“I’m… okay,” Saint said. “Carmine—he helps.”
Felix studied his face. “Ah.”
“Don’t you dare start,” Saint warned, standing. “I’ve already got Roddy being an idiot about this, and there is no this, okay? So just… let it go.”
A smile flickered over Felix’s mouth. “Okay, cher. For now. Is there wine?”
“Of course there’s wine,” Saint said. “How dare you impugn my honor by asking that?”
They headed for the kitchen, bickering amiably, to find Carmine pulling rolls from the oven. Felix elbowed Saint, who punched him. They scuffled briefly as Carmine glanced up.
“Hey Butterfly,” he said. “Glad you could make it.” His face was pink with the heat from the oven, hair curling damply around his temples and over his ears.
“I’m only here because Saint promised me alcohol,” Felix said, poking Saint in the ribs and dodging his swipe.
Carmine poured him a glass and refilled Saint’s before turning to fill his own. “Everyone’s in the living room. Shall we?”
Saint followed them in, perching on the arm of the sofa beside Kasha, who was telling a story in a mangled mix of Russian and English, hands waving. In Naomi’s lap, Annika caught sight of him and bounced up and down, pudgy arms out as she made imploring noises.
“You’ve got a fan,” Roddy said, grinning. He scooped Annika up and deposited her in Saint’s arms again, where she settled in happily, clutching handfuls of his sweater as she talked to him in incomprehensible baby-speak.
Saint nodded along, watching his guests. They were sprawled over his furniture, talking animatedly to each other. The fire Carmine had lit earlier snapped and popped as the logs settled. Outside, it was dark, the cold gathering as the sun went down. Jason was talking to Ty. Beside them, the Swedes were sitting on the long couch along the far wall, each with a pretty blonde girl beside him. Saint wasn’t entirely sure he could tell them apart—were they triplets, he wondered. Hockey players had a type, that was sure.
A timer went off and Carmine hopped to his feet. “That’s me. Food’ll be ready in about ten, guys.”
“You wanna help him?” Saint asked Annika in a low tone. She said something and Saint nodded sagely. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
In the kitchen, Carmine was bent over the oven again, inspecting the turkey. Saint paused in the doorway to appreciate the view, then stepped around the counter.
“Need a hand?”
Carmine straightened. “Nope, just making sure the turkey’s basted.” He closed the oven door and Saint set his wine glass down.
Two glasses of wine on an empty stomach was probably not the smartest idea, but at that moment, Saint really didn’t care. Warmth suffused his bones, buoying him up as he took another step nearer, shifting Annika’s weight absently. His eyes were trained on Carmine’s mouth, so he didn’t miss the way his tongue flickered out to wet his lips.
Just once, Saint thought. Just so I know what it’s like. He closed the distance between them, Carmine frozen in place, watching him get nearer. Toe-to-toe, Saint looked up, into his face.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For—making it work. For helping me.” For being with me. For not telling me I’m crazy and walking away.
Carmine licked his lips again. “Anytime,” he said, and Saint didn’t think he was imagining the hoarseness in his voice. “I—yeah. Anytime.” He was bent forward, his body curved toward Saint open and receptive, and it was as natural as breathing for Saint to reach up, hook his free hand around the back of Carmine’s neck and draw him down into a kiss.
Carmine’s lips were wet and soft. He tasted like wine and cranberry sauce, and Saint made a pleased noise. He pressed forward and Carmine opened his mouth, letting Saint’s tongue slip inside.
The kitchen was silent except for the sound of their mingled breath. Saint took his time exploring, tracing the shape of Carmine’s lips and memorizing the feel of him. Carmine groaned, the noise reverberating through his chest, and Saint shuddered.
“Ow, ow,” Carmine said suddenly, breaking the kiss, and Saint blinked, struggling to focus. Carmine was bent awkwardly sideways, head at an angle, and it took a minute for Saint to realize Annika had a handful of his hair and was yanking on it, cooing happily. “Help,” Carmine said, still tilted sideways, and Saint couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up.
“You sure know how to kill the moment,” he told Annika, and set to work untangling her chubby fingers from Carmine’s hair. She resisted, reaching with her other hand and protesting loudly, but Saint got her free and took a step back, struggling to stifle the giggles still trying to escape.
Carmine’s eyes were dark, hooded in the dimly lit kitchen, and he watched Saint like a leopard eyeing his next meal.
Saint’s laughter cut off like a switch and he swallowed hard, brought back to earth with a thump. “Oh God,” he said. “Oh God, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“What?” Carmine looked confused, brows knitting together at the abrupt left turn.
“I kissed you,” Saint said.
“Yeah, I was there,” Carmine said, lips twitching.
“No, but—” Saint could feel the panic swelling under his ribs, pressing against his lungs and making it hard to breathe. “I—”
Carmine took Annika out of his arms. “Don’t move,” he ordered.
Like he could. Saint stayed put, gulping for air, as Carmine left the room. He was back almost immediately, wrapping his big hands around Saint’s biceps and holding him steady.
“I’m sorry,” Saint managed.
“For what?” Carmine sounded baffled.
“I shouldn’t have—I didn’t get consent, I didn’t ask if you were into me, I just—and you—” Saint snapped his mouth shut as Carmine’s hands tightened.
“Oh, Saint.” Carmine’s voice was gentle and so, so affectionate. “You think you could make me do something I didn’t want to do?”
“Still—”
Carmine shook him gently. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for months, you idiot.”
Saint looked up at that. “You—what? But… what about Atlanta?”
Carmine blinked. “Atlanta? Oh.”
“That was a hickey,” Saint said. He pulled until Carmine let him go, and took a careful step back. “I’m not… judging, or like—it’s just—”
Carmine rubbed his face and leaned back against the counter. “That was… a moment of weakness,” he said. He sounded as if he was choosing his words carefully. “I was—well, I was mad at you. And it’d been a long time since anyone touched me, Saint. I was lonely. So I went out. But I didn’t—I couldn’t go through with it. I made out with this guy in the back of a bar but every time I closed my eyes, I was kissing you. I told him to stop, and I left.”
Saint clutched the island. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Carmine shook his head and took two quick steps forward to loom over him. “You can be so stupid,” he muttered, cupped his face, and kissed him.
It was better without a baby in his arms, Saint decided. He was free to melt against Carmine’s solid frame, let his arms go around his neck as Carmine pulled him in, his mouth hot and demanding this time.
Carmine was the one to break it again, tearing away and spinning to open the oven just as Kasha turned the corner.
“Is so dark in here!” He felt along the wall for the light switch and Saint fumbled for the wine, pouring with unsteady hands as light flooded the room. How had Carmine heard Kasha’s footsteps? All Saint could process—still, even with four feet of distance between them—was the searing heat of Carmine’s mouth and body. His lips tingled. Surely Kasha would take one look at him and know what they’d been up to.
But Kasha was beaming at him from across the counter, no suspicion on his sunny face, and Saint smiled back reflexively.
“Is food ready?” Kasha asked Carmine, who was busy pulling a massive turkey from the oven.
Carmine set it on the stovetop and nodded.
“You can call the others.”
20
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Saint was hyper-aware of Carmine, sitting to his left as they ate, but he didn’t look at him and Carmine didn’t touch him. At some point, Annika ended up back in Saint’s lap and Naomi instructed him on what foods she could safely eat, so he divided his time between feeding her and watching the guests.
Jason was arguing with Jesper and Elias about something as Oskar looked on, clearly amused. Tye and Embry were discussing forechecking, with Embry using cranberries on his plate to illustrate his point. Velvet was talking to Felix, and next to her, her wife Lisa was chatting with Oscar’s date about something Saint couldn’t hear.
This was his team. His family. It wasn’t perfect—they weren’t perfect. But no one was. They fought for each other, bled and struggled and pulled together. He was proud of them, for the way they’d learned to mesh as a team. He stood, shifting Annika’s weight, and lifted his glass.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said, looking around the table. “It means a lot to me. This team—all of you—you’re the reason I’m here. To the Seabirds!”
“To Saint!” Carmine added.
“To Saint!” the rest chorused, and a round of cheers went up. Saint could feel the flush crawling up his neck, but he drained his glass and smiled around the table.
It was another few hours before people began to straggle out the door. Annika had given up the struggle and was sound asleep on Saint’s shoulder, her face pressed against his neck. Naomi peeled her gently out of Saint’s arms and she grumbled, stretching chubby arms before snuggling in against her mother.
“Thank you for giving me a break,” Naomi said to Saint.
“It was fun,” Saint said. He rubbed Annika’s back, smiling. “Anytime you need a babysitter, let me know.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” Roddy said, appearing on Naomi’s other side. He was helping another of their children into her coat. “We can and will take ruthless advantage of that offer.”
“I mean it,” Saint insisted. “She’s great.”
Carmine busied himself picking up dishes in the living room as Saint said goodbye to the last guest and shut the door behind them. There was silence for a minute and then Saint came into the room. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked wrung out but at peace.
“Doing okay?” Carmine asked.
Saint’s smile was small but genuine. “Tired,” he admitted. “But that was… the easiest party I’ve ever hosted. Thanks to you.”
Carmine shrugged, straightening with his hands full of dishes. “You could have handled it. But I’m glad I could help.” He headed for the kitchen and deposited the load in the sink. Saint followed him in, his own arms full of more dishes. When Carmine turned, Saint was right next to him, leaning into his space. Carmine ran a finger down his jaw, smiling when Saint shivered.
“What are we doing?” Saint asked, voice almost inaudible.
Carmine played dumb. “Cleaning up?”
The flatly unamused look he got was worth it. “You know what I meant.”
Carmine’s smile widened. “Whatever we want, Saint. Is that okay with you?”
Saint drew away, shaking his head. “I—no. It’s not—we shouldn’t. What happens when it goes wrong?”
“You’re so certain it will?” Carmine asked.
“It always does,” Saint spat. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end, and his eyes pleaded with Carmine to understand when he looked up. “The team’s finally coming together, I can’t risk it just because I can’t stop thinking about you. That’s stupid and irresponsible and selfish, and—”
“Hang on, whoa,” Carmine said, holding up a hand. “You can’t stop thinking about me?”
Saint rolled his eyes. “Not the takeaway I wanted you to get from that.”
“Yeah, but—” Carmine took a step closer, grinning at him. “You can’t stop thinking about me.”
“Focus,” Saint ordered.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either.”
Saint’s mouth fell open.
“Did you think it was one-sided?” Carmine murmured. He stepped into Saint’s space, running a hand down his arm. “You’re all I’ve thought about for months, Saint. Besides, we’re professionals. Are you going to stop passing to me if we have a fight?”
“Haven’t yet,” Saint muttered, and Carmine laughed.
“Exactly. Even when we’re mad at each other, we still work on the ice. I think we’re both grownup enough to handle it if things do go south.”
“But—”
Carmine put a finger over his mouth, effectively silencing him. “You think too much.”
“Maybe you don’t think enough,” Saint retorted, and then winced. “Sorry, I—”
“No, don’t apologize,” Carmine said. He couldn’t help the smile. “I love that you tell me how you feel. Don’t ever stop doing that, okay?”
“Not sure I could,” Saint admitted, and Carmine couldn’t wait any longer. He pressed their mouths together, savoring the soft gasp, the warmth of Saint’s skin under his hands, the way he crowded forward, plastering himself against Carmine’s body.
This was what he’d been waiting for, and it was worth every single aching moment, the longing and lonely nights. Saint was solid and real in his arms, kissing him back with every bit as much hunger as Carmine was feeling. Carmine tightened his grip and deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside Saint’s mouth in quick, gentle passes. The moan he got went straight to his groin.
“Fuck,” he gasped when the need to breathe reasserted itself. “You’re killing me.”
Saint’s lips were kiss-swollen, shiny and pink. His hair was in his eyes, his breathing rapid. Carmine brushed his hair out of his face.
“Talk to me,” he ordered gently. “How are you feeling?”
Saint scowled and ducked his head. He pressed his face to Carmine’s chest briefly and then stepped away. “Everyone’s got you wrong, don’t they?”
Carmine blinked. “Come again?”
“The whole—” Saint gestured. “Goon thing. It’s an act. All brawn, no brain.”
“I wouldn’t call it an act,” Carmine hedged.
“Okay, then it’s a front.” Saint leaned a hip against the counter and looked him over. “People don’t take you seriously because you’re built like a Greek god-slash-body builder, when actually you’re ridiculously smart and more emotionally intelligent than anyone else on the team.”
Carmine sputtered a laugh. “Greek god? Seriously?”
Saint lifted a shoulder, lips twitching. “Everyone thinks you’re just big dumb muscle. But you’re not. I mean, I’ve known that for awhile, but like… you’re really not. Why do you let people think it?”
Carmine sighed. “Can we get comfortable for this conversation?”
Saint led the way into the living room and they settled on the couch, Saint crossing his legs on the cushion facing him.
It took Carmine a minute to figure out the words. “I had a boyfriend,” he finally said. “Dylan. I was in major juniors, he lived next door to my billet family. I… thought I loved him.” He had loved him. That was the true kick in the balls. Dylan had been sunny summer days, freckled nose and sunkissed hair, bright laughing blue eyes and hands that knew how to draw the perfect responses from Carmine’s body.
He glanced up. Saint was watching him carefully, hands folded in his lap.
“I loved him,” Carmine said softly. “I wanted him to be proud of me.”
“What happened?”
“I was pretty nerdy as a kid,” Carmine said. “Nose in a book anytime I wasn’t on the ice. When I turned sixteen, I hit a growth spurt and grew into my body, but I still loved to read. I wanted to go to college, get a degree in English lit. Dylan—he said it was too much.”
Saint’s eyebrows shot up but he said nothing.
“He said that my height and muscle were intimidating enough as it was, that when
I tried to show off my brains too, people didn’t like it.”
“And you believed him?” Saint’s voice was faint, as if he was still figuring out what to feel.
Carmine shrugged. “I loved him,” he repeated. “I think he was intimidated, honestly. But I wanted to be with him. I couldn’t do anything about my height, and I need the muscle to do my job properly, but… I could hide my brains. Make myself less threatening intellectually.”
Saint covered his face.
“I know it’s fucked up,” Carmine said. “I do. But I guess… it became a habit. People look at me, they see a big guy who knows how to throw his weight around. They don’t expect anything else from me. It’s easier that way sometimes.”
Saint dropped his hands and reached out, cupping Carmine’s face. “Don’t hide from me,” he said fiercely. “Don’t ever hide any part of yourself from me.”
Carmine wrapped his hands around Saint’s wrists, warmth surging through him. “I won’t,” he promised.
“You—you’re so incredible,” Saint continued. “How can anyone not see that? This guy, Dylan—” He spat the name. “He’s a fucking idiot. An insecure, tiny-dicked asshole who was too threatened by you to realize how amazing you are.”
Laughter bubbled up and Carmine squeezed Saint’s wrists. “To be fair, he didn’t actually have a tiny—”
Saint wrenched a hand free and covered his mouth. “Tiny-dicked,” he repeated. “And we’re not talking about him anymore, got it?”
Carmine resisted temptation manfully for all of three seconds and then licked his palm. Saint jerked away, nose wrinkling, and Carmine grinned at him.
“You never answered my question,” he said.
Saint frowned. “Which one?”
“I asked you how you were feeling. About… this. Us.”
Saint sat back. “Ah.”
“The truth,” Carmine added.
Saint met his eyes. “I’m scared,” he said quietly. “I’m scared of fucking it up. Chasing you away.”
“As I’m fond of pointing out, I’m still here, aren’t I?” Carmine picked up one of Saint’s hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’ve seen you dealing with a lot of shit. None of it’s been a deal-breaker.”
Roughing Page 17