“It doesn’t feel like enough.” I swallowed hard. “I’m 21 and I feel like I’ve lost everything I worked so hard for. No competitions. No sponsors. Living off my brother’s charity in a city I don’t know. And it feels like my dad was right all along. This was just a pipe dream.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t know what I believe anymore.” My voice came out smaller than I intended. “I just know that everything I sacrificed—everything my mom sacrificed—it was all for nothing. I’ve already peaked. Some cautionary tale.”
“Théo.” Alice’s voice was gentle but firm. “You’re only 21. There are many chapters left to be written. You’re a person who went through something incredibly difficult and is trying to find their way forward. That’s not failure. That’s survival.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“We unpacked a lot today,” she continued. “But I want you to sit with one thought before our next session. The story you’re telling yourself about your parents’ divorce—about being responsible, about being a burden—that’s a child’s interpretation of adult problems. It may feel true but feelings aren’t always facts.”
“Okay,” I managed.
“Can you do that? Just sit with it?”
“I can try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
???
When Derek FaceTimed me that evening, I was still awake, lying on his pillow that smelled like him.
I hadn’t changed the sheets. They smelled like us—like sex and bergamot and something warm underneath that was justDerek. I had been ignoring my half-hard cock for the better part of an hour, knowing he would be calling any minute.
They had gotten some ice time today but wouldn’t be playing until tomorrow. He’d gone out for drinks with the team—my brother included—which meant I’d had to entertain myself with another episode ofGame of Thronesand an increasingly insistent erection.
So when a relaxed and slightly buzzed Derek finally appeared on my screen, I was more than ready.
His face was flushed from the drinks, his hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. He was in his hotel room, propped against a stack of pillows that looked nowhere near as comfortable as the ones I was currently hoarding. He was wearing a dark button down, the first few buttons undone to expose his thick throat and a few inches of muscled chest. The dark hair there made my fingers itch to touch.
He’d liked it when I wore his clothes so I’d borrowed another one of his Frost hoodies to sleep in. This one was black with teal accents and positively swallowed me, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, the collar slipping off one shoulder. I knew he would love it.
“Hey, you,” he said, his voice warm and a little loose from the drinks.
“Hey.” I shifted, letting the hoodie slip a little further. “Are you drunk, Saint Sully?”
His eyes tracked the movement of the fabric. “A little tipsy. Has my boy been behaving?”
“Never, daddy.” A pause. “Oh, you meant Aspen? He’s always a good boy.”
“Mm.” His mouth twitched. “Unlike someone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been very well behaved.” I tugged the hoodie down another inch. “Stayed in your bed like you told me. Wore your hoodie, it smells like your laundry detergent but I prefer the ones that smell like you. Didn’t touch myself even though I’ve been hard for an hour thinking about you.”
He groaned softly. “Théo...”
“What? You asked if I was behaving.” I widened my eyes, innocent. “I’m reporting in. Like a good boy.”
“You’re being a brat.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” The admission came out rough, unguarded. The alcohol had loosened his tongue. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About the other night. The way you felt. The sounds you made.”
Heat pooled low in my belly. “Yeah? Which sounds?”
“All of them.” He shifted on the bed and I caught the way his hand moved toward his lap before he caught himself. “The way you moaned when I pushed inside you. The little gasps when I found the right angle. The way you said my name when you came.”
