She gaslights him at every turn, playing on his guilt, and I wish I could heal his pain.
It would be so easy to tell him his mom only cares about bragging about him to her drunk family and friends. She doesn’t care about his health and well-being, but we’ve had that conversation and he is not ready to admit it.
Every instinct wants to wrap him up and console him so I don’t hold back. He needs someone to care about him and sympathize with his pain. This time, when I hold out my arms, he collapses, bringing us chest to chest. His heart beats out of rhythm while mine races.
“You must be really worried about me to offer a hug.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and I grunt, making him laugh. “You’re more likely to stand in the goal for Patrik without pads than physically touch someone.”
The five o’clock shadow under his chin prickles through the base layer of the shirt on my shoulder, sending shivers through me. My cock remembers last night when he got hard, and his noises when jerking off. I shift my hard-on away from him.
For extra space, I throw my head back to laugh and push on his shoulders. “No more hugs for you if you are going to make fun of me.” This is the type of situation I have been trying to avoid. Even if he is not straight, I cannot risk our friendship. Our team chemistry is a huge part of our success.
And it’s disgusting to become turned on when his mother berates him and he needs emotional support.
“Nope.” Dylon lunges and envelops me in a hug, swaying us side to side. “Hugs are now a daily thing. You opened the door, and you know I’m a hugger,” he says in a singsong voice.
“Great.” I pretend to hate it. He hugs strangers and fans all the time. It’s mind-boggling to me. I prefer to keep my distance.
“Let’s go home.” I memorize his arms and chest plastered to mine before he lets go and the cool air takes his place.
“I should talk to Coach about my mom’s plans and make sure I won’t be doing something against the team’s code of conduct. It’s a little different for me now.”
“I will be in the car.” I formulate a plan as I walk. Starting the engine, I pull up my contact for Jayce McKenna, our Director of Player Development. He found Dylon the night he overdosed and is one of the few people in the organization who knows the full story about what happened and his time in rehab.
Me: Dylon’s fighting with his mom about his sobriety and she wants him at the family bar
Jayce: I’ll handle it. He will have a team commitment that night
All the pent-up tension leaves my body in a sigh. Jayce is a true friend outside of hockey. He has met Dylon’s mom and witnessed her tantrums. Jayce doesn’t need all the details to understand how this could hurt Dylon’s recovery.
Me: Thank you
Jayce likes my message, and I store my phone away. It won’t be easy for him to concoct an event so quickly, but I trust his word.
Now I have to decide how to rewire my brain so I am not attracted to Dylon.
“Thanks for waiting.” Dylon eases into the leather seat beside me, bringing his body wash and musky scent into the enclosed space. My SUV is much larger than the godforsaken rental, but any confined space with Dylon makes it difficult to breathe.
“I will never leave you.” The words are to reassure him I won’t strand him at practice, but they mean so much more. I do not think I am capable of leaving him. There is no rehab for my addiction to him. I have no desire to be away from him.
This is why I should ask him to move out. Give us space as friends and teammates. To let my crush die. The problem is that I no longer have a crush on Dylon.
I have been falling harder and harder for him each day. The parts of himself that he hides from the world are the best parts of him. He is not the chill, happy guy everyone sees. He is tortured by his past, and his sobriety has been hard won. I am privileged that he trusted me to help him through the cravings, anger, and denial. Only his sponsor and therapist saw glimpses of Dylon as a whole man.
Dylon stretches with his arms over his head and bumps me. “I love this car. Take me home, James.” He tells me that is a line from a movie, but he cannot name it.
Regardless, we head home for another night together, and I am unsure how to act around him.
Chapter 11
Dylon
My eyes are on Lars’s forearm as he navigates the car across the bridge. We always fly out of New Jersey because they accommodate large charter planes and we can avoid the crowds of both people and backed-up flights. The moderate traffic around us speeds along, and we sit side by side in silence.
Ever since the night I fell in his lap, I can’t stop wondering if he got off listening to me. And he hugged me after my mom’s fit of codependency. That’s what my sponsor calls it. She tries to coerce me by acting like I’m victimizing her instead of setting boundaries for my sobriety. She literally profits by supporting my use of alcohol.
I’m torn between asking Lars to go with me to my uncle’s bar for support and toughening it out on my own. Lars won’t always be there for me to lean on.
We’ve been circling each other for days. I catch him staring, and he’s gotten hard around me more than once. The impulsive, destructive part of me recklessly almost asked him outright if he’s attracted to men. He’s had girlfriends, so I don’t think he’s gay, but the way our bodies react to each other isn’t straight. Our hug nestled our bodies together, and mine lit up with sparks spreading like wildfire all over my skin.