“Red flag, number twelve. You’re off the field.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the flag,” Austin snarls back. “I’m not leaving until I know Logan’s okay.”
If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d be shocked at the fury in his voice. It takes something serious to rattle him. I guess this is serious enough.
Someone crouches on my other side. “Give him room.” It’s a woman. I think it might be a doctor. Her hands are cool as they touch my skin. She’s asking me where it hurts, if I can move my arms or legs. I can’t answer. Feeling starts to return to my fingers and toes.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but eventually, I’m lifted onto a stretcher. I hear Austin’s voice nearby, telling me I’ll be okay, that he’s here, he’ll be right behind me. They’re taking me to the hospital in an ambulance. That’s the last thing I remember.
When I wake up, I’m lying in a hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines. I blink groggily. My head pounds. My body throbs. What time is it? The curtains are closed, so I can’t see out the window. Everything smells of antiseptic, and the room is empty. No, wait. There’s someone sleeping in the chair next to my bed. Austin.
All my focus narrows on his form. He’s too large for the chair. His legs are stretched out, his hands folded across his abdomen. Like me, he’s coated in sweat and dirt, and he still wears his jersey and cleats. I wonder how long he’s been here. I wonder how long I’ve been here. I glance under the covers. Long enough for them to put me in a paper hospital gown, it seems.
How he knows I’m awake, I have no clue, but his eyes open and he stares at me, fatigue drooping around his eyes and mouth. He leans forward, touches my arm. Bows his head. Releases a long breath. The sight makes my throat close up, because it’s not often he shows this much emotion, what he’s feeling. But he must be feeling a lot right now.
“Logan.” That’s all he says. Just my name. He looks up, and there’s a sheen to his eyes. Then he leans forward and presses the softest kiss to my mouth.
“Well,” I say when he leans back, my voice scratchy and unfamiliar. “I guess I’m alive.”
That seems to break something in him. It’s as if his entire body crumples beneath those words. “Don’t fucking say shit like that. It’s not funny.” His hand trembles against my arm. Whatever happened, it must have been bad. Also, there’s something different about his face, but I’m not sure what. My head is still foggy.
“Sorry,” I say. “Bad joke.” I try sitting up, and he’s eager to help, plumping up the pillows at my back. “What happened?”
“The short version is one of the players rammed you. Temporary paralysis. Concussion. It was... bad. You’ve been out for three days.” He leaves it at that.
Only now do I realize why his face looks off. There’s swelling around his nose and jaw. The skin looks dark with a bruise.
“Did you get into a fight?” I ask incredulously. That must have been the sound I heard earlier, why the referees were going crazy with the whistle blowing.
His expression darkens as he says, “That guy could have snapped your spine in half. He knew what he was doing. Knew he could have paralyzed you. So yeah, I hit the shit out of him. And I’d do it again.”
“Austin.” I can’t believe it. I honestly can’t believe my calm, level-headed friend attacked another player on the field. “What did the ref do?”
“He gave me a red card.”
A red card—they kicked him out for the remainder of the game, but he’s lucky that’s all it was. The referees have an ungodly amount of power when it comes to that.
He studies me with such intensity that whatever I was going to say dies on my tongue. Maybe it wasn’t out of line to attack that player. I start thinking about what I would have done had our roles been reversed, had I watched my best friend get pulverized for no apparent reason than to assert dominance. The thought stirs fury in me. I realize I’d do the same. I’d make them bleed and I wouldn’t feel remorse over it.
I smile at him to hopefully loosen the tension in him. “Why are you so far away?” I reach out my hand, happy when he clasps it. I tug him over to the side of the bed and pull him down for a kiss, not caring who could walk through the door.
But Austin pulls back, uncertain. “Can I get you anything?” He looks to the bedside table. “More water, maybe?”
The pitcher of water is full. “It’s fine. I’m not that thirsty—”
“You might be later though.” He’s flighty. Nervous. Before I can respond, he says, “I’ll get you some water,” and heads out the door.
Okay. I must have scared Austin more than I first thought. He doesn’t know how to cope with the thought of me in a hospital bed. I get it. It worries me, but I also find it endearing how deeply he cares.
Since there’s nothing to do but watch television, I reach for the remote and flip through the channels until I land on a soccer match. I’ll watch it until he gets back.
It takes me a moment to realize there’s someone standing in my doorway. Another second to place the face.
I stiffen. “Jaden.”
“Hey, man.” He smiles tentatively, but doesn’t approach. He wears jeans and a t-shirt. “Can I come in?”
I mean, if the guy came all this way to visit me, I’m not going to say no. I gesture him inside.
“Thought I’d pay you a visit,” he says. “See how you were doing.” He lifts a water bottle and sets it on the table. “Brought you this.”
I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m touched nonetheless.
Slipping his hands into his pockets, he glances around the austere room. A single painting hangs on the wall. “That was pretty scary back on the field.” His expression is grave.
“Yeah.” I have no idea what it looked like. I only know what it felt like. And it felt like being steamrolled by a freight train.
Heat gathers in my face as he studies me. Jaden is attractive. That hasn’t changed. But he’s not the one I want.
He startles me by saying, “That’s the guy, huh?”
My hand pauses against the remote. “Who?”
“The goalie on your team. Austin. He’s the guy you’re with, right?”
How does he know that?
He smiles at my silence and explains, “When we hit it off at the bar a few weeks ago, I wondered about the sudden disinterest. I was kicking myself for not getting your number. But I saw you two during warm-up, how you acted around one another. Once your friend smashed his fist into my teammate’s face, well—” He gives a hard laugh and shakes his head. “It was easy to see it then.”
Is it that obvious about Austin and I? Or does Jaden only see it because he’s gay? I’m not that concerned with appearances, but I’m not ready to let the rest of the world know. And if Austin’s not comfortable with it, that could be a problem. “How is your teammate? I haven’t heard anything about him.
He lifts a shoulder. “He’ll live, if that’s what you’re asking, but he’s suspended for the rest of the games. He deserves it. That was a dirty play, and we all saw it for what it was. He’s lucky you weren’t seriously injured.” Jaden sees that my cup of water is empty and fills it up using the pitcher. “Your friend will probably return soon, but do you need anything?”
Looking at Jaden, I know that if I wasn’t already half in love with Austin, I’d probably fall for this guy.
Instead of answering his question, I say, “He’s the first guy I’ve ever been with.” There. I said it. And the world didn’t end. “We used to be friends in high school, but lost touch in college.” The words are less of a confession and more of a statement, of coming to terms with my emotions. What I feel for Austin is bigger and better than what I’ve felt for anyone else. My previous partners were ghosts in comparison. “Turns out I’m not as straight as I thought.” I crack a smile, which he returns.
“Hey, I get it. I
t was the same for me. It’s definitely an adjustment.”
“Who did you fall for?”
Jaden sighs, and I sense it’s a painful topic. “We went to college together. He was also on my soccer team. Defenseman. We messed around for a while before he decided it wasn’t what he wanted. It was kind of awkward after that, being teammates. I think he was in denial. Anyway, we parted ways after graduation. And that was that.” He shrugs.
At that moment, Austin returns. He stands in the doorway, glancing between Jaden and I, and it’s like I can see the bricks stacking up one by one, shutting out what he feels. His face is stone.
“Austin, this is Jaden,” I say as he steps into the room.
He offers his hand, which the other guy accepts. “Nice to meet you.”
Jaden glances at me again. “I was just coming to see how Logan was doing, but it seems like you got that covered.” He heads for the door. “Feel better, Logan.”
Austin sets down a water bottle on the table. “It seems he beat me to it,” he says, gesturing to the water bottle Jaden dropped off. His lips thin.
“Jealous?” I tease.
“Maybe,” he mutters.
“Don’t be.” These days it feels like my heart can’t hold everything I feel for my friend. “Come here.” I start tugging him over to the bed.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me.” I look him in the eyes, expression serious. “You could never hurt me.” I think about that. “Well, unless you ditch me again. So long as you don’t do that.” Austin’s abandonment after high school nearly killed me. I don’t know what I’d do if he decided to leave a second time.
Once I scoot over to give him room, he settles beside me. I rest my head against his shoulder. He smells of grass and sweat. He looks hot in his shin guards.
“When are they going to release you?” he asks.
“They said later this evening. I’ll probably hurt tomorrow.” My eyelids flutter. “The painkillers make me tired.”
“Here, let me sit in the chair so you can rest.”
“No.” I grip his arm to keep him at my side. I don’t want him going anywhere. “Stay.” I put my head on his chest before he can argue. After a moment, he brushes the hair from my forehead, then settles in. I fall asleep to the beating of his heart.
When I next come to consciousness, Austin is shaking me awake. “Wake up, baby.” He murmurs it into my ear, and the sound is like a warm finger stroking down my spine. I shift against him, clutching him closer to me. I don’t want to wake up. I’d rather spend the day in bed with him.
My hands begin to wander over his body, and I eventually find what I’m looking for between his legs. Austin sucks in a breath and brushes my hands away. Weird.
“Logan.” He shakes me again.
My hands wander back to what I want, and he gives an exasperated laugh. “I don’t think he realizes where we are,” he says to someone else in the room.
Where are we again?
My eyes open to a man in a white coat. A doctor. That’s right. I was taken to the hospital after some asshole flattened me on the field. I snatch my hands away from Austin’s crotch.
“They’re discharging you,” my friend tells me, sliding off the bed and helping me sit up. I miss the warmth when he’s gone.
Oh. Well, that’s good. In fact, they’re already waiting with a wheelchair. Seems they really want to free up the room for someone.
They give us a few minutes of privacy so I can change back into my uniform. It’s painful. My entire body aches. When they return, Austin helps me over to the wheelchair while the doctor begins listing the do’s and don’ts for the next forty-eight hours.
“No running. No heavy lifting.”
“What about sex?” I ask. Yeah, I have no filter.
Austin looks away in embarrassment.
“Er.” The doctor glances between us. I just smile at him. “Sex is fine. So long as you, um, stay hydrated?”
I snort. Hydrated.
“Sounds good.” I pat Austin’s hand, which grips the wheelchair handle like a vise. “Let’s go.”
A cab waits for us outside the hospital. I’m happy to sit in the backseat with Austin as our driver weaves in and out of traffic. Seriously, Parisian drivers are insane.
In ten minutes, we reach the university campus. We take the elevator to the second floor of the dorms, and I’m so happy when we step inside what I now see as our haven. I just want to stay in bed and do nothing. Or do Austin, rather.
“I’ll start you a shower,” Austin says. Then he disappears into the bathroom.
Chapter 19
Austin
Logan watches me, his eyes swimming with emotion, as I return from turning on the shower. Tugging him from the bed, I lead him to the bathroom, where the air’s beginning to steam. I don’t look at him as I undress him. I don’t want him to see how torn up I still am over having to watch the guy I love get crushed beneath the weight of a larger man. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that.
Slowly, I pull off his shirt. Aside from the hiss of hot water, it’s quiet. The fabric drops onto the floor. Next, I tug down his shorts, which are smeared with grass and dirt. “Step out,” I tell him.
Bracing a hand against my shoulder, he does. Now he wears only his socks.
“Remember how I said I wanted to take you in just your jersey and socks?” Logan joke.
Finally, I lift my head. I’m hard, but it’s an effect of being around Logan, not arousal. With a small smile, I reply, “I remember.” I press a kiss to his mouth. “Another time, though.” He seems confused, but also pleased by the gesture.
Once he removes his socks, I tell him to step into the shower before shedding my clothes and stepping in beside him. Steam curls around us, and the air is thick to breathe.
He watches me carefully. The length of him juts out, taunting me. Telling me to take him with my hand, with my mouth, in other ways we’ve yet to explore. But all I feel is warmth flowing through me, not urgency. Something steady and unbreakable and deep.
As I reach around him for the soap, he whispers, “What are you doing?” His eyes are dark and wide. Questioning.
“Washing you,” I say, as if it’s obvious when I pour the body wash into my palms.
I start with his shoulders. They gradually relax under my hands as I skim along his sleek form, loving the feel of his strength, and lower, the chest hair between my fingers. I move downward, taking my time to soap up his flat stomach. Logan has a beautiful body, and I revel in the chance to worship it. “Turn around.” When he does, I wash his back, the taut, tanned skin and rippling muscles. Logan releases a slow breath.
Gently, I turn him back around so we’re facing one another. Maybe it’s the calm between us. Maybe it’s the feeling of safety. But I find myself talking about my mother. I’ve never spoken to Logan about her before. Casey and Mitchell know the deal, but that’s because they once helped me search for her when she went missing, and I told them of her addiction. Never Logan though.
“When I was seven,” I begin, slowing my strokes, “I came home to my mom passed out on the floor, blood and broken glass everywhere. I started screaming. I thought she was dead.”
Logan links our fingers together, then brings my hand up to his mouth to press a kiss against the inside of my wrist.
My voice quiets. I want so much to hide this shame, but at the same time, I want to share it with him. It’s the only way I can start to move past the feeling of viewing my family as a burden. I want to be good in Logan’s eyes. “My sister called the police. An ambulance came and took her away. We had nowhere to go. Our father walked out on us a long time ago. I don’t even remember what he looks like.
“The police officer drove us to the hospital to see her. She was alive, but asleep. The nurse said she had a bad cut on her he
ad from falling down the stairs, and that’s why there was so much blood. They put me and Lydia in a home for a few weeks, saying our mom had to go to rehab. That was when I first learned of her alcohol addiction.”
The memory still brings back the terror. I had been a child, but in that moment, the veil of innocence had been ripped away. “I’m telling you this,” I say, waiting until he looks at me, water streaming down his face, “because how I felt then was nothing compared to how I felt watching that guy steamroll you today. I really wanted to kill him for hurting you like that.”
His somber gaze meets mine. Though he doesn’t say anything, I can read everything he’s feeling in his eyes, because they’re a reflection of my own. I know Logan cares about me, but right now, I see something deeper. Something I’m too afraid to acknowledge. I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing. I don’t deserve it.
Logan reaches behind him to turn off the shower. It’s quiet as we towel each other off. There’s no pressure to speak. The silence tells me more than what a few words would say. That Logan is here. That he hears me. That he’s not going anywhere.
Naked, we make our way to Logan’s bed and lie side by side. It’s force of habit now. I pull him into my arms and murmur in his ear, “Go to sleep.”
He tucks his face against my neck. “What if I’m not tired?”
“How are you not tired? You were pumped with drugs at the hospital. You were basically rammed by a truck three days ago.”
One of his hands drifts across my chest, tracing swirly patterns over my skin, around my belly button. They curve over my hip, skirting my dick. “I was tired. But now that you’re touching me, I’m feeling more awake now.” He looks at me, and his eyes are a little glazed. “Don’t you want to touch me?”
I want nothing more than to touch him, but I don’t want to take advantage of Logan when he’s in this state. Tomorrow, maybe, when he’s rested.
I pull his hand away from where it strokes my dick. “Logan,” I warn.
“Austin,” he replies back in that same disapproving tone. His touch sucks all the air from my body. “Can we—?” He looks at me without finishing his sentence, but I know what he’s asking. My face heats at the thought.
Out of Bounds Page 17
