Roughing

by Michaela Grey

  “You did good,” Carmine said as he drove them home.

  “Good would have been not freaking out on him in the first place,” Saint said. He leaned back against the seat and watched Carmine’s hands, loosely wrapped around the steering wheel.

  “Enjoying the view there, champ?” Carmine inquired, a smile tugging at his mouth.

  Saint hummed. “Not bad,” he said, keeping his tone light.

  Carmine snorted and rested one hand on Saint’s thigh, thumb stroking along the inseam lightly. “Ever had a road handie?”

  “Don’t you dare,” Saint said, bolting upright, and Carmine laughed.

  “Relax, I won’t.” He squeezed Saint’s thigh. “Is that offer of a blowjob still on the table though?”

  Saint relaxed, eyeing him warily. “As long as you don’t expect it in public, yeah.”

  Carmine gave him a wicked grin. “No exhibitionist kink, got it. You want me to close the curtains and lock the doors before we get freaky?”

  “First of all, don’t ever say freaky again,” Saint said, glaring at him but unable to suppress the bubble of amusement in his chest. He couldn’t help loving the way Carmine teased him, his irreverent disregard for Saint’s status as the captain or the face of hockey in the Pacific Northwest. None of it mattered to Carmine. To him, Saint was just another guy, an equal. It made Saint feel seen, somehow, and as Carmine rolled up the driveway toward the house, he impulsively unbuckled, slid across the seat, and kissed his cheek.

  “Oh,” Carmine said, eyebrows going up. “That was nice. Any particular reason?”

  Saint sat back, cheeks heating. He shrugged. “Because you’re you?”

  Carmine smiled, turning the corner and cresting the hill, and then frowned. “Why is there a car in the driveway? Fuck, I’m calling the cops.” He fumbled for his phone as Saint turned and then froze, ice flooding his veins.

  “Don’t,” he said through numb lips. “I recognize that car.”

  “Saint?” Carmine sounded far away.

  Saint made a huge effort to summon a smile. “It’s my parents,” he said, and stepped out.

  25

  Carmine scrambled to follow, mind spinning. The car in question was a neat silver sedan, a lanky man rising from the driver’s side. He had Saint’s brown eyes, but on him they were sharp, judging, assessing, and then dismissing Carmine in a flash before turning to Saint. The smile didn’t reach his mouth when he held out his arms.

  “Hi Dad,” Saint said, matching his smile. The hug was awkward, over quickly, both men stepping apart and Saint turning to greet his mother, a slim woman with gray-streaked brown hair and a sad smile. Saint’s smile was more genuine this time and he held on a little longer before letting her go. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Are you going to introduce us?” his father said with a nod in Carmine’s direction.

  “Right, sorry. Um. Carmine, these are my parents, Victor and Maria. Mom, Dad, this is Carmine. You remember he’s staying with me?”

  Victor looked Carmine over again. “I remember. I thought he’d have moved out by now.”

  Carmine held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Levesque. Saint’s been a great host.”

  “How long are you staying?” Saint asked before Victor could answer.

  Victor’s brows drew together. “Is it a problem that we’re here?”

  “No!” Saint said, stiffening, and Carmine balled his fists at the clear distress in the lines of his body. “No,” he said more softly. “I just—you know I like to plan.”

  “Yeah, you never did like surprises,” Victor said. He patted Saint’s head, making a wave of fury sweep through Carmine, and popped the trunk of the car. “We were thinking a week at least.”

  “You’re okay with being away from the farm for that long?” Saint asked. He pulled a suitcase from the trunk and Carmine leaned in to grab the other one, brushing against him. Saint’s face didn’t change, but he took a small step away, waiting for his father’s answer.

  “We hired Bonnie Masters, you remember her, to stay for a week. She’s home from college, between jobs, and she knows her way around the place.” Victor followed Saint up the steps, Maria right behind him and Carmine bringing up the rear. “We always thought you and Bonnie would make a match of it.”

  Saint’s head was down, fumbling with the door key, but the back of his neck was flushed dark red. “I’ve barely talked to her since I was fifteen, Dad.” He pushed the door open and led the way inside, down the hall past the living room and turning left, into the wing of the house they never used.

  “Hang on, what happened to our suite?” Victor asked, balking.

  “Carmine’s in it, Dad,” Saint said without looking back at him.

  “I want our suite,” Victor snapped, mouth set in a stubborn line.

  “Honey,” Maria murmured, putting a hand on Victor’s arm.

  Carmine cleared his throat. “I don’t mind if—”

  “You’re staying in here,” Saint said loudly, and shoved a door open. He let his parents go through first, meeting Carmine’s gaze briefly as they went inside. There was pain in his eyes, misery bubbling to the surface, and Carmine’s throat tightened. He wanted desperately to say something, to erase the hurt, but Saint was already turning away, carrying his parents’ suitcases into the room.

  Carmine followed, setting his load down and taking a step back. “I’ll just—go let Steel out.”

  “Who’s Steel?” Victor asked.

  “His dog,” Saint said quietly.

  “You let him bring a dog here? You know your mother’s allergic!”

  Saint’s eyes flashed. “You didn’t even let me know you were coming, Dad, and I’m not allergic. It’s my house, and Steel is welcome here.”

  “I’m only a little bit allergic,” Maria said, sounding almost apologetic, and Victor huffed but didn’t say anything else.

  Carmine took advantage of the pause and escaped.

  Standing on the back lawn, watching Steel dash around and inspect his territory, Carmine called Felix.

  “What do I need to know about Saint’s parents?” he asked without preamble.

  “Calisse, Saint’s parents are there?” Felix said sharply. “How is he?”

  “He’s not great,” Carmine said. “He’s getting them settled in but he won’t look at me.”

  Felix swore again. “His father—” He broke off, hesitating. “He is not a kind man.”

  “I already figured that much out. How do I help him while they’re here?”

  “Victor Levesque cares for one thing and one thing only,” Felix said. “And that is Saint winning a Cup. Everything else—everything else—is secondary. Saint… he wants his father to love him, Caz, you understand?”

  Carmine swallowed, tasting ash in his mouth. “What do I do?”

  “Not much you can do, ami.” Felix sighed. “Remind him life outside hockey exists. Keep him grounded. Stay with him as much as he’ll let you—his father will curb his tongue somewhat around strangers.”

  “Shit, then I need to go,” Carmine said. He called Steel, who came running, and headed back inside.

  He found Saint alone in the kitchen, hands flat on the counter and head bowed.

  “Hey,” Carmine said, aching to touch him but keeping a safe distance away.

  Saint lifted his head. “Sorry,” he said.

  “For what?”

  Saint shrugged a shoulder, not meeting Carmine’s eyes. “My dad’s… a lot. You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be. You can stay in your room, or hell—get a hotel until they’re gone.”

  “You really think I’m going to leave you alone with him?” Carmine demanded, keeping his voice low but not hiding his anger at the thought. Saint’s eyes flicked up, surprise in them.

  “You don’t—it’s not your job to protect me,” he said.

  “Yeah, you’ve made it clear you don’t need to be protected,” Carmine said. He rounded the counter and rested his hips again
st it, leaning back just enough to see Saint’s face, downturned again. “Saint,” he said softly. “Will you look at me, sweetheart?”

  “Dad doesn’t know,” Saint said, voice low and urgent. He looked up, touching Carmine’s wrist. “Please, I can’t tell him. He can’t find out.”

  “He won’t,” Carmine promised. It was reckless, maybe, but he’d do a lot to wipe the panic from Saint’s brown eyes. “But I’m also not going to hide and leave you on your own.”

  Saint’s lashes swept down and he swayed just briefly into Carmine’s space. Then he drew away, sighing. “I should figure out dinner.”

  “I’ll do that,” Carmine said. “But you can stay and help me.”

  Dinner was tense at first, Victor seeming irritated that Carmine was there and Maria watching Saint without saying much at all. But Carmine kept a cheerful facade in place, talking to Saint about the team and trading recipe tips with Maria until she softened enough to smile back at him.

  Over dessert, Victor cleared his throat. “So, Carmine.”

  Beside him, Saint tensed.

  Carmine took a bite of apple pie and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “You seem to be meshing fairly well with the team,” Victor said. “Have you considered anger management courses or anything to help keep you out of the box?”

  “Dad,” Saint hissed, but Victor ignored him.

  Carmine couldn’t decide whether to laugh or lose his temper. He took a deep breath and did neither. “I think I’ve got it under control, but thanks for the tip.”

  Victor didn’t look convinced. “Seems like you get in a fight almost every game. That what you consider ‘under control’?”

  Carmine set his fork on his plate. Beside him, Saint was rigid with fury, and that alone was enough to help Carmine keep his temper in check. “I don’t fight for shits and giggles, Mr. Levesque,” he said quietly. “I do it to protect my teammates. I fight so they don’t have to.”

  “Very noble of you, I’m sure,” Victor said.

  “That’s enough,” Saint snapped, mouth tight. “Carmine is a valued member of the team, Dad. He does a lot more than fight, and you need to back off.”

  Carmine looked at his plate, swallowing hard and focusing on not grabbing Saint and kissing him in front of his parents. That’d go over like a lead balloon, he told himself, but it took everything he had to be still.

  He went to bed that night with Steel, achingly aware of the distance between him and Saint. They’d only spent a few nights in the same bed, but Carmine already missed his warm body pressed up against his, the arm Saint would unthinkingly sling over his waist and his little snuffling sighs as he sank into deep sleep.

  He pulled his phone out and sent him a quick message. Wish we could get freaky :(

  The response was just as quick. You’re an idiot and I’m banning you from using that word.

  Carmine grinned at his phone in the dark. Saint was typing again, so he waited.

  Thanks for tonight.

  Pay me back by scoring a goal tomorrow night, Carmine sent.

  I’ll score two for you, Saint responded.

  “Oh fuck,” Carmine said out loud. Steel whined inquiringly, and Carmine rubbed his ears. “I think I’m in love with him, bud.”

  Steel thumped his tail on the bed and licked Carmine’s chin. Carmine wiped the drool away absently, staring into the dark. It hadn’t been that long, he told himself. Maybe it was just a crush.

  He did the only thing he could think to do.

  “Hello?” Henry said, sounding distracted.

  “I’m in love with Saint,” Carmine said.

  “Hi Henry, how are you? I’m totally calling just to say hi and because I miss you,” Henry said, her voice pitched high.

  “This is serious,” Carmine hissed.

  “Oh, of course you’re in love with him,” Henry said. Glass clinked in the background.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Carmine asked belatedly, and blinked. “Wait. Of course I’m in love with him?”

  “I could tell that after watching you two for five minutes,” Henry said. “And yes, you’re interrupting me seducing a very sweet paralegal with legs for days, so can we hurry this up?”

  “But—” Carmine swallowed. “I’m not—how do you know?”

  Henry sighed. “Caz, honey. You can’t take your eyes off him. You’re tuned to him like a fucking radio, and he’s just as dialed into you. Anyone with a brain can see it, you’re not exactly subtle.”

  “He’s—he tried to break up with me the other day,” Carmine said, remembering the hurt that had flared through him when Saint had backed away.

  “He—are you together?” Henry demanded sharply.

  “Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that?”

  “Carmine Llewellyn Quinn, explain yourself right now!”

  Carmine winced at the use of his full name. “He kissed me at the Christmas dinner.”

  “Oh my God. The paralegal can wait. Tell me everything.”

  “Ugh, no,” Carmine said. He rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “The point is, I think I’m in love with him.”

  “And I’m telling you, that’s not news. Pretty sure he feels the same way, buddy.”

  Carmine groaned. “That’s impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Carmine said. “I’m just—I make him feel good. He hasn’t had a lot of that. I’m not….”

  “If you’re about to say something willfully stupid like you’re not good enough for him, or he only thinks of you as a fuckbuddy, I swear to God I will fly up there and kick your ass myself,” Henry growled.

  “You don’t understand,” Carmine said. “And I’m done talking about this.”

  “What? No! Don’t you dare hang up! Carmine—”

  Carmine raised his voice. “Bye, Henry! Love you!” He dropped the phone on the bed and rubbed his face. He couldn’t tell Saint. Not with all the pressure already on him, and especially not with his parents in town. Maybe once the season was over, or in a few years, when Saint was ready to come out.

  What if he doesn’t come out until he retires, a tiny voice asked.

  “I’ll figure that out when we get there,” Carmine said aloud. Steel thumped his tail sleepily at the sound of his voice, and Carmine rubbed his head. It was time to sleep.

  26

  The game was going to be brutal, Carmine could tell just by walking in the arena. The crowds were raucous, and a sizable contingent of Richmond Raven fans had decided to represent for their team, resulting in a flood of royal blue and black among the teal and silver Seabird fans.

  Saint had said nothing on the drive to the rink, touching his thumbs to each knuckle in turn as Carmine drove and watched him. The lines of his body were tense, but the stress from the last game was gone.

  He sat now in his stall, looking at the team. Carmine caught his eye from across the room and smiled, and Saint smiled back, eyes softening. Carmine winked and turned away to pick up his shoulder pads, nearly bumping into David.

  “Watch it,” David snapped, and brushed past.

  Saint was talking to Kasha when Carmine glanced back again. Kasha was smiling, nodding as Saint spoke, and he began to bounce on his toes, swinging his arms forward and back to loosen his chest.

  Satisfied, Carmine turned his attention to getting the rest of his gear on as Coach cleared his throat and began his usual pre-game speech.

  Carmine waited as Saint sent the other players down the tunnel, then stepped forward. Saint watched him approach, eyes dark in the dimly lit hall, and Carmine reached out and took hold of his jersey, pulling him in. He bumped their helmets together lightly and released him.

  “Let’s do this.”

  Saint followed him onto the ice and the crowd’s cheers redoubled. The Ravens were warming up on their side of the rink, and Carmine started his own routine, keeping an eye on them. After a few minutes, Saint fetched up beside him.

  “There’s Fall, down there by
their goalie,” he said, and bent to stretch.

  Carmine glanced in that direction. He’d never been formally introduced to Simon Fall, but he’d played opposite him a few times. Simon was known for his rough, aggressive style of play, his propensity for dirty hits and willingness to drop his gloves. He was tall, easily six foot five, with a mop of blond curls that fell over a high forehead and aquiline nose.

  “Don’t let him bait you,” Saint said, still stretching. He looked completely calm, but Carmine could read the nerves simmering under his skin. “He’ll try to rile you up, make you angry so you make mistakes.”

  “I got it,” Carmine said. He tapped Saint’s skate with his stick and lined up to take shots on Felix, limbering up in his crease. Felix was in full goalie mode, eyes sharp as a hawk as he blocked shot after shot.

  Saint scored twice in quick succession in the first period, slipping under and behind the defense with insulting ease. He met Carmine’s eyes after the second goal, and Carmine grinned at him, helpless with love he couldn’t express. From the way Saint’s eyes softened, though, maybe he’d done a better job than he’d thought.

  Carmine kept the others off him as much as he could, screening the Ravens’ goalie and watching for Saint’s plays. The Ravens couldn’t seem to touch him as he floated through traffic and drove for the net, and Carmine could feel their desperation as next Kasha, then Jason scored, and the Ravens’ chance of a comeback dwindled with each puck that slotted home.

  Simon’s eyes were bright, laser blue as he focused on Carmine during the faceoff at the beginning of the third period. A smile curved the edges of his mouth, thin and cruel.

  “You think you finally found yourself a home, don’t you? Think you’re more than a brick wall on skates now?”

  Saint stiffened but didn’t look over.

  “You’re just like me, you know,” Simon said casually, almost conversationally. “You’ll never be anything but a goon. Big dumb muscle to be used up and thrown away when they don’t need you anymore.”