Page 132 of On Thin Ice

Shame and awkwardness crawled up Jacob’s spine. “Well, heisboth of those things.”

Morgan shot him a disgusted look.

“Not just because of that, of those things, in fact . . .” Jacob sighed. “I’d feel easier about it if he was a few years older, but . . .”

“Would you?” Morgan demanded.

God, Finn wouldn’t be here for awhile yet. An hour at least, probably longer. Could he pour Morgan into an Uber and send him off God knew where? Hecould, but guilt would dog him after. Morgan was a grown ass man, and he could take care of himself. He’d been doing it for a long fucking time. Why then, did he suddenly feel responsible for the asshole?

Jacob swore under his breath and crossed over to the wet bar set into the built-ins. Pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Not usually his thing, but it was Morgan’s, and well, if they were gonna talk about this, he was going to need some liquid courage. More than a glass of wine could give him.

He poured an inch or so into two glasses and handed one to Morgan, who just looked unimpressed.

Jacob itched under his collar. It would be easier to break his promise and punch Morgan in the face for pushing on this.

“I think it’s a pretty damn good plan, don’t you?” Morgan said conversationally, taking a long drink of his whiskey. “Recapture the youth you miss, the hockey you miss, thelifeyou miss.”

“No,” Jacob said.

But Morgan was on a roll. “You can’t live through him. You’llruinhim, drag him down, suck him dry, when he should befree.”

Now it was Jacob’s fist that was itching.

“No,” he repeated.

Morgan didn’t continue, just shot him a knowing look and went back to drinking his whiskey.

“Heisfree. He’s . . .freer than he’s ever been,” Jacob said quietly.He’s happy. We’re happy together.

For once, Morgan didn’t argue.

Jacob finished his whiskey and got up and refilled both their glasses, all in silence.

He told himself it was the whiskey that unstuck his tongue, but the truth was he’d been wondering since Morgan had confessed the truth last week.

“That why you did it?”

Morgan glanced over. “Did what?”

“Hooked up with a player.” It was only a guess, but the way Morgan’s fingers clenched white around the glass told him he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Never said I did,” Morgan said, but his voice wavered on the last word.

“Yeah, okay.” Jacob wasn’t convinced.

“We’re not talking about this,” Morgan announced, pulling himself up and walking over towards the wet bar and the bottle, still unsteady on his feet.

“Good,” Jacob said. “Does that mean you’re gonna stop being pissed at Finn for me?” He didn’t ask Morgan if he would ever stop being pissed athim. That was way too much to ask for, and besides, he’d lived with Morgan’s bitter anger for years. He could tolerate it.

“No,” Morgan muttered. “I just don’t want him to get his hopes up. To think this is something it’s not. That you’re something you’re not.”

“And what’s that?”

Morgan turned and leaned back against the counter. “He’s smart, you know? Bright. He could do so much.”

“Believe me, I know that,” Jacob said dryly. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

“You’re gonna lean on him, fuck him, use him, trying to remember something you lost, and then when you realize it’s not gonna work, that there’s no going back, you’re gonna ditch him, and it’s gonna . . .” Morgan looked away.

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