by Eden Finley
“Seasick, man?” I ask. “Just look at the horizon.”
“The horizon that’s all wobbly?”
I laugh. “Yeah. That one.”
Talon’s on the other side of his boyfriend, but it’s taking both of us to hold the giant up.
Thing is, being a hockey player, I’m used to seeing blood. We bleed on the ice. A lot.
Puke? It’s one thing I can’t handle.
So I pray to the gods of vomitus that Miller’s able to keep it all in. He doesn’t. By the time we hit land, I’m ready to kiss the sand because I almost join him in vomiting over the side of the boat.
“No more boat trips,” Miller croaks.
“Kinda hard when we’re on an island,” Talon says.
I clap him on the shoulder. “Feel better. I’m gonna hit the shower and then get Ema to bring me dinner in my room so I can pass out. After today, I’m exhausted.”
“You forgetting Matt and Noah asked us all to come to dinner tonight because they have something they want to tell us?” Talon asks.
“Shit.” I already know what they’re going to say after overhearing it this morning, but that doesn’t mean I can’t show up for it. “Fine. Still gonna get in a shower and maybe a nap beforehand.”
Miller complains that the ground is wobbly now too.
Sorry, Talon, you’re on your own.
On my way back to my cabin, I hope to see Jet, but I’m outta luck.
So much for a day on the water being a distraction. The second I’m back on land, I’m back where I was this morning—working out how to make Jet talk to me.
Which is what I’ll do instead of nap. But first, I definitely need a shower. I smell of saltwater and have sand in places no one ever should.
And when I look in the mirror in the bathroom, I realize I have sunburn in places no one ever should too. Is it possible for nipples to be sunburned?
I take a cold shower, which feels amazing on my overheated skin, but it’s clear by the time I’m clean I might’ve gotten too much sun. Or maybe I’m still a little green from watching Miller throw up his lunch.
Dizziness hits full force, and I have to reach for the wall to steady myself.
Fuck, maybe I need a nap after all. I shut off the water and dry myself, slipping into bed without bothering to put on any clothes.
Mmm, the sheets are soft, and my head sinks into the pillows.
I’ll nap first and then go see Jet before dinner.
My mind conjures an image of Jet’s curls around his face falling into his eyes as he climbs on top of me. My hand grips his hair tight, and his tight body moves over mine. A wet, hot mouth trails over my skin.
It’s easy to get lost in the fantasy that’s more memory than imagination, but it’s as if I can feel his hands on me, moving down over my chest and abs and lower again until his fingers brush against my straining cock.
I try to pull him up so he can kiss me, but he refuses and kisses along my burning skin.
Down.
Down.
“You need a minute with your hand or what?”
My eyes fly open at a voice that is definitely not the voice of the guy I’m thinking about.
Ollie stands at the door to my darkened cabin. “Maybe the guys do need to get you a rent boy if you’re this hard up.”
I stare down at the tenting sheet. “You mind?”
“Normally, I’d let you get back to it, but everyone’s waiting for you.”
I squint and look around, catching sight of the old, cheap clock radio on the bedside table.
“It feels like I only just put my head on the pillow.” Apparently, that was two hours ago, and apparently, I’ve been dreaming of Jet that whole time.
I throw my legs off the side of the bed and go to stand when my hand hesitates on the sheet. “You can run back to them and tell them I’m on my way.”
“I was told not to go back without you.”
“At least turn around.”
He faces the water. “You know, I’ve seen a million hockey players naked before.”
Yeah, but I bet none of them have been this hard in a locker room.
I pull on some khaki shorts and a gray T-shirt, not bothering with underwear or shoes. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Ollie looks at me over his shoulder. “You sure about that? Might wanna …” He points to my hair.
Ugh. I went to sleep with wet hair, and now it’s dried at all different angles. I reach for my trusty old hat and put it on backward to tame the mess.
“So much better,” Ollie says sarcastically.
I shove him out the door.
The meals are already served when we find our seats. Matt’s at the head of the table tonight, Noah next to him. Then Lennon, Ollie, Jet ... and, of course, there’s the spare meal for me, right next to that.
Everyone looks at me expectantly.
“Sorry. I fell asleep.”
“None of you three ever hear of sunblock?” Damon asks.
My gaze goes to Talon, natural-born blond, and he resembles something like a cooked lobster.
Miller’s naturally olive-skinned, but even he looks a little burned.
“We didn’t realize it’d take three hours to get back to the island,” Talon says. “Probably should’ve reapplied.”
Jet snorts. “No shit. Soren’s practically glowing.”
Here we go.
“Aww, maybe he’s pregnant,” Noah says.
Maddox cuts in. “Now, we know that’s impossible, guys. Come on, don’t be silly ...” I’m about to thank him, when he continues. “You have to have sex to get pregnant.”
Hosers. All of them.
“Unless his hand counts,” Ollie says. “Which, by the way, if Soren’s ever late again, dibs not being the one to go get him. I’m scarred for life.”
I feel Jet’s burning gaze on me. Or maybe that’s the sunburn, I don’t know.
“Why’d I get out of bed for this again?” I complain.
“Because we have something to tell you.” Matt reaches for Noah’s hand on top of the table.
“Yeah,” Noah says. “Speaking of babies ...”
“You are one,” Damon says. “Not at all an announcement.”
Noah flips him off.
“There’s a pregnant girl in Indiana who chose us to adopt her baby,” Matt says.
The room falls deathly silent as if they announced one of them has terminal cancer.
“Wait, what about your brother?” Miller asks.
“Uh, I’m sitting right here.” Jet raises his hand.
Miller waves him off. “Not you, the little one.”
Noah laughs. “Little? Wade is taller than everyone in this room. And he’s still coming to live with us too. He’s got three years before college, and after that, he’ll be at Harvard or Yale or any other Ivy League. The kid is super smart.” There’s pride shining in Noah’s words already.
Damon’s expression sobers. “Hold up. Let me get this straight. We’re living in a world where not one but two people have granted Noah custody of a child.” He feigns real concern until Noah rolls his eyes at him.
“Okay, okay, fine, serious time. Congratulations. You two are going to make great dads.” Damon stands and lifts a drink for a toast, when we all freeze at what’s on his ring finger.
“What the fuck is that?” Noah asks.
Damon glances at Maddox with wide eyes. “Shit.”
Maddox stands too. “We have an announcement as well.”
Whoa, they’re getting married?
“We’re not getting married!” they say together.
We all open our mouths to say congrats, but then we must register what their words. They’re both smiling, they have their arms around each other, but ... did I hear it right?
“You’re not getting married?” I ask.
“Maddox proposed,” Damon says. “I said no.”
“But you’re still together?” My head hurts.
“I told Damon I wanted to marry him,
had a full-on romantic proposal planned out, and then ...”
“Then I found the ring and said no.” Damon smiles lovingly at his boyfriend. “He only wants to get married because I thought it was important. Turns out, it’s not a big deal to me. I’m just happy I get to wake up next to him every day, and I don’t need a piece of paper to remind me of that. I have the most important thing right here.” He pulls Maddox close and kisses him softly, and my chest lurches while longing fills my veins.
Not for marriage, not for kids, but for that—a loving relationship that’s so emotionally secure that nothing, not a piece of paper, not what anyone else thinks, not anything, can create doubt. Not even a rejected marriage proposal.
“Wait, why are you wearing the ring then?” I ask.
Damon shrugs. “He’s every bit my husband already but without the title.”
“So, no wedding, but you’re going to live like husbands?” Miller seems as confused as I am.
Damon looks as if he’s wondering why we’re not getting it. “Exactly.”
Miller turns to Talon. “Maybe we should do that.”
“No wedding?” Talon exclaims. “No way. We’re doing it and selling the pics for a shit ton of money.”
“Like we need more money.”
“Fine. Then we’ll do it to inspire all those scared queer kids out there and reassure them that the world is changing.”
A light bulb practically goes off above Miller’s head when he realizes what his fiancé’s up to. “You just want a bachelor party, don’t you?”
“Duh. Is that so much to ask?”
Miller laughs. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, but just so you know, the kid thing was the swaying factor, not the bachelor party.”
Jet remains unusually quiet beside me.
Noah says some smartass comment to Ollie and Lennon, but I tune out and shovel food into my mouth. It’s the only thing I can do to try not to think about being here alone. Chasing Jet for twenty-four hours has distracted me from everything I’m here to forget, but even my pull toward him isn’t enough to drown out the happy couples surrounding me.
It’s not that I’m not happy for them. I love these guys … maybe not like brothers like everyone else sees the group, but definitely cousins of sorts. Wait, if Matt was my cousin, that would mean Jet would be too, and that’s not cool. Then again, if I saw these guys as brothers, that would be even worse.
My gaze lands on Jet, and I notice he’s as overjoyed about it as I am.
Maybe the answer to my burning question for him lies in his downcast eyes and the small pout of his lips.
He might’ve fallen in love with someone else, but I know that look. I’ve worn that look before.
Jet’s not here because of nodes.
He’s here because he’s heartbroken.
Chapter Eight
JET
All the love in the air is making me choke. I can deep throat like a champ, but love and romance? That I gag on.
I thought I was over it. I really thought I was.
Harley and I ended things months ago, and even though that hasn’t kept him out of my bed, it has kept me from pining.
Then he had to go and ruin it all by announcing his engagement.
To a woman.
If he was moving on, it’d be one thing, but no. My ex-boyfriend, fan favorite in the most popular boy band in the world, is gayer than RuPaul’s wig collection. Yet, because of his contract, he’s marrying a woman to save face.
He’s the real reason I’m here in Fiji. Not nodes. Not exhaustion like I claimed to Noah and Matt when they grilled me this morning.
It was the pure need to get away from the tour where I had to see Harley every day.
When the rumors started on tabloid sites about Harley being gay, his management team worked overtime to cover it up, which included banning him from “risky behavior” like hooking up with the lead singer from their opening act. Yet, there he was, every week or so, still sneaking into my hotel room. If he was feeling particularly strong, he’d last a month before he’d cave and come crawling back.
Touring is lonely, and pretty boys make me weak.
And Harley is really fuckin’ pretty. Boy next door but with piercing eyes that promise a hint of rebellion. He’s the good boy who looks like he wants to go bad.
Women and gay men everywhere salivate over him, and for a little while, he was mine.
I thought he’d eventually do the big grand gesture thing. Tell his label to get fucked, come out to the world, and then I’d have the epic love I’ve always wanted. I’m starting to think that doesn’t exist.
I can’t tour with Harley anymore. I just can’t.
Same as I can’t sit at this table with all this love, marriage, to have and to hold forever and ever bullshit.
My chest hurts.
I need to get out of here.
Before I can stand and make an excuse, Soren beats me to it.
“Congrats again, guys. To all of you. I’d love to stay and drink but—”
The guys break out into rounds of “Come on” and “We have to celebrate!”
“Have at it,” Soren says, “but I’m going back to bed. I think I’m burning up.”
He is looking a little red. If you can call crimson a little red.
I watch as he walks out of the hut, both jealous that he gets to leave and fighting my urge to chase him.
Ever since I landed on this stupid island, I’ve been telling myself to run away from the tempting hockey player who broke my heart two years ago.
Melodramatic, sure, because I’ve spent a total of one night with him, but Tampa crushed the idealistic image I had of him in my head.
Yet, he still has the ability to make my heart race and dreamer Jet come out. The Jet who had stars in his eyes and fame in his heart.
I assumed Soren would be here, but I also assumed he’d be here with Bryce and would avoid me. The guys didn’t tell me they’d broken up, but at the same time, I’ve made it a habit not to ask about him or his precious hat trick. There’s no reason for the gay brigade to tell me either because as far as they know, Soren and I only know each other in passing.
The only knowledge I’ve gathered over time about the ex-boyfriend is that he wasn’t a hockey fan and was kinda high maintenance.
But they’ve broken up now.
It’s over.
Much like my relationship with Harley. Even if Harley’s having a hard time getting that through his head.
The closet thing, I understood. It’s legitimately a clause in his contract that he cannot discuss his sexuality publicly. This fake marriage to a woman with me being his side piece, yeah, that I’m not okay with.
Boy bands rely on the fans of twelve-to-seventeen-year-old girls who believe they have a chance at falling in love with one of them. He couldn’t even say if he had a girlfriend or not. Which he never did anyway for obvious reasons.
Until now.
Where suddenly being unavailable because he’s married is more appealing and acceptable to the outside world than him liking dudes.
And people think the entertainment industry is so progressive.
I’ve learned over the last few years that Hollywood types can be as bad as the sports industry, and because of my brother, I’ve seen how shitty that can be.
I’m happy for the guys. I am. They’re paving the way so real change can be made.
But right now? I want to wallow and drink and …
I stare in the direction where Soren went, and I have to fight the urge to go after him. I won’t know which Soren I’d get. Perfect night Soren or Tampa Soren. The guy who wants me or the guy who’s overprotective and says things like I’m perfect … for someone else.
I thought if I ever saw Soren again, I’d be over him. I thought my Harley relationship might’ve tempered those feelings toward the hockey player.
Nope. Despite our encounter in Tampa ending dramatically, when I saw Soren last night for the first time in two years, all
I could see was my Soren. The Soren who begged me to tell him love exists and is true—as if my songs held the answers to the entire universe.
I want that guy again.
“Hey, guys?” I stand. “I’m out too.”
“What’s the matter, junior?” Miller asks. “Where’s this rock star stamina of yours?”
Everyone at the table snickers, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Y’all can mock me about stamina after you’ve performed a stadium tour. One hundred twenty-three shows in eight months.”
My brother smiles at me. “Rest up, bro.”
“I’ll help celebrate tomorrow. I promise. Should be over the jet lag by then. And before anyone cracks a joke about Jet being jet-lagged, don’t bother.”
Lennon, my ex-roommate, frowns. “Are you okay?” he mouths.
I fake a smile and hope I can pull off an “I’m fine” expression.
Which I am.
I’m fine.
Or I will be.
How long is this thing called heartbreak supposed to last?
The plan is to go back to my hut, maybe troll some tabloid sites to torture myself, and then try to sleep.
But as my feet hit the cool grass to cut across the property, they stall completely at the sight of Caleb Sorensen sitting on his deck. His legs hang off the edge as he stares out at the ocean, and I wish I wasn’t drawn to him.
I wish my feet wouldn’t head in his direction.
His gaze meets mine, and damn, those eyes. Normally, light and warm, they’re now dark and distant but still hypnotic.
“You needed to get away from the love-fest too?”
Irrational as it is, I don’t want to get into the reasons why I needed out of there tonight. Not with Soren. In my messed-up mind, I want to partially blame him for this mood I’m in. He’s the one who told me to go out and fall in love. Look where it got me.
“I’m just exhausted.” I approach and take a seat next to him because apparently, my draw to him is stronger than my willpower.
My hand grips the edge of the deck precariously close to his. That shouldn’t spark something inside me, but it does.
