“Is that what you think this was?”
“What else could it be? You’ve made it clear that anything more is impossible.”
He’s right, and that’s what makes this so fucking heartbreaking. Because I want more. I want everything. I want to wake up next to him and tell him the truth about my life and not have to look over my shoulder every time we’re together.
But wanting something doesn’t make it possible.
“Maybe it is impossible,” I say.
“Then we’re done here.”
He walks toward the tunnel while I stare after him. At the gate, he pauses but doesn’t turn around.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, “that felt real to me too. But sometimes real isn’t enough.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left standing in an empty arena with the taste of him still on my lips and the knowledge that I just made everything more complicated.
Because now I know what I’m giving up.
And I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do it.
FIFTEEN
tate
I leanmy head back against the leather airplane seat, my eyes fixed on Zane’s neck three rows in front of me. My knee bounces and I crack each finger on my left hand, unable to erase the vision of him on his knees in front of me last night. Every second has looped through my mind since I walked out on him.
I can’t unsee the way he looked at me like I was something worth risking everything for. And I sure as hell can’t unsee the pained look in his eyes when I lied and told him it was only physical then left him there.
Maybe it’s a good thing we’re sitting three rows apart. It’s far enough away that I can pretend last night never happened.
Which, based on the cold reception he gave me earlier, is exactly what he’s doing.
“You okay?” Masterson asks, dropping into the seat next to me. “You look like you haven’t slept.”
That’s accurate. Because I haven’t. I spent the night replaying every second of what happened in the arena, every word we said, every touch. The way his lips tasted, the way he worked my cock harder when I whispered his name. The way he looked at me afterward like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words.
What the fuck did he want to say? And would it have kept me from running?
Questions that plagued me for hours upon hours. They still do.
“I’m fine,” I say, staring out the window. “Just thinking about the game.”
“Well, get some rest. We’re gonna need you sharp tomorrow night.”
Right. Tomorrow night. Our game against Seattle. Coach is letting me start because of Zane’s report of my progress. Their backup goalie is getting his first start of the season. Should be an easy win if I don’t fuck it up.
That is, if I can stop thinking about Zane long enough to focus on hockey.
“Barnes.” Coach Enver’s voice cuts through the cabin noise. “Come up here for a minute.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and make my way to the front of the plane where Enver and the coaching staff sit. Zane doesn’t look up when I pass him, but tension radiates off him. It crackles in the air, singeing my skin.
“Sit,” Enver says, nodding to the empty seat across from him. “We need to talk about tomorrow’s game plan.”
For the next twenty minutes, we go over Seattle’s power play setup and discuss the way their forwards like to attack the net. It’s all stuff I should know by heart, but I find myself having to ask Enver to repeat things because my mind keeps drifting back to the hot as fuck goalie coach in my periphery who had his mouth on my cock twelve hours ago.
“You with me, Barnes?” Enver asks.
