Roughing

by Michaela Grey

  “Shut up and come to bed with me.”

  28

  He found Carmine in the box before their next game. Even though he wasn’t playing, he still looked sharp in his game day suit, cut to flatter his rangy form. The room was empty except for them, so Saint made no secret about looking him up and down, pursing his mouth in appreciation.

  Carmine laughed and tugged his sleeves down. Saint knew him well enough now to recognize the deprecation in his smile, and he frowned, stepping closer.

  “You know how hot you are, right?”

  Carmine rolled his eyes. “Please, of the two of us, you’re definitely winning.”

  “Sorry, are we in a competition I didn’t know about?” Saint countered. He reached out, hooking a finger in Carmine’s lapel and pulling him close. “You’re gorgeous, bud, deal with it.”

  Carmine’s laugh was real that time and he bent, tipping Saint’s face up to kiss him. “Kick ass out there,” he murmured, and ducked his head to press kisses along Saint’s throat.

  “You—” The door clicked behind Saint and he turned to see it closing. “Did someone just open that?” He took a step away, cold panic dousing his bones. “Did they—did they see us?”

  “I didn’t see anyone,” Carmine said. He looked worried but not afraid, and Saint swallowed hard.

  “I should go.”

  Carmine nodded. “Saint—I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe someone opened the door by mistake and realized they were in the wrong room.”

  “I should go,” Saint repeated. If someone had seen them—he wanted to vomit at the thought.

  “I love you,” Carmine said softly.

  Saint swallowed again and edged toward the door. “I—I love you too,” he finally managed, but he couldn’t meet Carmine’s eyes as he slipped out into the empty hallway.

  He caught sight of Felix on his way to the locker room and jogged to catch up with him.

  “You okay, cher?” Felix asked, an alarmed tilt to his eyebrow. “You look… not okay.”

  “I was—” Saint gulped for air. “Carmine’s in the box.”

  “Okay….”

  “I was in there with him,” Saint continued.

  Both Felix’s eyebrows went up. “Did you get nasty in the box, cher?”

  Saint mustered a glare. “You and Carmine should never be in the same room. But no, all I did—we just kissed.”

  “What’s the problem then?”

  “I don’t know,” Saint admitted. “I feel… jittery. Like I thought I heard the door close but there was no one there. I don’t know. I’m probably just imagining things.”

  “Probably,” Felix agreed, and wrapped an arm around his neck. “Come on, let’s go play some two-touch before Coach starts yelling at us.”

  The first warning Carmine got that things were about to go sideways was a text from Henry that came through in the last few minutes of the third period.

  Has David said anything to you?

  Below him on the ice, Saint had the puck, driving for the net hard, and Carmine frowned.

  No, he tapped out. Why?

  Probably no reason, she answered. Saint passed to Kasha, who dropped it to Roddy. He just doesn’t want to believe we’re not together. Being a fool about it.

  Carmine tapped the first letter of a reply just as Tye scored and he forgot everything to cheer. When he finally collected himself, the period was over, the Seabirds had won, and he had to get down to the locker room as quickly as possible. He sent Henry a quick text. I’ll let you know if he does anything stupid, but all quiet so far.

  The team was in raucous celebration mode when he arrived, and he was welcomed with delighted shouts of greeting. Most of the media was clustered around Saint, as usual, but a few made their way toward him. Carmine put his media face on, smiling at them.

  “Carmine, I don’t think we’ve met,” a small, round woman with thick glasses said, holding out a hand. “Victoria Hensley, Hockey Weekly. We run a fairly popular blog with insider interviews on the Seabirds and the occasional outside player. So was that photo released with your permission?”

  “Sorry, what photo?” Carmine asked, most of his attention on Saint, sitting in his stall with a tired smile on his face. He was disheveled and clearly exhausted, and Carmine wanted nothing more than to take him home, deposit him in the hot tub, and then maybe give him a foot massage.

  “This one,” Victoria said, phone out.

  Carmine took it and tore his eyes from Saint to focus on the photo. Horror nailed his feet to the floor. He was standing in the box, hands on Saint’s shoulders, frozen in the act of lifting his face from kissing Saint’s throat. There was a smile on his face, love shining from him. Distantly he noted that there were no distinguishing characteristics about Saint from the pose they were in, nothing that pointed to him and said, “This is Saint Levesque”.

  “Carmine?” Victoria prompted gently. There was something like sympathy in her eyes, and Carmine swallowed hard around the rock in his throat.

  “Wh-where did you get this picture?” he rasped.

  “Anonymous source,” Victoria said, sounding almost regretful. “Can I ask who that is in the photograph with you?”

  “No you cannot,” Carmine snapped reflexively.

  “So you’re gay?” Victoria pressed.

  Carmine squeezed his eyes shut briefly. He didn’t dare look at Saint for fear Victoria and the rest of the journalists would immediately read the truth of the situation in his eyes. “I’m—I need a minute,” he finally managed.

  Victoria took a step back, but her stance made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere. Carmine pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, struggling to think. Fact: he’d just been outed. Fact: he didn’t know by who, but he had a good guess. David was busy undressing on the far side of the room, studiously ignoring the developing situation. Fact: Saint was safe. In the end, that was all that really mattered. Carmine’s sexuality had been an open secret for years. While he wished he could have controlled his coming out narrative, the truth was it didn’t really matter how it had happened, as long as Saint’s identity had been protected.

  “Yes,” he said aloud, and the journalists immediately crowded around, recording devices at the ready. Carmine took a steadying breath. “I’m gay,” he said into silence.

  Saint stood abruptly, but Velvet was already making her way across the room, slipping between Carmine and the reporters.

  “No questions at this time,” she said smoothly.

  “But—” Victoria began.

  “Sorry,” Velvet interrupted. “We’ll have an actual press conference about this tomorrow and I promise you’ll get to ask your questions then.”

  “We really just want to know who that is with you,” someone at the back of the crowd said.

  “That’s the business of the people in the photograph, and none of yours,” Velvet said, sweetening the sharpness of her words with a smile.

  Carmine wanted to throw up. Saint was standing utterly still, watching the spectacle unfold with a blank face.

  “Is it Saint?” someone else shouted, and Velvet rounded on them as Saint flinched as if physically struck.

  “That’s it,” Velvet snapped. “You’re out. All of you. Now.” She began physically herding them toward the door and Carmine finally got his feet unstuck from the floor. He headed, not for Saint, but for Felix, watching with horror on his mobile face.

  “I guess Saint was not imagining things, eh?” he managed, but his voice was a pale shade of its usual insouciant tone.

  Carmine shook his head mutely. “Do you know who it was?”

  “I can guess, ami,” Felix said, cutting his eyes toward David. “But I do not know, no.”

  Saint was heading for the shower, not looking at anyone. His shoulders were rigid and he still hadn’t said a word.

  “Fuck,” Carmine whispered. “He doesn’t want—he’s not ready for this.”

  “I know,” Felix said. “You’ll need to talk to him.”
r />   But Carmine shook his head again. “Not yet.” He crossed the room in several quick steps, fetching up beside David. “Do you want to do this in a conference room or here in front of everyone?” he inquired, just barely keeping his hands from balling into fists.

  David lifted a shoulder. “Conference room, but I want a witness in case you decide to jump me.”

  Carmine sneered but glanced around the room. Felix, Roddy, and Kasha he regretfully dismissed as too biased. “Tye,” he said, and Tye jumped, dropping the shirt he was holding, eyes wide. “Need you to come with us, please. All you have to do is bear witness, don’t worry.”

  Tye’s throat bobbed but he nodded, bent to retrieve the shirt, and tugged it on as he followed David and Carmine out the door and down the hallway to the nearest conference room.

  Inside, Carmine faced him. “It was you, wasn’t it.”

  David yawned. “What was me?”

  “Don’t,” Carmine said sharply. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know exactly what just happened. Was it you?”

  David narrowed his eyes, studying his face, and then abruptly shrugged. “Yeah, it was.”

  Nausea swamped Carmine and he swallowed several times. “Why?”

  “Ask Henry,” David snapped. There was fury on his face, but hurt, too, mixing together in a poisonous blend. “Ask her what happens when she refuses to acknowledge what’s under her nose.”

  “And what exactly is that?” Carmine asked.

  “I’m in love with her,” David spat. “And she says there’s nothing there, that I need to ‘get over her’, like it’s that fucking easy.”

  “So—” Carmine held up a hand, struggling for composure. “You outed me—to get at her?”

  “Hurting you hurts her,” David snarled. “So maybe she can get a taste of what it’s like. Maybe she can feel it.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Tye whispered from the corner. Neither man looked at him, fixed on each other.

  “You’ve got a really fucked up definition of love, my friend,” Carmine finally said.

  David scoffed. “Like I give a shit what you think.”

  “You realize this isn’t going to make her come running back to you, right?” Carmine asked. “That you just torpedoed literally the slightest chance of her ever changing her mind?”

  “She was never going to change her mind,” David said. “So I gave her a taste of her own medicine.”

  “Did it feel good?” Carmine asked softly, holding back the fury. “Was it worth it?”

  “The look on your face?” David said. He almost smiled. “Yeah. It was worth it. And it’ll be worth it when she finds out. Serves her right, the heartless bitch.”

  Carmine took three quick steps away, out of range so he didn’t punch him, even as Tye made an involuntary movement away from the wall as if ready to jump between them.

  “Don’t ever,” Carmine said, fighting through the fury blinding him, “ever speak of her like that again.”

  David shrugged again. “I’m never going to speak of her again. Problem solved.” He paused, and a smile spread across his face. “Well, my problem is solved. I guess yours is just beginning.”

  “Get out,” Carmine said through numb lips. “Get out and don’t ever come near me again.”

  He stood with his back to the door, breathing through his nose in a desperate attempt to keep from hitting something, until David’s footsteps receded.

  “He’s gone,” Tye said, his voice low and worried. “Can I—do you need anything?”

  Carmine turned. Tye looked miserable, tugging at the hem of his shirt, corners of his mouth turned down. Carmine forced a smile.

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine. You go on.”

  Tye hesitated, shifting his weight, but Carmine just sat down in one of the chairs and put his head in his hands. After awhile, Tye left, and he was alone.

  He pulled out his phone and called Henry.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I really don’t care if you’re seducing another paralegal,” Carmine said. “This is serious. David just outed me.”

  “He what?”

  Carmine explained as succinctly as he could while Henry listened and occasionally swore in increasingly violent and imaginative ways.

  “You can’t see Saint’s face in the picture,” Carmine said. He put the phone on speaker and his head down on the table. He was so tired. “But it’s really obvious I was kissing him, and someone straight up asked if it was him. They suspect. He can’t—this isn’t—Hen, what do I do?”

  “You go find him,” Henry said. “And you make sure he isn’t alone. I’ll deal with David.”

  “No,” Carmine protested. “Coach and the GM will handle him. You don’t have to do anything.”

  “This is my fault,” Henry interrupted. There was steel in her voice, but Carmine could hear the tears underneath, the guilt she was clearly feeling.

  “No,” Carmine repeated. “It’s not your fault he’s a sack of shit. It’s not your fault you didn’t feel the same way. It’s not your fault he did this. We’ll take care of it. I have to go find Saint.”

  “Caz,” Henry said, and she was definitely crying. “I love you. I’m s-sorry—”

  “I love you too,” Carmine said, softening his tone. “I’ll check in when I can. Don’t blame yourself.”

  He pushed himself upright, wincing at the pain in his ribs, and headed for the door.

  Saint was already gone when he got back to the locker room. Felix came to meet him.

  “He left before any of us,” he said softly. “He would not talk to me, or Roddy.”

  Carmine touched his shoulder. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “He’ll push you away,” Felix warned. “Don’t let him. He doesn’t want you to go, to leave him. He’s afraid you will leave, so he will try and force the issue.”

  Carmine regarded him. “You’ve been through this before.”

  “Not this exact scenario,” Felix said. “But yes. I’ve known him for nearly ten years. He’s my brother, Caz. I know his defense mechanisms, how he protects his heart. Go find him, and don’t let him go.”

  “Yeah,” Carmine said, and turned to leave.

  It wasn’t that easy, though.

  Velvet caught him coming out of the locker room and pulled him into a meeting with Flanahan, two publicists Carmine didn’t know, and the GM, Kevin Dumont, who’d luckily been in town for the night. Carmine settled at the table facing them and laced his fingers in his lap. He needed to go find Saint, needed to make sure he was alright—but he wasn’t leaving this room until he’d reassured the businessmen their investments hadn’t been ill-advised.

  “How are you feeling?” Dumont asked. He was short, balding, and had the beginnings of a belly, but he’d been a force to reckon with on the ice, back in his day. Carmine had seen his games. He wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him.

  “My ribs hurt,” he said honestly. “And I need to go find—” He snapped his mouth shut on Saint’s name. “The other person in the picture. He’s… upset.”

  “This won’t take long,” one of the publicists said. “I’m Mandy, this is Leon.” Leon nodded. “We just want to make sure we’re on the same page here.”

  “And what page is that?” Carmine snapped.

  Dumont leaned forward. “We’re behind you one hundred percent, Carmine. We stand with you. The person who leaked that photo of you will be dealt with, I can promise you that.”

  Carmine’s eyes stung. He took a shaky breath, tightening his grip on his own hands to hide the trembling. “I d-don’t—”

  “We traded away some good guys to get you,” Dumont continued. “And you haven’t let us down. You’ve proven what an asset to this team you are. And even if you hadn’t, you’re still a human being who deserves respect, and so does S—” He caught himself. “The person in the picture with you.”

  “You know,” Carmine said quietly, a sense of fatality settling into his bones. “You know who
it is, you know about—” He waved a hand vaguely, hoping that captured his meaning.

  “We suspected,” Dumont said. His eyes were shrewd and keen, sharp in the dim light, and Carmine wondered what it had been like to face him at puck drop. “We won’t confirm or deny anything unless that person chooses to step forward, at which point he will have our full support, just like you do.”

  Carmine closed his eyes. The relief was like cold water to his face, shocking his system. “I really have to go,” he said.

  “Say nothing to anyone not on the team,” Mandy said. “Nothing, do you understand? The most innocuous comment can be spun out of context. You keep your mouth shut, go home, and you ‘no comment’ until you’re blue in the face if anyone says anything, got it?”

  “Got it,” Carmine said.

  “Press conference tomorrow at 9 AM,” Leon said. “We’ll write something up for you based on what you said in the locker room, but be here early in case you want to edit it.”

  Carmine nodded. “I will. I—thank you. I didn’t expect—”

  “What, your family to have your back?” Dumont said. He snorted. “Maybe other teams don’t, but we do it differently around here. Go home.”

  Carmine nodded gratefully and escaped.

  29

  The house was quiet when he let himself in, all the lights off. Carmine took his shoes off and padded silently through the empty living room. The kitchen was likewise deserted. So Saint was probably in his suite. Carmine took a moment to let Steel out and change into clothes that didn’t chafe the way his suit did, and then he walked back through the house to Saint’s suite and knocked on the door.

  “Saint?” he called softly.

  There was no answer.

  Carmine tried the door—it was unlocked. “I’m coming in,” he said, a little louder. “Please don’t shoot me or anything.” He pushed the door open and stepped into the front room, the one where Saint kept his awards. They ringed the walls, cups and placquards and trophies all a silent testament to Saint’s skill.