by Amy Aislin
Dakota closed his eyes, bouncing his head against the back of the chair. “He’s smart. Determined. Doesn’t quit. Genuinely likes Andy. He’s close with his parents and his grandmother, but his relationship with his sisters is a bit strained. He’s a people person. Not that he wants to be the center of attention; I don’t think he wants that at all, but he likes being around people. He’s . . .” He blew out a breath. “He’s real. What you see is what you get.”
“You may not know random details about him,” Calder said. “But you know who he is. What’s more important than that? And if there are things you want to talk about that he’s avoiding, talk to him about that, about why he’s avoiding it. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Wincing, Dakota rubbed his chest. He’d been an asshole to Tay the last couple of days. Okay, no. Asshole was a strong word. But he definitely hadn’t been as chatty over text as he normally was. Poor Tay was probably confused about how they’d gone from being so easy with each other to hardly any communication. Hell, the confused furrow to Tay’s brow when he’d left on Saturday had said it all—he had no idea where Dakota’s head was at, but he knew something had changed. And because Dakota didn’t want to have this conversation through text or phone, he’d slowly pulled away, adding bricks around his heart while he anticipated the worst—Tay breaking things off.
He kicked Calder’s foot under the table. “Thanks, man.”
Calder gave him a thumbs up and went back to his laptop.
Shaking off the last couple of days, Dakota finally texted Tay back. This was fixable. He’d make sure of it.
There were eleven other people in Tay’s Tuesday morning pre-hospital care practical. It was the first practical of six that would take place in the next three weeks, meant to prepare the students for their future careers as paramedics. Tay had worked with the program coordinator to be scheduled into practicals he could attend in person, but that still meant he’d miss two next week while he was on the road with his team. There was no way around it, so the professor had agreed to video call Tay in. He wasn’t happy about it.
The professor, not Tay. Although Tay wasn’t exactly happy about this practical in general.
Sweat dotted his temples as he sat in a lab on campus and wiped his damp palms on his thighs. The other men and women in his class sat around him, confidence bursting from every pore, shoulders squared. Tay’s own shoulders were rounded, and he avoided eye contact with the professor, silently begging not to be picked on.
Turned out party decorating wasn’t the only challenge that could kick his ass.
“You arrive at the scene of the emergency,” the professor said, arms crossed as he walked between the rows of counters. “What’s the first thing you assess?”
Shit. He knew this. They’d been studying this for weeks. It was emphasized in every case study he’d read for this class.
The kid can’t cut it in a four-year degree.
“Harley,” the professor barked.
Two rows over, Harley gave the answer. Tay didn’t hear it, his ears filled with static.
“There are loved ones at the scene,” the professor continued. “What’s the protocol for handling them?”
Oh god. There was a protocol for that? The professor called on someone else as Tay’s hands balled into fists on his thighs.
Someone must’ve answered; the professor continued. “In triage, what are you assessing the injured for?”
Tay’s muscles locked so hard pain shot into his neck. He knew this too. He did. But it was like a real emergency was right in front of him and everything he knew had flown out the window, his mind a blank slate, two years of knowledge erased. Spots danced in front of his vision.
“Taylor.”
Oh fuck. “Um.” He swallowed hard, throat clicking, armpits turning into puddles. “Uh . . .”
“These questions are basic fundamentals we’ve been talking about since the first week of the semester.” The professor’s voice was unforgiving. “You shouldn’t have to think about the answers at this point.”
Fuck. What if Anna and Stella were right and he didn’t have what it took?
He flew out of there as soon as the two-hour practical was over, already dreading Thursday afternoon’s. Could he fake the flu?
God, what was wrong with him? He knew the answers to the professor’s questions. All of them. Of course, that didn’t help him now as he drove to the arena, and it wouldn’t help him if he froze during an actual emergency situation and remembered everything later.
So. He wasn’t good under pressure. Good to know.
Except that wasn’t true. Take that overtime against Florida last week. He and Grey had scored in less than a minute. He’d been focused. Sure of himself. He knew what the fuck he was doing on the ice.
Everywhere else though . . .
He didn’t even know what he was doing with Dakota.
God. Dakota.
By the time he parked at the arena, changed into workout gear, and joined his teammates in a deserted hallway for a round of Balls In My Court, he had a headache from clenching his jaw so tight, and a pit of frustration in his stomach the size of a fucking ice rink. He took his feelings out on the tennis ball, whipping it at the wall with his racket until he was—for once—the last one standing.
Using his non-dominant hand.
Huh.
Feelings were good for something.
“Let’s chat.” Stanton swung an arm around his shoulders and led him back to the locker room.
“Huh?” Breathing hard, T-shirt clinging to his chest, Tay tried to shrug him off. “But I want to do another round.”
“Nope. You’re coming with me.”
In the empty locker room, Tay sat on the bench in front of his cubby and dropped his racket on the floor. “What’s up?”
Stanton stood in front of him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He looked like a determined terrier. “You tell me.”
“What? I’m fine.” Tay found his bag and pulled a towel out to wipe his face.
“Uh-huh. Now look me in the eye and tell me that.”
Looking his best friend dead in the eye, he said, “I’m . . .”
One of Stanton’s eyebrows lifted in an annoying aha!
Slumping, Tay draped the towel around his neck.
“Talk to me.” Stanton sat next to him. “What’s going on?”
Tay rolled his eyes, snorting a self-deprecating laugh. Where did he start? “Nothing.” Everything. “Just dealing with some school stuff and . . .” He pursed his lips, debating with himself for a moment. “What do you think it means when the guy you’re dating takes eight hours to text you back?”
Stanton winced, making Tay’s stomach sink down to his toes. “I don’t know, man. You’re asking the wrong person. I’m the guy who kissed Xappa ’cause I thought he was flirting with me. Turns out he was just being nice.”
Tay’s own drama momentarily forgotten, he slow panned in Stanton’s direction. “Question: when and where did this happen? Follow-up question: how come I’m only just hearing about it? And third: do you . . . like Xappa?”
“It was nothing,” Stanton said with a shrug. “It was at the Christmas party. I was drunk and he called me an Uber. Walked me out to it and everything. Even opened the door for me and buckled my seatbelt ’cause I was laughing too hard.”
Huh. Xappa keeping an eye on his best friend’s little brother or something else?
“My drunk brain apparently took that as flirting,” Stanton continued. “’Cause I went and kissed him. He looked like I’d throat-punched him. Anyway. Back to you.”
He hadn’t answered Tay’s last question. Interesting.
Stanton bumped their shoulders. “Sorry things aren’t going well with your guy. Maybe the honeymoon phase is over?”
“No.” Redirected back to his own shit, Tay slumped and shook his head. “This is different. He’s being . . . distant.” He’d known things weren’t kosher between the
m before he’d left Dakota’s after the zoo, despite Dakota’s words that everything was fine. But he’d needed to get to the arena and hadn’t had time to stay to ask about whatever had made Dakota wall himself off.
Fuck. He should’ve stayed. Hashed things out. It felt like there was more distance between them now than there’d been before they’d ever gotten to know each other.
“Maybe he was busy when your text came in and he forgot to answer until hours later?” Stanton offered.
“Four times in a row?”
Sighing, Stanton wedged their shoulders together. “Sorry, man. I don’t know what to tell you. Did you ask him about it?”
“No. That’s not something I want to do over text just so he can ignore me forever. I’m being ghosted.” Not entirely, but it sure felt that way.
“Do you have plans to see each other again?”
“Tomorrow. We have a coffee date.”
That was all Dakota’s responding text from Monday had said. Sorry, I’ve got a full plate tomorrow. Back-to-back meetings. Don’t even have five minutes to eat. Coffee on Wednesday instead?
He’d added a little winky emoji, whatever that meant. As if it explained anything. As if it helped Tay understand what he’d done wrong.
“Talk to him about it then,” Stanton said.
“Yeah, I will.”
Problem was, Tay didn’t think he could wait that long.
After a loss to North Carolina, Tay headed out of the locker room toward the parking garage, phone in hand. It was late, almost ten, but he sent the text anyway.
Can I come by? Just for a few minutes? We need to talk.
Sitting in his car, he waited for a return message, bracing himself for a rejection. Or no answer at all. Dakota might already be in bed.
He wasn’t sure which was worse: rejection or silence.
However, miracle of miracles, his phone pinged with a response less than three minutes later.
Sure.
Dakota wasn’t one to pace, even when he was anxious, so he sat on the couch in the living room while he waited for Tay. The curtains over the front window were pulled back, and he stared at the quiet street, the streetlights haloing small patches of frozen front yards and empty sidewalks. A car drove past every once in a while; each one had him perking up, a mix of expectation and apprehension swirling in his gut.
He’d intended to talk to Tay tomorrow during their scheduled coffee date, but it appeared they’d be having that conversation tonight, the one Dakota had wanted to have three days ago.
What had made Tay reach out when he should be drowning his sorrows over tonight’s loss in a bottle of beer with his teammates? He must’ve been feeling the strain between them as strongly as Dakota, and the blame for that lay squarely on Dakota’s shoulders.
Headlights bounced over the front of the house as Tay pulled into the driveway. Blowing out a long, steady breath, Dakota slipped into running shoes, grabbed his coat, and stepped onto the porch, bracing himself against the cold night and for whatever Tay was going to say.
The car door slamming closed echoed gently. And then there Tay was, rounding the hood of his SUV, winter coat blowing open in the breeze. A backpack hung off one shoulder, and his thumbs moved on his cell phone.
Leaning against a post, Dakota shoved his hands in his pockets, the sight of Tay making him smile into the night, despite everything. “Hey.”
“Jesus!” Jumping back about two feet, Tay almost landed in the bushes lining the walkway. “Scared the shit out of me. Why would you lurk in the dark like that? What’s wrong with you?”
Dakota never would’ve guessed that he’d be laughing already. “Sorry.”
Tay glared at him, steps thumping softly on the porch steps.
“Really.” Still chuckling, Dakota held up both hands in apology. “I just didn’t want you knocking and waking Andy.”
“I wouldn’t have.” Tay waved his phone. “I was texting you.”
“Oh.” Dakota should’ve guessed.
Jesus, Tay looked good. He was in a suit under the wool coat, dark blue from what Dakota could tell under the dim porch light, paired with a light gray shirt, brown leather belt, and brown loafers. “Hi, Tay.”
“Hi.” Tay’s smile was fleeting, and the apprehension in Dakota’s gut eclipsed the expectation. “I know it’s late but I wanted to talk. Didn’t think I could wait until tomorrow.”
“Before you say anything.” Dakota took both his hands in his, squeezing warmth into them. “I’m sorry about the last couple of days. I know I’ve been distant.”
One shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “I get it. You’re busy.”
“No. I mean, yes, I am, but that wasn’t it.”
“I did something to upset you.”
“You . . .” Dakota blinked at him. “What?”
“At the zoo.” Tay’s gaze drifted to the left, in the direction of the zoo. “I did something to upset you.”
“No. It’s actually what you didn’t do. And what I thought you were doing. And I was . . .” Upset wasn’t the right word. “Disappointed, at first, but then I realized I was taking it the wrong way.”
“What did I do?” Tay’s voice was a ragged whisper. “Or not do?”
“I’ll explain, but first, come inside where it’s warm.”
In the foyer, they left shoes under the bench and hung coats in the closet. The bright light of the hallway accentuated purple bags under Tay’s eyes Dakota hadn’t noticed outside and the slight creases at the corners of his mouth. Dakota cupped his cheek, sweeping his thumb over his cheekbone. “Did something happen today?”
Tay stilled. “What?” His whisper skated over Dakota’s inner wrist.
“Are you okay? You seem stressed.” And it was more than tonight’s loss and their own rocky situation.
The material of Dakota’s T-shirt suddenly became fascinating to Tay. “I’m fine.”
He’d get it out of Tay sooner or later, so he left it alone for now. Threading their fingers together, regret churning when Tay’s hand jerked in surprise, he led Tay into the family room with a “Be right back” and went into the kitchen. Tay had to be starving. What could he feed him that was quick? He didn’t have any deli meats—that stuff was gross—so he couldn’t slap a quick sandwich together, and he and Andy had eaten last night’s leftovers for dinner tonight. Which meant the only thing in his fridge was condiments and lettuce.
In the end, he brought Tay a bottle of water, the jar of peanut butter, and a box of crackers.
“It’s not much,” he said, coming back into the room. “But it’s all I’ve got at the moment short of unfreezing some chicken.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Hang on.” Back in the kitchen, he grabbed a plate and a knife. “Here.” He placed them both on the coffee table with the other stuff and sat next to Tay.
“Thanks,” Tay said. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“You’ve got to be starving.”
“Always am after a game.”
Yet he didn’t reach for the food, just held onto the knife and tapped the flat of the blade against his palm.
“Gonna stab me with that?”
That startled a laugh out of Tay. “No.” He set the knife aside, pulled one leg underneath him, and turned on the couch to face Dakota. “Will you tell me what’s going on now?”
There was no way Dakota could resist those pleading eyes. “Remember when I asked about your art on Saturday? I was hurt that you didn’t want to tell me about it.”
Tay’s eyes narrowed. “That’s why you didn’t talk to me for three days?”
“No.” Okay, time for real talk. Settling into the same position as Tay, he took one of Tay’s hands, hating this awkward distance between them. “When I told you that I saw a therapist after Fiona left? Tay, the only other person who knows about that is Calder. Even my parents don’t know. It felt like I’d bared my soul to you, and you couldn’t even tell me what your comic’s about.”<
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“I’m sorry.” Tay’s hand came up to cup Dakota’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this is a one-sided relationship.”
“Yeah, I had a lot of time to think it over the last couple of days, and I figured you didn’t do it on purpose. At the time, though, I thought you were evading the topic because you weren’t as serious about us as you thought. It wasn’t the first time you’d dodged a serious topic and . . .” Pulling Tay’s hand away from his face, Dakota gently kissed his palm. “After Andy was born, Fiona sort of . . . shut down. She wouldn’t talk to me about anything until she announced she was leaving, and—” Fuck. He wasn’t explaining this right. “I thought the reason you weren’t talking to me was because you wanted to step back from us.”
“I don’t,” Tay stated, scooting closer. His bent knee bumped against Dakota’s hip. “I meant what I said. I want to date you, see where this goes. If it was up to me, I’d already be calling you my boyfriend, and I would’ve introduced you to all of my friends already, and you’d be coming to family dinners, and I’d be shouting how much I like you from the rooftops.”
A tingly feeling erupted in Dakota’s chest, traveling to the tips of the fingers that held Tay’s hand. He brought Tay’s hand to his mouth and kissed his palm. “I’m sorry I misread things.”
Tay bit his lip. “Do you actually want to know about my art?”
“Yes!” Laughing, Dakota cupped his face and kissed him hard. “I also want to know about your relationship with your sisters, and why you chose the specialist program instead of the two-year degree, and what you meant when you said you understood about questioning your choices.” At Tay’s furrowed brow, he added, “All topics you’ve avoided at one point or another.”
“I did?” Tay’s face went all adorably pouty. “I didn’t know.”
He hadn’t realized. Of course. It was like Calder said—it had nothing to do with Dakota.
“Can I show you?” Tay asked.
“Show me . . . ?”
“My art.”
“Your . . .” Startled, Dakota faltered for a second. “Yes. Please.”
Tay disappeared down the hallway, back less than twenty seconds later, carrying an iPad that he flipped the cover off of as he reentered the room. He sat snuggled up to Dakota this time, almost in his lap. It must not have been comfortable with Dakota sitting sideways—his foot was pressing into Tay’s hip—but Tay didn’t seem to care.
