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I almost hope he does try to hit me. Anything is better than the betrayal in his eyes.
“There isn’t a single fucking thing wrong with you, and of all the things I feel for you, pity isn’t one of them. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, I’m really sorry.” “I want you to leave,” he says, voice breaking on the last word. I nod, sadly. “I know. I’ll go.”
“You’re not broken, Max. You’re beautiful and kind; you make me fucking laugh, and it’s not like you’re even trying to do it, but everything you say always ends up being what I needed to hear. I wanted you the moment you walked into the diner that night—I wanted to know you, and touch you, and just be around you. None of that changed when I found out about the party. I know you’re mad at me, and I’m going to do what you asked and leave, but I’m not leaving for good, okay? I’m not walking away.”
I feel disgusting and violated. I feel the same way I felt when I woke up in the hospital, disoriented and in pain, listening as somebody explained a trauma I couldn’t even remember. Disproportionately,
I do what he says, listening to the familiar cadence of his voice as the pain in my chest slowly eases. His hands are on my face again, forcing me to maintain eye contact with him as he talks to me. There is a hand on the center of my back, big and warm, rubbing circles between my shoulder blades. I feel better, while also feeling like I might cry, because apparently this is the person I’ve become.
“Max.” Coach leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, drawing my attention away from interior decorating and back to this ridiculous situation I’ve created. “It’s just you and me. Anthony is in the other room and can’t hear what you say. Nor does he know about the conversation you and I had a few weeks ago.”
What’s important is that we make sure you’re okay. Do you want to talk about what happened?” “Not really.” I share a small smile with him, shrugging. “But I think I might need to, if you don’t mind listening.
“Oh, uhm…I guess he treats me like I’m special. Or, that’s the way he makes me feel, anyway.” “That doesn’t have anything to do with what happened,” he says instantly. “You are special.”
I’m not trying to insinuate that the situation is precisely the same, Max, but I know better than some how difficult it can be to separate fact from the narrative we create in our minds.
“Max Kuemper, I want you to listen when I tell you that you are nobody’s charity case, and nothing that happened to you in the past predicates what you deserve now. I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. You don’t deserve a single thing that has happened to you, and if I ever learn who did that to you—"
he’s pulled me into a firm hug. I decide to take advantage of
My fingers hurt from how hard I’m gripping his shirt, and I know I should be embarrassed to be hugging him like this. Mostly, though, I’m just intensely grateful that he’s here, that he let me inside and that he’s not pulling away.
“You’re the kid I’m going to be shutting down in a few years.” “Won’t you be retired by the time I’m there?” I ask, and he laughs. “You watch your mouth,” he says good-naturedly.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Max,” Coach says, because apparently, he’s a fucking mind reader. “Everyone needs a little extra help at some point, and whether you believe it or not, you are somebody who is worthy of care.”
Lawson nods, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. His voice is casual as asks: “Do you want to be alone? Because if not, we can work something else out.”
The truth is that no, I don’t want to be alone. I want Luke’s chest pressed against my back and his face smushed against my neck, the way he was the last time he slept over at my place. I want to hear him say ridiculous things and look pleased with himself when I laugh. Mostly, I just want Luke. But you can’t have Luke, because you yelled at him and told him to leave.
I don’t want to be cheered up, unless it comes in the form of Max.
My heart gives a demented little jolt at the sight of him.
“Hello, you,” I breathe, and I swear to god I can see a spark light up in his eyes at the words.
“I miss you so damn bad. God, I miss you. You’re, like, my favorite person, you know that? I don’t even think I knew that until this week, but it’s true. And listen, I know that you don’t need somebody to take care of you, or to treat you with kid gloves or anything, but I wasn’t trying to do that because I think you’re weak. I was doing that because…well, I don’t know, because you’re mine, which means you’re mine to take care of.”
Every cell in my body is recoiling from this, and if I thought my heart was pounding before it is nothing compared to now.
“Maxy,” I plead, voice soft, and finally succeed in getting his eyes back on mine. The corners of his mouth barely move, but it’s the barest hint of a smile and I take it as an invitation to slide my chair across the floor until I’m close enough to count his eyelashes.
“I’m going to have to kick his ass, aren’t I?” I scoot the chair closer still, because I’m fucking dying to touch him and I want him within easy reach. “You might,” Max says gravely. “He rubbed my back.” “A back rub and he gave you his clothes? Forget kicking his ass, I’m going to bury the body in the woods.”
He laughs, and I almost cry in relief when he reaches out and touches a finger to the corner of my eye. “Ah, Luke, you’ve been sad.” He sighs. “I’m sorry.” Before I can second guess myself, I leave the chair and bend to pull him into a hug, lowering to my knees in between his spread legs.
He hugs me back, face buried in my neck as he takes the most dramatic inhale I’ve ever heard. “How do you always smell like sunshine,” he mumbles. “It can’t be normal.” “What does sunshine smell like, anyway?” “You,” he says, and I laugh because that makes no damn sense at all.
He huffs a laugh and tightens his arms. “Is it rude of me to ask if I can stay over?” “Have I not made it clear how distraught I’ll be if you leave?”
But it’s still my Maxy, even if I haven’t seen him for a week—he’s not quite bold enough to strip down in a brightly lit room and shower with me, no matter what he wants to do.
He’s changed into a pair of my grey sweatpants and an old baseball shirt of mine, which is the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen him wear.
Smiling around my own toothbrush, I watch him in the mirror, enjoying the way he’s blatantly checking me out. Nudging him with my hip, his eyes find mine and he blushes.
“Quality check,” I warn, before leaning in and kissing him. It’s quick, and not at all the way I really want to kiss him, but he looks absurdly pleased and still a little bit nervous so I don’t push it.
I want him to be so close to me tonight, we might as well be fused together.
I want him to know I’m here for him if he needs me, and as long as he believes it, I’m good. He shifts closer, eyelashes tickling my chest where his face is resting against me.
I’m a bit of a cuddler.” “Are you?” “I dabble,” I say primly, and he huffs another delighted laugh against my chest. “It’s nice,” Max says decisively. “Most guys I’ve been with were too, I don’t know, macho to snuggle. But I like that you want to do it; it makes me feel like you want me here.”
“I want you here,” I answer, disappointed in the inadequacy of the words. There is simply no way to verbally describe how much I truly want him.
“I’m so fucking tired.” “I know, baby,” I murmur, smoothing a hand up his spine and back down again.
Putting my head back down carefully, I listen to the steady beating of his heart. Coming here last night was the best decision I’ve ever made.
I want to kiss him. I want to kiss away the nerves that are already dancing along my spine and nesting in my stomach.
“I’m nervous,” I tell him, with the air of someone ripping off a particularly large Band-Aid. Might as well get it all out in the open. “You’re the first person I’ve been with—or even wanted to be with—since everything happened last year. It honestly felt like that part of me was dead; I wasn’t interested in anybody until you.
I love the way he tastes.
“It’s all right,” he says, so quietly the words are barely given life before they are gone. My throat feels tight, and it’s a little hard to swallow. “It’s just us.”
He hasn’t stopped making noise this entire time, and I realize it’s helping me to remain in the moment and not get lost in the past.
Some of it is filthy, some sweet, and some is nothing but my name, breathed against me like a prayer. It’s precisely what I needed—a near constant reminder that I’m with Luke, and that’s exactly where I want to be.
“Max,” he says, between each kiss. He hasn’t stopped moving: his hand brushes through my hair and a kiss follows, over and over again. “Maxy.”
I smile against him, inhaling his sunshine and enjoying the feel of a tremendous weight being lifted from my shoulders. Intimacy has been a constant mental battle for me this past year: first, the lack of interest I had in anything sexual, and then the presence of Luke making me feel too much too quickly. I feel as though I’ve conquered a personal battle and won.
I guess, to sum things up, all I was trying to convey was that things like that freak me out, but you make me feel safe.
“What are you grinning about?” he asks, flopping down and jostling me.
“You,” I say simply. He beams. “Oh, Maxy.” He shakes his head, leaning into me and pulling my arm tight around himself. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”
Hockey is so fucking sexy.
At 14:37 during the second period, you were on the bench and you took your helmet off and the cameraman must be a saint because he did this slow motion zoom into your face and OH MY FUCKING GOD. The hair. The sweat. Your NECK.
I watch him, smiling helplessly as my heart performs a gymnastics routine in my chest.
