Fuck, I can still feel his lips against mine. It’s been driving me wild. I’ve kissed him once, and I already feel starved, desperate for my next fix of him.
I skip showering at the firehouse, deciding to shower at home so I don’t get caught up here. I send a quick text to my parents and wish them a happy new year before climbing into my truck and driving home. They won’t reply. They never do. Our conversation is a sea of blue bubbles, with the occasional response filtered in.
My parents still live in Massachusetts, and we’ve never been close. It was like they were waiting for the moment I could fend for myself so they could get on with their lives. Hell, my dad practically pushed me out the door and threw my bags into my car when I left for the Navy, like they couldn’t wait to get rid ofme. But they’re still my parents, even if Walt has been more of a father to me in these last few years than his own brother.
When I get home, I find my uncle rummaging in one of the kitchen cupboards. He’s whistling to himself, his walking cane perched against the countertop next to him.
I rap my knuckles on the wooden doorframe to announce my presence. He lifts his head and flashes a toothy grin my way.
“Mornin’, son. Happy New Year to you and all that jazz. You want some waffles?” he asks, retrieving the waffle iron.
“You know I’ll never turn down the chance to have waffles. Want me to do some bacon?”
He points his finger at me. “It’s like you know me too well.”
Chuckling to myself, I grab the bacon from the fridge. We work alongside each other in silence. Me frying up some strips of bacon. Walt working his magic with the waffle machine. By the time we sit down at the table, I’m itching to talk to someone about last night.
Without taking my eyes off my plate, I blurt out, “So you know how I’ve met someone?”
Ignoring Walt’s stare boring into me, I take a bite of my food. I chew and swallow it down before glancing up to see his fork is paused midair, and his eyebrow arched.
“What?” I ask stupidly.
“Yes. Are you finally going to tell me who is he?”
“His name’s Elliot. We, uh… we met last year. When I did that event for the Chicago Thunder hockey team. But we bumped into each other again a few weeks ago.”
His bushy gray eyebrows almost hit his hairline as his fork clatters onto his plate. “He’s a hockey player?”
I snort. “Yes.” I take another bite of my food, knowing my delaying the conversation will be pissing him off. “He’s the goaltender, actually.”
“Elliot Olsen?” His voice pitches up a note. “You’re telling me you’re dating Elliot Olsen. No. Wait. Youdidn’ttell me you’re dating Elliot Olsen?”
“We’re not dating,” I correct. “Well, not yet. I kinda told him I liked him a lot last night, but I come with a shitload of baggage, and I’d tell him everything today, so I don’t know how it’s going to go.”
He huffs out a breath. “You need to at least give him a chance. I mean, you didn’t exactly sell yourself. ‘Hi, I’m Hunter. I’m a good-looking guy, and I’m a little quirky in the head, but I’m a nice gent. Want to date me?’”
I crack up laughing and flip him off. “Fuck off.”
His mustache wiggles as the corner of his lips tips up in a smile. “No, I won’t, but seriously. Give the guy a chance. He’s ahockey player.” He says the last few words in the same tone someone would say ten million dollars.
And while I know he doesn’t mean it negatively, the need to defend Elliot flares inside me. “He’s more than just a hockey player, Walt.”
He gives me an annoyed look. “Iknowthat,” he grumbles. “So, what are you going to do?”
I take another bite of my food and allow the question to sit in my mind for a moment. WhatamI going to do? It’s not like we’re in the easiest position to get to know each other. I work twenty-four-hour shifts, and he’s a professional hockey player who travels for more than half of the year. Plus, Walt wasn’t kidding either. There’s a reason I don’t sleep well or avoid sleeping altogether. There are times, particularly after a stressful call, where I’m struck in an endless loop of mental terror. It’s like the moment I close my eyes, memories from when I was deployed run through my brain like a movie. Or my imagination likes to conjure up a scene of the night I lost everything.
Do I really want to subject Elliot to my mess?
What if I let him down, like I did Duncan? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if Elliot got hurt.
“Don’t,” Walt bites, his tone sharp enough to have me snapping out of my thoughts. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. You deserve to be happy, Hunter. What happened wasn’t your fault, and don’t let whatever bullshit your brain is saying tell you otherwise.”
I simply nod in response, wishing it weren’t easier said than done.
“Hey,” Elliot says with a lopsided smile. Before I can respond, he opens the door wider, inviting me in.
I step inside and grab a handful of his hoodie. Without a word, I capture his mouth with mine. He lets out a small grunt, his hands finding my waist again, just like they did last night. Taking his face in both hands, I kick the door shut behind me, and he melts like butter when I press him up against the wall. He smells like eucalyptus and peppermint and tastes like mangoes.
