I shake my head, speechless, and roll my shoulders.
“You’re not protecting them?” He crowds in between my legs.
“No. She’s dead,” I choke out. Phantom pain sears my burn, but I refuse to touch it.
He lets go of my face and rests his hands on my shoulders. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah, like I said, it was a long time ago.” His fierce concern eases my burning skin. I can’t look away, and his presence helps me from reliving the horrific memory.
“Will you tell me about it?” His thumb strokes my pulse, soothing it.
“Someday,” I agree, but I want something in return. “Did my sperm donor really talk about me?” I ask, and Theo’s face takes on a hard edge as he gives a sharp nod. “I haven’t spoken to him since the wedding. He never tried to find me but brags about me in the press.” My throat tightens around my swallow.
“He’s a total fuckup. You’re better off without him.”
My hands find his hips. “Give me the rundown,” I whisper.
I tip backward, bringing him with me until he lands on top of me, pressing me into the mattress.
“That’s not very friend like.” He grins and flops next to me.
I ignore my erection, willing it away, and turn on my side to face him. “We get to decide that.”
“Agreed,” he says, and relief washes through me.
We got a lot unsaid, but I’m ready for it. “Tell me what he did to you,” I murmur, and search his eyes.
“I blamed you, and I should’ve blamed him,” he says quietly, and stares at the ceiling. “He told the lifestyle editor covering the wedding that you were in boarding school and that’s why you didn’t live with us. My mom felt I should get equal treatment, and within weeks, they shipped me off to school an hour and a half away.” He flicks his hand, and I reach for it to interlace our fingers.
My mom and auntie had a huge fight about me going to the wedding. My mother was terrified he’d hurt her or me. Auntie said she’d keep me safe, and I begged to go.
“We couldn’t have a family Christmas because you refused to come to the house if I was there. John lied for years, telling us he was meeting you at the Park Ave apartment. The day you followed me, that’s where we were.”
I rear back in surprise, and he squeezes my hand. As far as I know, he never sent so much as a card, but I’m afraid if I say something, he’ll stop talking.
“We celebrated New Year’s Eve and Christmas on New Year’s Day. John said it was a sacrifice we had to make, being a blended family. But it hurt my mom. She drank a lot and blamed me.” He shuts his eyes, the pain evident in his voice. “I didn’t have a mom who cared about me. I never had a home, only a really nice place to put my things, but they made me feel indebted to them for everything they gave me.”
“I’m sorry.” I bring our linked hands to my chest and cover them with my other hand. He allows the comfort for a second before removing his hand from mine. Theo isn’t the type of guy who wants pity even though saying he never had a home breaks my heart. I kick off my shoes, and he follows me up to the pillows.
He tells me about all the times John found my name online for school or sports and compared us. Theo talks about his mom in a wistful way, as if she’s asymbol and he needs a person present. Which she wasn’t because of trauma and alcohol abuse.
We talk for hours about our childhoods. Sometimes we’re quiet, processing, but it isn’t awkward.
“To sum up my depressing story, my dad was a hockey player, but I don’t have any memories of him because I was two and a half when he died.”
His green eyes are misty, and I reach out to smooth the scowl from his face.
“How did you get into hockey?” he asks abruptly, his jaw set as if he’s done talking about himself.
“I got into it late. My first skating experiences were in an old pair of my auntie’s skates that were a million sizes too big. Our neighbors took advantage of the freezing ice that formed in the big dip in the parking lot. I’d beg to get outside and skate.”
Theo reaches out to me but yanks his hand back before contact.
“DeAndre got a part-time job working for the Brooklyn Boomers for some extra Christmas money. I loved going with him to watch. When fans threw things on the ice, kids would skate around and pick them up. I begged to be one of those kids. Neither of us knew I’d be a great skater with skates that actually fit. A local coach said I should try out for the school team. By high school, I got a scholarship to play hockey at a charter school. And the rest is history.” I spread my arms wide, with one hitting him across the chest.
The temperature rises as we stare at each other. There’s still lingering hurt and confusion, but there’s no mistaking the lust.
I summon the courage to lean in and kiss him, but he rolls off the bed. Without looking back, he says, “Get your beauty sleep before tomorrow’s game.”
