“No,” I said thickly. “No, not Noah.” I swallowed, the words heavy in my mouth. “Noah’s a good person. He knows who he is. He’s… solid.” I pulled back just enough to scrub at my face with the heel of my hand, shame burning hot under my skin. “This is on me,” I added, quieter. “I just—sometimes it all gets too loud.”
“And you don't want me to kiss anyone else?” Cam half-teased and then pressed a kiss to my hair.
“No, and that's not fair on you, and I'm so fucking messed up, and I don't know if this is lust or just wanting to be held.”
“I'll always hold you,” he promised, but how could he say that? What about in a week, a month, a year, when I was still a mess, and he had to deal with me?
“You can't say that, not while this is a secret, and my mom…”
“We need to talk, sweetheart,” Cam murmured.
“No,” I said.
“Yes. Whataboutyour mom?”
I breathed into his skin, pressed a kiss to his throat, and worked my way to his lips, soft and careful. How could I even think of exposing everything? My brain jumped ahead, ruthless and fast—Cam getting tired of waiting, of promises I couldn’t keep; Cam resenting me for the things I couldn’t give him; Cam realizing this was all too heavy and pulling away, quietly, politely, because that was the kind of man he was. I told myselfit would be easier for him to leave now than later before I ruined him with my fear before he saw how broken I truly was.
If I were going to do this with Cam—really do it—I couldn’t give him half of me. I couldn’t ask him to carry my fear while I hid behind it.
“Please don't kiss anyone else,” I blurted instead.
“I wasn't planning on it, sweetheart,” he whispered. “But talk to me. What about your mom?”
I let out a shaky breath and lifted my head. “She’s not well,” I said quietly. “She’s in Finland. There’s a private clinic outside Turku—Havsvik Neurological Centre. It’s the best place. Quiet. Specialists. She’s… she’s happy there.”
Saying it out loud made my chest ache. “She has MS. It’s been getting worse for years. My father pays for everything—the care, the doctors, the place itself.” I swallowed hard, the words turning bitter. “And the deal is that I play hockey. I carry his number. I don’t make waves or tell anyone what I've seen him do.” My voice hitched. “Or about what he's done to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t.” My voice broke, and the reality of it hit me all over again, sharp and unreal. “Fuck,” I muttered. “I can say it, but I don’t have the capacity to fix it. Or walk away. Or be brave the way people expect. All I can do is keep going and not let anything touch her.”
Cam was quiet, and when I finally looked at him, his expression was, focused in a way that stole my breath. There was no anger there—just something fierce and protective. I tried to wriggle off his lap, panic flaring, but he stopped me gently, hands firm at my waist. Then he cradled my face, thumbs warm against my cheeks.
“You’re so brave, Jari,” he said softly.
For a moment, neither of us shifted. His hands stayed on my face, steady and warm, thumbs brushing away the last of thetears, and I leaned in first, not rushing it, just enough to rest my forehead to his. The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, and my body reacted fast.
“Please make me feel good,” I begged.
His breath hitched, and his hands slid from my face to my back, then lower, tentative, asking without words. I nodded, in a barely perceptible way, and his answering exhale told me he’d seen it.
We moved together after that, unhurried and quiet. No urgency, no taking—just hands finding their way, learning and matching the rhythm the other set.
My fingers dipped inside his sweats, past the waistband of his briefs, and found him stiff, thick, and heavy in my palm. A shudder ran through me, and Cam groaned, his head tipping back to the wall, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
“Jari,” he breathed, his hips lifting, and then he eased my sweats down and pushed me back a little so he could take both of us in hand.
Cam’s breath was warm against my throat. “That’s it, sweetheart,”he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “You’re okay.” His other hand never stopped moving on my back, and I closed my fingers around his fist, staring down to where we were joined. His thumb swiped over the heads, spreading the wetness, and his breath came out in a ragged gasp.
“You're perfect,” he whispered.
We moved together, slowly, but the hunger was there, simmering beneath the surface, ready to boil over.
I leaned in, my forehead pressing against his, our breaths mingling. His scent wrapped around me, and I couldn’t resist anymore. My lips crashed into his, messy and desperate, and he kissed me back just as hard, his free hand now buried in my hair, yanking me closer. His tongue swept into my mouth, hot and demanding, and I moaned into him, my cock throbbing inhis grip. We were a tangle of limbs and need, our hands working each other faster, rougher, the slick sounds of flesh on flesh filling the air.
“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. I didn’t even know what I was begging for—release, comfort, him—but Cam understood. His thumb pressed the slit of my cock, his touch maddeningly light, and I whimpered, my hips jerking. “Fuck, please?—”
“Shhh,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine. ”I’ve got you.” His words sent a wave of heat through me, my balls drawing up tight, my orgasm coiling low in my gut. I could feel him trembling too, his cock pulsing in my fist, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Cam swallowed my groan as I came.
