I wasn’t even all that hungry right now, which was an alien feeling. Mostly, I just needed something to do until I had the game to hold my attention again.

  As I was making a small salad—fresh produce, oh my God—the commentator on TV caught my attention.

  “Chelsie Lake is standing by with Simon Caron. Chelsie?”

  The camera shifted to the reporter, a petite Black woman in a suit, with Simon beside her against a team mural. He’d taken off his helmet and jersey, revealing the chest and shoulder pads as well as his sweaty, mussed blond hair. He was seriously attractive too, if not nearly as much as his boyfriend. Because I was biased and thought he was kind of dick? Maybe.

  He was also all smiles, answering the reporter’s questions thoroughly and professionally. I didn’t understand most of it—something about letting the game come to them and building off their momentum, not letting the defense get behind them, whatever all of that meant. Mostly I was just watching Simon and trying to reconcile this man with the one who could walk into the house and make the temperature drop twenty degrees.

  Anthony seemed seriously stressed about fixing their relationship, and I got that. I felt for him, honestly. But I had to admit, there was a small part of me that was quietly grateful I was here during a period where Simon was living someplace else. Staying in the same building as him didn’t sound comfortable at all.

  In fact, if they were still living together, Anthony might not have brought me home at all.

  I shivered and reached down to pet my dog’s back. I didn’t wish misery or unhappiness on Anthony—or even Simon, for that matter—but if the two of them were going to hit the skids, I was grateful they were doing it now.

  And Anthony deserves better than him anyway.

  My own catty thought startled me, but… not really. I didn’t like Simon. Maybe he was a perfectly nice guy when everything was fine between him and Anthony, but the version of him I’d seen was a jackass, and I wasn’t sorry for hoping Anthony found someone better. I mean, Anthony was stressed and miserable, and he was still civil to Simon and kind to me. Simon… Well, he’d been a dick every time I’d been in his company. So, fuck him.

  The intermission wound down and the game started again. In the third period, Simon scored, pushing the team’s lead to three. He hugged Anthony just like he did his other teammates who were on the ice, and they all skated toward the bench for fist bumps. There didn’t seem to be much animosity between the two of them tonight. Maybe they’d talked some things through. Then again, when I’d watched the last two games, they hadn’t struck sparks off each other, at least not in any way I could see. And hadn’t Anthony said they had to keep their issues out of everyone’s sight?

  Man, that sounded exhausting. My Army buddies and I hadn’t exactly been the type to sit down and talk about feelings, but when someone came in after a fight with his girlfriend or when someone had hit the skids with his wife, it was noticeable. There was a certain sleepless look that said he and the missus had gone to bed angry. Another vibe that screamed “I’m running on about thirty seconds of sleep and I’m also freaked the fuck out” and usually heralded a shotgun wedding on the horizon. It hadn’t taken a psychic to recognize the snappishness that meant Davis had busted her husband drinking himself stupid again, or the outright volatility that announced McEnroe’s wife had taken the kids and left. We never knew exactly what the cause was until they told us, but there was no hiding when trouble was brewing.

  Then again, Cortes had managed to keep it under his hat that his wife was getting physically abusive until there’d finally been an injury he couldn’t hide. He’d admitted to me later that he didn’t know which was worse, putting up with the abuse or keeping it quiet. Panganiban hadn’t been in an abusive situation, but he’d been quietly enduring a deteriorating marriage for almost two years before he and his wife had shocked everyone by divorcing. And there were soldiers whose demons quietly got the best of them right under our noses.

  So… it wasn’t impossible to hide the really heavy shit.

  Did Simon and Anthony’s teammates know? Anthony thought they didn’t, but had they caught the scent of trouble in paradise? Because even with the people who did hide it, there were signs that made sense in retrospect. Cortes had blamed some marks on his dog scratching him. When someone really pressed, he’d smirked and said he’d explain it, but he didn’t kiss and tell, leading us all to rib him for months about being kinky (man, did those jokes make me cringe after I learned the truth). Panganiban had days where he just couldn’t focus or he seemed super tired. He’d always blame it on one of the kids being up all night again. It was a year before someone realized he and his wife always bragged about how quickly their kids had started sleeping through the night and how rarely they woke up unless they were sick.

  As for the soldiers who’d lost the fight with their trauma or their depression, those signs were harder to see sometimes, even in hindsight. A lot of us drank to self-medicate or just because it was fun, and it wasn’t always obvious whose drinking was a red flag until it was too late.

  The signs, even if we hadn’t recognized them, had been right there in front of us. We just hadn’t known what they were pointing to until much, much later. We’d all been horrified to realize our friends were suffering in silence right in front of us, whether because they were on the brink of a breakup, a breakdown, or something a whole lot darker.

  I swallowed, watching the camera pan across the Bobcats bench.

  Do any of you know your teammate is going through hell?

  Not long after the game, I started heading for bed. I gave Lily her medicine, then gave the cats their treats per Anthony’s instructions. The cats took off upstairs and I went into the guest room with Lily. By the time I’d finished going through my nightly routine, she was already passed out on the bed.

  I smiled down at her. It was good to see her this relaxed and comfortable. I just tried not to think about how temporary it was.

  I tamped those thoughts down. Time to get some sleep while I still had a safe, warm place to do it. I took off my prosthetic and liner, then switched off the light and settled into bed.

  But sleep? Not happening.

  My mind just kept going back to the game. To the footage of Anthony out on the ice and on the bench. To the way my nerve endings all seemed to light up whenever I saw him skating or smiling.

  Squirming beneath the covers, I closed my eyes. I hadn’t had so much as an erotic thought in the last couple of years. Hunger, fear, and my desperate situation just didn’t leave room for anything that wasn’t basic survival.

  But now I was safe, warm, fed… and painfully attracted to the man who was housing me.

  I couldn’t even pretend I was just being drawn to him because he’d pulled me off the streets. Yes, that was endearing, but the bottom line was that Anthony was hot. His eyes could completely derail my train of thought, and when he walked around the house in those clingy track pants? Holy fuck. Then there was that moment yesterday when I’d caught a glimpse of him walking down to the laundry room without a shirt on. I’d served with some guys who were fit as hell, but even they hadn’t been ripped like Anthony was. The things I would do if I could get my hands—or mouth—on that gorgeous six-pack…

  I squirmed beneath the covers as my dick started getting hard. It didn’t help when tonight’s game flashed through my mind again. His gear made him looking bigger and broader than he actually was, but he was still undeniably him, and he had no business being that sexy. Those stunning brown eyes behind a sweat-sprinkled visor. The way he moved—fast and agile. How he’d take what looked like a painful check into the boards, but recover immediately and continue playing. And oh, hell, when a teammate scored… that smile.

  Biting my lip, I shifted some more. I was rock hard now, and I was going to have to do something about it, wasn’t I? That was a bit of an alien feeling. Even if I’d been able to think about someone being attractive, one thing I definitely hadn’t done since I’d been evicted was jerk off. I’d never been comfortable enough, physical or mentally, to get it up, never mind do anything with it. And none of that had really mattered anyway because there’d been no real privacy.

  Not like there was right now.

  I wasn’t about to do this with Lily right here, though, and she’d probably wake up if I tried. She wouldn’t alert—she knew the difference between being distressed and not—but she’d be awake, and that would be weird. So I got up, leaned on various pieces of furniture as I hopped across the room, and went into the bathroom.

  I missed the days of standing in the shower, an arm braced against the wall as water pounded on my back and I jerked myself into oblivion. This wasn’t half bad, though—sitting on the bench, leaning back on one hand while I stroked my dick for the first time in ages. I went slow this time, too. As much as I wanted to get right to the fun part, I hadn’t touched myself at all in far too long, and God knew when I’d want to again. Might as well enjoy it.

  And it wasn’t difficult to enjoy when I was turned on by someone in particular. Stroking myself, I imagined that lean, athletic body over mine, muscles tense and quivering as he rode my dick. Just the thought of staring at that beautiful face—watching his pleasure play out in his eyes and the part of his lips—had me teetering on the edge, and I had to take some slow breaths to pull myself back. Not yet. I needed this fantasy to linger just a little longer. Crystallize in my mind so I could call back to it next time I wanted to get off.

  Not that it would take much to remember this. I could see us fucking frantically and hungrily, and at the same time, see him on the ice and on the bench, sweaty and focused and full-on badass on skates.

  My mind flicked to that moment he’d been congratulating his teammate, when his smile had been so huge and bright and unrestrained, and a strangled sound escaped my lips in the same instant cum erupted over my hand. The whole world seemed to tremble, nearly shaking apart from the force of the first orgasm I’d had in far too long, and I thought I heard myself nearly sobbing from the intense pleasure.

  I slumped back, hissing when my shoulders touched the cold wall, and then I settled into the coolness and just breathed. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, not being able to stand while I did this. I’d have ended up on the floor even if I’d had two feet underneath me. Like this, I hadn’t had to worry about balance or gravity—just losing myself to friction and fantasy.

  Was it going to be awkward when Anthony came home? Would I be able to look him in the eye now that I’d had the most incredible orgasm while imagining him? Well, I’d find out tomorrow. For tonight, I was going to sleep like the dead.

  I finished my shower, then hoisted myself up off the bench and started to carefully get out. As soon as I looked through the frosted glass, though, I jumped. And then I laughed.

  Lily stared up at me from where she was sitting on the bathmat.

  Pushing the door aside, I said, “Sorry, kiddo. Did I wake you up?”

  She just watched me. I got her to move so I could get out and dry off. When I was finished, Lily stayed glued to my side as I made my way back into the bedroom. She wasn’t trained to assist me with mobility issues, but she’d seen me fall once and had immediately started sticking close. Sometimes I thought that helped simply because I was so afraid of falling on her, I’d move extra slow and careful.

  We made it to bed without incident. I climbed in, and she immediately joined me, curling up against my side.

  Before I’d even closed my eyes, though, Lily’s head suddenly snapped up.

  I tensed.

  Then I heard it—tapping. Scratching. And tiny meowing. “What the…”

  More meowing, followed by the thump-thump-thump of what I assumed was paws against the door. Relaxing, I chuckled, and I got up again, switched on the light, crossed to the door, and opened it.

  Instantly, Bear and Moose came thundering in and flew up onto the bed. Lily eyed them both, seeming more puzzled than alarmed. She looked up at me with an expression that screamed, “Um, Dad? Why are the oversized floofs in our bed?”

  I chuckled. “You boys miss your dad, don’t you?”

  Moose made himself at home on one of the pillows. Bear started walking in circles, kneading on the comforter and bumping his head against Lily, who still looked confused.

  Well, if the cats were happier in here while Anthony was gone, who was I to kick them out?

  There was still one problem, though, especially after Bear flopped over beside Lily.

  “Um.” I surveyed the menagerie occupying most of the bed. “Someone’s going to have to move so there’s room for me.”

  They all stared back at me. No one moved.

  Rolling my eyes, I laughed. I hopped back to the bed, sat on the edge, and hoisted Bear up—carefully, both so I didn’t hurt or upset him and so I didn’t give myself a damn hernia. He chirped in protest, but when I set him down a few inches over, he decided that was okay. Or, knowing him, he forgot where he was in the first place and just figured, “Eh, it’s soft. Whatever.”

  Then I gently encouraged Moose’s enormous tail to be someplace other than across my pillow. After I’d switched off the light and lain back down, he promptly thwacked me in the face with his tail.

  I sputtered as some fluff got into my mouth and nose. “Really?”

  Another thump against my face confirmed, yes, really.

  I just rolled my eyes, turned on my side, and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Anthony

  During my rookie season, my team went on an awful four-game road trip. Everything that could go wrong did. We lost all four games, and we only managed to even get a lead in one of them. A lead we blew early in the third period before giving up an empty net goal for good measure. Two of the games had been shutouts, and the fourth had been 7-2. By the time we were on our way home, three players were day-to-day, one was going on LTIR, and one hadn’t even been able to make the flight home because the hospital wanted to run some more tests (he did ultimately recover, but he was in a world of hurt that week).

  I didn’t think I’d ever be more eager for a road trip to end than I was after that absolute shitshow of a week.

  Turned out I was wrong, because holy shit, I was so fucking relieved to see my own driveway coming into view. The drive from the airport had taken a solid forty-five minutes (Seattle traffic was so fun), and Simon and I hadn’t said two words to each other the entire time. We’d roomed together, and then we’d sat together on the plane to keep up appearances, though fortunately we’d both slept for most of the flight, so we hadn’t had to interact much. By the time we’d reached his car and could finally drop the illusion that we were still in the honeymoon phase, I suspected he was as worn out as I was.

  Early morning post-redeye drives had been full of sniping for a while now. Anything that had been brewing while we were traveling would come out, and we’d be at each other’s throats until we could finally get out of the damn car. Today, though… I just didn’t have the energy. And what was the point of fighting? We’d broken up. Our bullshit didn’t matter anymore, so I’d mentally packed it away just like I boxed up and stored jerseys and swag from teams I no longer played for. I wouldn’t say the drive home this morning was fun, but I was definitely happier to watch the familiar scenery go by than argue with him.

  I was definitely ready to be away from him, too, and I almost released an audible sigh of relief as he turned down the driveway.

  Thank God. Finally.

  Simon pulled up in front of the garage door. He opened it but didn’t pull into the bay. With the engine idling, he turned to me and flatly asked, “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”

  Tomorrow? What time were—

  Oh. Right. Thanksgiving was tomorrow. Fuck.

  I shrugged. “Russell said we can get there any time after eleven. So… I don’t know. Maybe leave here around ten thirty?”

  Simon nodded. “All right. Ten thirty.”

  “Okay.” I reached for the door, but paused. “I, um… Wyatt’s coming too.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Wyatt? He’s still here?”

  “Yes.” I narrowed my eyes, silently daring him to yet again accuse me of screwing Wyatt.

  His glare definitely made the accusation, but he just muttered, “For fuck’s sake. And Russell knows he’s coming?”

  “Of course he does.” I glared at him. “Look, he’s staying here, and I’m not going to just ditch him for the day, okay?”

  “Does Russell know about the dog?”

  “Yes, he does. And he’s fine with her coming.”

  Simon made a displeased noise. “We’re taking your car, then.”

  “Okay.” I was too tired to fight. I just got out, took my things out of the trunk, and shuffled inside. The rumble of his X5’s engine fading into the distance didn’t even make my chest hurt like it usually did. I’d almost always felt like a failure when he left, especially after we’d been fighting in the car. Like I’d tried to sort out our issues but only succeeded in making it worse. Him leaving instead of staying had always left me a mess because it always felt like my fault that we’d been fighting and my fault that he’d rather go back to his apartment than stay here. Every time he left, it seemed like he took another piece of me with him, and that fucking hurt.

  Today I was about as emotional over his departure as I would be about a UPS driver driving away. I wondered what that meant.

  Probably that I hadn’t had a chance to process our breakup, and once I’d had some time away from him—not to mention some sleep—then it would all sink in and I’d feel like shit. Couldn’t wait.

  I trudged into the house. Usually the cats came thundering down the stairs to greet me. This time, there was a quiet thump, then another, and both trotted into the kitchen. Had they… Had they been sleeping in Wyatt’s room?

  Hell, probably. They were extra cuddly at night, especially after I’d been gone, so it was no surprise they’d joined him. I was just glad he apparently didn’t mind. If he had, he would’ve shut the door.