Hidden Scars (Darby U Hockey Boys, #1)

by Andi Jaxon

There’s some internal battle he’s fighting while sitting on my thighs, barely rubbing his palms on his legs. He doesn’t say anything and even though his eyes are on me, his gaze is unfocused, as if he’s not seeing me. Is he having some kind of panic attack? What the hell is going on right now? “Hey,” I say softly, slowly moving my hand to his. The second my skin touches his, he blinks. “You, okay?” His eyebrows pull together in confusion before he climbs off me and goes into the bathroom. What the fuck was that?

He catches me staring at his ass when he pulls his jeans up. Jeremy freezes with the waistband of the pants under his ass, lifting the muscles just enough to be enticing. I can’t turn away. Slowly, he starts to move, sliding the jeans up until they sit open on his hips. The bastard turns toward me, showing the hard planes of his body and the band of his boxer briefs riding low in the open zipper. My dick thickens in the jeans that I didn’t take off last night. Jeremy makes a show of looking at my groin, lifts an eyebrow, then meets my eyes.

Jeremy zips up his bag and he watches me walk past him. I can feel his gaze on me like a physical caress. I both love it and hate it. The idea of Jeremy touching me is almost intoxicating. Part of me craves human contact, but in reality, I can’t stand for anyone to touch my body. Arms and hands are okay, and sometimes a leg brush, but my torso is absolutely off limits.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Jeremy standing. Everyone turns to watch Brendon getting out of the way to let Jeremy out. “Paul, take my seat. I need to study anyway.” Paul looks at Brendon, who looks pissed with his clenched jaw and stiff shoulders. He slides into the seat and Brendon stares at me like he can intimidate me. Hilarious. This kid thinks he’s scary? Not a fucking chance.

I stand and move to make room for Jeremy to squeeze past me. When the front of his body brushes mine, I no longer think anything is funny. Every muscle in my body tenses and revolts, goosebumps breaking out over every inch of skin. My dick twitches as Jeremy’s hip pushes against it. I grind my teeth to keep still and not show any reaction.

What would it feel like to be held by someone? To breathe them in, their hands running through my hair while we laid in bed, pressed together. I want it so bad it hurts. But the smallest touch on my skin turns my stomach. My heart wants it but my mind can’t handle it. I want it but it hurts. Skin on my skin turns my stomach but my heart wants to be comforted.

this hit a little too close for comfort fr

You’ll never love anyone as much as he loves that little girl. You’re fucking broken. Who will want your broken ass? Dealing with your bullshit isn’t worth it. You aren’t worthy of love like that.

Jeremy’s thigh presses against mine, hip to knee. I refuse to open my eyes and look at him. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose to get a reaction out of me or not, but I’m not rising to the bait. Keep telling yourself that you hate it. That you don’t itch to touch him.

A finger touches my pinkie. My eyes pop open and my head snaps toward Jeremy. My body is tense once again, but my hands have stopped moving. What the hell is he doing? The video call on his phone has ended, now he’s scrolling through social media. Despite not looking at me and appearing completely oblivious to what is happening in my head, he hooks his finger around mine. He mutters something I don’t hear over the music in my ears but looks like ‘I’ve got you.’

My gaze drops to our hands, hating how much I like it. Hating how much I want to press our palms together, interlock our fingers, rub my face against the back of his hand. For just a second, there’s no one on this bus but the two of us. I’m safe. If I look at him, will he be watching me or pretending it’s not happening? I curl my finger around his, testing the feeling of it. It’s strange how my heart pounds in my throat at the little touch. I flick my gaze back up to Jeremy’s face to find him watching me from the corner of his eye. No judgment, just comfort and maybe some hesitation.

I skate toward him, shoving him into the boards and getting into his face this time. His gray eyes sear into me with anger and lust and something else. Delight? Is he getting off on pissing me off? “You gonna hit me, Albrooke?” His words are quiet, taunting. Almost like words he would whisper in a lover’s ear while he fucked them unconscious. I want to knock him out, strangle him, push him until he snaps and attacks me. I’ve got his jersey in my fist and my arms against his chest, holding him against the boards. Why isn’t he telling me to get off him? To stop touching him. “You trying to make me hit you?” I whisper back in that same threatening bedroom tone. One of his gray eyes twitches and I smile in victory. “That’s it, isn’t it? You like it rough. You get off on the fight.” My gaze drops to his lips as I lick my bottom lip. “If you want to fuck, all you have to do is say something.”

I’ve made it only a few steps away from the locker room before someone grabs my arm. Spinning around, I grab them and shove them against the wall, my gym bag falling to the floor before I realize who it is. Jeremy’s blue-brown eyes stare up at me in the dim light of the empty hallway. “You really do like it rough, don’t you?” He smirks up at me with a knowing look. Like he can see inside my head, roll around in my secrets. I’m not sure why that’s enticing.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl in his face, almost close enough to kiss him. Jeremy’s eyes drop to my lips, and he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, letting his teeth drag along the plump flesh as he releases it. I fucking hate him and his kissable fucking mouth. “I’m testing a theory,” Jeremy says as his hands land softly on my hips. My instincts kick in and I grab his hands, lifting them to the wall, and lean into him. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me.” My words are ground out through gritted teeth.

Before I can think to move, Jeremy lifts his mouth to mine and he kisses me. My fingers dig into his flesh as the sensation of his lips on mine explodes through me. For the first time in my life, my head is quiet. With butterflies rioting in my stomach, blood thrumming through my veins, and my dick taking notice of how close this guy is to me. He groa...

I get lost in his kiss, in the nearness of him, and let my body collide with his, my chest to his and my hands releasing his arms to tangle in the long strands of his dark blonde hair. Jeremy wraps his hands around my wrists, his nails leaving half-moon imprints in my skin.

Father is going to make me pay for this. I’ll get more than one cut, in a painful location. I won’t be able to sleep for days, no food, dehydration. Worthless. Useless. Disgrace. “Hey!” a male voice yells. I bolt before they can touch me. Away from Jeremy, away from human touch and the desire for more.

“It was nothing, just a misunderstanding is all.” I shift my gaze down the empty hallway, wishing I knew where he went. Preston panicked. That was clear as day. After he hit me, he looked like a little kid who broke his mom's favorite lamp and knew an ass kicking was coming his way. Was he abused as a kid? Is he afraid to get caught with a guy because of his parents?

That moment of pure panic in his eyes has all my protective instincts demanding he talk to me though. I want to fight for him, but I don’t know what demons he has. No one should be that afraid of a kiss. Preston is an asshole ninety percent of the time but the more I’m around him, the more I see cracks in that armor. No one deserves to be afraid like that.

His nostrils flare and his mouth sets in a thin line. The need to kiss him and punch him, war within me. I hate how confused he makes me.

Preston crowds me against the door, his chest almost touching my arms as he leans his hands on the door beside my head. My body prickles with awareness that I both love and loathe. I want his hands on me so fucking badly, to use me, but he’s an asshole. Who wants to fuck the guy that makes their life miserable? Apparently, this dumbass. There’s something about him that calls to me. I want to be closer.

“Jeremy.” My name is a growl, and it makes my skin break out in goosebumps. With a knowing smile on my face, I look up at him. “I can’t tell if you hate me because you want to fuck me or because you can’t?” Faster than I can blink, his hand is around my throat, pressing me into the door. My dick is at attention and throbbing. “If I wanted you, I would have you.” Preston snarls his words against my lips before taking my mouth in a brutal, harsh kiss. He holds my jaw still with a few fingers while still pushing against my throat. My body sags against him, wanting him to take whatever the hell he wants from me.

Releasing his shirt, I reach for my dick and stroke myself quickly. I need to come so bad it hurts. I’m half-crazy from it. It’s been too damn long. “Pull my dick out.” Preston’s gravelly, lust-filled voice has me rushing to get him out. I’m still balancing on one leg with one arm pinned against the door. His hand on my wrist flexes and I’m sure I’ll have an imprint of his fingers on my skin. I want one. My hand wraps around both of our cocks, stroking us together while his eyes bore into mine. I can’t look away. We’re breathing hard, our air mixing between us until I can taste him.

I feel Preston’s hand on my shirt, low on my stomach, then he slides still-warm cum across my lips. Opening my eyes, I find him staring at my mouth until I slide my tongue across it, the bitter taste of us sharp on my tongue, but not bad.

I close my eyes and lean against the sink. You shouldn’t have touched him. A shudder wracks my body for a long few seconds. Being touched hurts but I want it so fucking bad. It’s better this way. My father can’t use them against me if I’m alone.

preston :(

“Where’s Jeremy?” I’m shaking with fury. He is not wearing Brendon’s fucking clothes. If I have to ruin more clothes by ripping them from his body, I fucking will. So help me, Christ. “What’s going on?” Brendon steps up behind Paul with confusion pulling his brows together. “Where’s. Jeremy.” I grit the words through my teeth, ready to fucking snap.

I have no claim to Jeremy. Logically, I know that. But I want to. It doesn’t make sense and this fucking dinner with my father has set me on edge. Every muscle in my body is tight. I need Jeremy where I can fucking see him and not in Brendon’s fucking clothes.

The urge to rip the clothes off him and shove them at Brendon is stronger than I would like it to be, but I follow him to our room. His ass looks fucking delicious in those damn pants. I should make him come in those fucking pants before I give them back to Brendon. In our room with the door closed, I shove the garment bag at Jeremy. “Change.” The word is a command. Jeremy straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “Excuse me?” I step closer to him, into his personal space. “Change.”

Grabbing his shirt in both my hands, I jerk him toward me until we’re face to face. He’s up on his toes to make him equal in height to me. For a second, his arms flail as he tries to keep his balance. I prepare to flinch when his hands touch my chest, but they don’t. He’s watching me watch him. Jeremy grabs onto my wrists. This is the second time today he’s purposefully avoided touching my body. What does that mean?

“Change your fucking clothes.” My body shakes with the nerves trying so hard to consume me. It would be so easy to fall headfirst into the fear and anxiety of this fucking dinner. I don’t know what to expect and that’s terrifying. I squeeze my eyes shut until little speckles of light dance behind my eyelids. “Please.” “Tell me why.” The stubbornness from just a few minutes ago is gone. My eyes open to find Jeremy watching me, the unevenness of his irises is impossible to look away from. So fucking different than anyone else I’ve ever met. “Why does it matter so much to you?” I rest my forehead on his, wanting so desperately to find comfort in this man while knowing I can’t afford to. “I don’t know.” We stand there for another moment, our exhales mixing between us. Jeremy gives my wrist a gentle squeeze before he quietly says, “Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll change.” Something in my chest lets go, some of the pressure loosening enough to breathe. Jeremy relaxes, his shoulders dropping and his hands leaving me. I both love it and hate it. Fighting is easy, it’s comfortable. Whatever this is, sucks. The urge to push him and piss him off is strong, but I don’t. Instead, I release him and step back. “Good,” I try to slide that fucking mask back on but I’m struggling. Like it’s cracked or I’ve outgrown it. It doesn’t feel right but I don’t know how to survive without it.

“Why don’t you want me to talk to your dad?” Jeremy asks, more curious than insulted this time. I reach for his hand and pull on the sleeves of the cream dress shirt. Digging in the bag, I find the small box with cufflinks. “I don’t want him talking to you,” I say as I slip them on. These are plain white gold circles, no engraving or decoration. Simple. My eyes meet his again when I finish with the second sleeve and drop his hand.

The vans are lined up outside the rink and the weight on my chest makes itself known again. I don’t know what it is about Jeremy that makes me want to stay close to him, but I do. As the vans fill, I start counting how many seats are left versus how many of us are left. Who will fit in which space, and will I be separated from him?

“If I disappear for more than five minutes, come looking for me.” The words are quiet as they tumble out of my mouth. Only Jeremy could have heard them, the rest of the guys in here are laughing and screwing around. His finger hooks around mine and my eyes close at the contact, my breathing hitching in my chest as my stomach cramps painfully.

I shrug, not comfortable telling them how stressful this was for Preston. That feels private and they don’t get that part of him. I like that it’s only mine. He’s so shut down about everything that those little breaks in the perfection feel like I’ve won a battle. Do I want the pressure of being the only one he kind of trusts? Not really, but I’ll take it if that’s what it takes for him to be okay. Even I don’t understand my reaction to him. Why do I care so much? I have no god damn idea.

“Stop it.” I freeze with my pants pulled halfway up. Uh. What? “Excuse me?” I straighten up, still holding my pants at my thighs, and turn to look at him. My dick starts to harden at the idea of him wanting to fuck me. At how his hands feel on my skin. The rough grip he always has. I want marks. Bites, finger tips, anything. “Stop thinking.” His voice has that menacing bark to it that makes me hard. It’s all I can do to stand still. That damn tone has precum sticking me to my underwear. God. Dammit.

“I swear to fuck, Jeremy, if you don’t sit the fuck down, I’ll choke the shit out of you.” The growl that emanates from Preston sends a shiver up my spine and words fly out of my mouth before my brain has a chance to process them. “Make me.”

Preston’s teeth sink into the flesh of my neck and I groan. My knees go weak and I reach for his arms to hold on to. I need him to ground me while I lose myself in him. I hope there’s a mark tomorrow. “Brendon doesn’t touch you again.” His words are hard in my ear, a clear statement, not a question. He finally lets go of my nipple and I hiss, flinching away from his hand as blood rushes to the abused skin. “On your fucking knees.”

Releasing me, he reaches into his pants and pulls his beautifully thick cock out through the fly. I lift onto my knees a little to get the head into my mouth, my face upturned toward him. Preston’s hand once again goes into my hair, but this time he clenches his fist around the strands and uses it to help fuck my face. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Before I’m ready for it to be over, he pulls away from me and lifts me under the arms, all but tossing me onto my bed. I land on my back, staring up at the imposing man who’s breathing hard. Even in the dark, I can see he’s half crazed. I shouldn’t taunt him when he’s so close to the edge but I want him like this. He rips my pants and underwear off, crawling onto the bed. My knees fall open in invitation and he settles his hips against mine. Biting and sucking at my skin, the rough scrape of his five o’clock shadow gives me friction burns while his nails dig into my flesh to leave bright red scratches down my torso.

“They’re no condoms in here.” He looks at me with a questioning brow lifted. “Your STD panel at check in was negative right?” We all have them with our physical before we can play. “No fucking condom,” he agrees and coats himself in lube. Without waiting or warning, he lines the blunt head of his cock against my hole and pushes. My body tightens around him, a hiss shooting from me at the burn, but he doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.

“You’re fucking leaking.” Preston smirks at me, taking my weeping dick into his hand and stroking me while he sets a fast, hard pace. With his thighs on either side of my hips and one hand on my chest, pressing me into the mattress, he snaps his body for every thrust, taking me as deep and powerfully as he can. It hurts but sets my body on fire in the best fucking way.

“Legs up,” Preston orders, pumping my cock once again at the same pace he’s fucking into me. I pull my legs back, changing the angle, and my eyes roll back into my head as he strokes my prostate. He finally lets me come in a mess on my stomach and chest. I’m breathing too fast, and my heart is hammering. Goosebumps erupt on my skin as he keeps hitting that pleasure spot. I watch as he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks my cum from his skin. My spent cock twitches and he smirks at me before a shudder rocks through him. His orgasm fills me as he thrusts another few times. When he stops moving, he’s leaning heavily onto my chest, panting with his eyes closed.

“What are you going to tell everyone tomorrow?” “Jesus!” I jump, my heart rate spiked at the unexpected sound. “What?” “The guys are going to see you with marks that obviously came from sex, what are you going to tell them?”

“You’re done with Brendon.” His voice says not to argue, but fuck that. “Brendon is my best friend.” I pull back my blanket and lie down. “If he touches you, you’ll fucking regret it.” Oh, that’s a dangerous tone. It should probably worry me that it turns me on.

“Why? You’re not my boyfriend.” Why? Why am I riling him up? I want him to claim me. I want him to let me in, to be his friend who he also fucks unconscious. Why am I the one fighting this now? Self-preservation. Preston throws off his blanket and in two steps is climbing over me. He grabs my hands and pushes them against the mattress next to my head and straddles my hips. “Those marks on your body say otherwise.” Fury is radiating off him in the heat of his skin against mine, in the tremble and strength of his fingers. I look him dead in the eye when I respond. “Those marks mean nothing.” Looking at him is like looking at a cobra ready to strike. I know he’s going to, and I know it’s going to hurt when he does, but I have to push him. I have to know what he’ll do, where his lines in the sand are. I need to know where I stand. He lowers his face to mine and speaks through clenched teeth. “I. Don’t. Share.”

I knock my knee into Preston’s. “What did you say to that player?” “If he didn’t stay off my goalie, I would make tea out of the teeth I was going to knock out of his face.” His tone is so deadpan I turn to look at him. All I can do is blink for a second while my brain processes what he just said. “What the actual fuck, man?” I don’t know whether to be horrified by that mental image or impressed. He shrugs and continues to watch the game. “I don’t even drink tea.”

lmaoo

“Hello? Earth to Jeremy?” Paul waves a hand in my face and I turn to look at him. “What?” “Beers at Rocky’s. Come on!” He motions toward the doors for me to follow but I’m rooted in place. I have to know if Preston is okay first.

“Preston,” I say loud enough he should hear me. He doesn’t even flick a glance my way. What the fuck? I shove my bag at Brendon and break into a jog. “Preston!” I’m about even with him, even if ten feet or so separates us. He glances at me, a second of fear breaking through the ice mask before he’s hidden again. A driver opens the door for them, both Preston and his father get into the car and the door is closed. There’s nothing I can do but watch as he stares straight ahead out the front window. The car pulls away and he’s gone. I’m left standing on the sidewalk outside the rink, watching the guy I care way too much about, leaving with his sketchy ass father. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I run a hand through my hair and pull on the strands in frustration.

Jeremy calling me, trying to stop me from leaving, almost broke me. He shouldn’t care about me. I’ve given him no reason to. But I need it. For once, someone cares about more than just what I can do on the ice. I don’t know what to do with it. With Jeremy. How do I let him in when I’ve never let anyone in? It scares me more than anything my father threatens. Is it selfish to want it anyway?

Images of Jeremy last night filter through my exhausted brain when I’m too tired to keep them out. Even in the dark, the flush of his skin was clear. His moans when I left marks on his body haunt me now that I have zero hope of hearing them. Why did he let me touch him? His acceptance of whatever I wanted calmed me, soothed the fear and anxiety that is my constant companion. He seemed to need me just as much as I needed him. Why does he care about me? Doesn’t he know I’m not worth the effort?