This is not who you are, I tell my reflection.You don't get to be this guy.
But the man in the mirror looks wrecked in ways that have nothing to do with the physical. My eyes are too bright, too vulnerable. I look...almost blissed out. Or, at least I did before I remembered who it is I'm supposed to be.
My hands shake as I put on my clothes. Fumbling and dropping the toothpaste, my hairbrush, my deodorant. I'm sure Jamie's wondering if I'm having some kind of seizure in here. Once my teeth are brushed and I've splashed cold water on my face I take a deep, cleansing breath before opening the bathroom door.
When I emerge, he's pulled on sweats and a t-shirt. His walls are up now too, his normal, easy warmth replaced by cold distance.
"We need to be on the bus in an hour."My voice is steady, even if nothing else is.
"Right."His smile is sharp enough to cut."Captain."
That word—my title, my responsibility—lands like a slap. But even though it stings, it's a helpful reminder. I don't get to just be whoever I want. I don't get to fuck around with teammates.
I grab the rest of my things, jamming everything into my baghaphazardly, telling myself I'll just have to deal with wrinkled clothes.
I need to leave. I have to put some distance between us before I do something stupid like turn around and kiss him. Like I did last night when he looked at me with those eyes and saw someone worthwhile…
Stop. Stop. Stop.
"I'm going for a run."I can't meet his eyes."I'll shower in the hotel gym. I'll catch you on the bus."
I'm out the door before he can respond, running from the hurt in his eyes. From the memory of his hands on my skin. From how perfect it felt to fall asleep in his arms. From everything I can't allow myself to want.
But I can't outrun the voice in my head that soundssuspiciouslylike Nick.
When are you going to stop punishing yourself for being happy, little brother?
Chapter 13
JAMIE
Jamie
The team plane gleams in the California sunshine as we cross the tarmac. The sharp scent of jet fuel mingles with fresh coffee, and the metal railing is cool to the touch as I climb the stairs to board.
Since I seem to be intent on torturing myself, I take the seat right across the aisle from Rylan's workstation. My stomach twists while he goes through his precise setup routine, but now I see the cracks in the calm, ordered front he puts on for the world. The slight tremor in his hands. The way his tie is a tiny bit crooked. Details I wouldn't have noticed before last night.
Sarah, our flight attendant, breaks through my mental spiral with her usual warmth."Good morning, boys! Coffee's ready."She catches Rylan's eye and gives him a bright smile."Black, two sugars for the captain?"
"Thanks, Sarah."His voice is steady and professional. As if he didn't fall apart in my arms six hours ago. Now he's all crisp suit and perfect posture, every inch the respected team captain. Before last night, I would've been impressed, but now I want tomess him up again. To make him lose that rigid control like he did when he was writhing underneath me, begging for more.
The plane's recycled air feels thick as he arranges his workspace. Laptop aligned at perfect right angles to his iPad. Coffee positionedpreciselyto the right. Game notes spread out with military precision and those eleventy-thousand different highlighters at the ready. It's like he said last night, if he can control all these little things, maybe it'll seem like he can control the big things too. Big things like whatever is going on between us.
Louis comes down the aisle and plops down into the seat beside mine. He glances between Rylan and me like he can sense the tension between us.
"Morning, boys. You two missed out on some great poutine last night. Gotta hand it to Reeses Pieces, the man can pick out the best food in any given city."
Charlie's silly nickname earns a grin from both Rylan and me, and my stomach flips at the glimpse of his real smile breaking through this tension.
Rylan loosens his tie, and the mark I left below his collarbone flashes into my mind. It's not visible, but just knowing it's right there, behind the fabric of his dress shirt is enough to send a rush of blood to my dick. Of course, I also know how his breath hitched when I put that mark there, how his fingers tightened in my hair, how his whole body trembled...
Jesus Christ, I need to get a grip.
Now he won't even glance in my direction.
The plane starts to taxi, and I pretend to be absorbed in my phone while watching Rylan. He's going through Coach's game notes from last night, moving his highlighter across the page with mechanical precision, but he's been on the same paragraph for ten minutes. When we lift off, he grips the armrests sotightlyhis knuckles go white. I noticed ityesterday, buttoday it feelsweirdlyintimate. It's like one more secret I'm not supposed to know about him.
Louis stretches out beside me."You good?"he asks, his voice pitched below the ambient noise.
