Page 17 of Scoring Zone
“I took what I wanted from you in the moment without thinking ahead. And I can’t give you what you want.” He keeps pacing, fists clenching and unclenching, refusing to meet my eyes. “I’m so sorry, but friendship is all I can do.” His voice oozes sorrow, but it doesn’t fix the fact that my internal organs have ceased functioning.
The only sounds are his feet striking the floor and the soft swish of his pants rubbing together as he walks.
Even though I prepared myself for this response, reality shreds me. I did the one thing I swore I would never do. I fell for my straight best friend. And I didn’t trip and fall; I fell face-first into passion, with my heart in my hand for him.
“Okay,” I say in a steady voice. I pledged not to let that night break us. His friendship in the long term means more than the emptiness that currently occupies me.
“It’s not okay,” he snaps. “I refuse to hurt you.”
“Tinny.” I use the nickname he loves to soothe him. “I’m disappointed you don’t feel the same, but it’s not your fault. You can’t force yourself to want me for my benefit. I don’t want to be someone else who demands something of you. I can’t be a drain on your energy.” As much as I hate saying the words, they’re true. I’d rather have him be honest than fake his desire for me. If he pretends, I’ll get more attached, and it will hurt worse when he ends things.
“This isn’t what I wanted to happen.”
The urge to hug him is overwhelming, but I hold back. Touch is my source of comfort, not his. “I know that, and I’m not mad at you.” Heartsick but not angry. I’m upset with myself for letting my emotions take over and for longing for things he can’t give me. I’m the idiot.
“You should be.” His hands grip his short hair, and I’m surprised he doesn’t pull it out. “You should hate me for what I did. What I’m doing.”
“I’ll never hate you.” It’s a sad truth. I can’t make him feel better, and I need to end this conversation.
Austin hating himself only hurts me more. Since I asked for more than he can give, it’s my responsibility to absolve him of guilt. I stand and step into his path.
“Hey.” I wait until he looks at me. His eyes are gray and dull. I did that. “We’re fine. Our friendship has survived worse. You can probably meet the guys out and have some fun. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere,” I say, willing it to be true. Eventually I’ll get over him, but I deserve the torture of living here in the meantime. He’s Austin—Ace—Lapointe, last year’s leading scorer for the Enforcers and an All-Star. I’m his middle school friend who managed to hang on into adulthood.
He nods and gives me a one-arm bro hug. I thump his back and tear myself away, retreating to my room. If only I could knock myself unconscious and fall into a peaceful oblivion.
Reality sucks.
Austin’s muttering to himself on the other side of our shared wall. We unknowingly arranged our rooms so our beds butt up against each other with a thin wall between them. It’s never been a problem since neither of us has ever brought a hookup back here. It never felt right since he pays the majority of the rent. He must have his own reasons for not doing it.
After a few minutes of heavy silence, I hear a soft knock on the wall. We do that to say goodnight sometimes. I return it, hoping it gives him some peace, and roll over to find sleep.
In my dreams, Austin is in my bed.
Chapter 9
Austin
Lying is a sin. I grew up hearing that every single day. But not telling Grayson the whole truth is better for him. Or that’s my excuse for lying to my best friend and denying us what we both hunger for. He’s all I can think about. His coconut scent is everywhere in the apartment. It’s embedded in my nose. I even smell it in this arena, which is not possible.
The darkness swirls inside me, loose and unpredictable. I can’t let Grayson anywhere near me because my desire for him is too wild, too primal, and I’ll cause damage. He’s sure I’ll stop and won’t hurt him because we’re the same size, but I lift weights for a living and my darkness isn’t rational, and it’s capable of horrible things.
I cling to the memory of him hurt on the ice in the CHL, a reminder of the damage I accidentally caused. Never again will he suffer at my hands.
His phony smile is getting on my nerves, but I step into his training room for our pregame ritual. Keeping him safe andmine is a balance I’m learning to manage. But I won’t be the one to pull away. I can’t. He means too much to me.
I’m selfish. I should let him go to find someone else. Someone who won’t drag him into the darkness.
“Hey.” I shrug as if to say “I’m here.”
The left side of his mouth ticks up with a ghost of a smile as he closes the distance between us. “I got your sticky note. Is that our thing now? Instead of dressing the same, you’re gonna leave me notes?”
I shrug again like a dumbass because those stupid notes prevent me from confessing my true feelings and putting him in physical jeopardy.
Gray’s steady hands land on my shoulder. “Have a great game. You got this.”
I inhale, taking in as much of him as I can—his smell, his breaths, and his surety. His forehead rests on mine, and his hair forms a curtain, hiding our faces from the rest of the world. I close my eyes because if there’s a hint of pain in his, it will crush me before I get to the ice.
“Thanks,” I murmur, and back away, avoiding his gaze.
