by Toni Aleo
Hitting the ice, Wells rushed to get back, replacing his defensemen as his forwards peppered the goal with shots. When the puck came back to him, he passed it over to his partner, Williams, before he sent it up to Manahan, who passed it off to Linnim. Linnim looked around, looking for an opening, but there was none. When it came back to Wells, he quickly looked to Williams, but he didn’t have the lane either. Needing to get it off his stick, Wells pulled back, ready to crack it, but then it was gone. Before he knew it, a huge body knocked him square on his ass. His head slammed back, his stick went flying, and he was stunned.
“What the fuck?”
When he heard the roar of the buzzer, he looked behind him to see that Haverbrooke had his arms in the air and a sneaky little grin on his lips as his team wrapped him up in a tight hug.
As Wells got up slowly, watching Haverbrooke, he observed to himself that he had never been so damn hot from being knocked on his ass by a man before.
But Haverbrooke had done just that.
Wells wasn’t sure what he was doing.
Why he thought it was a good idea to go over to the hotel where he knew the Rangers were staying was a little ridiculous. He knew he might not see the guy, and he also knew it was pointless. Wells wouldn’t talk to him. There’d be no point. Why tease himself when he knew he couldn’t have the turquoise-eyed beauty who could skate circles around him? Yeah, that wasn’t fair, but apparently, he was a glutton for punishment. Pulling open the door of the hotel, he breezed by the concierge and went straight to the bar where he knew all the teams that came to Colorado hung out. According to his buddy at the arena, the Rangers weren’t leaving until tomorrow afternoon, claiming tomorrow morning the guys would go hiking as a team-building exercise. Since he doubted the team would be going out early, he assumed they’d be at the bar.
When he entered, he saw immediately that he was correct.
Most of the guys were hanging out, drinking, and hitting on women.
That was, except Haverbrooke.
Even out of uniform, Wells could pick him out of a crowd. His shoulders were slumped a little as he hovered over his beer, his eyes on the baseball game above the bar. A plate of pizza sat beside him, but it looked cold, as if he hadn’t even touched it. Swallowing hard, Wells ran his hands down the front of his tee and watched the other man for a moment. Even with a furrowed brow, he was beautiful. His shoulders were thicker in the light green tee he wore. His back muscle definition, even through the shirt, was mouthwatering. He was downright sinful. Wells knew he should stay in the shadows, just watching him, but soon, he was moving.
Haverbrooke looked pretty into the game, but then, he had sort of a pissed-off vibe to him. Wells didn’t understand that. He’d had a stellar game, scored two goals, but yet he looked as if someone had pissed in his skates.
But that didn’t stop Wells.
Sitting down two stools from him, Wells leaned on the bar, waving at the busty bartender. She shot him a grin, coming right to him. “What can I get you, hot stuff?”
Wells put on his killer grin. “Can I get a beer, please, and some of those banging nachos?”
She waggled her brows. “With meat or without?”
“You know I love the meat, baby.”
She giggled, and Wells looked away, smiling. He had known Tanya for a while. She was always at the gay club he went to, and he had bought her many a drink. Leaning back on the stool, Wells crossed his arms over his chest and let out a long breath as he looked up at the game. He wasn’t a baseball fan, but thankfully, Vaughn was and always said something. “How about them Cubs?”
Man, he was a loser.
Haverbrooke glanced over at him, paused, his face unreadable as he looked back up at the TV. “They might do something this year.”
“Yeah, for sure. All the way.”
Haverbrooke scoffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Wells smiled as he reached for his beer, taking a long swig. Silence stretched between them, and Wells figured maybe the guy wasn’t really a talker. That should have been enough for him to get out of there and take his crazy infatuation out the door. But instead, he glanced back to Haverbrooke and called out, “Food’s good here.”
He didn’t look at him as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple adjusting with the motion. “Yeah, I like it.”
“Me too,” he said, sliding his hands down his legs. “One of my favorite places to eat. I live right down the block.”
Haverbrooke glanced over at him, his eyes gliding across Wells’s face before he nodded. “And you come here?”
Wells smiled. “I’m friends with the bartender. She gives me extra jalapeños and guac.”
When Haverbrooke’s lips curved a bit, Wells held his breath. “This is actually one of my favorite hotel bars.”
“Great booze and food, plus all the games a guy can ask for. Who wouldn’t love it?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, turning his gaze back to the game. “Some would say the ladies were nice.”
“Some,” Wells agreed slowly, before he, too, glanced up at the game.
Minutes passed as they both watched the game, making small comments here and there. Well, Wells made the comments. Haverbrooke either agreed or didn’t say anything. When a commercial broke, he said, “So you’re from here, then?”
“Mostly.”
“I’m heading out to Lost Man’s Loop tomorrow,” he said before his eyes met Wells’s. His body caught on fire being in Haverbrooke’s gaze. He wanted desperately to reach out, to touch him. Move his finger along even an inch of his forearm. It looked so delicious, perfect, and Wells really needed to get out of there. He was getting harder by the second, and he knew darn well there was no release in the future. “Is it good hiking?”
Swallowing hard, Wells nodded. “I’ve been out there a few times with my buddies. We love it.”
“Cool, I’m looking forward to it. I like that kind of shit.”
“It’s a lot of fun.”
“It is. Do you camp?”
“Hell yeah. My bud Vaughn has this great piece of land north of here that we all go out to.”
“That’s awesome. Being from New Jersey, I didn’t get to camp much. But now, I love it.”
“Oh, I could show you all the best places here. But, dude, best place to camp is the Vineyards down in Texas. Hands down, the most fun.”
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“Yeah, and the zip-lining in Puerto Rico is phenomenal.”
Haverbrooke laughed a little, the sound causing Wells’s stomach to clench. “I haven’t been.”
Wells threw his hand up. “What? Dude, come on. It’s the best!”
“I’m jealous. I do want to go, but I haven’t had the time.”
“Make the time. It’s fucking awesome.”
“It’s like parasailing, right?”
Wells shrugged. “Eh, yeah, but better.”
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“Yeah, I can give you the best places.”
“I’d like that.” His words were as smooth as ice, his eyes so damn dark. Wells wasn’t sure if it was the low lighting or what, but he was pretty sure Haverbrooke might be giving him the eyes. No, he was insane. Or hoping for something that wasn’t even happening.
How pathetic.
Haverbrooke slowly nodded then, his eyes narrowing a bit as the men stayed locked in each other’s gazes. Wells’s body was trembling with anticipation for what he would say. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to sit there and listen to the younger man talk in his dark, sultry voice. When Haverbrooke’s head fell to the side, Wells’s brows pulled in.
What was wrong?
“You play for Colorado.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, number twenty-one.”
His eyes didn’t leave Wells’s as he kept nodding. “Yeah. I stole the puck from you tonight.”
“Yeah, thanks, asshole,” Wells teased, and he grinned widely at him.
“Easy pick. Especially when you had your head down.”
“Duly noted.”
Haverbrooke’s brows went up a bit in surprise. “No cocky reason why?”
“Nope,” Wells said, shrugging. “When you get to my age, there is no reason to be cocky. I know when I make mistakes, and I know when I kick ass. I don’t need to be someone I’m not.”
His smile slowly fell away as he held Wells’s gaze. “That’s very insightful.”
“I’m known to be. Though, don’t ask my buddies or my sister. They’ll tell you otherwise.”
Haverbrooke grinned as he reached for his beer. “Mine would probably tell you I’m a dick.”
“Are they right?”
He shrugged. “Depends on the day.”
Wells scoffed as he looked over at him.
Holding out his hand, Haverbooke said, “I’m Matthew Haverbrooke. But my friends call me Matty.”
Taking his hand, Wells swore he almost came like a sixteen-year-old seeing his first gay porn. “Wells Lemiere.”
He held Wells’s hand longer than Wells expected him to, his eyes mysterious as recognition dawned in them. When he let go, Wells felt naked as he reached for his beer. “Wells Lemiere, the openly gay hockey player.”
“Shit, is that my label? I thought it would be Wells Lemiere, the great. Or the awesome. Or hell, I’ve got a sick wrister.”
Matty chuckled as he took a long pull of his beer. “You do, but I know your name from the magazines. I especially enjoyed the photo of you covering your junk with the glove.”
Wells’s face burned with embarrassment. “I was like twenty when I did that. Needed the money and my buddies dared me to.”
“It was a good article.”
“Yeah, that’s not all you enjoyed.” It was a ballsy statement, and at first, Wells was surprised he’d said it. Usually, he only joked like that with Vaughn and Jensen, to fuck with them. Vaughn more than Jensen, but yet, he had just done it with Matty. When Matty’s gaze cut to Wells’s, he held it for a while, a grin pulling at his lips. Turning his body, he looked squarely at Wells, leaning his elbow on the bar as he pointed to him.
Wells was sure Matty was about to cuss at him, call him a faggot or something equally offensive, but his grin was throwing Wells off. And the heat… Wells swore there was tons of heat moving between them. “You’re also the Wells Lemiere that was staring at me on the bench before that jackass started shit with you.”
Wells feigned shock. “I wasn’t staring at you. I was watching the puck.”
Matty laughed. “Unless the puck was on my mouth, you were watching me.” Wells’s body tingled as Matty’s laughter ran down his spine. “Or should I say, checking me out.”
Wells wasn’t sure how Matty had meant for that to come off. Was he fucking with Wells like Vaughn did, or was he accusing Wells?
Again, being ballsy, Wells said, “I won’t confirm or deny that.”
Heat moved between them, Wells was sure of it. Matty’s eyes were dark and a bit narrowed, his tongue coming out to wet his lips as he looked Wells over. “I think you’re coming on to me again.”
Wells sure as hell didn’t think the guy was gay, and he probably wasn’t. He was probably fucking with Wells, which meant that Wells would be walking into one hell of a trap. Yet, he couldn’t stop. Wells watched him for a minute, his eyes burning into Matty’s as he leaned forward. “Again, I won’t confirm or deny that.”
A slow, sinister grin moved along his lips as Matty stood. Like the pervert Wells was, he checked out Matty’s junk. He swore the guy was hard, which only made Wells harder. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom, the one off the lobby.”
As he moved away, Wells swallowed hard. That sounded like a fucking invite to him, but what if it wasn’t? Especially since he’d said which bathroom he was heading to. If he wanted to go alone, he’d just go, but he’d said the lobby bathroom. The one no one really used. But what if Wells was grasping at something that wasn’t there? What if Matty was just fucking with him? But what if he wasn’t, and Wells didn’t go?
Shit, he was going.
Getting up, he pushed his hand into his pockets before heading out the open bar doors. Turning down the hall that led to the bathroom, he walked quickly, his heart pounding hard in his chest as he came closer and closer to the next alcove that led to the men’s bathroom. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. It surely wasn’t an invite, but he had to know. If it wasn’t, well, hell, he could pee. No biggie there. Turning the corner, he almost yelled out in shock when he came face-to-face with Matty.
A slow grin moved along Matty’s lips before he reached out, taking Wells by the shoulders and pushing him into the wall. Breathless, Wells couldn’t move as Matty captured his mouth with his, pressing into his body with his own. Reaching out, Wells wrapped his arms around Matty’s neck, yanking him closer. Matty’s body was hard, and fuck, he was heavy against Wells’s thigh. Taking ahold of his jaw, Matty swept his tongue inside Wells’s mouth, and a low moan left his throat as Matty slowly pulled back.
Only slightly, though.
Moving his hands down Matty’s body, Wells gripped the other guy’s cock through his shorts, his eyes burning into his. He was big, thick, and when Wells squeezed him, Matty hissed out a breath. He was so beautiful. So hard and hot, and, fuck, he had to have him.
Now.
Licking his lips, Wells asked, “My place or yours?”
Matty’s eyes were playful as he tried to nip at Wells’s bottom lip. “So brash.”
Wells grinned. “You don’t want me?”
“Oh, I fucking want you.”
“Then take me.”
“I will, in my own damn time.”
Heat filled his gut as Wells captured Matty’s mouth with his. As their tongues moved together, their hands grasping with such need, Wells couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d wanted it, but he’d been sure Matty wouldn’t have him.
Tearing his mouth from Matty’s, Wells licked his jaw before going up to his ear, nipping at his lobe. “I didn’t know. I never expected.”
Matty’s lips curved as he nodded. “No one knows.”
That alone should have been a warning sign.
He should have run.
And, oh, he did run.
Straight to Matty’s room.
He would never stop loving Matty.
He couldn't.
But Matty would never be who Wells wanted him to be. Who he deserved.
So without another thought, he finished his tie and caught up with his friends.
He was marrying Alex.
Five
Matty couldn’t breathe.
In his hand, he held his phone, gripping it like it was a hockey stick just to feel safe, but it wasn’t working. Not even in the slightest. But it should. It was the reason he was in Colorado. A simple text had brought him there.
Dude.
Wells is getting married at three on Saturday.
Are you really gonna let him do it?
While the words stopped every breath from leaving his lips for a solid ten seconds, it was the person who sent the text that blew his mind.
Vaughn Johansson.
Wells’s best friend.
The same guy Matty was convinced hated him. For damn good reasons, but he was pretty sure Vaughn wasn’t doing this for Matty, but for Wells. Wells was marrying another man. A man who was nowhere near a good enough person for Wells Lemiere. Matty wasn’t saying that he was, but damn it, Alex sure as fuck wasn’t!
Matty had spent months dying inside without Wells. Ever since he’d allowed him to walk away on Thanksgiving, he’d hated himself. He should have stopped Wells, but he couldn’t. He was too scared. Then months passed, he learned of the engagement, but he told himself Wells wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t. Matty had tried texting him, reaching out, but he never got an answer. When he found himself blocked on Instagram and Facebook, he should have taken the hint.
But he didn’t.
H
e still loved Wells.
Desperately.
Getting that text, learning about Wells’s intentions to marry that guy… Yeah, it only took a second before a fire had lit under his ass and he was on the next flight to Colorado. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. He sure as hell wasn’t sure what he was even going to do, but he knew he had to stop the love of his life from marrying someone else. He just had to.
Because Wells belonged with Matty.
Matty had been wrong when he’d let Wells walk out of his life. So damn wrong.
He should have done this months ago. Instead, Matty wallowed, hated himself, and damn it, something had to change.
He had to change.
Or better yet, he had to own the change that had already happened.
Tears burned his eyes, his heart in his throat as he stood in front of the pair of doors that he knew led to the altar. He could hear the pastor, speaking of love and all the usual topics that were spoken about at weddings. Swallowing hard, he pressed his hands to the doors, but he didn’t open them. His hands were shaking too badly; his gut was in knots. What if Wells rejected him? He had every right.
All Wells had wanted was for Matty to come out. To love him freely, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Matty couldn’t look at his family and tell them the truth. What if they hated him? What if they rejected him and banned him from the family? More so than he already was, anyway. His father was the commissioner of the NHL, and open-minded wasn’t the way they were raised. But yet as he stood there, Matty knew it didn’t matter. Because, while he wasn’t sure if he could come out, he knew he didn’t have a choice.
He wouldn’t lose Wells any more than he already had.
Matty had known he was gay from the moment he got a hard-on in the guys’ locker room at the age of thirteen. He was never turned on by girls, but guys, yeah, they did it for him. He kept it under wraps. He was angry, he was difficult, and the way he acted out his torment drove Avery to the point of almost killing herself. He was awful to her because he wasn’t who he wanted to be. It was no excuse, but he’d done it. Laurence and Seth were manly guys who played hockey themselves, and he knew they wouldn’t understand. Nor would his parents. How could they? He sometimes didn’t even understand himself. He loved dudes—no, he loved Wells and only Wells.
