hurt-so-good

by Scott, Myra

  Rattling the knob, Jake slid the key into the lock and twisted it open, stepping inside the home. He cocked an eyebrow at Crash, observing him on the floor.

  “Did you fall?”

  “No,” Crash responded with a huff. “I was doing those stupid exercises.”

  Jake’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as he dumped his bag down and closed in on the hockey player. “All of them?”

  “What? Isn’t one enough?” Crash grumbled, running a hand through his hair as he thought about the long list on the pamphlet. “I’m supposed to do all of those?”

  Jake smirked, though his green gaze was cloudy today, and his smile didn’t make the corners of his eyes crinkle as they normally did.

  The therapist bent down beside Crash. “Let me check out your knee.”

  Crash inched slightly away, unwilling to stretch out his legs. The second he did that, the beast in his pants was going to spring forward like the Loch Ness monster.

  “Really, Crash?” Jake sighed, his mood decidedly sour today. “You’re not even going to let me look at it? Can’t you hold the hardheadedness until I actually ask you to do something?”

  Crash bit his lip, begrudgingly letting Jake take hold of his leg. The sandy haired man stretched it out, leaning over his knee.

  “Hmm… There’s some new swelling,” he mumbled, making Crash’s cheeks flush. “Though that could just be because you actually started doing your homework now.”

  His fingers prodded Crash’s thighs, making the man’s head tilt backwards towards the ceiling, a low rumble of pleasure crawling up his throat, though he desperately held his breath and tried to keep quiet.

  Jake abruptly stilled, his hands still on Crash’s thigh. He stiffened a bit, straightening up and looking at Crash with rounded eyes.

  Crash cleared his throat, glancing down at his huge stiffy and then back at Jake. There was no being coy about it now.

  Instead, Crash hoped for the best and offered a smirk.

  “Like what you see?”

  Jake sputtered in surprise, his eyes flicking back to the huge tent in Crash’s shorts and then back to the man’s chiseled face.

  In truth, Jake did like what he saw. He liked it very much. But his career was on the line here.

  “We’ve got, uh, we’re going to…” Jake struggled to keep his mind on track, but his thoughts were sprinting along in such a blur that he couldn’t even quite remember his own middle name.

  Jake swallowed hard, realizing that his hands still rested on the man’s thick, tree trunk thigh. He tried to pull his fingers back, but they rebelled against him, tightening on the man’s flesh instead, like kids clinging to their mom’s skirt before being dropped off at daycare. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Crash would look like without those shorts blocking all that which Jake so badly wanted to see, to touch, to savor.

  Jake would’ve been mortified had his brain been working clearly enough to process any emotion beyond pure desire.

  Crash shifted, reaching out a slow hand and resting it on top of Jake’s. Jake stared down at their touching fingers, blinking hard as though he didn’t quite believe it.

  “Crash…” He whispered, yearning dripping from the single word like honey from a spoon.

  That one word sealed it for Crash. There was no way that he could keep his hands to himself. Not now. Not when he wanted Jake more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He needed to kiss Jake like he needed to breathe.

  Crash moved his hand, slipping it around the back of Jake’s neck. He paused, just for a second, to gaze into the sea-colored depths of Jake’s eyes for any hint of hesitation. All Crash found there was raw, undiluted longing.

  The strong man pulled Jake against him as the green-eyed therapist melted to his chest like he was meant to be there, like he was put on this Earth to fall into Crash’s embrace.

  Staring at each other for just one burning second, all distance between their mouths quickly vanished.

  They clung to one another, Jake’s hands tangling into Crash’s thick black hair while Crash’s fingers dug into his hips, dragging him closer against him so they could become one writhing, desperate body.

  Crash’s tongue darted against Jake’s lips, begging to be let in, begging to taste him completely. Jake couldn’t have been quicker to oblige, his own velvet tongue sweeping against Crash’s as a moan sang against Crash’s lips.

  Neither one was sure who’d moved in to kiss the other first, and neither one could have cared less.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Wellerson,” the woman on the other end of the phone said with what sounded more like lukewarm interest than genuine remorse. “Jake Masters isn’t able to do any sessions today and will not be coming in for work. We can either cancel your appointment or send out a different therapist.”

  “What?” Crash responded numbly before shaking his head. “No… no, that’s okay. Just cancel it.”

  “Will do. I’ll take a look at our schedule and figure out when we can get you another appointment. Have a great afternoon,” she replied breezily, the line going dead as Crash was left staring out his living room window, the dial tone buzzing in his ear.

  A bird sang cheerfully from somewhere outside, though the bright song didn’t help to lift Crash’s mood at all. He almost wanted to stand up and whack his palm against the glass to make the bird shut up or fly away to where that kind of cheer would be more appreciated. Crash wanted nothing to do with it right now.

  It had been three days since he last saw Jake. Three whole torturous, slow, agonizing days.

  Even after a full seventy-two hours, Crash could still feel him, his taste lingering like the raspberry tea had lingered on his lips and tongue for an hour after drinking it at the steakhouse. When Crash closed his eyes, he could see the marble perfection of the green-eyed man’s chiseled chest as Crash gripped his shirt, freeing it from his lean shoulders and letting it crumple behind them on the ground. The soft sounds of Jake’s pleasant sigh when their lips touched replayed on a loop in the back of Crash’s mind, haunting him like a song from the radio that you just couldn’t forget. Except those songs were usually annoying, making your ears ring like someone had just boxed them or something, and Jake’s voice was anything but annoying. It was the type of song that Crash wanted to listen to on repeat, over and over again. The type of song that would never get old or overplayed.

  As they kissed, Jake had spun around in Crash’s lap so that his legs tangled around Crash’s thick waist, his hands still knotted in his dark hair as their lips moved in unison, tongues wrestling eagerly for more. Jake’s body had felt so perfect in his arms, like he’d been crafted just for Crash to touch and hold. Crash had never held anything in his arms that felt so perfect, aside from his hockey stick, and Jake had been warmer and much more appealing than a hockey stick could ever be.

  Crash wasn’t sure how long they embraced on the floor, but he only broke away from Jake’s delicious kiss when his lungs burned so fiercely for air that he’d thought he might pass out. He’d almost been willing to risk that just for another few seconds of tasting the handsome therapist, but he’d figured that Jake needed to come up for air as well.

  He’d pressed his forehead to Jake’s, panting, breathing in the musky scent of the man’s cologne, their hearts pressed together and thudding in a synchronous, wild rhythm. Crash could barely think, his mind so consumed with the one in his arms, and Crash was not the type to be consumed by much.

  Jake had been smiling, Crash remembered clearly, the green-eyed man’s chest rising and heaving in a frantic pattern as he drew in shallow breaths that blew from his nose and tickled Crash’s lips.

  But then, like the sun fading down on the horizon, leaving the ground cold and dark and quiet, that glorious smile had faded from Jake’s handsome mouth.

  Crash had tried to revive the moment, str
oking his calloused palms down the man’s back and bringing him closer into Crash’s large chest, but Jake had pressed two hands against his shoulders and gave a rough shake of his head.

  “I can’t… Crash, we can’t…”

  “Why?” The Montana Miners goalie had implored huskily.

  Raw desire was so clear in Jake’s eyes that Crash could not comprehend a reason for why he would want to stop, not when it was clear on Jake’s face that he wanted more. Jake’s glittering green eyes, wide with lust, kept flickering back to Crash’s mouth like he was trying his hardest to resist him.

  “Why?” Crash had asked again, desperately.

  But Jake was insistent, and Crash was not about to trap anyone in his arms. Jake climbed to his feet, leaving Crash feeling cold. He could still feel Jake’s fingers in his hair, but the warmth of his body was gone.

  Without looking at Crash or attempting to change the mood from alluring to stern rehab session, Jake had grabbed his things and vanished from Crash’s house without a goodbye. He hadn’t even picked up his shirt; he’d left without it.

  Crash’s eyes were drawn to the soft blue fabric now neatly folded and resting on the arm of the couch. He’d held that shirt to his face, breathing in the scent of Jake and his cologne and the delicate scent of lavender detergent.

  He’d made a mistake. That much was clear now.

  Jake hadn’t wanted him, and now Crash had lost him completely. Crash wasn’t used to rejection. It was always the opposite. Always. He’d never had his heart trodden on; he’d never felt the sting of this kind of loss. Crash’s heart was twisted all up inside of him like it had been when he found out he’d be out of the hockey game for more than a practice or two.

  This painfully new feeling was terrible.

  All of his life, he’d lived only for the game. There had been nothing and no one that had ever come close to touching that special place in his heart reserved only for the one thing he believed he treasured most.

  But then, Jake had happened.

  Without trying, without Crash noticing, Jake had easily traveled through Crash’s veins, setting up a home deep in Crash’s soul. Crash was shocked by just how much he cared for Jake, and how deeply his sudden refusal to see him hurt. The pain in his heart was on level with discovering he needed surgery.

  No... It was worse.

  At least hockey would never leave him, he decided, unless his next injury was a total game-ender.

  Crash swallowed hard, shoving himself up to his feet. Grabbing one of his crutches, he used it to hop over to the front window, gazing out and down the quiet street. He felt like a dog waiting for his owner to come home. The sun shone warmly on springy green grass dotted with pink and purple buds. It was, for all intents and purposes, a beautiful spring afternoon. His heart, however, was trapped in the depths of a frosty, dead winter.

  He was never going to see Jake again, he realized. Jake had made it more than clear that he no longer wanted any involvement with Crash. Jake wasn’t ill. He wasn’t tired and heading home for a day of rest. He hadn’t double-booked his appointments for the week. Jake wasn’t the type to ever miss a set session for any reason. If he did, he would’ve called personally.

  There was a reason that the office secretary had made that call, and it was because Jake didn’t want to talk to Crash.

  Crash had always been a boundary pusher. It made him good at hockey. It did not make him good at relationships.

  A relationship… is that what Crash wanted?

  He’d never honestly considered it. He was a lone wolf type, only settling for a night or two here or there. He’d never had a serious relationship. He’d never had to be committed to one man.

  Maybe it was best that Jake had pulled away. Crash would probably just hurt him in the end. Or at least that’s what Crash’s wounded heart wanted him to believe. Crash would’ve done anything for Jake. Anything at all.

  Even these stupid rehab exercises.

  Crash swallowed and whirled away from the window, limping past the kitchen where the pot of water that Jake had boiled last week still sat unused and full.

  Looking for some pretzels, Crash had come across the pot the day prior and stared at it for an entire twenty minutes, like he could somehow convince Jake to reappear in his home through the still, shimmery waters of the pot that he could not bear to pour out.

  It hadn’t worked.

  Crash hobbled back to the living room, scooping up the latest cookie tin that his neighbor had brought for him. If he couldn’t drink away his misery, he could damn sure eat it away.

  He’d only just flopped on the couch when the doorbell rang.

  Grunting irritably, Crash glared at it and wondered if it was Timmy coming to bother him again or the neighbor with double chocolate chunk deliciousness.

  Heaving a sigh, he decided to hope for the cookies and pushed himself back to his feet, walking to the door as quickly as his lame leg allowed.

  He grabbed the door, swinging it open.

  Jake stood before him, all nervous eyes and pursed lips. He swallowed, lifting the single grocery bag he had in his hand limply.

  “I want to cook for you,” he whispered.

  Chapter Nine

  “You canceled our appointment,” Crash murmured in blank bewilderment, his massive body still blocking the doorway.

  He frowned at Jake, trying to figure out if it was just wishful dreaming of the handsome therapist’s sudden reemergence. That was a cruel trick his morose mind would certainly have played on him. He’d wake up any second now, alone. Or worse, with Timmy Lyon knocking at his door.

  “No, I canceled all of my appointments today,” Jake corrected sagely, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly upwards.

  “I don’t get it,” Crash responded, regarding Jake’s halfhearted smile cautiously, though he finally shifted to the side to allow Jake to step in.

  He eyed Jake quietly, taking in the blue denim jeans that fit his lean body perfectly and the loose red and black flannel shirt rolled up around his strong forearms. He’d just taken a shower, his light brown hair still damp and flat against his head. Crash didn’t miss the nervous shift of Jake’s feet, the slight tremble of his fingers. It made Crash nervous, his throat going slightly dry as a huge lump formed somewhere deep in his esophagus.

  Jake turned, lifting the white plastic bag again slightly. “You ready to put that kitchen to use?” He spoke with his usual charm and playfulness, or at least he tried to. It was hollow and slightly forced.

  Crash didn’t answer, steely eyes following Jake as the twenty-six-year-old paced past him and set the bag carefully on the counter. Unknotting the ties, he dug out the ingredients he’d just purchased and laid them out on the spotless counter.

  Chicken breast. Asparagus. Salad. Boring. Crash resisted a groan as he leaned back against the counter, his arms folding over his bulky chest.

  Jake turned after opening the cabinets directly over his head, fishing for a bowl to mix together some spices when he met Crash’s incredulous stare.

  “You don’t like what I brought?” he asked, that same smile on his face.

  Crash just shrugged his massive shoulders. To be honest, it wasn’t just the food that was putting him slightly on edge. It was Jake’s sudden appearance. What did he want? Why had he canceled his appointments? Why did he seem so strange and… guarded, almost?

  None of it made sense.

  “I’m picky,” Crash finally offered when the silence had stretched on just a little too long.

  He wasn’t sure whether he was happy or hurt that Jake was here without explanation. The physical therapist had yet to offer any real reason why he was suddenly so insistent on cooking for Crash. Crash wasn’t sure if he’d like the explanation anyway.

  “Will you get me that bowl?” Jake asked, pointing at an open cabinet above Crash’s head
. The hockey player turned, grabbing it and handing it over. Though Jake would’ve practically had to crawl up onto the counter to reach the high shelf, Crash hadn’t needed to lift up onto his tiptoes.

  “Thanks. I know you’re picky. But I also know you’ll love this.” He smirked. “I like to call it Jake’s famous chicken.”

  “Famous with who?” Crash shot back, “your dog?”

  During some of their earlier sessions, Jake had shared a few pictures of three-legged, shaggy-haired, doe-eyed Monsoon. Crash had fallen in love instantly, not that he said so. He’d always prided himself on not being an animal person.

  Jake grinned and gave a small nod. “Exactly.”

  Crash rolled his eyes, obediently following directions as Jake asked for utensils and dishes and a thousand other kitchen items that Crash had never bothered to use before. Despite his insistence that he didn’t like to cook, Crash found it interesting to watch Jake cook. The therapist moved easily from corner to corner of the kitchen, dicing and slicing and mixing as heavenly smells began to emit from the pots and pans before he even really started cooking anything. Crash had never really been interested in how food was prepared before. He mostly just liked it to appear in front of him as quickly as possible, but he found himself peering curiously over Jake’s shoulder.

  He wasn’t particularly convinced that a chicken breast and salad would be a good meal or even slightly filling but he was willing to give it a shot as long as it kept Jake here just a little longer. Crash could probably count the number of green vegetables he’d enjoyed in his life on one hand. He was more a meat and potatoes guy.

  Crash swallowed, trying to keep away the urge to ask the man before him exactly what was going on. He didn’t want to ruin this moment, not when it could be the very last time the pair stood side by side.

  But it was Jake who turned, his eyes sincere as he slid the chicken into the stove to bake.

  “I’m sorry,” he offered softly, wiping clean and damp hands on a fluffy kitchen cloth that Crash had completely forgotten existed. “For running off the other day. I don’t really know what was going through my mind.”