Empty Net (17 page)

Isaac wondered what that thing meant that Misha just called him. “Stupid idiot goalie”
in Russian, maybe. “Yeah. I know.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Laurent said suddenly. “It’s not like it wasn’t true. What he said about me.”

That brought a long, definitely uncomfortable moment of silence into the kitchen. Isaac stared down at his lap, unsure what to say.

“I would like to know what he said,” Misha asked, breaking the silence at last.

Isaac chewed on his lip and pushed at the ring there with his tongue. He couldn’t answer, not without betraying confidences he had no right to betray. He’d promised Laurent. But Misha would never buy that Isaac did it over those stupid makeup comments and the “lazy gay” slurs Tyler was tossing out like so much trash. Isaac heard that shit all the time and ignored it.

“He said that he should have known I’d do something like throw a drink at him, because according to my father, I never hit back,” Laurent said in a clipped, even tone. “And he’s right,” Laurent continued. “So you shouldn’t have hit him.”

Rationally Isaac knew that he shouldn’t have, but he was miffed that Laurent didn’t even appreciate it a little bit. He expected the lectures from Misha and Max, but he sort of thought he might get a blowjob from Laurent out of sympathy for his black eye.

“You are worth it, you know,” Isaac said to Laurent, because of course that’s what it was about. “Fighting back and me fighting for you. You are.”

“Oh Jesus,” Max said. He sighed. “Misha, I think we should let them work this out.”

“There is a very strong possibility you two will end up suspended for the remainder of the season,” Misha said as if Max hadn’t spoken. “And if the league doesn’t do it, I might.”

Isaac’s head snapped up. “What? You’d do that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Isaac asked, all heated resentment, and his stomach sank even further at the idea that he might have cost his team a trip to the playoffs. “To send a message in the locker room so the guys don’t get in bar fights over their boyfriends?”

“No. To teach you some
fucking
boundaries, Isaac, since no one ever has,” Misha snapped, and the swearing was so unlike him that Isaac needed a second to process hearing it in the first place.

“Fuck you,” he snapped right back and slammed the ice pack down on the table. “You’re not my father, and I’m twenty-five years old.”

Laurent got to his feet. “Stop it,” he said in a shaky voice. “Please. It’s my fault. I’ll just….” He looked around wildly, like he wasn’t sure where he was. “I’ll just go.”

“Sit down,” Misha barked. He wasn’t going to give in or move so much as an inch.

“Misha,” Max said with a warning in his voice.

Misha pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m angry at you both for putting yourself in danger. It has nothing to do with the team. Now sit down
.
No one here is going to hurt you.” That last he directed at Laurent in a much gentler tone of voice.

Laurent sat, but he fidgeted so much that Isaac finally reached over and put a hand on his thigh. To his surprise Laurent grabbed his hand and held it tightly. It was at odds with his expression, which was the haughty mask of disdain he put on when he was trying to be someone else.

When he was trying not to get hurt.

“Let me make this very clear. You two will have nothing to do with the Ravens or any of their players, either on the ice or off of it. The next time St. Savoy sends his goon to do his dirty work, don’t give him the satisfaction of falling for it.”

“I hit him really hard,” Isaac pointed out. “I just want you to know.”

“Physical intimidation is Denis St. Savoy’s way,” Misha said, his voice as cold as Isaac had ever heard it. “It is not mine, and I won’t let it be yours either.”

Isaac looked away. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m not telling you this as your coach,” Misha reminded him.

Isaac managed to look Misha in the eyes when he answered. “I know.”

Misha’s stony glare eased somewhat at that, and he gave a slight nod. “I’m suspending you both for the next two games. We’ll call in the goalie from the Ice Gators,” he said, referring to the Spitfires’ affiliate SPHL team.

“We don’t have to call Simon and tell him we’re sorry, do we?” Isaac asked. “Because I don’t think I could pull that off.”

“No,” Misha said flatly. “It’s late. This conversation is over. The two of you should go to bed.”

“If you don’t want to drive me, I can call a cab,” Laurent said, as Isaac returned the ice pack, which had melted too much to be of any relief, and ignored the bottle of vodka chilling in the freezer.

Misha looked at Laurent and then back at Isaac. He opened his mouth, closed it, and turned on his heel. “You do this part,
lisenok
,” he said to Max. “I’m going to bed.”

“What part?” Isaac asked, confused.

“The part where I say that no one is going anywhere? I don’t know, but it probably means it has something to do with feelings or personal relationships.” Max went to the freezer, opened it, and took out the vodka. “If Misha asks, tell him I gave this to you for the pain.” Max gave Isaac and Laurent both his usual easy smile, albeit a tired version.

He poured Isaac a shot, but before Isaac could take it, Laurent said, “Excuse me,” and bolted from the room. Isaac could hear his footsteps on the stairs, so at least he knew where Laurent was going.

Isaac took the shot with gratitude and let the cold vodka warm him up as it surged through his bloodstream. He was tired, worried about Laurent, and ashamed that he’d disappointed his coach. But he was glad he hit Simon.

Max put the vodka back in the freezer. He rustled around and emerged with a newer, fresher ice pack. “Misha uses these for his migraines,” he explained as he handed it over. “I think you should know something.”

“What?”

Max smiled. “The thing that Misha called you, in Russian? It meant
my son
. Night, Isaac.” With that Max flipped off the light and left Isaac standing in the dark, his face cold from the ice and the rest of him suffused with a rare, precious warmth.

LAURENT GOT
up from the bathroom floor when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He winced at the acrid, sour taste in his mouth and splashed some water on his face, which was damp with sweat. He borrowed some of Isaac’s toothpaste, put it on his finger, swished some water a few times, and repeated the process twice.

He caught his reflection, stared at it hatefully, and wondered why he couldn’t make himself do what he needed to—which was break up with Isaac Drake, leave the team, the town, and everyone alone so he couldn’t fuck up their lives.

He hated the idea that he could have caused Isaac any kind of friction with Coach Samarin. It was clear that the coach thought of Isaac as a son, and Laurent had almost ruined that, like he ruined everything.

He glanced at the toilet. The urge to get sick again was strong, but there was nothing left in his stomach.

He heard a brief knock at the door. “Saint? You okay?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath and left the bathroom. “Too much to drink, I guess.”

Isaac peered at him as he shucked off his shoes. “I didn’t think you had that much. Especially since your last one ended up on Simon.” Isaac’s smile was a little evil. “That was awesome.”

Laurent wanted to smile or say something or act in any way grateful for Isaac decking that bastard in the face. All he could think about, though, was how much trouble Isaac might be in and what it might cost him. “Don’t do that again.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Isaac said, and his smile vanished. He pulled his shirt off, leaving him in his jeans and nothing else, and padded over to Laurent. “Seriously. I get why Misha lectured me, but can we just pretend you thought it was hot and leave it at that?”

“I did think it was hot,” Laurent admitted, because he had. “It was just stupid. You could have seriously fucked shit up for yourself, and I don’t want that.”

“I know,” Isaac said. “But maybe knowing what it feels like to have someone hit him will keep his goddamn mouth shut in the future.”

“It won’t, but it’s cute that you think it will.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “Cute? Really?”

“Some people don’t change, Isaac. Sometimes they’re just hopeless.” Laurent sat down heavily on Isaac’s bed. He stared at the floor, half-convinced he was one of those people. It didn’t matter what anyone said. He felt as worthless as his father always said he was.

Isaac came over and stood by the bed, arms crossed over his bare chest. “I’m glad I hit him. And hey, Saint? Your father is never,
ever
putting his hands on you again.”

Laurent blinked up at Isaac, at a loss for words. The conviction in his voice, the utter certainty made Laurent think maybe he wasn’t so worthless, after all. Not if someone like Isaac Drake would stand up for him.

“Don’t you dare say something like ‘Oh, but Isaac, I don’t deserve that,’ or ‘I’m not worth it,’
or—”

“I love you,” Laurent blurted.

Isaac’s eyes went wide. “Oh. That’s… I love you too.” He smiled slightly. “Move over.”

Laurent obligingly moved so he was stretched out on the bed, and Isaac climbed in and lay down so they were facing each other. He held Isaac’s words close to him. He felt them seep into his blood and ease some of the coldness from a lifetime of his father’s disdain.

Isaac put his face between Laurent’s neck and shoulder. “I’ve never been in love before. I didn’t think it would involve bar fights.”

“I didn’t think it would involve me,” Laurent said, shifting closer. “I’m too difficult for anyone to be in love with.”

Isaac laughed softly against his skin and bit gently at Laurent’s ear. Laurent shivered in response. “That must be what I’m into.”

“Must be.” Laurent took a deep breath. “Isaac?”

“Yeah?”

Laurent spoke the words before he could overthink them. “I want you to fuck me.”

Isaac went still. “Saint—”

“You want to, don’t you?” Laurent demanded. He reached down to rub his hand over Isaac’s cock through the jeans he was still wearing.

“Of course I do.” Isaac’s hips twitched, and he pushed slightly against Laurent’s palm. “But I don’t think it’s the right time.”

Laurent groaned and rolled onto his back. “I hate you.”

“I thought you loved me.” Isaac propped himself up and stroked his fingers over Laurent’s stomach. “Listen. I want this. A lot. But it’s late, and our coaches are downstairs, and I want to do this somewhere when it’s just us. When it’s private.”

“Are you afraid I’m going to cry or something?” Laurent demanded, feeling a little hurt at being rejected.

“No. It’s actually not about you this time.” Isaac rubbed soothingly at Laurent’s belly, which felt nice but wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. “It’s about how I’ve never been with someone I’m in love with, and I don’t want to rush it or have to be quiet. And you’re not going to cry, but you
are
gonna be loud. Trust me.”

Laurent spared a smile for that. “Cocky bastard.”

“You love it.” Isaac kissed him. “If you want to suck me off, though, I’m totally okay with that.” Isaac leaned back a little and started undoing his jeans. “I want you to suck me,” he said huskily as he shoved his jeans off and kicked them to the floor. “Because goddammit, Saint. I want that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

Laurent still wasn’t used to Isaac’s skill with dirty talk, and he certainly didn’t possess any of his own. He blushed at the comment, and reached down to take Isaac’s cock in his hand and started to fist it slowly. “I don’t know how to do this. You’ll have to tell me.”

“That’s not a problem. I like telling you what to do. Especially when you listen.” Isaac gently dislodged Laurent’s hand and pushed off his boxers, then sprawled naked on his back and reached for him. “Come here.”

Laurent kissed him as Isaac spread his legs and made room for Laurent to settle between them. It felt good to be on top of Isaac, who was all lean and wiry strength beneath him. Laurent ran his hands over Isaac’s shoulders, down his chest and his stomach, and skimmed his fingers over the cock that was lying hard and flushed on his stomach.

“Carpet doesn’t match the drapes, Drake.”

Isaac stared at him, openmouthed, and then burst out laughing. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you just said that. I’m not putting Manic Panic on my pubes, dude.”

Laurent smiled and moved so he was lying between Isaac’s legs, then he gently took Isaac’s warm, hard cock in his hand and looked up at him. “You’ll tell me if I’m not doing this right, won’t you?” He snorted. “Wait. Of course you will.” Laurent was nervous, because he wanted it to be good, and he hated not knowing what he was doing.

“Saint?”

Laurent looked up as Isaac’s fingers tugged briefly on his hair. “Yeah?”

“It’s gonna be good, dude. I could already come just seeing you like that. Just… don’t worry. Okay? Do what feels good to you when I do it, and trust me, it’ll be great.”

“Everything you do feels good to me,” Laurent mumbled, unable to hold Isaac’s stare. Not wanting to get emotional when the moment was supposed to be about sex, Laurent experimentally lowered his head and took Isaac’s cock in his mouth. He was surprised by how much he liked it, even if he didn’t take much in at first, and he sucked lightly and made an appreciative humming noise when Isaac shifted beneath him.

“Mmm. Yeah. See. That’s good. You’re a natural. You can use your teeth, just not too much. You like more than I do.”

That helped, and he was able to slide his mouth up and down with the correct amount of teeth that made Isaac twitch and moan some more. Filled with a newfound sense of power, Laurent cautiously took Isaac’s cock deeper and relaxed his throat.

“Fuck. Of course you’re good at—mmm. Yeah. Use your tongue. That’s perfect.” Isaac grabbed his hair and half leaned up on his other elbow to watch. “You look so hot with my cock in your mouth. You like it?”

Isaac’s assertiveness, as always, got Laurent hot. He nodded and pushed his own erection against the bed.

“Don’t come, Saint. I’m gonna try something when you’re done. After you’ve sucked me off, I’m gonna make you feel good—
yeah
—” Isaac broke off into nonsensical noises, and Laurent swallowed around Isaac’s cock, choked a little, and backed off to catch his breath.