Page 32 of Unmasking Love
I would though. Very much.
Shit, I can't get her out of my mind. Harper is effervescent with her clothes on and without? Absolutely spiritual. It took every part of my training and focus to stay composed around her naked body last night. Not to mention the restraint it took when I grabbed her to stop her running out the door without her clothes on.
My body and my brain battled for control. My hands wanted to splay wide across her hips, and up to cup her breasts. My biceps twitched wanting to lock her into an embrace against my chest. My cock did more than twitch.
My brain won out. It commanded my traitorous limbs to chill the fuck out. To remember that she is heartbroken. That she is hurting. And that while I have no doubt our bodies together would feel amazing it wouldn’t fix anything.
But her skipping lunch is something I can fix.
The locker room is bustling with activity but I need to know the address to Harper’s office so, without thinking, I turn around. “Hey Felix?”
The room quiets, probably because I don’t speak out loud often and I just yelled for our captain. But then I realize that my shirt is off.
The D.C. Renegades are seeing my chest for the first time.
This moment comes for every team at some point or another but I usually prepare for it. Or start with a smaller group. Not all 22 other men who just got off the ice from practice.
“Whoa, you’re half ink!” Duncan chuckles. I look towards Crosby who is seated next to him and he’s just staring, trying to take it all in. The rest of the boys have slowed their progress of undressing too and are all looking at me.
At my tattoo.
At least, that’s all I hope they’re seeing. That’s the point of the whole thing. The reason I marched into a tattoo parlor on my 18th birthday and asked for the biggest chest tattoo the guy could make. He didn’t let me do that but he did get me started on a coat of arms design that I’ve been building out for the last decade.
I clear my throat and summon the courage to ask my question that started this whole mess. “Felix, do you know where Harper’s office is?”
Our captain, who is never at a loss for words, only nods.
I turn back around to face my locker and finish getting undressed. Usually I don’t shower at the rink because I’m going to get sweaty again biking home, and also to avoid prolonged exposure to my chest. But since everyone has seen it anyway I grab a towel and head in.
I face the wall and duck my head letting the spray hit the back of my neck. Beads of water trickle down my face and I slowly brush my fingers along my scar. I try to suppress the memories but it is impossible to ignore the physical proof of my weakness. Of my vulnerability. Of that fateful day.
And seeing people’s first reaction to it, even to my tattoo, refreshes the memory of waking up in a hospital bed thousands of miles away from home moments before my parents rushed in.
The devastation in my mom’s face.
The beeps of the machines in the room.
The grief in my dad’s eyes as he slowly approached.
The itch of the gown.
The pain when I tried to move, to speak, to breathe.
Then the side eyes and whispers about the scar when I returned to the game after six months of intense, focused recovery. Leave it to sixteen and seventeen year olds to not know how to approach a kid who had suffered a heart attack before a game.
I saw the fear in their eyes. That somehow I’d be the reason it could happen to them. It can’t. Turns out heart failure isn’t contagious. But it is a real downer.
I finish washing up and wrap one towel around my waist and another over my shoulders. Some of the guys have cleared out and the ones that are left give me nods as they continue with their post-practice routines.
Emmett walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. “Dude, you okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I mumble.
“I had no idea you had such an amazing piece on your body. Have you been working on it for a while?”
“For ten years,” I tell him and he nods.
“Young Gun, did you make an appointment?” Felix calls and I furrow my brow and look at him. Clearly he is no longer stunned in silence. “For Harper, she’s very busy. Actually, hold on.” He lifts a finger to indicate we wait and then places a phone call. He steps out into the hallway and then a minute later walks back in. “You’ve got an appointment with her at 1:00. You can make that right? Do you need me to drive you? I got a bike rack for my car so I could strap your bike to it and then you could ride home afterwards.”
