He sure as shit hadn’t guessed Rhian was bi. A fact Garrick couldn’t be happier about.
With that thought foremost in his mind, he tried to decide the best way to wake his lover. Rhian was obviously a deep sleeper, since the little touches Garrick had run across his skin hadn’t roused him at all.
He considered some much more interesting touches and discovered Rhian had been roused after all. He just hadn’t yet woken up.
Excellent.
Garrick slid his hand beneath the sheets slowly, uncurling his fingers to grasp—
Three loud knocks at his door startled Garrick and he snatched his hand back as if he’d been caught being naughty. And he supposed he had. He grinned.
Three more knocks.
Who the fuck is it?
Stumbling to his feet, he yanked on his pants and struggled to get his brain in gear. He couldn’t just open his door. Certainly no one was going to miss the six foot two, two hundred and some-odd pound defenseman tangled in his sheets. And while he found he cared far less than he should have about that possibility, he had to protect Rhian. At all costs.
He gathered up Rhian’s clothes, chucked them into the closet and shut the door. Hoping to muffle some of the sounds inside his room, he cranked on the shower and left the door to the hallway open.
Three more knocks.
“I’m coming!”
He suddenly remembered the last time he’d shouted those very words in this very hallway and smiled grimly. He had to get rid of whoever the fuck was at his door. He had better things to do this morning. Way better things.
Speaking of which, he rushed back to the bed to wake Rhian and found him sitting up, the sheets pooled in his lap. He looked sleepy. Confused. And once again, young.
“Goddamn, I’m too old for you,” Garrick muttered quietly, afraid the noise from the shower wouldn’t sufficiently mask their voices if they spoke normally.
The confusion cleared from Rhian’s face, replaced by a lopsided grin. “Safe to say you proved otherwise last night.” His voice was little more than a rasp. It sounded…damaged. Garrick’s cock flooded with blood, even as he cringed with remorse.
“Are you okay?”
Rhian coughed to clear his throat. “I’m fine.” It still sounded like he had full-blown laryngitis.
Whoever was out in the hall pounded on his door again.
Garrick leaned in and pressed a hard kiss to Rhian’s mouth. “Hurry,” he said in a furious whisper. “Go get in the shower.”
Rhian leaped from the bed and dashed into the bathroom. Garrick admired the flex of that glorious ass the whole way across the room. Damn.
Smoothing a hand over the front of his pants, he conjured images of his elderly elementary school art teacher, Mrs. Plum. Worked every time.
He pulled the bathroom door shut and cracked the door to the hallway.
In the rush to get all evidence of Rhian hidden, Garrick hadn’t bothered to guess who the hell might be banging on his door so early in the morning. But even if he’d had days to think about it, he wouldn’t have come up with the guy Rhian had been arguing with in the lobby last night.
“Can I help you?” he asked, pretending not to recognize him.
“Hey, yeah. Sorry it’s so early. But have you seen Rhian?”
Garrick’s heart lodged somewhere around his windpipe. Did Rhian tell this guy about them?
As quickly as the worry arrived, it fled. When Rhian had been in the lobby last night, neither one of them had any idea they’d end up here this morning. And Rhian wasn’t stupid. They both knew the reality was that any team would hesitate to draft a player if a media shit-storm might come along with him.
The stranger’s expression changed from innocent inquiry to narrow-eyed speculation.
“No,” Garrick blurted, kicking himself for the long pause while he screwed his head on straight. “I haven’t seen him since last night. In the bar. About nine o’clock.” Garrick snapped his mouth shut and swore to himself he’d someday learn to lie well.
“His agent is looking for him.”
“And who are you?” And how the fuck did you get my room number? And why?
“Steve. His brother.”
Garrick must have looked as shocked as he felt.
“Well, sort of. Whatever.” Steve scowled. “Listen, if you see him, tell him to call Sergio. His agent.”
Garrick knew who the fuck Sergio was.
“Anyway, he’s here,” Steve said. “Says he can’t find Rhian. He’s not in his room and he’s not answering his cell.”
No sooner had the words sprung from Steve’s lips that a rhythmic buzz emanated from the closet. Garrick prayed Steve couldn’t hear it.
“If I see him, I’ll let him know.” He refused to ask Steve why he’d come here searching for Rhian. He had every intention of asking Rhian about it, though. Could Steve be his boyfriend?
No, Rhian wouldn’t cheat. An ex-boyfriend? Was the brother thing their cover? If so, it was a stupid one. This guy didn’t look a thing like the beautiful man standing in Garrick’s shower. Steve had dark hair and beady eyes. He reminded Garrick of a rat.
The idea that he and Rhian might have been intimate turned Garrick’s stomach inside out, but he kept his face blank.
Steve shrugged, sending Garrick one last speculative glance before walking away. Garrick shut the door and took a deep steadying breath.
Shit. That was close.
Rhian stood behind the bathroom door, heart pounding, palms sweating, and listened to Garrick try to get Steve to go the fuck away. He couldn’t decide what was worse, the threat of being caught, or that he was going to have to give Garrick more of an explanation about Steve than he’d intended to last night.
That explanation came with a can of worms Rhian had hoped he’d never have to open again. In the past five years, he’d gotten comfortable being the person he was now, and not dragging around all the shit that had come before. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if Garrick looked at him with pity or horror.
This much was certain—he would never forgive Steve for bringing his past, bringing himself, to Garrick’s doorstep.
Garrick closed the door to the hallway and Rhian stepped out of the bathroom, determined to get it over with and get the hell out. Garrick put a finger over his lips, grabbed his pants from the closet, and pushed them both back into the bathroom, shutting them inside.
Rhian opened his mouth to offer an explanation, but his words got stuck in his throat when Garrick oh-so-casually whipped off his pants, adjusted the water temperature and shoved Rhian into the shower.
Hot water stung his skin, but Garrick was there, drawing him close, their bodies pressed together from chest to knee, and Rhian didn’t give a shit if the water scalded him raw. It was damn near impossible to remember what he was going to say. He gave into the wild hope that physical needs would trump the discussion all together.
“Be careful,” Garrick murmured into his ear, sending a shiver down his neck. “I don’t know how much our voices echo in here. It should be safe to talk quietly.”
So much for that hope. Not that Rhian blamed Garrick for wanting some answers. Rhian was surprised his dick didn’t care more. He was as hard as stone, his cock jammed against Garrick’s hip. Garrick was in a similar state. Too bad neither of them would stay that way once Garrick heard all of Rhian’s stupid shit.
Garrick turned them so the spray hit Rhian’s back and ran over his shoulders to cascade between their bodies. It was distracting as hell until he caught Garrick’s unwavering gaze.
“I’m sorry.” His ravaged voice was little more than a rasp. Keeping quiet was going to be easy for him, at least.
Garrick arched one eyebrow.
“He’s not my brother,” Rhian said. It was as good a place as any to begin. “I lived with him for a while, and for some reason, he’s decided to put more significance on that than anyone else would.”
Garrick’s brows drew together. “He was your boyfriend?”<
br />
“What?” Rhian tried to step back.
Garrick didn’t let go. “You said you lived together—”
“Oh, no. No.” Rhian would have laughed if the idea weren’t so creepy. Not to mention that Rhian had never had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, for that matter. “No. Steve and I lived in a foster home together. In Chicago. When I was in high school, right up until I got drafted into the juniors.”
He watched Garrick’s face closely for his reaction.
“Foster care?”
“Since I was five.”
Garrick cocked his head to one side. Rhian could practically see the questions hovering on the tip of Garrick’s tongue.
He tried to ease back. He didn’t get an inch.
He had succeeded in killing both their erections though.
“I’m sorry,” Garrick said simply, his gaze direct, without pity or suspicion.
Relief loosened some of the knots in Rhian’s back and neck.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I think I came out all right.” This had been his stock answer since he’d been far too young to have any idea how he’d turn out. He didn’t follow it with his usual bullshit about how it hadn’t been a big deal. Just this once, he didn’t want to lie.
He flinched when Garrick’s hand cupped his jaw. Garrick’s thumb traced over his wet cheekbone. It was strangely intimate, this act of comfort. Before this morning, the only people Rhian had ever discussed his upbringing with had been sitting behind a desk, billing the Illinois state mental health insurance boatloads of money.
“You came out better than all right,” Garrick murmured.
Rhian blinked steam and water from his eyes. That might have been the nicest thing anyone had every said to him. He clamped his mouth shut, afraid of what might come out.
Garrick shifted and their flagging erections slid over warm, wet skin. Garrick’s big hand cupped Rhian’s ass and shifted him closer. Higher.
Rhian broke his silence with an inarticulate gurgle.
Garrick chuckled. Rhian didn’t mind. It felt too fucking good. He had the insane urge to grab Garrick and hug him. Just wrap his arms around him and bury his face against that broad shoulder and squeeze the shit out of him.
He didn’t, of course. He couldn’t even understand where the idea came from.
Garrick rolled his hips again, and Rhian’s focus shifted to more pressing concerns. Specifically, to the concerns pressing between their bodies.
This, at least, he understood.
Chapter Nine
Garrick sat on the bench in front of his temporary locker in Charlottetown and silently fumed.
Rhian was avoiding him.
Garrick cast yet another glance over his shoulder.
Rhian was so thoroughly avoiding him, he’d taken a locker on the dead opposite side of the room, sandwiched between Tim and Dave.
Garrick gritted his teeth and pulled his eyes back where they belonged. He caught Alexei watching him with a little smile on his face and pointedly ignored him.
What the fuck was that about?
It had to be nothing, since no one had seen Rhian tear out of his hotel room that morning two days ago, and certainly there hadn’t been anything to see since. Garrick had found it impossible to get anywhere close to Rhian except on the ice or the bench at games. Not exactly the time or place for a heated discussion between lovers.
Son of a bitch.
Garrick shoved his equipment into his bag. He’d love to wring the stupid kid’s neck. He’d never thought of Rhian as a kid before, but he was one immature dumb fuck to let one night of admittedly mind-blowing sex freak him out to the point that he’d screw their friendship. Hell, if the guy didn’t want to do something like that again, all he had to do was say so. It wasn’t like Garrick was going to force it.
Though he could be very, very persuasive.
Goddamn it, he wasn’t done. Garrick wasn’t sure what else he wanted, but as he and Rhian had furiously jerked each other off in the shower that morning, he hadn’t been thinking goodbye. He’d been thinking heeelllo!
Then to sit and listen to Rhian lie to Sergio about where he’d been and arrange to meet him in the lobby, it had all been kind of illicit and hot. Especially when Rhian had made up some story about catching a cold to explain his voice.
As Rhian had said after hanging up, it wasn’t like he could tell anyone he’d somehow damaged his voice deep-throating the Ice Cats’ power forward’s ginormous cock.
Garrick had laughed, enjoying the blush on Rhian’s cheeks and trying not to wallow in the ginormous thing. Though, really, he was human. And a guy. So come on.
He’d let Rhian out of his room after checking the hallway, never guessing it would be the last time he’d see Rhian alone for days.
It was infuriating. And made Garrick sick with worry. He liked Rhian and wanted to remain his friend. Now he faced the prospect of calling Savannah and confessing all, for what might turn out to have been a terrible idea.
She’d had games on the west coast the last two nights, but tonight she was in Boston, and he would be back in his hotel room within the half hour.
Plenty of time for his nerves to churn. He was terrified that she hadn’t meant what she’d said, that she’d changed her mind and not told him yet, that what had sounded like fun in theory was a disaster for her in reality.
It sure as hell hadn’t been a disaster for Garrick until Rhian had tucked tail and run.
Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he turned his head and saw Alexei speaking quietly with Mike. When they both glanced at him, he stared them down until they turned away.
What the fuck was with those two gossiping like a couple of old ladies?
Whatever. Garrick had much bigger fish to fry tonight.
He charged out of the locker room to the bus and threw himself into a seat to wait for the rest of the team to load up. Rhian appeared at the front of the aisle and sat by himself a few rows up. Garrick ground his teeth. Let it go. They’d be home in Moncton tomorrow night. He’d deal with Rhian then. Maybe he’d just show up at his house and…
Shit. He had no idea where Rhian lived. Garrick searched his memory long and hard. The guy must have at least mentioned the neighborhood. The street. Something.
When he came up blank, he scowled out the window. What the fuck was it with Rhian and all the secrecy?
Then he remembered what Rhian had told him about his childhood, and Garrick deflated in his seat. Something in Rhian’s eyes had forced Garrick to hold his tongue and not ask the questions that had been burning in his throat. He’d assumed he’d have time later to learn more about that. About Rhian. He’d planned to do it subtly.
He could practically hear Savannah laughing at him for that.
So subtlety wasn’t his strong suit. But any idiot would have seen that to ask Rhian anything would have been to poke wounds he wasn’t ready to let Garrick see, let alone dig at.
Maybe that was why Rhian had run?
The idea popped into his head out of nowhere, dampening the ire that had been steadily growing for two days. Maybe it wasn’t the sex that freaked Rhian out. Maybe it was the intimacy.
Garrick had to admit, when Savannah had proposed he take a lover, he had not anticipated anything like what had happened between him and Rhian. He’d imagined finding someone strictly for wall-banging, teeth-rattling sex. And he sure as shit had found that. But he’d also imagined a stranger, or at least not a friend. And certainly not someone with whom he had a connection like the one he had with Rhian.
Something about the guy tugged at Garrick. He didn’t get it, but he couldn’t deny it had given their encounter an intensity that went beyond just sex.
This, more than any particular act, had him worried sick about calling Savannah.
In what felt like a matter of seconds, they were back at the hotel. Garrick marched through the lobby and up to his room without looking for Rhian once. His determination delivered him to his hotel room, alone with
his cell phone and nothing to do but call Savannah, in far too little time.
Crap.
Reminding himself that he’d had her explicit permission, he dialed her number. She picked up instantly.
“Hello, stranger.”
The sound of her voice went a long way toward settling his nerves. Slowly, he stripped off his clothes and lay down on the bed while they chatted about their respective road trips and general team bullshit.
It was normal. Nice.
He eyed the pile of paperwork on his desk. He had more than one confession to make. “I’m fucking up, Sav.”
“How so?”
He liked that she didn’t immediately leap to his defense with lots of “no, no, I’m sure you’re not,” but asked the question first.
“I’m struggling,” he admitted. “Putting off tough decisions. Letting my feelings for people get in the way of what’s best for the team. Knowing it and doing it anyway, which is somehow worse than just doing it.”
She chuckled.
He was about to inform her nothing was funny about any of this, stung that she was amused, when she interrupted his growing tantrum.
“You’re still you.”
That completely derailed him. “Huh?”
“You’re still you, Garrick.” She said it as if explaining something, without censure. “You’re friends with these men. You care about them. Of course you’re hesitating to do things that might have a negative impact on their lives. You know their hopes, their dreams, and you care about those things.”
Garrick lay flat on this back and stared at the cracked ceiling of his hotel room. This was not making him feel better.
His silence must have communicated as much. Her sigh reached him down the phone line. “Honey, give yourself a break. I’m not saying that in two or three years, when you know fewer of your players personally, it will be any easier. But you’ve carved yourself about as tough a path as anyone could, starting your first venture into management and ownership with a team staffed with your friends.”
He hadn’t really considered that when he’d been scrambling to find a way to buy—and save—the team. For a second he thought it might have made a difference, then he got over himself.
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