All he had when he left.
With zero skill and precision, he attempts to unbutton his dress pants. “Here.” I help him with the button then assist him to pull them off, and since this seems to be all he has, I take them to throw in the wash with some of my clothes.
Next is the shirt, and while it’s really fucking funny watching him attempt to unbutton it, any humor dies when he finally gets it off and I see his bare chest. “Holy shit,” I whisper.
Deep purple bruises decorate his pale skin. They’re bigger around his ribs, mottled and fresh. My eyes travel over him then freeze. He has tiny ones on his hips, like... like fingerprints. Not only that, but he’s thin, and not in a healthy way, this is... I don’t know. I can visibly see his ribs. “Felix.”
He stretches his arms out like he’s making a snow angel. “My own bed.” Smoothing his hands across the bed, he grins wide. “Best birthday ever.” He pulls the blankets over his body, smiling like a fool. What the hell happened to him?
Wait? Birthday? “Your birthday?”
Felix blinks his eyes open, his face flushed. My mind is still on his chest. “My birthday is today. I’ve never celebrated my birthday.” He grins, with his eyes at half-mast. “I gave myself a present.”
“What present?”
“Freedom.” His smiles wide, all white teeth, blissed-out drunk. His eyes close and soft breaths leave his lips. It takes me a moment to pull away from him as his words wrap around me. Birthday? I’m sure it was a shitty one. I made him cry. Damn, I’m a shithead. “She told me,” he says softly, eyesshut. “Don’t call him Mr. Tremblay. He’ll growl.” He giggles, eyes shut. “I didn’t listen.”
My chest gives a little squeeze. Dammit Alyssa. “It’s because of my father,” I whisper, pushing espresso strands out of his face. I hate being called that, Alyssa knows. It always sets me off. I know it’s dumb, it’s my last name. No shit people will call me that. But I don’t know, I just hate hearing it. “I’m sorry.”
“Night, Greyson.” I like the way my full name sounds on his tongue a little too much.
I slip his glasses off, putting them on his nightstand. Silky strands of rich brown hair fall in front of his face, and my fingers itch to push it back. “Night, Felix. Happy birthday.”
With his bruisesand thin frame heavy on my mind, I walk out into the hall, going to the laundry room and throw his clothes into the washer with a few of my things.Oh!
I limp down to my room to find an unopened pack of boxers. I’d accidentally ordered ones a size too small for me, but they might fit him. I put them in the washer too.
With forty minutes until the washer is done and I can put everything in the dryer for him, I limp out to my living room and it’s like I can feel the TV watching me.
It’s just one game.
Screw it. I turn my TV on and find the game on my app. Emotion punches me as I watch them skate, but not in the way I thought it would. I see Oli’s number instantly and watch him barrel into one of the Florida players. The second period’s almost over. Their jerseys look incredible.
I walk to my kitchen and find the bag that Oli brought mine in. I’ve been too stubborn to take it out and look at it, but I open the bag and take it out now—all black withrainbow accents and our Otters logo holding a Pride flag proudly in the middle. My number is on the back with my last name.
Shit. I take a breath, swallowing back the tightness in my throat and blinking back the burn in my eyes.
I slip it on.
Felix’s words from earlier wrap about me, and I grab an ice pack, bringing it with me over to my recliner as I sit down with the footrest up. My knee is angry. While I was outside with Felix, I hadn’t realized how much it hurt, but now the throbbing is loud. I rest the pack down and hiss at the chill.
We’re up by two goals with only five minutes left in the period. I can’t believe Florida is also auctioning jerseys. I love that. I’m so proud of my friend. He’s always done a ton of charity work, and the thing about Oli is that you can feel his heart in the things he’s passionate about.
“Oh, shit.” I laugh watching Ryker plow into one of their defensemen. A scrum breaks out and gloves are thrown. I see Atlas tug one of their players back. My friend loves a fight, which is hilarious because he’s such a softy off the ice.
Penalties are called. Ryker gets a double penalty for drawing blood while the other player gets two for roughing. Atlas joins the face off then gets switched out with Colton.
Colton gains the advantage, and there’s my best friend taking up the sides, getting the puck and skating with the speed of a bullet train. His precision and agility are impressive for such a clumsy fucker off the ice. “Let’s go, Atlas!” He’s swarmed down in their zone, then turns sharply with a slap shot to Viktor.
Atlas skates around. The puck gets slapped back to him. He runs through, splitting the defense, barreling toward the goal. He takes the shot. “Fuck yeah!” I bite my tongue. Shit, I don’t want to wake up Felix, even though I’m sure an asteroid could fall from the sky and he’d sleep through it right now.Atlas practically leaps into Oli’s arms as they celebrate his goal.
I miss it. Fuck, I miss it bad.
I’m an asshole.
I grab my phone and find Atlas’s contact.
Grey:
