Chapter nineteen
Ryder
What the fuck have I done?
I know I’m at home, curled up naked in my own bed, though I hardly remember getting here. Hardly remember tearing my clothes off to get them out of my sight. Hell, I hardly remember the evening at all, except for one part, which keeps running through my mind in vivid detail.
Going home with Hayden hadbad ideawritten all over it, yet as soon as he said he wanted company, even mine, I felt relieved. Being alone held no appeal, but neither did being around people who’d want to talk about Chase. Since Frostycan’ttalk about him it seemed like the perfect solution. Right up until I kissed him.
That’s twice now he’s pushed my buttons so hard I couldn’t see straight, and both times made my dick so hard I couldn’t ignore the temptation to taste him. Only this time I didn’t stop after a taste. I fully ravaged him, so hard I probably left bruises, then walked out.
Even I didn’t know I could sink so low.
I squeeze my half-hard shaft in my fist, noting the faint tackiness that lingers on my skin. It’s a warning not to be so careless again, but also a reminder. A dangerous one.
The memory of his body wrapped around mine is so fresh I almost think I’m still there, buried inside him. But I’m not even sure that was me. My body, yeah, but my head was somewhere else. Some dark, fuzzy place where anger and desire bled together and left me an empty shell. Whether I was lost in pleasure or pain, I’m not entirely sure. I knew what I was doing felt incredible, physically anyway, but that was the only thought on my mind. Feeling good by however means necessary. The reason I desperately needed to feel good though… that was all rooted in pain. And I used Hayden to try to ignore it, which makes me an even bigger asshole than I already knew I was.
God, what kind of monster treats another person the way I treated him?
You could say I warned him and he ignored it, and there’s some truth to that. But the bigger truth is that I exploited him. I let my anger and frustration and even lust take over and I straight up ruined him because I couldn’t handle all the shit I was feeling. What’s worse, Frosty is probably the only person in this town who truly understands what I’m going through—a fact I didn’t even realize until tonight—and instead of treating him like the friend he was trying to be, I banged him like a crazed lunatic.
Chase would be so ashamed. Not only because I acted on my urges after I swore not to, but because I was a complete dick about it in the process. And if that isn’t enough fuckery for one night, the memory of what we did has me hard.
I was savage, acting without any restraint, and he took it without complaint. It was easily the hottest fuck of my life. With a guy.
Chase would never let me live that one down.
Yeah, I learned to appreciate what men looked like so we could talk openly about what he found attractive, but beyond looking at men objectively I never understood the sexual appeal. Even after Chase tried telling me how incredible it felt to have a cock rubbing against your prostate, I wasn’t tempted to experiment. I firmly believed I was only turned on by women, and that would never change.
Chase is probably laughing his ass off right now.
God, I’d give anything to have him here giving me shit, gloating about the fact he was right all along, and sex with a dude is mind-blowing. I’d happily suffer his teasing if it meant I could hear his voice again. Hell, I’d probably even ask his advice on what to do next time.
But there can’t be a next time.
Hayden deserves better than me, and if I have any decency left in my cold heart, I’ll leave him be.
***
“Check it out!” Max skip-runs to me holding a board out in front of him. Miraculously, he doesn’t trip over it when his prosthetic swings wide as he rushes over the snow.
“Wow.” I take it from him and spin it upright, studying the graphics. It's a mix of orange and red at the top then morphs into a dark green, almost solid black at the bottom. The image of a cheetah is stamped over the brighter colors, I assume to imply that the board is fast.
Turning it over in my hand, I admire the freshly-waxed base. The sharp edges. It’s a piece of art. All boards are, but the vivid imagery on this one is stunning, and as his first, it’ll have special meaning.
I remember my first board—every board I’ve ever owned actually—and the giddy anticipation of taking that inaugural run on it. As a kid, I’d only get a new board every few years, but as a pro I’d get multiple boards a season, all for different riding conditions.
The thrill of holding that new board, strapping it on for the first time, never goes away. Even now, holding a board that isn’t mine on a mountain I’ve tried like hell to avoid, a restless energy pulses through my veins. Max is gonna love it.
“That’s a great piece of equipment. Did Santa bring it?”
“It was under the tree this morning. Mom said I could ask you to sign it.” The kid’s practically bouncing as he extends his hand, offering me a marker.
My throat constricts as I try to swallow the breath that feels lodged in my throat. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked for an autograph, but it is the first time since I retired. Or quit. Or whatever the fuck it is I’m doing.
Raising an arm that feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, I tentatively reach for the Sharpie poking out of Max’s glove. With a shaky hand, I scrawl out my name, then pocket the marker and help him strap in so we can get on the chair.
During the ride, he rambles about the presents he got, and his animated chatter lulls me into a bit of a trance as I stare at the mountain rising in front of us. It’s a view I’ve seen hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, but today it feels foreign. Like I’m seeing it for the first time.
