“How’s the shoulder?” he asks, voice low.
I know him well enough to know he already knows everything there is to know about my injury, but I take the opportunity to bullshit my way through my assurances that I’ll be fine for the next game.
“You might be fine for next weekend, but if you take another hit like that, you’re going to be on the bench for the rest of the season. I need you in top condition for the playoffs.”
“Yes, sir,” I say robotically, knowing I’m likely to get benched for next week’s game. Whether it’s best for me or not, no player likes riding the bench when their team needs them. Especially when it’s late in the season and we’re all exhausted. These last couple of games won’t take us out of the playoffs, but they can still mess with our stats and confidence this close to the end.
“You’ve got a lot going on right now, and a championship season just around the corner. I’m going to recommend that you take some time off.”
My head snaps up to look at him. He has to be kidding, right? “What?”
“Go home, Luc. Go see your family, spend time with your loved ones, work your shit out.” He doesn’t say the words, but I can read between the lines. I’ve got a mountain of very public bullshit that I need to figure out. “Get some rest over the holiday and come back ready to win that ring.”
There’s no room for argument. I can’t decide if this is a favor he’s doing for me, or if it’s a warning of things to come. Either way, I know he’s right.
When I’m unlocking my condo door less than an hour later, there’s part of me that is thankful for the break. Not just because of my shoulder, or because it’d be nice to hide from the public eye for a little while, but because I can spend some more time with him.
Jesse waits for me, sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter with an ice pack in one hand and a look of concern darkening his bright green eyes.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, but let him dote on me anyway.
Over the week that he’s been here, I’ve learned how much he likes meeting me at the front door with a cold drink, his warm, wet mouth, or a song to welcome me home. I could certainly get used to seeing his smiling face every day.
I refrain from nipping at his concerned, pouty lip while he strips me of my jacket and shirt to survey the damage. My shoulder is bruised and sore, but it’s really nothing to worry about. Coach sending me home has more to do with my personal life bleeding into my professional one than anything else. I don’t complain or argue when I’m led towards the bedroom for a massage.
Yeah, I could get used to this.
“It’s a good thing that wasn’t awkward at all,” I groan, leaning my forehead against the back of the door I just closed behind us.
Jesse chuckles. “I don’t know, I don’t think it was too bad. Not sure your dad is a fan, though,” he says, twisting his lips. “He didn’t seem the type that could be easily bought with concert merch and a video call with Naz, but it was worth a try.”
“It worked on my sisters, though, so you have that going for you.”
I’m not sure what I expected when I brought Jesse home for the holiday break. I knew my sisters would be cool, they let meknow as much when we talked over Thanksgiving. Jesse really didn’t have to put any effort into winning them over, but he’s Jesse, so of course he went above and beyond.
My dad is a different story. If anything, Jesse’s attempts to win everyone’s favor with grand gestures and an arm full of presents probably put him off more than the tattoos and facial piercings. Or, you know, that he’s a guy.
To be fair, I never once said a word about anything that’s been going on or that I was dating anyone other than letting him know I was bringing someone home for the holiday. I didn’t even ask permission. I just said it was happening and showed up with Jesse’s hand wrapped in mine.
Dad, not surprisingly, didn’t really react at all other than to stare wide-eyed at my sisters, who took it upon themselves to jump up and down and scream excitedly.
Not embarrassing at all.
“I should probably go talk to him,” I say quietly, wrapping my arms around Jesse when he steps into my space. His arms snake around my waist and his head nuzzles against my neck.
“Want to take the edge off first?”
My chuckle turns into a groan as Jesse palms my growing bulge and kisses down my neck and chest, slowly dropping to his knees.
TWENTY-EIGHT
JESSE
“Oof, don’t let Daddy Lucius catch you doing that,” a voice says.
I nearly fall off the tire swing I’m sitting on. The unlit clove cigarette falls out of my mouth and into the pile of leaves I helped Luc rake earlier today before he and his sisters went to volunteer at a soup kitchen. I’ve been slowly feeding them into the small bonfire we’ve had going since this morning, but I spaced out for a minute there.
“Jesus, what the fu–”
