“I was six. Harper was two. The fists started flying on my seventh birthday and never stopped. Hockey was my savior in a lot of ways. It was the only thing that gave me pride. It was also a way to vent. Fighting in juniors was a no-go, but once you got older and into the pros, fighting was not only accepted, it was also cheered. Gladiatorial sport and all that. I had refused to billet in my junior days, which crimped my chances to play with better teams, but I could not leave Harper unprotected.” This all came out as Finn held my hand tightly. “The whippings, the hatred of his own children for resembling his runaway wife… they became more and more frequent until I hit fifteen.
“By then, I was bigger than him, stronger. I could—and did—fight back. And I began to win the battles at home more and more until he stopped waving his fists in my face. I went to college, taking Harper with me and setting her up with a friend who lived near campus. She went to work at a diner after lying on her application, saying she was eighteen when she was really only fourteen. She began training with me at the school gym. Dad never once asked where she went or why, the bastard.”
Finn nodded silently, his grip tight.
“Hockey was my game, kickboxing was hers. No one was ever going to slap us around again. Only, she could handle the Vesuvius of aggression that we carried inside of us in a productive way. Me? Meh, not so much, but every fight I had in the pros got me good press and stick taps. I was a star, fists of fury, rich and looking for an outlet for the bubbling dark goo that Dad had planted in my chest.
“When he died of a massive coronary in my senior year of college, Harper and I cheered. We never went to the funeral. Neither of us cared where he was buried. Somewhere inMaryland, according to the funeral home mailing address. I’d probably piss on his headstone if I ever stumbled across it. There was a pittance of life insurance left after the funeral director got his cut. We bought her a car for work and some new gloves for her bouts. Then it was gone. Just like him, and Mom, and all the other adults who were supposed to care but never really did.”
I took a break then, looking down at the little statue with the happy teacher. “This coffee sucks balls,” I confessed but downed the last cold dregs to wet my throat. “So, all of that kind of leads to the twink who tried to steal my phone last October. I lost my shit. Beat the hell out of the guy and ended up being arrested. The Vipers were not impressed. I had a rap sheet with the league already, so that was the famous straw breaking the camel’s back. I got sent down here to get my shit together with the Copperheads and met you.” I looked right into his dewy eyes. “The very best thing that has ever happened to me was going to that art class and meeting you. The first time I saw you… something nice and sweet took root. And you watered that seedling of possibility and fed it, gave it your sunny smile, and it grew. Why am I talking flowers?”
He smiled, a shaky one, but a smile just the same. “Because you are a beautiful man.” I rolled my eyes. “You are.”
“Beautiful. Not so sure that can be applied to me. But I will say that mencanbe beautiful because fuck you, Dad, and your stupid, hurtful gender norms bullshit.”
“Yeah!” Finn croaked as he let his head drop to my shoulder.
“I’m sorry I flipped out when you called me beautiful. Sometimes, when I least expect it, his hate flares up like a vile weed that tries to strangle the pretty flower you planted.”
“Youplanted it, Walker.” He lifted his brow from my shoulder to look into my soul. “I might have moved the bushel basket to allow the sun to shine on it, but you did all the hard work to make it grow.”
I kissed his nose. “I love you. I know I’m a junkyard dog, so if you get tired of my slobbering all over you or lifting my leg on the sofa or chewing up your shoes, just send me to the pound. I didn’t have a really good role model for how a healthy love is supposed to be, but I promise I’ll do my best. I’ll bring you the paper every day and not bark at the mailman too loudly.”
He chuckled before patting my face. “I love you. You’re a big man with the heart of a hero. I will always keep you close and shelter you from whatever demons still haunt you. As for the mailman, I think he carries dog treats.”
“Mm, I hope they’re peanut butter.” I pulled him under my arm. He curled into me, fitting perfectly, just like that final Lego snaps into your completed pirate ship.
“Thank you for sharing,” he whispered before his empty cup slipped from his fingers. I held him there for the longest time before slipping my arms around him to lift him and carry him to his bed. He never moved as I laid him down and pulled his covers over him. It was only when I flipped the light off that he stirred. “Walker, lie with me. I’m always safest in your arms.”
How could a man deny a request like that? I removed my jeans, leaving me in a tee and boxers, and climbed into bed. He freed himself from my coat, his pants and shirt, and joined me under the comforter, his cheek coming to rest on my chest.
“Close your eyes. No one will ever hurt you when I’m around. Woof,” I whispered to him, but he was already asleep. I pressed a kiss on his hair, then lay there long enough to see the sun rise before my body finally shut things down. Whatever awaited us when the sun rose was going to have to just wait for a few hours…
SIXTEEN
Finn
I first noticed warmth,solid and comforting against my back, the steady rise and fall of Walker’s chest syncing with my breathing. His arm lay heavy across my waist, his fingers curled loosely where they’d found my hip. I didn’t want to move. The room was still, bathed in soft morning light that filtered through the gaps in my curtains. Outside, faint sounds of life drifted in—a car door slamming, distant footsteps crunching on frozen snow—but here, in this bed, it was quiet and safe.
Images from yesterday invaded my thoughts: Jamie’s pale face, the echo of shouts down the hallway, and the cold grip of fear in my gut. I screwed my eyes tight, trying to push it all back. Maybe I moved, trying to shake it off, but Walker shifted slightly behind me, his breath warming the back of my neck. He murmured something low, a soft hum that vibrated against my skin. The noise faded away, and I sank deeper into the pillow.
I could stay like this forever.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when his hand flexed against my hip, sliding lower an inch at a time, his knuckles brushing bare skin. My breath caught. Walker moaned again, still half-asleep, and his hand pressed closer, fingertips dragging lightly over my belly.
“You awake?” he mumbled, voice scratchy with sleep.
“Yeah,” I whispered back, barely louder than a breath.
“You okay?”
“Trying to be.”
“Good.” His lips found my shoulder, warm and dry, pressing lazy kisses along the curve of my neck. I arched back instinctively, nestling tighter against him. His body—solid, warm, perfect—moved with mine, fitting against me like a puzzle piece.
“I like waking up like this,” I admitted quietly.
Walker chuckled, low and rough. “Me too.”
