He kissed me like he'd been thinking about it for a long time and wasn't interested in being gentle about it now that he finally could. Deep and certain, his hands cradling my face like I was something he'd been afraid to want and had decided to want anyway. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer and kissed him back with everything I had — all the lonely months of it, all the wanting, all the careful distance I'd been keeping from the one thing here that felt like mine.
He made a deep sound against my mouth and pushed me back into the couch cushions without breaking the kiss, one hand sliding into my hair, tilting my head back, taking his time like we had all of it. Like neither of us had anywhere to be ever again. His mouth was warm and he tasted like tequila and just him, just Marcus, and I thought distantly this is what I've been waiting for, and then I stopped thinking entirely.
When we finally pulled apart we were both breathing too hard for how little had technically happened. Foreheads pressedtogether. His hands still in my hair. Both of us smiling like complete idiots in this small, dark room.
"Fuck," he said, breathless.
"Yeah," I said. "That was—"
"Amazing."
"I was going to say that."
He laughed — and pulled me back in.
Chapter 15
Jamie
I don't sleep.
Ceiling gets lighter at some point.
That's all that happens.
I kissed him back. My fucking teammate.
My body feels wrong, I’m crawling out of my skin. He’s too close to everything I’ve built. I kissed him. Back.
I get up at four AM. Go to the rink. Skate until my legs stop working then skate more because that's what you do when your head won't stop. You skate long enough and eventually there's only the ice.
Only the puck.
Only the sound of your own breathing.
No room left for anything else.
I was maybe nine the first time my father figured it out. Hadn't done anything. Hadn't said anything. Looked at someone I wasn't supposed to look at for half a second too long and he saw it on my face before I even knew it was there.
He didn’t say a word.
Told me to get my skates.
Drove to the rink at ten at night. Put a bucket of pucks at center ice and stood at the boards with his hockey stick and watched me shoot. When my arms gave out he walked onto the ice and cracked the stick across my shoulders and said again. When Ifell he grabbed my jersey and hauled me back up. When I cried he hit me harder and saiddon't you dare.
For hours.
Until my hands bled inside my gloves and I couldn't see straight and when it was finally over we drove home in silence and he put the stick back in the closet like it was nothing.
I learned that wanting things hurt.
I learned that being seen hurt more.
He didn't have to explain it.
I understood.
Every time after that. Any time something slipped through before I could catch it. Skates on. Ice. Pucks. Hockey stick to the back if I slowed down or complained, only when the rink was empty. Belt when we got home.
