“Fuck.”
He nods sympathetically because we both know what this means.
Tahegin won’t be able to play in the divisional playoff game this weekend. If he pulled it, he could miss the entire rest of our season, even if we go to the Bowl next month.
How is he possibly holding himself together?
“I’d be heartbroken,” Aleks confesses as if he can read my thoughts. “I am heartbroken for him. This is the worst thing that could happen in the playoffs, and to get hurt in practice of all things.”
The door beside us swings open, and Tahegin emerges into the empty hallway, nodding his thanks to the staff holding the heavy door as he hobbles through with a crutch lodged beneath each armpit. The clack of the crutches hitting the tile floor is even louder in the absence of Aleks and my conversation. We stare in devastated silence, too long to be appropriate. Still not putting any weight on his leg, he makes his way to us, the staff members retreating into the bay.
“Y’all didn’t have to stay,” he mutters, head hanging low.
“Bullshit,” Aleks spits, and I second it. “As if we would leave you here alone. How did you think you were getting home? You can’t risk jostling that leg.”
Tahegin shifts uncomfortably and tries to hide a wince. “Jay can drive me.”
“Hmph” is all I have to say, and he knows I am in disagreement with the way he’s trying to lock us out.
A shimmering blue iris meets my eye from beneath his long lashes, the pain—both physical and emotional—evident. That small amount of contact is all it takes for his breath to shudder in his chest, lips turning down in the opposite of the smile he always wears as the softest, most broken sob I have ever heard bursts from his mouth, my name along with it. “Rix.”
I stare, stunned and unsure how to help, until Aleks gives me a harsh shove in Tahegin’s direction. Stumbling slightly, I collide with Tahegin and wrap my arms around him as his second sob is stifled against my shoulder. “Damnit, T,” I murmur. “Don’t cry.”
“Sorry.” The apology is muffled by the fabric of my practice jersey, weak and wounded.
“Shit, no. I didn’t mean—” My words fail me, as usual, so I resort to action. Knocking the crutches away, I wrap an arm around his waist, the other under his knees, and sweep him into . . . whatever the male version of a bridal carry is. I’m cautious of his injured leg, of course, and keep my arms strong but my grip light, and—Jesus, Tahegin is not light, but I am already dedicated to carrying him. There is no going back now. I start down the hallway with determination.
He gasps in surprise—and hopefully not pain—and his hands scramble for purchase on my shoulders. “What— Put me down!”
“Nope.”
“Hendrix, I am a grown man. You cannot just carry me like a child.”
“Maybe I’m carrying you like a groom.”
“Rix.”
“T.”
“I’ll get the crutches. And your things from the locker room. No worries,” Aleks calls from behind us, then raises his pitch, acting as if someone is praising his generosity. “Oh, thank you, Kiss. What would we ever do without you?”
Ignoring him, I focus on carrying Tahegin out of our training facility, keeping my steps at an easy, gentle sway to refrain from jostling him too badly. “What did they say?”
He sighs in defeat, dropping his cheek onto my shoulder. “I strained my hamstring. It isn’t torn, thank God, but I’m out for three to six weeks.”
“Care instructions?”
“No weight and limited movement at first. Alternate ice and heat. Anti-inflammatories. A physical therapist will be coming by my house to check on me, go through some strength training, and massage the muscles.” He sighs again. “Coach is pissed.”
I tighten my arms reassuringly. “Well, fuck him. Accidents happen.”
“I should have been more careful.”
“Hmph.” He knows what that sound is meant to convey: an accident is an accident. It isn’t anyone’s fault.
As I carefully slide him into the passenger seat of my car, Tahegin casts me a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I won’t be up for much tonight.”
My pulse stutters at the reminder of our previous night’s heated encounter. We have been going slow, but last night, as we lay side by side in his bed facing each other, our clothed erections had brushed against one another. Instead of pulling away the way he had previously, Tahegin had pushed in closer, rolling his hips in a slow, sensual wave that had the length of his hard shaft rubbing along mine, every delicate vein prominent even through the cotton of our boxers. The feel of him against me—bare chest heaving against bare chest, muscular stomach colliding and drifting apart with each roll, his cock grinding deliciously against mine, the feel of his hairy leg tangled with mine, his hand gripping my ass to pull me closer . . . God, I’d erupted like I was discovering sex for the first time all over again—too fast, too loud, too unrestrained. It was carnal. Primal. The way I’d continued to thrust against him, even as I grew too sensitive and soaked with release, but not softening. The way I’d moaned—yelled—into his mouth and bit down on his lip hard enough he still had a sore spot this morning. When he came, I felt every pulse and twitch. Had kept rubbing us together until our mess seeped through the fabric of our boxers and the scent of our muck combined. My name fell from his mouth like a prayer, even as I sucked at the small hurt I’d left on his lip. Belatedly, I’d brushed my thumb across his navel, and my Tahegin writhed at the sensation, back arching off the bed as his hips met mine once more. A sexy curse had followed my name.
Clearing my throat, I look away from the tiny sore spot on his bottom lip and adjust myself inside my jeans as subtly as possible. Tahegin notices, quirking a brow.
“I’m not expecting anything,” I grumble. “It’s just . . . the reminder of last night—”
Tahegin groans in frustration, head falling back against the seat. “Shit, Rix. Don’t get me hard when there is nothing I can do about it.”
I hold my tongue until we are on the road and I can rely on the busy traffic to distract my mind from the topic of conversation. “You can, you know,” I say, clearing my throat when my voice sounds too deep and raspy. I gesture vaguely toward his lap. “You didn’t sprain your wrist.”
He chuckles softly. “Yes, I’m aware. What I mean is I can’t do anything about it with you. Besides,” he grunts as he grabs under his knee to support his leg while adjusting in the seat, “I think the pain will keep my dick from getting hard anyway.”
“They didn’t give you anything to take the edge off?”
“They offered, but I refused. It was so easy for me to get hooked on alcohol. I don’t want to take a risk with opioids or narcotics.”
Right. That’s smart. Except it means he will be hurting until it heals. “Hmph.”
Blue eyes study me for a moment before he seems to understand my thoughts. “Yeah,” he mutters. “It sucks.”
At Tahegin’s house, Aleks parks behind my car and helps me get Tahegin and our belongings inside.
