“So babe works, unless you come up with something better. Here, slide back a bit and let me hold you.”
Cross edged his ass over and sighed as Rusty gathered him in, muscular chest against Cross’s back. His chin nudged Cross’s shoulder and his warm breath whispered across Cross’s skin in the dark. “Yeah, I like this.”
Cross asked, “Have you slept with someone before? I mean, like, sleeping through the night side by side.”
“A few times. Mostly after fucking. Well, if you don’t count high school hockey trips where we ran out of beds. You?”
“With Willow, sometimes. It was weird, at first. I couldn’t drop off. I kept worrying I’d put my hands in the wrong place in my sleep, or kick her, or snore in her face.”
Rusty chuckled. “Well, I can take a kick, I have no problem with any place you want to put your hands, and I sleep through anything so snore away. Is it okay if I want to hold you?”
“It’s fine.” Cross kept his voice steady with an effort. It was more than fine. He’d never been the little spoon, never been cradled in someone else’s arms and kept safe. Something inside him cracked open at how much he’d needed to be held. “It’s great. I don’t want any touch, um, down there around my dick, but being hugged right now would be heaven. Thanks.” He pushed back and felt Rusty’s arm tighten around him.
“Get some sleep. You look like an exhausted raccoon.”
“So, real attractive, then.”
A snort from Rusty stirred Cross’s hair. “Not so much. But give it a good night’s rest and that’ll change.”
Cross felt a kiss pressed to his head. He wrapped his fingers around Rusty’s wide wrist. The sheltering darkness and the support of Rusty’s hold let him ask, “What if I can’t ever come back?”
“Huh? Playing hockey, you mean?”
“Yeah.” All the fears he hadn’t voiced to anyone piled up in his chest, tightening his voice. “What if I never play again? What if that loss in Edmonton was my last chance to ever win the Cup?”
He braced for Rusty’s questions, or worse, banal reassurance, but after a silent moment, Rusty said, “That’d totally suck.”
Cross laughed, his throat dry, his shoulders shaking. “Eloquent.”
“Hey, if you wanted some kind of wise guru, you’re dating the wrong guy. But…” Rusty took an audible breath. “For four years, from the time I was fourteen, I wondered what would happen if I came out to my folks. I imagined all these scenarios, some where they were almost okay with it, or ignored me, on to where my father beat the shit out of me and chased me off with a gun. And when I did tell them, I didn’t get beat up, but being shunned and dead to them hurt like hell. Still does. Probably always will. But I had Kris and Scott and Will, and hockey, and now you. And… I’ve forgotten where I was going with this.”
“That you survived?”
“I guess, yeah. I survived what once seemed like the worst thing that could happen to me. And you’re stronger than me, and smarter.”
“I’m not—”
“Yeah, you are. I’d give my left nut to guarantee you’d play again next season, but I know you’ll be okay if you can’t.”
Then you know more than I do.Cross tried to lighten the mood. “Left nut? Isn’t the saying ‘left arm’?”
“I can play hockey with one testicle, but probably not with one arm.” Rusty pressed his palm to Cross’s chest. “Did the doc say something bad this morning?”
“Not exactly, but he didn’t say anything good.”
“I’m sorry.”
I’m scared.Cross let go of Rusty’s wrist and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to think about it tonight.”
Rusty didn’t remind Cross he’d been the one to bring it up. He just murmured, “Go to sleep. The world will still be there in the morning. With less raccoon eye bags.”
Despite his exhaustion, Cross hadn’t thought he’d sleep much, sharing a bed for the first time in years with everything hanging over his head. But one moment he was blinking scratchy eyes in the dark, and the next he was waking, stiff and a bit too warm, with morning light leaking in around the curtains and the sound of Rusty breathing next to him.
They’d moved apart in the night. Cross maneuvered onto his other side to look. Rusty lay sprawled, the covers shoved down to his waist and his arms spread with just the back of one handagainst Cross’s thigh. His blond hair wreathed his head in a tangled mass and he snored softly through parted lips.
Apparently Cross was able to sleep through snoring himself.
A glance at the hotel clock radio told Cross it was nine a.m.Seven on the West Coast.His body had woken him through force of habit, time to get out of bed and do his stretching before breakfast. He was surprised Rusty was still asleep given how early work began on the ranch. Although if Cross thought back to his own teen days, it’d taken two alarms to get him out of bed for early practices. Sleep had been easy then.
