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“Please don't kiss anyone else,” I blurted instead.

“I wasn't planning on it, sweetheart,” he whispered. “But talk to me. What about your mom?”

I let out a shaky breath and lifted my head. “She’s not well,” I said quietly. “She’s in Finland. There’s a private clinic outside Turku—Havsvik Neurological Centre. It’s the best place. Quiet. Specialists. She’s… she’s happy there.”

Saying it out loud made my chest ache. “She has MS. It’s been getting worse for years. My father pays for everything—the care, the doctors, the place itself.” I swallowed hard, the words turning bitter. “And the deal is that I play hockey. I carry his number. I don’t make waves or tell anyone what I've seen him do.” My voice hitched. “Or about what he's done to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t.” My voice broke, and the reality of it hit me all over again, sharp and unreal. “Fuck,” I muttered. “I can say it, but I don’t have the capacity to fix it. Or walk away. Or be brave the way people expect. All I can do is keep going and not let anything touch her.”

Cam was quiet, and when I finally looked at him, his expression was, focused in a way that stole my breath. There was no anger there—just something fierce and protective. I tried to wriggle off his lap, panic flaring, but he stopped me gently, hands firm at my waist. Then he cradled my face, thumbs warm against my cheeks.

“You’re so brave, Jari,” he said softly.

For a moment, neither of us shifted. His hands stayed on my face, steady and warm, thumbs brushing away the last of the tears, and I leaned in first, not rushing it, just enough to rest my forehead to his. The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, and my body reacted fast.

“Please make me feel good,” I begged.

His breath hitched, and his hands slid from my face to my back, then lower, tentative, asking without words. I nodded, in a barely perceptible way, and his answering exhale told me he’d seen it.

We moved together after that, unhurried and quiet. No urgency, no taking—just hands finding their way, learning and matching the rhythm the other set.

My fingers dipped inside his sweats, past the waistband of his briefs, and found him stiff, thick, and heavy in my palm. A shudder ran through me, and Cam groaned, his head tipping back to the wall, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Jari,” he breathed, his hips lifting, and then he eased my sweats down and pushed me back a little so he could take both of us in hand.

Cam’s breath was warm against my throat. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “You’re okay.” His other hand never stopped moving on my back, and I closed my fingers around his fist, staring down to where we were joined. His thumb swiped over the heads, spreading the wetness, and his breath came out in a ragged gasp.

“You're perfect,” he whispered.

We moved together, slowly, but the hunger was there, simmering beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

I leaned in, my forehead pressing against his, our breaths mingling. His scent wrapped around me, and I couldn’t resist anymore. My lips crashed into his, messy and desperate, and he kissed me back just as hard, his free hand now buried in my hair, yanking me closer. His tongue swept into my mouth, hot and demanding, and I moaned into him, my cock throbbing in his grip. We were a tangle of limbs and need, our hands working each other faster, rougher, the slick sounds of flesh on flesh filling the air.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. I didn’t even know what I was begging for—release, comfort, him—but Cam understood. His thumb pressed the slit of my cock, his touch maddeningly light, and I whimpered, my hips jerking. “Fuck, please⁠—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine. ”I’ve got you.” His words sent a wave of heat through me, my balls drawing up tight, my orgasm coiling low in my gut. I could feel him trembling too, his cock pulsing in my fist, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Cam swallowed my groan as I came.

It hit me hard, my cock jerking in his grip, and he followed a second later, his body tensing, his release hot and thick in our hands, his breath a ragged curse against my mouth. We stayed like that, trembling, the weight of Cam’s hand on my back and the sticky mess between us proof of something I couldn’t name.

For the first time, I'd just let myself feel.

And it was perfect.

We cleaned up in the bathroom, and he stayed close the whole time, brushing past me, stealing soft kisses without saying a word. I let him. I needed the contact. Then back in the living room, Cam tugged me gently toward the sofa and sat, pulling me with him until I was straddling his lap again, my knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. His hands were warm and sure at my waist, holding me there without pressure.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he said.

So, I did.