“Nah, stay put. I have a flannel shirt out in the truck. Although, really, I should get going. Early morning and all.”
“Do you want to stay?” Cross suggested, surprised how urgently he hoped Rusty would say yes. “Tonight, at least?”
“Thanks.” Rusty tucked himself away, scooped up his shirt, and stood, though. “I should have a shower and settle in.”
You could shower here.But he knew better than to push. Rusty might’ve brought life and warmth to his somber house, but Cross couldn’t clutch tight and refuse to give him space. “Sure. You could come over after work tomorrow, if you want.” He fumbled for his crutches and pushed to his feet. Rusty watched closely, but let him do it on his own.
God, I l— like him. A lot.
“Yeah, I’d like to come over. I didn’t drive all the way out here just to play hockey with kids.”
“You didn’t?”
Rusty rolled his eyes and nudged him, lightly enough not to knock him off balance. “I’ll text you when I’m done tomorrow.”
Cross wanted to ask where he was staying. He hadn’t had the money even for that little room he rented in the season. But Rusty was a big boy—very big boy— and if they were inching their way toward equality, his living arrangement was probably none of Cross’s business unless invited.
He could say, “I have an extra chicken dinner in the fridge for tomorrow. I could feed you. Won’t be pizza but it’s healthy.”
“I’d like that.” Rusty bent and kissed him, then jogged to the door and let himself out.
Without him, Cross’s house returned to its hollow state. Except not quite. The faint scent of sex hung in the air, and the echo of Rusty’s laughter lingered.He’ll be back tomorrow.Cross realized he hadn’t been looking forward to anything all week, just getting through each day, doing his rehab, working hard, reviewing tape, single-minded on recovery one day at a time. But now, there’d be tomorrow night with Rusty across the table, eating disgustingly healthy chicken and steamed vegetables.
Rusty would make that fun.
Cross reset his alarm, tidied up, moving slow but better than the first day home, and took himself off toward bed. He’d showered after physio, and he hadn’t done anything to get messy beyond his fingers, but the warm privacy of his shower stall had a sudden appeal. Safely covering his boot was easier now, with the shower sock gripped tight above his knee. He sat on the littleplastic bench as water cascaded over him and thought about Rusty, how he looked when Cross jacked him, how he gasped and groaned when he came.
Cross’s dick got hard enough that a little self-care felt necessary. He stroked himself, letting his thoughts drift, not imagining anything, just enjoying the slide of his fingers on his sensitized skin. After a while, the throbbing need of orgasm rose, tightening his balls. He fisted himself harder and came, a pulse of pleasure that quickly ebbed. The lingering warmth spread through him, making his body feel soft and relaxed. He soaped up his hand and his groin, rinsed, and realized he was smiling.
That was nice.It’d been a while since he’d felt the urge to come.
Do I want Rusty to do that for me sometime?The question pushed aside some of his satisfaction. He felt his shoulders tighten. The only answer he had wasmaybe, and thinking about it was sabotaging how good he felt.I don’t need to know. This was a perfect evening. I made him feel great, I feel good, he’s coming back tomorrow. Don’t look a fucking gift horse in the mouth, LaCroix.
He got out, toweled off, and took himself to bed. There on his soft sheets, even without Rusty at his side, he fell asleep faster than he had all week.
Chapter 23
Rusty had thought teaching a bunch of kids couldn’t possibly be as tiring as training for the ECHL. Boy, had he been wrong. Although his brain ached a lot worse than his legs, after a day chasing children and pre-teens around the ice, and the gym, and the locker room.God, some of those kids must’ve been mainlining Red Bull.
He’d gotten a kick out of being introduced as “A real professional hockey player” even if the kids had mostly not even known who the Gryphons were. They hadn’t listened to him worth shit at first, off the ice especially, but it reminded him of wrangling his little brothers. Only with more actual authority. Mike used to—
Shoving open the community center doors, Rusty stepped out into the bright afternoon sun and glanced up, letting the dazzle bring tears to his eyes. Or something.Fuckit, Mike, you never listened. You never told me anything.He sucked in two deep breaths and stared at the tall, lush Oregon trees surrounding the parking lot. He was a long way from Kansas and Mike and that old life.
He hadn’t ever gone to the cemetery. Not even for Mike’s funeral last summer, when sanctimonious speeches and being cut dead by his parents might’ve broken him. And not this summer, despite a month of telling himself he should. Mike wasn’t there, in that churchified patch of ground, anyhow. Whatever his parents had put on the headstone wouldn’t reflect the brilliant, musical, queer kid who’d pulled his hand out ofRusty’s and gotten lost at the fair when he was eight, who’d climbed the back of the bleachers when Rusty said not to and broke his arm at twelve, who moved on to the water tower as a teenager, looking down and angsting over the small-town closet he was trapped in. “Beloved son and brother” wouldn’t cut it.
Rusty rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and straightened.Get it together.Mike would kick his ass for standing here crying over him in a parking lot. Mike might’ve done angst, but he’d also done musical theater and dancing and making life colorful. He’d say “Get on home to that hot man you’ve landed.” Or almost landed— Rusty was still working on that part. He strode out between the parked cars, ready to work on it some more.
When he reached his truck, he had a moment of déjà vu of a different sort because there, standing by the driver’s door, was Tyler.
“Hey, baby,” Tyler said. “You’re back.”
“What the fuck?” He stared. Tyler looked like shit, frankly. Bags under his eyes, his hair less shiny, and those high cheekbones looking hollow instead of elegant.Is he not eating?But a twitchy restless motion of Tyler’s fingers suggested something else.He’s strung out.Tyler hadn’t used anything other than pot around Rusty, but he’d had his suspicions toward the end.Be cool, be calm.“Back from where?”
“Kansas,” Tyler said, as if he’d had the right to know. “I wasn’t going to follow you that far, but I figured you’d have to come back for hockey. I can do Portland.”
“You can get lost!” Rusty spotted one of his teen players crossing the lot in the distance and lowered his voice. “Go slitheroff to Eugene and your druggie friends or whoever you hang out with. Leave me alone.”
“Now, baby, come on. I drove two hours up here for you. And then I waited here, nice neutral ground, instead of at that hockey player’s big house. We need to have a chat, you and me.”
