Hidden Scars (Darby U Hockey Boys, #1)

by Andi Jaxon

I close my eyes to focus on my breathing, slowing my heart rate, and convincing my muscles to relax. Behind my eyes is Jeremy dropping to his knees and swallowing my cock in an instant. His hollowed cheeks as he choked, his unmatching eyes locked on mine while he lets me use his mouth. “Why are we here, Charles?” My father's matter of fact voice interrupts my daydream, the only coping skill I have left, the way he always does.

“I did, but I don’t know, he’s not so bad. Just intense.” I shrug again, trying not to think about the way he marked my skin the other night, the way he fucked me without mercy. How it was the best sex of my life.

When I get back to the room, he’s passed out cold. I set the food on his desk in case he wants it later and settle onto my bed with my laptop. I should have been doing homework but couldn’t concentrate on it. Having him back, where I can see him, calms me. He’s not okay, that’s very clear, but I know he’s safe here.

“Hey, you’re okay,” I say softly, using my free hand to run my fingers through his hair and hold the back of his neck. “You’re safe.” He’s breathing so hard I’m afraid he’s going to hyperventilate, but he blinks a few times like he’s just realizing where he is. “Jeremy?” His voice is rough. “Yeah?” I give his neck a gentle squeeze that I hope he takes as comforting. “Down.” He lays down and pulls me with him, turning me until my back is against his front and his arms are around me. I lay my head on his pillow and relax in his hold. One of his hands finds mine and interlaces our fingers while he buries his face in my neck.

The comfort I got from him that first night was too much. It hurt. I don’t know how to accept it, accept him. For just a minute, before reality set in, I clung to him, surrounded by the warmth and the scent of his skin. My fingers itched to explore him in the slow moments of dawn, but my alarm screaming ripped the fantasy from me and I shoved him away. I want him too badly to let myself have him. He’s a distraction and a weakness. I can’t afford either.

At night, when fear controls me, I can hold on to what he offers with both hands, but my walls rise with the sun. It’s been weeks of this. I go to bed alone and wake with Jeremy pressed against me. Weeks. Half the time I wake up rock hard and grinding on his ass, ready to come. Sometimes he’s pushing back into me, moaning. Every morning it's hard to push him away and act like it doesn’t bother me. Like he means nothing to me. Because he does.

Every morning I wish his skin had my marks. I wish I could fuck him out of my system but, like a parasite, he’s burrowed under my skin.

He doesn’t say a word, just gets up and leaves my bed. Like I won’t wake up in a panic tonight after we’ve gone to bed, fighting off the nightmares that haunt me. Like he won’t wake up and climb into my bed with no resentment or judgment and let me use him to anchor myself to the here and now, my chest pressed to his back and our fingers locked together.

Once I’m awake, his touch is too much. It makes me weak to need him. His warmth, his scent, his touch keeps the nightmares at bay. At this point, my fucking bed smells more like him than me.

Willis, and Johnson are blocking Jeremy, who is trying to get the puck in the net. Albrooke has the puck and is racing up the middle to get past Johnson. He spins in an attempt to get around him when Johnson shoves Jeremy and takes the puck, shooting toward the other end of the ice. It has me seeing red. No one touches Jeremy but me. I chew on my mouth guard, waiting for my turn on the ice. Coach has the teams switching around to put all of us against each other at some point. Finally, I get my shot with Johnson trying to get past me and Carpenter. Johnson tries to get up the side of the rink against the boards. I charge for him, slamming him into the boards harder than necessary, and pass the puck to Carpenter, who makes it into the net. Johnson shoves me off him, pissed off and red-faced. “Get the fuck off me.” “Touch him again and you’ll have more than hurt pride,” I seethe through clenched teeth.

This is my life. It revolves around hockey, the gym, and classes. I eat the same thing every day, go to bed at the same time, shove Jeremy out of my bed at the same time every morning. And I hate it.

“Just bored. How’s your boyfriend? Where is he? He’s super cute.” She smiles like the Cheshire cat. In that annoying way only little sisters can manage. “He’s not my boyfriend. For the last time, he’s my roommate and he grabbed my phone by mistake when it rang.” I huff at her, getting my school stuff set out so I can finish my homework. “Right, sure. I believe that.” She nods but is definitely messing with me.

Preston is straddling the chest of a guy in a red jersey, punching him in the face with his bare hands. "What the fuck?" Blood is pouring down my face, making it hard to see, but I start for him. I’m stopped by someone grabbing my arm. Spinning around with my fist raised, I drop it when I see Paul. "Come on, you're done. Gotta go see medical." He pulls me along like I'm going to argue. He's right, I am going to. "It's a fucking cut, I'm fine!" I pull out of his grasp and catch movement to my right. A few players are trying to pull Preston off the player on the ice but he’s fighting them off too. Fuck. "Preston!" I holler, shaking Paul loose and skating toward him as quickly as I can. "Let him go!" I shove the big bastard as hard as I can to get his attention. "Get off him! You're going to get suspended, you dumb fucker!" He looks up at me with fury in his face, those gray eyes a bottomless pit of pain and torment. For a second, I’m frozen. Why is he looking at me like that? It’s a punch to the gut. "Come on." I grab his arm to pull him back on his feet, wiping at the blood to get it out of my eye.

The door opens behind me, making me jump and pull my head toward it to see who it is. Preston stands rooted to the floor, his eyes locked on his dad’s grip on my face. “What the hell are you doing?” Instantly, he’s radiating with some mix of fear and rage. I know he’s scared of his dad, but tonight, he’s proven he’s overly-protective of me. To be honest, I’m a little afraid of what is going to happen next.

Preston shoves his way between us, forcing his dad to let go of my jaw or bruise me. The expression when he looks at his son promises retribution. “Stay away from him.” Preston is firmly pressed against my chest. I know he doesn’t like to be touched, but he put himself here. I take a step back, completely weirded out by what is happening here.

I wasn’t going to play anyway, I earned myself a one game suspension for attacking that player, but it was worth it. He purposefully hooked Jeremy with his stick, tripped him, and now he has stitches. Fuck that guy. Jeremy is mine. I am the only one who gets to leave marks on him.

He walks out the door, his footsteps fading down the hallway. He knows he doesn’t have to wait, I’ll follow like the kicked puppy he’s trained me to be. Jeremy’s confusion and care almost break me. I hate this, that I have to give in to my father, that when I get back, Jeremy will have to bear the brunt force of it. This is why I never have roommates. I can’t lay my shit at someone else’s feet. I’m on the verge of hyperventilating as I look at him. He looks as stricken as I feel. “I’ll be back Sunday night.” The words sound far away despite coming from my own mouth. “Sunday?” He steps closer, reaching for my hand, but I move out of the way. I can’t let him touch me. I desperately want to let him hold me, wrap myself around him and lose myself in him, but I can’t. Not now.

“It’s been cleared with Coach.” Confusion has lines forming between his eyebrows while his eyes search mine. I stare at his blue-brown eyes, memorizing them before I leave. “But—” I cut him off by grabbing his face and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. He opens immediately and I sweep my tongue into his mouth. Just for a second. Just to remember how he tastes. It’s fucked up and selfish, but I need this memory to get through the next two days. The spicy, woody, almost smoky scent of his deodorant fills my head. I know I’ll get whispers of it for days, my mind playing tricks on me while I’m sleep deprived and in pain.

“Charles.” My name is barked from down the hallway and I let him go instantly. He grabs my wrist and I let him this time. I want his touch branded into my skin. “Don’t go. You don’t have to leave with him.” His eyes plead with me to stay with him. I want to cry at how earnest he is. He means the words; he thinks it’s that simple. “I’ll be back on Sunday.” “No, stay.” Jeremy holds tighter to my wrist, demanding I defy my father. I damn near break when I tell him, “I can’t.” My words are small and quiet in the space between us.

The ding announces the arrival and the metal doors slide open. We step in and turn to face the hallway. Jeremy is standing in the hallway outside our dorm room, fists clenched at his sides. I’ve never had the urge to run to someone, to know they would comfort me in a moment of weakness, but I feel the need right now and hate myself for it. “He’s a distraction, ruining the hard work you’ve done. Get rid of him.” My father’s matter of fact tone grates on my nerves. “No.”

My body slumps against the tub, my head hitting hard enough to echo in the room, but I can’t hear it. Tired of playing this fucking game, a tear treks down my cheek as my body trembles. I’m cold, sore, exhausted, and just want to go to bed wrapped around Jeremy. What’s he doing right now?

As I take in a slow, deep breath, there’s a whisp of Jeremy lingering just out of reach. I know it’s not possible, my head is fucking with me, but it hurts just the same that he seems so close and I can’t touch him.

I hate that he’s not here, that I don’t know what’s going on. Why does he keep going with his dad when he obviously doesn’t want to? Why did he kiss me before he left after avoiding me for the last month? Why do I want to hold him anyway?

“I uh…I sleep in Preston’s bed most nights.” The words fall from my mouth before my brain has a chance to filter them. He’s going to kill me for that. “Yeah, we already assumed you guys were fucking and pretending to hate each other to keep it under wraps.” Paul shrugs. “The way he watches you gives it away.” “What? He doesn’t watch me.” Now I’m confused. “And we’ve had sex once.” Brendon busts out with laughter. “Dude. He watches you like a hawk. Did you not realize he fucked up the guy who tripped you during the game? He’s crazy protective of you. Every game, he retaliates against anyone who touches you.”

“You’re crazy. He does not do that.” I shake my head at him. “I’ve left practices with bruises from that big bastard because I shoved you into the boards,” Paul scoffs. “What? Are you serious?” I look back and forth between the two of them. “How have I not seen that? Why haven’t you guys said anything before now?”

Hesitant excitement flutters in my stomach when it shouldn’t. The guy is difficult, has anger issues, and is about as cuddly as a cactus, but I want him anyway. I want to be his safe space, to see a part of him that no one else sees. “Duuuuude,” Brendon whines, “Stop smiling like that. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

I shove him so he falls into Paul who flushes slightly. Oh, that’s what’s happening here. I cover my smile with my hand and drop my gaze to my lap so he doesn’t see me staring. Clearing my throat, I look at my cards.

“Whoa,” Jeremy holds his hands up like he would catch me if I fell. “What’s wrong? Are you drunk? Did you take something?” “No,” I manage between breaths that are coming too fast. They’re taking over and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m so tired of fighting. A tear trickles down my cheek. “What happened? What did your dad do?” Jeremy wraps one hand around the back of my neck, the other holds my wrist. I can’t speak, can’t admit to the humiliation of my failures out loud. All I can do is shake my head and pull up my shirt. Show him how much of a fuck up I am. How broken. Useless.

For once, I allow myself to break in front of someone. I allow myself to be comforted by another person. For the first time since my mother died, I have someone who cares enough to see that I need it.

My eyes close and my body starts to relax as the realization that he has me cuts through the panic. I don’t know who's behind me, but I know Jeremy won’t let them touch me.

* * * Why can’t I move? I have to move. Run. Hide. All I can hear are his footsteps and my ragged breathing. My arms are heavy, weighed down by something I can’t see. Have I been drugged? Father never drugs me, too aware of the drug testing the team does. He’s coming. I have to run. Run. Hide. He’s going to find you. Hurt you. Again. Terror grips me by the throat as he gets closer. I’m frozen in place by my fear. I know he’s going to hurt me again but I can’t stop it. He’s bigger than me, stronger than me. He’s trying to make you better. The bedroom door opens with a bang against the wall and I scream. Loud and long, blood curdling. “Strong boys don’t scream like scared little girls, man up.” He’s angry. I messed up. Let my anger consume me and left Jeremy unprotected to get hurt during the game. But he’s mine. My fingers ache but I can’t see them. Father comes toward me with a cattle prod and zaps me on the back. I scream again, crying from the pain. “I will not allow you to tarnish this family’s name, you worthless little shit.” Spit hits my cheek as he speaks, his fingers gripping at my arms so hard I’m sure to have bruises. Why does he hurt me? No one else on the team has parents who hurt them. Why am I such a bad kid? “Preston.” Jeremy? Why is he here? “Preston, wake up.” What? There are hands on me but they aren’t hurting me. I don’t understand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” It could be so many things. The game he got kicked out of, going with his dad, the scars he showed me last night.

Preston’s head snaps up, gaze trained one me. “What are they checking you for? Watching your stitches?” He pulls himself up off the floor and stalks the few feet between us, grips my chin and turns my head to get a better look at my forehead. “I have a concussion. I can start workouts today but I have to be watched by a trainer.” He pulls my face back to face him, concern and frustration in his expression. “Concussion? Are you okay?” I shrug, butterflies flutter in my stomach from his concern. “I’m fine.” His thumb brushes along my eyebrow closest to the cut. “It’s my fault.” His words are so quiet I don’t think he meant for me to hear them. “It’s not. Shit happens all the time. You know that.”

He shakes his head in disagreement but doesn’t voice it, just holds my face. His gaze flicks between the wound and my lips, like he wants to kiss me but is afraid I won’t let him. Reaching for the back of his neck, I pull his mouth to mine. I don’t care that it’s morning and both of our breaths could peel paint. I want this connection to him. To show him I don’t think less of him because of his father, that it changes nothing, that I want more of him. He kisses me gently, like he’s afraid I’ll break. Or maybe he’s afraid he will break. It’s a different side of him, one that throws me off way more than the aggression. This morning, we both need to know we’re okay. That I’ve got him and he’s got me.

Preston’s fingers dig into me, owning me, despite the gentle press of his lips. Like he’s fighting something inside of himself. Is he fighting to let himself need me? To accept the comfort I freely offer? He sucks on my bottom lip, brushing my skin with his teeth, with the threat of pain. My hands hang at my sides, clenching and opening. I don’t know what to do with them. Will he let me touch him or will he shove me away? Deciding to take a chance, I place my hands on his, and slowly work my way up to his shoulders, careful to read the way his body tenses and stop when he does. He doesn’t stop kissin...

“I don’t know how to touch without fucking.” His confession breaks my heart. Has no one just held him because he needed it? Offered a hug? I wrap my arms around his neck and bring him into me. “It’s okay, I do.” He wraps his arms around me, splaying his hands on my back as he holds me tightly against him.

im sobbing

A knock on the door has him jumping back away from me. He drops his head, rubs his forehead and takes a calming breath. I don’t think he’s embarrassed to be caught with me, but it’s an effect of whatever happened this weekend. “You’re okay, Preston. You’re safe here.” His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He glances quickly at me before turning to dig in his dresser, then shuts himself into the bathroom.

“Still hates me then?” Brendon says more to me than Preston, but he hears the question. Preston pulls on his socks and shoes then steps up behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist, snakes it under my shirt, and splays his hand low on my abdomen. My eyes damn near bug out of my head at the unexpected touch, especially in front of others. Paul chuckles uncomfortably, flicking his gaze between Preston and Brendon. Preston’s fingers drag slowly along the edge of my pants along the sensitive skin between my hip bones. My dick jumps to attention, making itself very well-known between the four of us in these damn sweatpants.

“Okay, that’s enough dick measuring.” Paul stands upright and pushes Brendon down the hallway. “I also didn’t need to know how rough Jeremy likes it.” He looks at Brendon like he’s remembering something. “How have I never seen bruises on you? You never wear a shirt in our room.” Brendon smirks, looking over his shoulder at me then at Preston, who is still pressed against me. “I rarely bottom, my guy.” Paul stops walking mid-step, spins to look at me then back at Brendon, then back at me. “Wait. Really?” Fucking Christ. I don’t think it’s possible for my face to get any hotter. Why am I embarrassed? I’m a gay man. Sex feels fucking amazing. I don’t have the brain power for this today. My head already hurts. “Yeah, as much as I am loving this conversation, I have shit to do.” I push Preston back into our room so I can change and head down to the rink.

“I’m not really ashamed. I like what I like, it’s whatever, but I don’t want it discussed in the hallway where anyone can overhear it.” I shove my feet through my workout shorts and grab a sleeveless shirt. “It won’t happen again. I was making a point.”

“Don’t.” Preston barks the word and crowds me against my dresser when I turn to find socks. “You are mine and I don’t share.” His hands grip my hips. “No one touches you but me.” “You’re going to spend a lot of time in the penalty box with that type of mentality. Hockey isn’t known for being a hands-off sport.” I’m only sort of kidding. He drags in an aggravated breath. “I know.”

He’s stiff and is moving like he’s in pain or trying to avoid pain. It’s not normal for him, I just hope no one else notices and asks him about it. I’m distracted by watching him and end up snapping myself with one of the bands. “Albrooke, you alright?” The doctor comes over to check on me, eyeing the welt I now have on my thigh. Preston lifts an eyebrow at me, then licks his bottom lip when I pull my shorts up to look at the red welt. “I’m fine.” I flush but continue on with my workout.

Why do I like it when he gets worked up? When he uses his full height and the broad expanse of his chest to try to intimidate me? He absolutely can fuck me up.

That thought has my dick thickening in my jeans. Damn it. Neither of us is mentally stable enough for sex right now. He’s trying to hold himself together, falling back behind his walls to protect himself, and I’m pretty sure he’ll re-concuss me if he fucks me right now. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to though.

My ass is against his hips, his dick perking up as I adjust myself to get comfortable. I know I shouldn’t, but I rub my ass against him on purpose, just to mess with him. “Jeremy.” My name is a warning on his lips and it makes me smile. “Yes?” He grips my hip, holding me still. “Knock it off.”

“You have family shit tonight?” Paul nods at Preston, who stiffens at the question. I didn’t think about his dad wanting to see him or demanding to see him for the holiday. “No.” The word is full of malice but Paul ignores it. “You should come out with us then. We’ll probably end up hitting a diner or ordering pizza.” When Preston opens his mouth to talk shit about pizza, Paul holds up his hands. “I know, I know. Pizza is the worst, but most pizza places can make salads so you can eat your sad Thanksgiving Day salad while the rest of us are fat and happy with bread and melted cheese.”

“I’m not going. Don’t ask.” I look down the hallway to make sure we don’t have an audience then smile up at him. “You are coming with us. You want to know why?” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “Because if you don’t, Brendon will flirt with me, sit next to me at the table, maybe put his hand on my leg or around the back of my chair.” With every word his posture grows increasingly tense until he looks ready to snap. His hand slides from the back of my head to my throat and he jerks me forward, growling through his teeth when he speaks. “If he so much as looks at you longer than three seconds, I’ll break his fucking nose.” “How will you know if you’re not there?” Am I riling him up on purpose? Yes. Am I risking bodily harm in doing so? Yes. Do I regret it? Not a fucking chance.

“I haven’t seen you in months and that’s the greeting I get?" Paul and Brendon are trying not to smile as this five-foot nothing girl chastises her six five, pain in the ass, brother.

I quickly wrap my arms around him, pulling his face into my neck while he fights me off, yelling and crying. “Preston, you’re okay.” I have to hold him as tightly as I can without hurting him. His hands slap at me, pushing and shoving to get away, but I don’t let go. Just hold him and talk to him. “Wake up, Preston. You’re okay.”

“I—” he starts but cuts himself off, obviously not comfortable with whatever he needs to say. “What do you need?” I sit back on his hips and feel his dick rock hard under my ass. Oh. I rock back on him and he clenches his jaw. “You need to fuck?” I grind my ass over him again. “You don’t have to ask, I’m always down.”