“Mine,” said Quinn.
Yes, he was.
Chapter 33
August
Quinn hadn’t been lying when he said therapy would be hard and that he would have to put in a lot of work. August spent the entire week daydreaming about doing drills at morning practice with his team instead of sitting on a plush couch talking about his mental instability.
Puking on the ice sounded a thousand times better than dealing with the sour aftertaste of the verbal vomit he kept bringing up at every session.
He cried. He rubbed his nose raw on tissues covered in blood. He said things out loud that he would haveneverdared towhisperinto existence the week before—but it felt good.
August had never been interested in therapy because he didn’t like the idea of following a ten-step programme to ‘fix’ himself, but it wasn’t like that. For the most part, she sat quietly and listened, only interjecting when she wanted a deeper explanation on a point he had made.
He didn’t know how to explain it, but the process felt validating in the same way when Quinn had come to his rescue. He feltseen.
The relief of talking to a person who didn’t expect him to be strong just because of the way he looked or what he did in his professional life made it easier to open up. It also helped to have Quinn by his side, even if August felt guilty for disrupting his busy schedule. The one time he tried to apologize, Quinn had told him not to bother, and that was that.
And because August had nothing better to do other than lying in bed, sleeping off his headaches, talking to Niko when he was around for their home games, and eating the leftovers Harrison made for them, Quinn had enough spare time to handle his schoolwork.
His schoolwork, talking to lawyers, and messaging Callahan and their friend group to give updates when he could.
At night, they talked about the past, shared stories and good memories—anything to help August anchor himself and confirm that what he remembered was real. When the lights went out, Quinn let him curl up against him, giving him a solid weight to cling to.
Having someone to hold made the dark feel less threatening, especially on nights August jolted awake from nightmares, shaking and sobbing into the curve of Quinn’s neck while Quinn held him tightly.
August didn’t know if he could let Quinn leave at the end of the week now that he knew what it felt like to have him so close, so often. But every time he tried to talk about what they were—about them—Quinn would hush him and tell him to wait. So, August did.
The hardest part of the week came when Quinn started talking about pressing charges against Coach Perry, the conversation unfolding among several of the moms in his hockey group. At August’s request, Quinn hosted a meeting at the house, and they talked it through in the living room while August hid in his bedroom like a coward.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, because he did, desperately, but it was too soon. He was drained from therapy and felt scraped raw and exhausted, with nothing left to give. Later, Quinn told him that none of the kids had come forward with any concerns, even when gently and vaguely questioned, and the parents had agreed to drop the issue for now.
That wasn’t to say that nearly all of them had pulled their kids out of the programme, which was a win, but it also told Perry that they were on to him.
But the kids were safe, so even if they couldn’t toss the fucker in jail yet, it stopped anything else from happening in the meantime.
Then Saturday arrived, signalling the end of the therapy sessions after committing to return the following weekend. Quinn insisted on driving August to morning skate and the team meeting, fretting over him as August got dressed and prepared himself to get his head back in the game.
“Hey, buddy,” said Niko, waving at August as he came down the steps. He had stopped in the hallway to greet them, already on his way out the door. “How’s the pain? The migraine still bothering you?”
August walked off the final step and swept his hair out of his eyes to appear casual. “No worse than it’s been since it started,” he said. “The Advil is helping. I should be able to play tonight, no problem.”
He didn’t miss the way Niko exchanged glances with Quinn, but he didn’t care because he wasplayingtonight.
“The doc still has to approve you,” Niko said finally. “Don’t get too excited until you hear what he says.”
Niko said that as if the team’s medical staff weren’t there to help them get back on the bench. None of his symptoms were physical besidesthe nosebleeds and migraines, and August was feeling good today. If he didn’t play tonight, he was going to lose his damn mind for real.
“Are you hitching a ride with us or not?” August muttered, shoving Niko playfully on his way by.
“He’s moody today,” Niko said to Quinn. “This should be fun.”
Quinn chuckled, and August smiled as he put his boots on.
“He’s just moping because I wouldn’t let him suck my dick this morning.”
Niko choked on a cough, and August looked over his shoulder to glare at Quinn. The guy had no fucking shame blasting their sex life on speaker at poor Niko, who August was pretty sure was still a virgin. Or at least a rookie, judging by the blush overtaking his face.
