Page 35 of Reckless On Ice

“No, it wasn’t,” Knox says, his face settling into a calm I hadn’t expected.

“I’m not like you,” I snap, anger rising in me.

“You don't have to be like me, Ryder. You have your own identity and will figure out what that means,” he says, voice even, like he’s explaining something to a child. “But that wasn’t a mistake, and you need to own your actions. You’ve been pushing me, getting closer and more physical, because you want to. Stop denying it.”

“Fuck you,” I spit, furious now that he’s lumping me in with anyone in this club and sending my mind back to high school and the fucking mean guys who made me turn on my best friend. The fuckers who said I had to ruin his life, or mine would be ruined instead. I didn't have a choice if I wanted to play hockey with them and get out of the hellhole that was my life. It was my only option, and I hated choosing it.

I push at Knox’s chest, ready to leave this fucking conversation and the truths he’s trying to force onto me. Knox shakes his head and pins me to the wall instead. He’s bigger and stronger than me, and he’s finally using it to his advantage after letting me drive every interaction when he could have easily turned the situation around when I was being an asshole.

It's like the first day in his condo when he held me by the throat and told me no more gay jokes. Not only did I like the way it felt to be handled that way, but he set the tone that day and showed me he was fully capable of stopping me when I got too close or touched him, but he hasn’t, until tonight. He’s let me push him and try out my insidious interest through our interactions to see what I think of it. What it made me realize is I’m more confused than ever, and I like touching Knox. I especially liked it tonight when he turned around and gave it back just as hard as I have been.

“I see you,Ryder,” he says with a definitive edge. Suddenly, I feel like a spotlight has been blasted into my shadows, and I can't hide anymore. “I know why you’re so angry about this. Why you’re lashing out. You’re mad at yourself. Mad about the way you feel, and you’re pointing negative shit my way because of it. It’s your own feelings and truths. It’s festering inside you because you won’t admit what you really are or how you feel. You won’t be able to get past this until you’re honest with yourself, man.”

“You pushed me to do that. I didn’t want to kiss you,” I say, anxiety rising in my chest. My heart is beating too damn fast,this can't be good. I pound on the damn thing with my fist to resettle my heart. It doesn’t help. I grip Knox’s wrist where he still holds me against the wall, but he won't let go. He won't stop looking at me, dissecting my motives and peeking inside my chest.

“I think you wanted to kiss me. Otherwise, why would that have been the best fucking kiss of my life?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I rasp, my voice and body betraying me, pulling him closer when I want to put distance between us.

But now he’s too close. I can smell his cologne and see a bit of a bruise on his neck peeking out of his collared shirt that must be from where I bit him. The dumb beast in me that likes seeing him marked roars in triumph, and it sounds a whole lot likeMINE.

His mouth is so beautiful, and when his tongue darts out to wet a trail across the lush bottom lip, I can’t fucking stop. I reach up and pull him to me again, taking that mouth I want so fucking badly. He’s not as compliant this time. Instead, he fights me for control and it lights me the fuck up. His forearm rests against the wall next to my head, and his other hand settles at my waist. He presses me into the wall, pushing his weight against me in the most gloriously fulfilling way, my thighs splitting around his as our tongues tangle and teeth clash.

This isn’t a pretty kiss—it’s desperate. I’m hopeless, lost in the moment, clinging to him, trusting him. I give him everything. My desperation and my confusion, my needand desire. I take everything he gives. His reassurance and steadiness, his calm and hope. I surrender, and the groan that comes out of me can only be called feral and needy. It seems to spur Knox on. He kisses me harder, his hand roaming from my waist to my ass and pulling me tighter. My cock pressing against his makes me see fucking stars. If I’m not careful, I’ll be coming in my pants a second time today, and I don't want him to think that’s a normal occurrence for me. It’s just something that seems to happen with him, unfortunately.

Reluctantly, I slide my hands to his chest and gently push to put some distance between us. He immediately steps back, his lips slowing and then parting from mine.

“See, best kiss of my fucking life,” Knox breathes against my lips, and I feel his words branded onto my soul. He kisses me softly and brushes his nose against mine.

But I can’t do it.

I push against him harder. “This isn’t me,” I argue.

Knox groans in frustration, his big hands swiping up to his face as he takes another step away from me that feels like the Grand Canyon after having him so close we breathed the same air.

“You’re so emotionally stunted that you can't even accept the most basic truth,” he says, letting his hands drop. “You know what, deny yourself all you want. I’m done playing this game. I’ve lived it for too long, and I'm not doing it anymore. You're a coward, that's what you are, Ryder.”

He turns and walks toward the exit, his long, powerful legseating up the distance quickly. I’m left in the dark corridor with a huge case of embarrassment, a raging hard-on, and more confusion than I know what to do with. Watching him go feels like I’m losing something precious, that this moment is pivotal, and Knox is right. I am a coward.

I never stood up for him in high school. I let bullies coerce me into becoming just like them to avoid the discomfort of losing my social standing and place on the team. But in doing that, I lost something even more valuable instead—my best friend.

I was a coward when I made those homophobic remarks and got my ass handed to me by social media. I could have kept my mouth shut instead of running it thoughtlessly in the first place. I damn sure could have owned up to my mistake when it came out instead of letting it go viral and staying complacent in the wrongness of my actions.

I’m a coward now for not admitting that I feel something for him. That I may not be as straight as I thought I had to be. And that feels like the most ground-shaking cowardice of all. Why do I think it’s wrong to want Knox, a man, now? I don't think it’s wrong for him or others to like men, but somehow it feels taboo to consider the same for myself. That feels like a me problem, as Knox would say. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I know this isn't the first time I’ve found a man attractive or wanted a man sexually—my forays with the Vers app over the years are proof that I’ve been curious and wanted it enough to go looking for those connections with men. So,how do I fix this?

I run a hand through my hair and follow in Knox’s path, knowing I won’t catch him, but I know where to find him if I want to come clean. I just don't know if I can, yet.

Nineteen

Ryder

Idon't see Knox the night of the club, or the next day, and I leave the day after that for a string of away games in California. How I left things between us feels shitty, and I know the ball is definitely in my court to fix them. Deciding to start slowly, I text Knox as I’m finishing up with a post-practice workout before heading back to my hotel in Anaheim.

Ryder: Things got a little out of hand the other night.

When Knox doesn’t text back right away, I wonder if he’s giving me the silent treatment, and this will be a one-way conversation. An hour later, I’m hanging inmy hotel room, doing a hip-opening yoga routine when my phone pings. I roll out of pigeon pose and grab it like it’s a bomb about to detonate and click on Knox’s text.

Knox: That’s what happens when assholes are allowed to run wild.

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