End Game

by Samantha Wayland

  It didn’t take long. His hand flew over his dick, his fingers plucking at the sensitive head on the first few passes, then giving up for a strong, steady pump. He pictured Garrick’s cock down his throat, big hands fisting in his hair. He loved to watch Garrick’s face when he took him all the way down, how his eyes widened, his nostrils flared. The hot pink splotches on his cheeks.

  Only this time, it was Savannah who watched him swallow around Garrick’s heavy shaft, Savannah’s hands that traced Garrick’s hard belly in front of his eyes, Savannah who groaned his name as he trembled and came in hard bursts.

  Chapter Ten

  Savannah sat across from Rhian in the diner and watched him dig into his second plate of eggs. Her suspicions about how much it would take to feed a man his size and fitness level had been confirmed over the past few days. Rhian scarfed food like an eighteen-year-old boy.

  She cringed. He wasn’t all that far from eighteen—only twenty-four. Not that she was much older at twenty-eight, but Garrick had a good ten years on Rhian and was long past being able to eat a pound of bacon just because he’d run ten miles that morning.

  She suppressed the urge to text Garrick to tease him about that, about Rhian. She’d decided it was poor etiquette to send notes to her boyfriend about his boyfriend. Especially when he was sitting right there.

  She couldn’t tease Rhian about Garrick either. If she brought Garrick up, Rhian switched to mumbled half-answers. And forget talking, joking, or even hinting about anything to do with sex. Even if she left Garrick entirely out of it, Rhian turned bright red and changed the subject.

  There was something vastly amusing about the idea of Garrick falling in love with a prude.

  Rhian was captivated by something out the window, so he didn’t see her grin. She imagined Garrick trying to talk a blushing Rhian into doing naughty things. She almost snorted with laughter. It couldn’t be true—if for no other reason than a prude would never keep a sex toy in his freezer—but the image was irresistible.

  She noticed the expression on Rhian’s face and her amusement fled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Rhian spoke softly, though no one sat near enough to hear them. “Do you see the girl across the street? The one in the purple coat. Shit, she saw me looking. ”

  Savannah spun in time to see a flash of purple disappear around the corner. “Damn. I missed her.”

  “I know I’ve seen her before.”

  “Maybe she lives around here.”

  “Maybe. But I think I’ve seen her at after-game stuff a couple times, and at a practice up in Wilmington.”

  “An overzealous fan?”

  He cringed. “God, I hope not. I don’t need another puck bunny drawing a bead on me.”

  Savannah knew he was thinking about Deena, the unfortunate Ice Cats fan who’d created a mountain of trouble for Rhian and Garrick earlier in the season. “No, you don’t.”

  “She looked young,” he said, still staring at the point where the girl had disappeared. “Too young to be stalking hockey players.”

  “I’m not sure there are age limits on that, but let’s hope she’s just a neighbor or a run-of-the-mill fan. Next time you see her, point her out to me. I’ll tell you if I’ve seen her at the stuff I’ve attended.”

  She touched his hand, pulling his attention back inside the diner.

  He sighed, his shoulders easing down. “Okay, thanks. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “Let’s not assume anything. We both know how quickly a broken mind can fixate on someone.”

  Rhian grimaced. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

  She rubbed her hand over his while he frowned down at his breakfast. He had far bigger concerns to focus on. His appointment at Dana-Farber was just two days away.

  Rhian tried to listen to the doctor talk about next steps. All he heard were words like biopsy, likely to be treatable and chemotherapy. He nodded when he guessed it was appropriate and agreed to the next available appointment time.

  He stood and shook the doctor’s hand, assuring him that someone was waiting for him and that he wasn’t going to be alone for the rest of the day. He was surprised they cared.

  He would have lied, well used to maneuvering past these sorts of questions, but for once he didn’t have to. He had Savannah.

  He felt better for all the sleep, food and exercise she’d forced on him for the past three days. By the end of the second day, he’d even stopped resisting. These were the right things to do. And he wouldn’t have done any of them if she hadn’t inserted herself into his life.

  He was so damn grateful to see her jumping up from her chair in the waiting room, it seemed perfectly natural to catch her in his arms and pull her in tight.

  She was pressed the full length of his body, his face buried in her soft hair, her arms clutching his waist, before it crossed his mind that this was probably inappropriate.

  He didn’t give a crap.

  She rubbed her hands up and down his back before stepping back. “You ready to go, or do you need to do something before we head out?”

  He appreciated that she focused on the practicalities. They all seemed too slippery for him to grasp right now. “No, I’m all set. I have a biopsy on Thursday.”

  She blinked and mouthed the word biopsy, silently processing that as she led them to the elevators. “Thursday, as in the day after tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I don’t think Garrick will be able to get here that soon.”

  Rhian realized he was holding her hand. He didn’t let go. “They said it’s a pretty quick out-patient procedure. I don’t have to spend the night or anything.”

  “I’ll be here the whole time.”

  He watched the numbers on the elevator as it rose to retrieve them. “Thanks.”

  She squeezed his fingers and left it at that. Thank god. In the past five minutes alone he’d swung from numb, to the razor’s edge of hysteria, and back again. He wanted to cry. Or hit something. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so powerless. Not since…

  Well, not since a very long time ago. That was the last thing he should be thinking about.

  The ding of the elevator doors opening yanked him back to the present and he focused on putting his feet in the right places so he didn’t fall on his face. He wanted to hug Savannah again, but squashed the idea. The last thing they needed was for him to act completely out of character. He wasn’t sure who it would freak out more.

  Probably him.

  They had the elevator to themselves, only the Muzak to fill the silence until Savannah asked, “Is there anything else I need to know?”

  He shrugged, trying to think back. “They’re not going to make an incision. They think they can take a good sample with just a needle.” He shuddered. “And if it’s cancer, it’s very likely treatable, though they might remove the testicle as a first step.”

  He failed to keep his voice even at the end. Savannah gripped his hand tighter.

  “When will they know?”

  “They said they’d call in a week or two, depending on the results and if they have to retest anything.”

  “Okay, that’s not too bad.”

  The weeks stretched out before him like the ninth circle of hell, but yeah, not too bad.

  “Do you need to do anything in the meantime?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  She smiled brightly. “Great. Let’s go out. Get some lunch and just goof off.”

  He’d been planning to sit in his apartment and stare at the wall. He liked her idea better.

  Not to mention he’d bet his more-precious-than-ever left nut she wouldn’t let him sit at home alone anyway.

  “Sure, what do you have in mind?”

  A few hours later, Rhian sat in the back of the cab, his arm pressed to Savannah’s, his knees spread as wide as the limited space and his jeans would allow. He tried to control himself, but he just couldn’t stop laughing.

  “I can’t believe I let
you talk me into that.” He planted his fists on the seat so they wouldn’t grab his junk.

  Savannah laughed at him. “Don’t be a baby. You’ll survive.”

  “I’m sure I will. I can’t say the same for my dignity.”

  Savannah smirked and glanced at his crotch meaningfully. “I promise you, when Garrick sees you waxed clean, your pride will be restored.”

  Rhian’s laughter choked off, his mind zinging to what Garrick’s reaction might be. Yowza.

  Savannah smirked and he wiped whatever his expression was off his face. Thank god for the privacy glass separating them from their driver. This was not a conversation he would want repeated. “You may have a point. I’m sure he’ll be equally pleased to see whatever you’ve done to yourself.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing he hasn’t seen before. I’ve been down to a landing strip since long before he and I met.”

  Rhian was almost afraid to ask. “A landing strip?”

  She grinned. “Use your imagination. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

  He did. He could. He shook his head to try to get that image out of his head. Holy crap.

  “Wait! You have hair still? That’s not fair. You told that crazy woman to take everything off of me. She removed hair in places I didn’t know it existed.”

  Savannah snorted. “You and your doctors will thank me. I figured they would shave you for the biopsy. This way, they have a clean surface to work with and you won’t get the itchies while you’re healing.”

  “The itchies?”

  “Yeah, you know? Crotch crickets? Dude, haven’t you ever shaved down there before?” At his blank stare, she turned to stare at him. “Really?”

  “What? Why would I? The only places I shave are my face and where I need to stick sports tape.”

  She looked at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world. “You’ve never manscaped? Never once?”

  “Did you just say manscaped?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, welcome to the big boys’ club, Savage. I bet now that you’ve done it, you’ll never go back.”

  “To the crazy lady with the hot wax and an intimate knowledge of my undercarriage? You’re right, I’m not going back.”

  She grinned. “I meant you’ll never go back to letting it grow out.”

  Rhian opened his mouth to argue, but the words stalled in his brain. He shifted against the seat.

  Truth was, it felt kind of freaky. In a good way.

  She smirked, her eyes sparking with laughter as she studied his face. He had no doubt she knew exactly what he was thinking. The idea of Savannah also feeling the strange tickle between her ass cheeks sent heat rushing through his veins.

  He needed to think about something else. Now.

  He thought about his appointment that morning. That worked.

  He still smiled, though, watching the city fly by as they were taken to the next destination on Savannah’s goofing-off list. The taxi took a corner at thirty miles per hour and the unfamiliar rub of fabric against freshly exposed skin shivered through him.

  She’d pledged to take his mind things.

  And she’d sure as hell succeeded.

  Chapter Eleven

  Savannah wandered around the open cart and stall vendors, one eye on Rhian farther along the North Canopy of Quincy Market. She hadn’t had time to visit here or Faneuil Hall since she’d returned to Boston. The popular attraction was packed with tourists, but still rang with the familiar accent of the locals as well.

  They’d stopped by Rhian’s apartment long enough for him to call Garrick. Then they’d come to have lunch in the main hall, packed cheek to jowl with everyone else in the undersized rotunda seating area. Rhian had never seen the sights in Boston before, so she’d gone for the full experience.

  Catching up to him, she heard him ask the cashier to repeat what he’d just said.

  Savannah burst out laughing when Rhian leaned in to listen carefully, obviously not understanding a word.

  “He said you’d have more luck at the Globe Corner Bookstore.”

  “No he didn’t.”

  “I did,” the cashier assured him with a big laugh.

  Rhian smiled sheepishly and nodded his thanks before turning away and whispering furiously into Savannah’s ear. “He didn’t say that. He said tryda kahna bukstah. That’s not English.”

  She laughed as she threaded her arm through Rhian’s, steering them out into the cool spring air. It was late afternoon and time to stop for a beer. If they were going to do the full-on Boston experience, they had to make their way to the replica Cheers tavern at the other end of the market.

  They strolled around to the South Canopy, where she dragged him to look at the outdoor kiosks, releasing his arm when he wandered to a different vendor while she sorted through a pile of lovely scarves, trying to choose only one. She jumped when he slid an arm around her waist from behind and spoke directly into her ear.

  “Don’t turn around, but that girl is here. I think she followed us from my place.”

  He was a warm, living wall at her back. His scent teased her nose.

  She turned her face to his, as if canoodling rather than doing a pathetic job at amateur spying. “Where?”

  “To the right, a couple kiosks down. She’s watching us in the reflection of the Victoria’s Secret window.”

  She nodded but didn’t look. She had to bite off a whimper when he stepped aside and peeled all that warmth away from her back.

  Geez, she needed Garrick to visit soon. Her hormones were out of control.

  Shuffling through the stack of scarves, she waited for Rhian to ease to the left, leaving her a clear view of his stalker.

  Savannah’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Holy shit, she looks just like you!”

  Either her voice carried to the girl or she realized she’d been spotted, but she took off like a shot down the marketplace, disappearing into the crowd.

  Cursing her stupidity, Savannah turned to Rhian. He staggered backward, pale as a ghost.

  She caught his arm before he fell over. “Whoa, hey, are you okay?”

  He shook his head.

  She dragged him to the restaurant and plunked him down at the nearest table, not bothering to score Norm and Cliffy’s spots at the bar, as was tradition. Rhian would probably fall right off a barstool at this point.

  The waiter appeared and Savannah ordered for both of them. Rhian sat mute, pale-faced and unmoving.

  She put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

  “You said…You said she looked like me. What if…”

  Something clicked in Savannah’s head. “Easy there. She’s way too old to be yours, if that’s what you’re thinking. She looked like she was eighteen. Maybe less. So unless you were a very precocious six-year-old, I think you’re safe enough.”

  He nodded, not as reassured as she’d hoped by her math.

  “Could she be a cousin or something?”

  Rhian shrugged and stared out the window at the passing crowds.

  Savannah cringed at her insensitivity. God, she was an idiot.

  “I’m sorry, Rhian. That was a stupid thing to say.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. Maybe I shouldn’t know, but I do. And I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Garrick told you.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway. “Yeah. But I swear that’s all he told me. No details. Just…just that you were in foster care and you don’t have a family.”

  Rhian smiled wryly. “Actually, Garrick told you everything he knows. That’s all I’ve ever told him. More than I’ve told anyone since I got out of the system.”

  “Oh,” she said softly, kicking herself.

  “Savannah, it’s cool.” He put his hand over hers. “I trust you.”

  The words hung in the air between them. Savannah blinked, clearly startled by his earnest declaration. She couldn’t be nearly as shocked as he was.


  “Thank you,” she said.

  He probably ought to thank her, but he didn’t say anything, pulling his hand back while the waiter put down their drinks.

  Maybe he was having some sort of post-traumatic-doctor-visit moment. Or maybe now that Garrick had pried the lid off Rhian’s emotional lock box, he couldn’t control it anymore, giving away sacred things like trust willy-nilly.

  No, that was bullshit. She’d earned his trust. As difficult as it was to navigate their love for Garrick, it didn’t change the fact she’d been a good friend to him today, for the past three days, and back in Moncton. After all, she’d been the one to tell Garrick it was okay to love him. How the hell could he not trust her after doing something like that?

  “I do have a family. Somewhere.”

  She looked at him, intrigued. And alarmed.

  It would have been funny if he wasn’t choking on what he was going to say next. He’d never told anyone this. He wasn’t sure why telling Savannah in the middle of Boston’s biggest tourist trap felt like a good idea, but he went with it. He was haunted by the girl’s face.

  “My mother’s last name was Lynch. We lived in Chicago, but she was from Boston, I think.”

  Savannah nodded. “And your father’s last name was Savage?”

  “No.”

  She looked understandably confused. He knew if he deflected, she wouldn’t press him on it.

  In this way, she was different from Garrick, in spite of his assertion that they were so alike. He wouldn’t change a thing about Garrick, ever, but there was something soothing about Savannah’s quieter strength.

  He took a long drink of his beer and made a decision. He prayed it was the right one.

  “My mom left me with a neighbor when I was four. Almost five.”

  She cocked her head. “Okay.”

  “She didn’t come back.”

  Now she understood. Her face fell, shock etched into every line.

  He plowed on. “Mrs. Rosenberg was nice and had babysat for me a few times. I can remember her trying to reassure me that my mom would be back soon, but I think by day four or five, I knew she was lying. That’s my earliest memory,” he told her, thinking back with a sad smile. “I knew my name, my birthday, a few brief flashes and details that I still carry with me, but the earliest recollection I have of a time and place, an event, was my mother leaving me with old lady Rosenberg.”