BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (31 page)

By the third period, with nothing on the boards, the Sabres got desperate. Bower covered the Cobras' net like a wall, spread out like a
jointless
monster. Luke scooped up a long pass from Bower and zipped across the ice. Nelson drove him into the boards. Luke gulped in air as pain erupted from his back and his muscles seized. He dropped hard and ice melted under his cheek. He was all right. But he needed air.

Air. None came. He pressed his eyes shut and rolled over to his back. Demyan stood over him, lips moving.

His brain fogged with a sharp buzzing, but he finally heard what Demyan was saying.

"Need a hand up? If anything hurts, tell me. I'll get the doc."

"Just a little shook up. Give me a sec." Luke shook his head and rolled over. Got to his knees. The sounds from the crowds had changed. Taken on a bloodthirsty edge. A fight. He pushed Demyan aside. "Let me see!"

Holding his hands up, Nelson skidded backwards, but Seb grabbed him and clocked him right in the jaw. He released Nelson and made a sharp motion with his hand, giving Nelson an out.

Nelson didn't take it. Even though Seb was a head taller, and at least thirty pounds heavier, Nelson dropped his gloves, letting the refs know he was in. He took another jab to the jaw, then blocked a punch with his forearm. Threw himself forward to catch Seb off balance and swung his fist.

Seb caught the punch and used Nelson's momentum to toss him over. Skates up, head down, Nelson fell. He tried to shake off the ref, but the officials moved in to separate the fighters. They hauled Seb to the sin bin, then let Nelson make his way to the
Sabres'
penalty box on his own.

 
The crowd didn't care much who'd won, but the Cobras hit the boards with their sticks harder than the Sabres, cheering the victor.

Luke inclined his head as he glanced towards Seb. The man had stuck up for him. He deserved some props.

Seb acknowledged the gesture with a stiff nod.

Final minutes of the third period. The Sabres crowded Bower, blinding him as a defenseman took a rocket shot from the point. Callahan tried to block the shot, but it hit his glove and trickled over the line. Luke frowned as he watched Callahan shake his hand before he hit Bower's pads with his stick, letting their goalie know it was okay. They were still ahead.

But their captain was hurting. And Luke wasn't the only one who noticed.

"He's not right," Demyan said as he leaned close to Luke.

"That puck hit him hard. Probably just bruised up." Luke watched Callahan disappear into the back with a trainer. "They'll check him out, but I bet he's fine."

"He'll say he is no matter what."

Nodding, Luke leaned forward, stretching his arms and his spine. A dull ache settle low in his back. Yeah, they were all
gonna
get roughed up. That's what happened in the playoffs. Callahan returned after just a few minutes. He was okay.

Last five minutes. Demyan broke away from the
Sabres'
defense, who were pinching in an effort to even up the score. Luke stabbed his stick into the huddle in the corner and freed the puck. His pass was wide, but Demyan snapped it up and headed in alone. His first shot hit the post, but the goalie was all alone and Demyan snatched the rebound, diving into his shot as the goalie spread out. The shot hit the right corner post. Clipped the goalie's helmet. And dropped between the pipes. The goalie tried to scoop it out and accidentally pushed it over the line. He covered his helmet with his glove and dropped his head as the red lights flashed.

Seb left the box in the next shift and caught Luke's eye. Luke stumbled at the power in his gaze, but recovered fast enough to clear the puck. Icing. But it was the last seconds of the game. And Bower covered like he'd grown extra limbs. Sad thing was, he worked harder than he should have because all the Cobras acted like the game was already won.

And then it was. And they all went mad.

The team converged in the locker room and showered and donned their suits. Demyan had a local club in mind, but something Seb had said to Luke stuck with him. He wasn't supposed to drink during the playoffs, but damn, he wanted to. All the guys would be celebrating, so why couldn't he?

Because Seb had said no.
 
And for some reason, that made Luke pause.

"If I get wasted, I'll be shit at practice tomorrow."

His words sounded lame, but Demyan nodded.

"Hey, if you can't handle your liquor, go back to the hotel and catch some shut eye."

As if I can sleep now?

It was pathetic, but for some crazy reason, Luke needed Seb's okay. He found him in the hotel lobby and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he inched close to the man.

"Hey, Seb?"

"Yes, Carter?"

Luke winced and took a step back. Seb must be pissed if he was calling him Carter. Asking him if it was okay to drink would probably make it worse. "Never mind."

Frowning, Seb put his hand on Luke's shoulder before he could turn away. "Is there something you wanted to say to me, hombrecito?"

"Just . . . well, a few of the guys are going out to celebrate. I wanted to know if you were coming."

"I see." Seb's eyes narrowed slightly. "Shall we try the truth now?"

"Fuck, man." Luke rolled his eyes. "Fine. Is it cool if I have a couple a beers? I won't get plastered, I—"

"Why do you need my permission?"

"You know why."

"No." Seb's hand fell to his side. "I don't."

Those three words felt like a punch in the gut. Seb obviously didn't give a shit what he did.

Good. It's better this way.
Luke gave Seb a curt nod and headed out to catch a cab. At the club he mingled with the guys. Laughed and drank two beers. Then a third. He let some hot chicks drag him to the dance floor and considered going home with a couple. But he couldn't do it.

Near closing, he went back to the bar and ordered another beer. The first sip was bitter and he couldn't make himself take another. He took his cell out of his pocket and smiled when he saw one missed call from Jami. And a message.

He went outside to listen to it.

"You won!" A whoop and a laugh followed. Then Jami's tone changed, sounding pointedly unimpressed. "Anyway, just wanted to let you know I wasn't totally bored. You played good and that little dance was cocky—and
kinda
sexy. Wish you guys were here. The things I would do to you . . . ."

His cock twitched and he groaned.
Tease!

"Give me a call tomorrow if you want to . . . you know, talk about anything. I know some of this stuff is hard for you. We're friends if nothing else, right?"

The message ended abruptly and he found himself grinning like a moron and shaking his head. She wouldn't let up, would she? He put his phone away and strolled down the block aimlessly, his mind going over the 'If nothing else'. He'd given her the impression they had nothing else and he hadn't really meant to. He was just . . . confused. How he felt about her and how he felt about Seb was tangled together. And he didn't know how to deal with it.

But he had a good idea where to start.

* * * *

With a towel wrapped around his waist, Sebastian stood in the center of the bathroom, combing the tangles from his wet hair. He bound it low in a plain, black elastic, then faced the bathroom mirror and prodded the dark, blotchy red spot over his ribs from a slash in the first period. His stomach muscles bunched in response to the throbbing pain, but he'd had bruised ribs often enough to know it wasn't serious. An ice compress should dull it enough for him to sleep.

He took a small towel to the bedroom, then scooped a handful of ice from the bucket he'd ordered from room service before his shower. He grunted as he sat on the edge of the bed and held the makeshift icepack against his ribs. A few painkillers would be more effective, but he avoided them whenever possible. Early in his career he'd had a bad case of withdrawal after taking them for a few weeks when he'd fracture a couple of ribs. Minor discomfort was easier to deal with than kicking what could easily become an addiction.

Stretching out on his back he let his eyes drift shut and smiled as he recalled the message from Jami. He'd left his cell phone in his hotel room out of habit to avoid distractions, and by the time he checked his missed calls—the one from Jami and several from his cousin excitedly recapping every fifteen minutes of play—it was too late to call her back. But he'd listened to her message several times, impressed that she'd managed the whole thing in Spanish. Very bad Spanish, but it was the effort that counted. And the gist of what she'd said.

One part stuck out the most. "I could almost learn to love the game again if it didn't take you away from me for so long."

Sebastian picked up the phone from the nightstand and grazed his thumb over the screen which displayed the picture of Jami and him, taken for the magazine. Once he returned to her, he would keep her with him as long as possible. Make it so she wouldn't resent the game or anything else that kept them apart.

A soft knock at the door made him groan as he forced himself to sit up. A twinge of pain kept him still as he breathed through it. Another knock came, louder this time.

He gritted his teeth. "I'm coming."

"Fuck, Seb. Don't make me talk through the door." Luke sounded impatient. Almost desperate. "I swear, I'll say what I've got to say right in the hall and I don't give a damn who hears me."

Stupid, niño.
Sebastian cut across the room in long strides and threw the door open. "I don't respond well to threats, Carter."

"Luke." Luke stepped in and caught him off guard with a hard shove. "And too fucking bad. You're not ignoring me anymore."

The door slammed as Luke kicked it shut. He hooked his arm around the back of Sebastian's neck and rose up to give him a brutal, angry kiss. The intensity lessened abruptly, as though Luke's strength had left him. His eyes went wide as he released Seb and combed his fingers through his hair.

"Shit. I don't know what I'm doing. Tell me to get lost if you want, but I wanted to tell you—wanted to show you . . . ."

Sebastian wrapped his hand around the back of Luke's neck with just enough pressure for the young man to know he wasn't completely in control. He had a feeling that was what caused the uncertainty. Whatever Luke needed from him went beyond curiosity, beyond lust.

But is it enough?
Sebastian couldn't say for sure. But now that he had his hands on Luke again, letting him go would be almost impossible.

"What do you need to show me, Luke?"

Luke dropped to his knees. His breaths came out in harsh bursts of air. He curved his fingers around the top of the towel covering Sebastian. "I can—"

"No." Sebastian shook his head and gently drew Luke to his feet, brushing sweat slicked hair from his temples with his fingertips as he smiled. He should send Luke away. Should refuse the offer in his actions. But he knew how much it had cost Luke to come this far. He pulled Luke closer so he wouldn't feel rejected. "You're not ready for that, semental. But there are things I want to do to you. Show me you are ready to submit, that you can handle me touching you. Swear to me you will not hate yourself, or me, tomorrow—"

"I won't." Luke swallowed as Sebastian led him to the bed. "But I can't promise I won't be a little screwed up in the head about it in the morning. I'll still be able to play though. Jami—I mean, I get you being worried about that."

In other words, Jami had spoken to him about Sebastian's concerns and asked him not to say anything. He probably wouldn't have if he hadn't given in so completely. At this point Sebastian could ask Luke to reveal his deepest, darkest secrets and he would.

"I will take you at your word. But this will work much better if you are not so overdressed, niño. You have one last chance to walk away. If you want to stay, you will strip and lie down on my bed." Sebastian released Luke and waited for him to obey. His lips quirked when Luke tore at his shirt, eyes pressed shut, jaw muscles hardening with determination. "I do hope you brought more than one suit."

"I brought a few." Luke tugged off his dark blue, clip-on tie and tossed it towards the bed. "Hate wearing the damn things though."

Sebastian picked up the tie and shook his head. "You will not wear this again. I will show you how to wear a proper tie tomorrow."

"But—"

"I will dress you in the morning, Luke. Don't expect me to leave you—or make you leave—in the middle of the night."

Luke winced as if finally understanding the impact of what he’d done. "You're pissed about me leaving Jami, aren't you?"

"I am not happy about it, no. But we will discuss that further at another time. This, tonight, is about you and I." Sebastian folded his arms over his chest, giving Luke a pointed look. "The pants as well, niño."

"Right." Luke tongued his bottom lip and pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles. He stepped out of them, then straightened and clasped his hand to his wrist behind his back. His dick was fully erect, but by the stiff way he stood, with his chin up high, he was ignoring his own physical reactions to the situation. "So what now?"

"On the bed. Facedown."

Casting a wary look at the bed, Luke repeated. "Facedown?"

"Must I repeat my every command?" Sebastian let a hint of displeasure seep into his tone. "I don't have a cane or a crop on me, but I can improvise with my belt if you require punishment."

"I don't . . . I don't want this to be about me not obeying." Luke made a face and scowled at the floor. "It's just . . . when you had the knife to my throat—and a few other times after—it was like I didn't—"

"Have a choice." Sebastian nodded slowly. Luke couldn't completely surrender control. Not yet. He needed it taken from him. "Very well. Don't. Move."

In his sports bag, Sebastian found some sports tape. He eyed the lube and condoms. He doubted he would need either tonight, but he took them in case . . .

Don't rush him, Ramos.
Sebastian crushed the condom in his fist and dropped it back into his bag. He pulled on a pair of black jeans, then returned to Luke's side. Observed him for several long moments, perched on the edge of the bed, fist pressed into the mattress as though he'd rise any second and take a swing.