Chapter 8: Chapter Eight

Running and sweating and staring at the TV on the wall in front of the line of treadmills without really seeing what played out on screen—an afternoon at the gym with a couple teammates was the perfect way for Tyler to show Coach and his agent and everyone else he was serious about his career. That he was here without Scott and Luke proved he was gonna be real good. For a little while at least. Long as possible.

This fucking sucks. He couldn’t help wondering how Tim would have reacted to his being told to stay away from his best friends. The man would have railed at the three of them worse than even Callahan, but he’d have expected them to work together to do better. Or maybe he would have been fed up and just let the acting GM and whoever else had a say take over like Callahan had. Seeing their current assistant coach silent after being so fucking pissed had been scary. Was almost like Callahan had no power.

Which he didn’t, but never seemed like that before. The “real” head coach usually let Callahan run the show. But today, the assistant GM and the head coach had made all the decisions. They hadn’t straight out told Tyler he couldn’t chill with his buddies, but they’d told him to follow his agent and his manager’s instructions to the fucking letter or he’d be spending time in the minors.

They wouldn’t get rid of Tyler. Or Luke. But Scott… Yeah, Scott’s future with the team wasn’t looking good. He didn’t have a long contract and he had to be careful. Tyler wasn’t gonna fuck things up for him.

Is he okay though? He didn’t say much—I should call him…

Which would be a dick thing to do. Even if things were weird with Pearce, Scott had Becky. Hopefully she wasn’t too mad at Scott. Maybe Tyler should call her. Take all the blame. Or at least explain what had set Scott off. Scott might not have told her. Scott didn’t share much when he was hurting bad.

“Glad we got you to come to the gym with us, Vanek.” White stepped off the treadmill beside Tyler and drained his water bottle before saluting him with it. “Wouldn’t have known I’m so fucking boring otherwise.”

Pischlar turned his treadmill to the cool down setting and wiped his face with a towel, laughing. “I’ve been telling you that for a long time, pal.”

White gave Pischlar the finger. “Sit and spin, Easy.”

“Don’t tempt me, Bruiser.”

“You wish!”

“Yes. I do.”

Tyler looked from one man to the other and shook his head. They were best friends and weren’t fucking angels themselves, but besides Pischlar getting caught in bed with a man, neither got much attention from the press. He didn’t know how they managed. But he wanted to.

“Wish I was boring like you guys.” He smirked when White grunted at him. “Seriously, you get in fights and screw around and no one says anything.”

White spat out a bitter laugh. “Is that what you thi—”

“Lack of talent. A blessing and a curse.” Pischlar shook his head at White after cutting him off, then draped the towel over his shoulders. He rubbed his newest tattoo—three multicolored stars on his forearm—and shrugged. “They watch the first two lines more than the third and fourth. Kinda glad I don’t get your ice time now.”

“Fuck off, ‘lack of talent’?” Tyler rolled his eyes, not sure what White had been about to say, but needing to call Pischlar on this bullshit. “White’s one of the hardest hitters in the league, and not many guys set up plays like you do, Easy.”

“True. But we ain’t first-round picks. We don’t have the fans you do.” Pischlar stepped off the treadmill and put his hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Your number will hang in the rafters one day, kid. Which is cool, but that means people are always gonna be watching you. Behave yourself for a little while, and you’ll be fine.”

“Fuck that. Behave in public. Don’t get caught having fun.” White tossed his bottle into a trash can halfway across the gym. “I’d tell management to go fuck themselves if they told me to stay away from Easy. Will totally support you if you do the same about this shit with Demyan and Carter. And so will all your teeny bopper fangirls.”

“So will most of the team.” Pischlar jerked his head toward the weight room. They followed him, ignoring the stares of the men and women crowding the gym during the rush hour. Pischlar added several black weight plates to the steel bar already set up on the rack above the long padded bench and prepared to spot White. “Give it a week though. Things are tense up top with Richter not being around much.”

“We fucking need him. The assistant GM… What’s his name again?” White frowned as he reclined on the bench. “Anyway, he’s a fucking stiff. He just does whatever the head coach says, and the head coach is a fucking douche.”

Pischlar nodded slowly, his lips thin. “He’s old school.”

“He’s a fucking bigot. I wanted to punch him when he told you to be ‘more discreet.’ He ain’t got no business saying that shit in the locker room.”

Oh fuck, really? Tyler had missed that conversation. Maybe because he was suspended. He watched White lift the bar, then pulled out a stool to do some bicep curls with a thirty-five-pound dumbbell. With all of the single guys—and some of the married ones—bringing girls to their hotel rooms on every road trip, Pischlar being asked to be discreet was weird. Or maybe not so much. Things had been quiet after Pearce came out—mostly because he gave the rags nothing to sensationalize. The blowout of a “gay” player hadn’t happened. Fans just accepted it.

Pischlar was different though. All tattooed and pierced, he stood out without trying. People that were all conservative hated him. The head coach wasn’t his biggest fan, which probably explained why Pischlar’s ice time was going down. Didn’t seem to faze Pischlar though. He let it slide off and kept playing the game like it was all that mattered.

And it was all that mattered. Except, the other stuff kinda made things messy. Like, if Tyler did all the stuff Laura had said to send the message to Raif…what would people think? Tyler wasn’t Pearce. And he couldn’t be all chill about things like Pischlar.

“You’re thinkin’ real hard, kid.” Pischlar had his hands under the bar as White did his reps, but his focus was on Tyler. “Your women giving you grief?”

Tyler smiled and changed position to do a set with his left arm. Things were good with Chicklet and Laura. Nice to have something stable. “Nope. Smoothed that out.”

“And Zovko?”

“What about him?” Tyler knew he was blushing. Red and dripping sweat from his forehead onto the blue mat under his feet because he couldn’t meet Pischlar’s eyes. Pischlar was a Dom—a real relaxed one, but still all-knowing enough to be intimidating. Tyler wanted to act cool, but no way could he pull it off with this man. So he groaned and fessed up because Pischlar and White were his friends and he had to tell someone. “He ain’t interested. I gotta change that. And I’m thinkin’ this is a bad time.”

White grunted as he placed the weight bar on the catch, then chuckled as he sat up. “Zovko has playing the rags down to an art. He’s openly bi and everyone just thinks he’s a god. With him, you’re covered.”

“Umm, did you miss the ‘he ain’t interested’?”

“He’s not blind or stupid, Vanek.” Pischlar held out his hand to White. Frowned when White stood and moved past him as though he hadn’t noticed the gesture. Then he smiled tightly. “He’ll wait for a clear sign. Give one and you’ll be a very sore, but very happy boy.”

“And how do I do that?” Tyler put down the dumbbell and moved to take White’s place on the bench. Didn’t comment when White took a few weights off. He wasn’t gonna pretend to be all macho and tear some muscles. They were too close to the playoffs. He placed his hands on the bar, rubbing his thumbs over the grooves in the metal grip. “Not that I want—” he cut himself off when both men laughed. “Forget it.”

“Relax. We ain’t your besties, but we get it. We’ll help you stay outta trouble.” Pischlar took a backward step, then looked over at White. “I’m good for another hour. You?”

“Yep.” White kept his hands under the bar, looking bored. “Need fluid though. Shouldn’t have drank all that whiskey last night.”

“Told you so.” Pischlar chuckled. “No hangovers, but you’re always fucking thirsty. I got more of that Glacier Freeze Gatorade you like in my locker. Should still be cold.”

“I love you, man.” White flashed a boyish smile, all charming and clueless. Tyler wasn’t real observant, but he could tell Pischlar wanted more than friendship with their tough fourth liner. He hefted the weights up, lowering them in a slow, practiced motion, wondering if pointing out the obvious would be a good idea.

Probably not. It was one thing talking about shit Tyler had brought up himself, but neither Pischlar nor White had asked him to stick his nose in their business. Not that he could give any kind of relationship advice anyway. He kept lifting and lowering the weights, his muscles aching just enough to keep him from thinking too much. He glanced up at White once, but that just got White asking if he needed help. Which was embarrassing, so he shook his head and avoided looking up again.

White ain’t usually this quiet. He replaced the weights, taking his time sitting up, wondering why Pischlar hadn’t come back yet. The other man was a bit easier to talk to seriously. White was more a guy you hung out with to joke around and hit on chicks. A good friend, good listener, but he wasn’t any better at giving advice than Tyler.

A ruckus at the far end of the room cut through the awkward silence. White frowned and moved to Tyler’s side. Someone shouted, “Fight!”

Tyler’s stomach dropped. He darted across the gym, right behind White who burst into the men’s locker room. White shoved through the crowd. The sound of something hitting the metal lockers hard cut through the yelling and jeering around them.

“Hit him again!”

“Get off him, you idiots! Do you know who he is?”

“Fucking fag!”

Tyler struggled to keep up with White. He spotted Pischlar, one eye swollen shut, blood dripping from his chin. The sight tightened Tyler’s throat even as he threw himself at one of the guys holding Pischlar.

A fist hit him in the mouth. He winced and ducked his head, hanging on to a thick arm and kicking out as someone tried to grab his waist. He heard White let out a feral sound. A thunk as a man dropped to the floor. The other men were backing up. Tyler could see White now, beating the shit out of a meathead with tree trunks for arms.

Two other guys were going after White. Tyler knew he couldn’t take them, but he wasn’t gonna stand back and leave White alone. Even as Pischlar broke free and speared one man in the gut with his shoulder, Tyler nailed the other with an elbow to the ribs.

“Cops!” Someone informed them, spurring a mad rush for the doors.

Already? The fight hadn’t lasted that long. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he searched the few men left in the room for White and Pischlar. Uniformed men and women, at least ten of them, worked their way through the bloody, half-naked group. A huge cop had White up against a locker and was slapping cuffs on him. Two cops were standing at either side of Pischlar, talking to him—probably because he looked calmer than the rest even though his face was a bloody mess.

Blinking fast, Tyler tried to clear his head enough to decide what to do. He glanced over at White again. Bruiser was snarling at the cops, teeth bared and everything. Not good. Help White.

“He was sticking up for Pischlar, you can’t fucking arrest him!” Tyler winced as his arm was wretched to a painful angle. His eyes widened as he turned and met Laura’s narrowed eyes.

“Stay out of it, Tyler.” All the friendliness from lunch was gone. Laura sounded just as pissed at him as she’d been that morning as she released his arm. “Sit down and wait until someone comes to question you.”

Well, too fucking bad. He wasn’t gonna sit there and let them take White in for nothing. “Then get your buddy to take the cuffs off White and ask Pischlar what happened.”

“Sit down, Tyler.”

“Fuck that.” Tyler sidestepped Laura, jerking away from the hand she put on his arm. He headed toward the cops muscling White out of the locker room.

And stopped short when he saw a bunch of the Cobras in the gym. Callahan was trying to talk to one of the cops holding White. Becky was there speaking to the owner of the gym and Scott stood behind her, his hands fisted by his sides as he watched the cops drag White out. Raif and Pearce were at the other side of the room, nodding at whatever yet another cop was saying to them.

Raif glanced over, spotted Tyler, and walked right up. He took hold of Tyler’s chin and his jaw ticked as he stared at Tyler’s mouth. “Who did this?”

Irritated, not so much with Raif, but just everything, Tyler brushed Raif’s hand away and turned to go back in the locker room. “I don’t know, one of the guys beating the shit out of Pischlar.”

Laura blocked his path. “I asked you to stay inside, Tyler.”

“I’m going in now, ain’t I?”

“Stop acting like a fucking punk. It won’t help you if you get charged with assault.”

“If I get charged with assault for sticking up for my friend, there’s something wrong with the goddamn system.” Tyler swallowed as he felt Raif move in closer behind him. Too fucking weird how much it steadied him to have the man there. “Excuse me.”

She glared at him for a few seconds, then sighed and stepped aside. He hurried to Pischlar’s side, staying out of the way of the gym medic who held an ice pack over Pischlar’s eye.

Scraping his bottom lip with his teeth, then cringing at the sharp pain, Tyler took in the damage done to Pischlar’s face. How the fuck had this happened? Pischlar had left them for just a bit. Had the guys followed him in here? Waited for him?

Who’d want to hurt Pischlar? Why would anyone—

But he knew. He knew and it made him sick because he hadn’t thought stuff like this happened anymore. Which made him feel pretty damn stupid. The world wasn’t a nice, happy goddamn place.

“Stop looking at me like that, kid.” Pischlar’s lips tilted into a clearly painful smile. “I’m all right.”

Jaw aching as he ground his teeth, Tyler shook his head. “You ain’t. And I wanna kill those guys.”

Pischlar chuckled, then looked pointedly over at the cops still questioning the men who hadn’t been arrested. “Might not want to say that around our present company.”

“May I?” Raif asked suddenly, holding out his hand to the short, skinny medic. The man nodded quickly, seeming to know what Raif wanted even though Tyler didn’t. Raif was given a few alcohol swabs. He faced Tyler and pointed at the bench beside Pischlar. “Sit.”

Tyler sat without thinking. He had damn goose bumps just from Raif’s tone, all sharp and direct. This was a good opportunity to find out where he stood with Raif, but he couldn’t get a word out.

He could just swallow and press his teeth into his bottom lip—Oww!

Raif grinned and tapped Tyler’s chin with his thumb. “Stop that. You are making it worse.”

Yeah, Tyler could taste blood now. He pressed his eyes shut as Raif opened one of the swabs and gently cleaned his lip. The sting was brutal, like Raif was pressing a hot knife to his flesh, and his eyes leaked as he squeezed them tight, but he wouldn’t made a sound. No way would he let the man know what a wimp he could be about pain.

He jumped at a pat on his shoulder. Opened his eyes to see Pischlar leaning over, holding the ice pack himself, the medic gone to check on one of the other fighters not in cuffs. Pischlar was still smiling, but his uncovered eye showed his weariness—less pain and more like he was…sad.

“Thanks for having my back. You and White showed up at a good time. Steroids make guys go nuts.”

“They called you a fag?”

“Yeah…shit happens. I’m used to it.” Pischlar shrugged one shoulder, the gesture stiff, like he was hurting bad. He’d probably played down his injuries to avoid going to the hospital. They tried to keep injuries out of the papers close to the playoffs, but even if Pischlar didn’t go to the hospital, the team doctor wouldn’t let him on the ice if he was more than a little banged up.

Hell, Pischlar had cuts and bruises everywhere. There was blood on his white tank top. Tyler’s throat almost closed down when Pischlar moved like he’d stand, then abruptly changed his mind, his skin paling.

“This ain’t right. You gotta go to the hospital and get them to take pictures and press charges and—”

Raif put a finger over Tyler’s lips. “He will, zlato moje.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “Whoa. What did you call me?”

Plucking at one of Tyler’s curls, Raif gave him a slow smile, his tone low. “Golden. Now hush, boy. The police will want to speak to you. And you will listen and respond politely.”

“They arrested White. I got nothing to say to them.” Tyler hissed when Raif pressed the swab a little harder to his lip. “Fuck, man!”

“Damn it, Vanek, you’re not getting in more trouble ’cause of me.” Pischlar punched Tyler in the shoulder, flashing a bloody-toothed smile at Raif’s sharp look. “You came in and grabbed the biggest guy in the room. Just stick with the truth.”

“That ain’t the truth!” Tyler really hoped Raif ran out of alcohol swabs soon. And he kinda didn’t because no one would think it was weird that his teammate was patching him up after a fight. Which meant Raif could touch him and…yeah, anyway. He focused on Pischlar. “I just grabbed someone.”

“Seriously, kid. He was the biggest guy. He kinda shook you around like you were a puppy latched on to his sleeve, but he stopped hitting me.”

“No shit!” Tyler laughed at the imagery, but Pischlar’s words made him feel a bit better about the whole thing. He hadn’t managed as much as White, but he’d made a difference. Those assholes had seen Pischlar’s teammates would stand up for him. This wouldn’t happen again.

For another hour, Tyler sat with Raif and Pischlar, answering questions from the cops who didn’t seem happy that they didn’t have a reason to arrest him too. Raif offered Pischlar a lift to the hospital, but didn’t ask Tyler if he wanted to come. Just gave him that look that got Tyler moving. Raif was happy with him, he could tell. He wasn’t gonna do anything to screw this up.

At the hospital, Pischlar stepped out, leaning in the open front passenger’s side door, his brow furrowed and a tight smile on his lips. “I don’t want you guys coming in. I’ll call Callahan tomorrow and let you know what’s going on. But…I gotta do this by myself.”

“Are you sure, Pischlar? We are here.” Raif’s accent was showing more, and he sounded as worried as Tyler felt. “You do not have to do this alone.”

“Hey, I’m used to it.” Pischlar rested his forearm on top of the door. “Don’t, Zovko. You don’t gotta read anything into this. I hate pity. Can’t take much more tonight, all right?”

“I understand.” Raif inclined his head, then waited for Pischlar to shut the door before driving off. He glanced at the rearview mirror and met Tyler’s eyes. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good.” Tyler folded his arms over his chest. “Sick of being treated like a fucking criminal, but I guess I earned that.”

Raif was quiet for a long time. He pulled over a few blocks away from Tyler’s place, parked, and got out of the car.

Tyler opened the door to the backseat and stepped onto the sidewalk. “Why you stopping here? You know where I live.”

“I do. But it’s a mild night and I’d like to walk the rest of the way. We should talk.”

Umm…okay. Talking is good. I guess. Tyler joined Raif, stuffing his hands in his pockets since it was kinda chilly out. He wondered if he should apologize again for stealing Raif’s car. Not that his first apology really counted since he’d still been out of it. And didn’t remember what he’d said.

Raif drew him off the sidewalk, into the mouth of an alley, before he could say anything. Held him against a brick wall, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of his head. He lowered his forehead to Tyler’s. “I am rarely confused, but I am now. You’ve done this to me. When you took my car, I saw the man the police do. That Laura does. Young and with no respect for rules. Reckless and selfish. But now I’ve seen something else. I’ve seen loyalty and that means so much. You’re a straight man and you care for one who isn’t like you.”

“Pischlar’s my friend.” Tyler didn’t move. He met Raif’s eyes and wanted the man to read him. To see what he couldn’t say. “I don’t care who he fucks. No one gets to do that to him.”

“They could have hurt you.”

“I didn’t care.”

“I could tell.” Raif smiled that crooked smile that had men and women panting when they saw him on TV. He leaned his elbow on the wall above Tyler’s head, bringing their bodies even closer. There was no way he could miss what he was doing to Tyler—there was nothing in Tyler’s damn pockets. “Not many your age are so accepting of others’ lifestyle choices. Or believes one cannot always choose who they love or what they need. Do you?”

Did he? That was a weird question because everything he’d ever done had felt like a choice. Being with Chicklet and Laura. Being sexually submissive…kinda. Maybe not a conscious choice, but it felt right. And he could have ignored that feeling. Some couldn’t, and he accepted that even if he didn’t get it. There was accepting and there was cutting off part of yourself, and he’d gotten stuck in the middle somehow. Couldn’t help doubting all the things he’d believed about himself. He didn’t want to worry about all this stuff with Raif so close, but he couldn’t stop. He just stared at Raif.

And Raif sighed. “Say something.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“You were a hero tonight. Do you know that?”

“No.” Oh fuck, he felt like he was drunk, or high, or both. Raif saying he was a hero was like getting a trophy out on the ice in front of the whole team. An awesome accomplishment. If only he could stop thinking. “I just—”

“You confuse me. And I need to understand.” Raif smoothed his hands gently over Tyler’s curls. Leaned closer. “You should have told me to stop already, Tyler.”

“Yeah.” There was a game plan. He’d forgotten it. He closed his eyes as Raif’s breath warmed his face. “But I didn’t.”

“No. You didn’t.” Raif slid his lips over Tyler’s lightly, his tongue flicking out for a brief taste, leaving heat that wouldn’t fade. “And you won’t, will you?”

Tyler couldn’t answer. If Raif took over, he could have anything—everything. Why wasn’t he doing that?

“Tell me you want me, Tyler.” A light grazing of lips with each word, accent thickening as his tone grew huskier, heavy with lust. Raif stared into Tyler’s eyes when he opened them, still holding him, but made no move to do more. Simply waited.

Just say it! Tyler knew that’s what Raif wanted, but he couldn’t force himself to voice the words. His dick was hard and his balls were throbbing and—hell, if Raif touched him he’d lose control completely. His body was totally on board. All Raif had to do was lead the way, handle Tyler as only a Dom could. Submitting wouldn’t feel wrong.

But saying those words… Fuck, it was like Tyler had been going full speed and skidded up to a roadblock which forced him to a full stop. There was no detour, he could tell by the way Raif’s eyes narrowed at his silence.

“The simplest command and you give me nothing.” Raif let out a hallow laugh. Nodded once, then pushed away from Tyler. “Go home, boy. And forgive me for this misunderstanding.”

The crunch of Raif’s shoes on gravel and ice faded away as Tyler pressed his hands to his face and released a loud groan. This was too messed up. He’d gotten exactly what he’d been looking for from Raif. The man was interested. Maybe Laura was right and Tyler had only responded to Raif’s dominance, but…he really didn’t think so. He needed to see where this could go.

He ran out of the alley, the noise of his sneakers on the pavement making all the dogs in the neighborhood bark. He caught up to Raif at his car, grabbing the man’s arm without thinking. His eyes went wide when Raif turned on him and slammed him against the door. For a long time he couldn’t breathe. Could just stare up at Raif and wonder how badly he’d fucked up this time.

“Never lay your hands on me without permission, sub.” Raif lips were white, and he shook like he was so pissed he might punch Tyler in the face. Tyler had seen that look on the ice when he’d hit a trigger chirping at an opponent. He went still as Raif let him go and straightened. “Will you tell me you want me to fuck you now, Tyler? Have you reconsidered?”

Yeah, if saying anything like that hadn’t been hard before, Raif had just made it impossible. He shook his head.

“Good. Then go home.”

Fuck you, man. Tyler glared up at Raif, wondering how the man could have gone from holding him, almost kissing him, to being a complete dick. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Sure. Thanks for the lift. And I’m sorry about the ‘misunderstanding’ too. My Mistress wanted me to try things out with a Dom.”

Raif’s laugh was sharp and cruel. “And was I the only one available for this little experiment? I suppose she’ll be disappointed.”

Watching Raif go around to the driver’s side, Tyler sucked his teeth, so done with this bullshit. “She wouldn’t be if you’d just take control and stop trying to make me talk. What the fuck is there to talk about? Shit’s pretty obvious.”

“Is it?”

“Yes!”

“No, Tyler. It isn’t.” Raif opened the door. Inclined his head. “Goodnight.”

For what could’ve been minutes, or hours, Tyler stood there, staring at the empty road after Raif’s car rolled out of sight. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more. Putting himself out there and being completely rejected or knowing he might not get another chance.

Not like he wanted another chance.

You’re so full of shit, Vanek.

He started walking home, cursing his still hard dick with every step. Even though Raif had scared him, and been cold with him, his body was buzzing with sexual energy that didn’t seem to have an off switch. But his head was all over the place and his chest kinda hurt. He wanted Raif to come back and be the man who’d cleaned his bloody lip. The man who smiled at him across the ice when he made a good play. The man he’d once worshipped.

But maybe Raif wasn’t really that man. Maybe he never had been.

Tyler tried to tell himself he didn’t care.

* * * *

A creak on the wood floors in the hall, but Laura hadn’t heard the door open. She usually slept very lightly when Chicklet wasn’t lying next to her. That anyone had gotten into the house without her hearing them was disturbing.

It’s probably just Tyler.

Glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand, she frowned. Only 10:30—he was rarely home this early unless Chicklet asked him to be. Paranoia almost had her reaching for her handgun under the mattress, but she stopped herself. Her nerves were shot, the last thing she needed was to be walking out into the hall with a loaded gun in her hand. She wasn’t mad enough at Tyler to shoot him.

Punch him? Maybe. Very few of the men she worked with knew about their relationship, but those who did had to comment after the fight at the gym. Tyler’s attitude had them asking if she needed a spare set of cuffs to bring home. One suggested keeping her “boytoy” on an ankle monitor when she let him off his leash.

Tyler wasn’t her—damn it! She grabbed her red silk robe before slipping into the hall silently, setting thoughts of Tyler aside until she made sure he was the one in the house. One could only be threatened so many times, see brothers and sisters of the badge laid to rest in a velvet-lined box covered with a flag, before those seconds of uncertainty in a quiet house became possible life or death. The hall was empty. A noise came from the kitchen. A drawer opening.

Knives. She kept close to the wall where the floorboards wouldn’t creak. Her skin was cold, grew colder still with the sheen of sweat slicking her flesh. Every single slashed-up, stabbed corpse she’d ever seen flashed through her mind, pictures with bloody bodies followed by the killer’s eyes. Her palms grew moist. She shook with nervous energy as she crept up to the opening in the hall that led to the kitchen.

The sound of the fridge door opening made her breath rush out in relief, but a bang stopped her short. Steady, repeated banging. She frowned and glanced into the kitchen.

It was Tyler. Hitting his head against the freezer door over and over. She shook her head and walked into the kitchen to stand behind him, tugging at his arm to stop his head from connecting with the fridge again. “What are you doing? You—”

Groaning, he took her by the wrist, spinning with the motion so she stood with the fridge at her back and him pressed up against her. His bottom lip was a still a little swollen from the fight, but he didn’t seem to notice as he covered her mouth with his, kissing her hard and rough.

Her fingers latched on to the collar of his jacket as her head did a disorienting twirl, likely from lack of oxygen and way too much heat spilling into her from the boy. She wasn’t sure whether to pull him closer or push him away. His tentative kisses when Chicklet directed a scene between them usually annoyed her, but this was nice. She closed her eyes and tipped her head to the side as he slid his lips across her cheek, then grazed her throat with his teeth. He tugged at the belt to her robe.

She found herself unzipping his jacket and rubbing her hand over his jean-covered erection before her brain finally caught up. They shouldn’t—she pressed her hand to his cheek to urge him to look at her. “We don’t do this. Not without Chicklet.”

He shook his head and placed his hands on her hips, drawing her close so she could feel his length against her belly. “Please, Laura. I need you. I need a woman so fucking bad.”

“Any woman will do?” She rolled her eyes, twisting a little to put some space between them. “I’m flattered. Really.”

“No, it has to be you. You understand and Chicklet won’t understand and…” He swallowed hard, red blotches spreading high on his cheeks as he met her eyes. “She’s not here, is she? She’d want me to tell her how badly I fucked up. A punishment would be good, but she’d make me think about things, and I don’t want to think. I need to feel things in a way that makes sense. Wanting you makes sense to me.”

Wanting him didn’t make sense to her, and yet…she wouldn’t deny he’d gotten her all nice and wet. Chicklet had gone back to her family bar to take over while her father was sick. She hadn’t put any restrictions on Laura or Tyler, so there was nothing to stop them from giving one another pleasure.

But why the sudden rough, wild desire? Her mind wouldn’t let her just go with it. She had to have a good reason to let Tyler have her. She smiled, stroking his smooth jaw with her fingertips. “What happened, Tyler? Why do you need this now?”

“He rejected me. I thought I’d finally… I couldn’t say what he wanted me to. He touched me and I would’ve given him anything he asked for. Except that. Scares the shit out of me.” He dropped his head back and groaned. “So fucking stupid. As if not saying the words makes it less real. I don’t even know who I am anymore!”

“Shh.” Laura placed her fingers over his lips. “I know who you are. And I get it. When I’m shared at the club, I crave the familiar when it’s over. Chicklet is my safe, stable place to land—so are you.” The last was a lie, but seemed to comfort him, so she kept going. “I’m happy to be that for you. I won’t make you talk about anything, but I’ll listen when you’re ready to face this.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”

She slid her robe off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, leaving her naked. She smiled as his breath caught. “Does that really matter now?”

His pupils dilated. He leaned over her, fisting one hand in her hair as his mouth descended to hers. “No.”

They moved together, removing his jacket, kissing and biting as he peeled off his T-shirt, stopping just long enough for him to get it over his head. She undid his jeans and pulled them down with his boxers, ready to take him in her mouth. He jerked her to her feet, lifted her against the fridge, using it to support her weight as he angled his dick to her pussy with one hand.

He slammed into her and they both shuddered. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he drew out, bracing herself as he began to piston in and out with a force that edged on pain. Tender loving wasn’t something she could take from a man, but mindless fucking pushed all the right buttons.

Every part of their bodies glistened with sweat, causing them to slide against each other, making her back slip against the fridge. The friction within built up the sensations until they burst out and a scream escaped her lips. She clawed at his back as he thrust in roughly, clenching as she felt his release. He cursed and held her tight, kissing her shoulder, whispering nonsense.

So quick. Satisfying, but there’d been a point to this. More than helping him with the desire that confused him. More than giving him a “safe place to land.” She clung to him, trying to remember her own motivations.

And then it came to her. She kissed his cheek as he carefully withdrew and lowered her to her feet. “I do understand, please know that.” Another kiss and she waited for his nod. Then whispered, “But he did this to you, Tyler. Raif is the reason you lost control. You’ve done so well in getting him to see you want him. Keep doing that until you can say the words he needs to hear. Don’t let him forget you.”

“I don’t want him to forget me.” Tyler hugged her and rested his forehead on her shoulder. “But the man is going to drive me insane.”

She placed her hand on his sweat-soaked curls and murmured quietly, “But it will be worth it. He can do things for you that I can’t.” She gently pushed Tyler away. Picked up her robe and put it on, meeting his eyes again once the belt was tied and she was fully covered once again. “Think of him holding you the way you held me. Of surrendering to him as I surrendered to you.”

He stared at her. Let out a rough sound. Then went back to banging his head on the fridge.

This time, she let him. And smiled as she went back to bed. “Goodnight, Tyler. And sweet dreams.”