the news I'd been living with since last November? Doc had finished the appointment—no change blah blah, but then, he'd paused and added the kicker.

“I need you to understand the long-term implications. Even if the aneurysm remains stable, it will not go away. You may eventually need surgery. And if that happens, there’s a chance it could affect your motor skills. Your coordination. Possibly even your speech.”

Yeah, telling Logan that wasn't happening, and I wasn't laying that on Noah. He was my focus, my sunshine, my hope, and I refused to add that shit to the already steaming pile of crap I was about to lay on him.

I wanted him to like me as a strong man, not someone with a ticking time bomb in their head.

I want him to kiss me.

Take me to bed.

Make me forget.

I cleared my throat. “Okay, so long story short, my grandfather was a Formula One racer in the eighties—Jason Vance.” I waited for Noah to recognize the name, but he shook his head. “Well, he won a world championship and built a small empire on his celebrity. He put his work first. Had my dad—his only son—who married my mom, a Brazilian model. Picture-perfect life, right?”

I glanced at him. Noah wasn’t smirking anymore. His brows had drawn together, and his face shifted through several emotions. I ignored the fact that he was picking up on the unspoken stuff, or reading things into what I was saying, and pressed on.

“My dad was a racer, like me. He never had a chance to make it big, though. Lots of pressure on him from his dad. He drank, smoked, took drugs, slept around, and enjoyed all the trappings of too much money and not enough sense.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, well, my mom filed for divorce when I was five. They reconciled a couple of years later, but it was messy. If you want the details, it’s in every media post about me.” I waved a hand as if I was dismissing all that shit.

Noah stayed silent, but the way his eyes narrowed, and lips pressed together told me he was biting back a comment. I kept going.

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