The Puck Boys of FU, page 17
All of his words are said without emotion, without remorse, and for some reason my hand itches to hit him again.
“Nice,” Lincoln grunts in response, and my eyes begin to burn.
Because it should have been me.
I should have cut off the fingers that touched me, I should have sliced off the lips that told me how good I was, and I should have cut out the heart of the woman who loved me too much.
Her death wasn’t yours to take, her sins weren’t yours to claim, and my trauma wasn’t yours to try and erase. I tell him, my fingers shaking as I sign the words, and for the first time since I got here, I see something like regret in his stare.
It’s not regret in killing her, it’s regret for not letting me do it with him.
I was the one who suffered in the dark, I was the one who couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t fucking speak for fear it would only get worse. And how? How could it have gotten any worse? I was living in my worst fucking nightmares every single day I spent in that house, and my only saving grace was hockey, the guys, and Aurora. If it weren’t for them, I would have taken a razor to my wrists and let myself bleed until I could feel nothing but the cold release of my death. Some days I think I still might. Only then will I be free of her.
It was a burden I was glad to steal. He signs back, and as I look into the dead stare always present in his eyes, I know he’s right.
Because as much as I hate her, as much as I hate what she did, I could never bring myself to hate her more than I hate myself. I never would have been able to kill her, because she had already killed me.
Blood once again trickles from his mouth and I track it slowly, before signing, I’m sorry for hitting you.
Caden smirks, as his bandaged hand swipes at the red display, his eyes gleaming as he takes it in with a shrug. “Don’t be, your right hook is almost as good as your right turns,” he grunts, as the two guys behind him really start to ramp up their fighting.
The princely looking one slams the other to the ground, his hand around his throat, before the other one elbows him in the ribs and kicks him off, flipping from his back to his feet. They are both bleeding but still look ready to kill one another, and I can’t help but look back at Lincoln, who only shrugs.
“Don’t mind them, they hate each other sometimes,” he muses with a smirk, his stare transfixed on the angel tattoo that now gleams with sweat. “Come on, Dark Prince, fun’s over,” he calls, and that's all it takes to have the proper looking one of the two retreating from the fight and heading our way.
“So pussy-whipped now, Ash,” the reckless tattooed one calls out to his back, but the other only smiles.
“Get fucked, Conrad,” he tosses back, not sparing him another look.
The second he reaches us, Lincoln grabs him by the throat and pulls him against him, their sweaty bodies colliding as he kisses him roughly, before he pulls back and licks the blood off his lip. The one he called Dark Prince only smirks, the soulless look in his eyes subsiding for the first time since I got here.
“I thought you said the fun was over,” he grunts at Lincoln, whose eyes only darken with need at his words.
“It’s time for a different kind of fun now, baby,” Lincoln murmurs, pulling him back in and claiming his mouth once more, not caring about their audience, and all I can do is stare.
Their display causes a visceral reaction inside of me, as my entire body comes to life. It floods my brain with thoughts I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks now, for years if I’m being truly honest with myself, and I find myself transfixed.
“If there’s nothing else, you better leave, or else you’ll be forced to watch them fuck,” Caden grumbles, gesturing to the other guy to see if he’s up for a round with him, to which he nods, before turning back to my now lingering form. “Unless that’s your thing,” he adds, and my eyes snap back to him to find him smirking at me.
I turn and leave the gym before I’m tempted to punch him again.
It’s after midnight when he finally stumbles into his room, drunk off his ass, forcing me upright. Aurora went to bed with Everest a couple of hours ago, when it was clear he wasn’t coming home again. Or so we thought. Me however? I couldn’t sleep, not after what he told us, I can’t even fucking eat after his confession at his mother’s funeral. Just the thought of her is evoking a rage inside of me like I’ve never known. She abused him, she abused her own fucking son, and I missed all the fucking warning signs.
I watch as he dumps his bag at the door, before he fumbles with his phone and keys, dropping them atop his desk at the same time he knocks into it, cursing beneath his breath. The sound of his voice used to delight me, every time he felt comfortable enough to speak to me I felt like I was on top of the fucking world. Now I know the reason behind his silence, his curse feels like a whipped lash against my spine.
“You’re home late,” I grunt, startling him a little, as his eyes snap to mine through the darkness of his bedroom.
The only light pouring in is through his open curtains, since he always likes to sleep with them open. I guess now I know why.
Harden narrows his eyes as he takes in my place between his sheets, before he reaches over his head and pulls off his shirt. “Didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” he snaps back, his voice void of any emotion, and the sound of it squeezes my heart in a vice.
He’s talking, I should be proud, so why do I feel sick at the sound of it?
I sit up and turn on the lamp on his bedside table.
Do you want to talk? I sign in question, and he actually snorts at my question, as he kicks off his shoes.
No I don’t want to fucking talk, Griff, so if that’s why you’re here you can fuck off. He signs back, as if I haven’t been here worried sick about him for two fucking days.
“I’m here because you’re my friend and I fucking care about you,” I snap back, tossing his sheets aside and climbing from his bed, and his eyes dance down my bare torso, before quickly looking away.
Where’s Aurora? He signs back instead of responding to me, and now I almost snort, because even at his bold question in the middle of the fucking night he would still try and deny his need for her.
“She’s next door in Ever’s bed,” I reply, watching him carefully as I add, “Probably finally getting fucked by him.”
He doesn’t flinch as his eyes snap back to mine. Well don’t let me stop you from joining them. He signs, gesturing toward his bedroom door, as if he isn’t as desperate for that scenario as I am.
“What the hell is your problem, Haze?” I spit, erasing the space between us.
“You mean besides the obvious,” he grits before thinking, and both of us pause, staring at one another, before he takes a step back and begins to sign again. Right now you’re my problem, you’re here all the time.
I scoff. “Well shit, sorry for being fucking worried about you.”
Is he kidding me? He confesses the most sickening thing I could ever imagine, then disappears for two fucking days, and I’m his problem? Me, Everest, and Aurora have been going out of our fucking minds trying to find him, scared we might find him dead in a ditch somewhere, and this is how he reacts.
I’m fine. He signs the two words and they taste like ash on my tongue.
How many times has he said them, signed them, and I just accepted it as fact?
“That’s your problem, Haze, you’re always fucking fine,” I huff, swiping my hands down my face, the exhaustion setting in now I know he’s home and safe. “You know I don’t have to be here, I could be anywhere else right now,” I tell him, when truth be told, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here.
You know where the door is. His response has me staring at him in disbelief, taking in the bags under his eyes that I know match my own.
I know he’s going through it right now, that he’s been going through it more than I ever could have imagined, but still his attitude pisses me off.
“God you really are the most fucking infuriating person I have ever met.”
Right back at you Griff. He fires back, his hands moving swiftly, as he drops down onto the edge of his bed, his head dropping into his hands.
“Really? That’s the thanks I get for trying to support you?” I ask, stepping toward him, but when I take in the sadness that has always clung to him like a second skin, guilt wracks my entire body. I drop to my knees and sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry I didn’t look harder at what was going on, I’m sorry I didn’t stop it from happening.”
“Don’t fucking apologize for her,” he spits, his head snapping up until his stare collides with mine.
“I’m not apologizing for that piece of shit,” I grit through my teeth, wishing I could dig her up from her fresh fucking grave and make her pay again. If I knew who killed her I’d fucking thank them. “I’m apologizing for me, because I need you to know how fucking sorry I am.” His stare searches mine, and the pain behind it undoes me completely. I wish I could reach out and touch him, wish I could pull him into my arms and shield him from any more pain. “I’m just sorry, Harden, whether you want me to be or not, and I wish there was something I could do to take it all away.”
The words have barely left my mouth before he is slamming his lips against mine, and every other thought in my head evaporates. He’s kissing me, my best friend is kissing me, and I freeze completely as his mouth moves against my own. I’ve never kissed a guy before, never even thought about it, but this isn’t just any guy, it’s Harden, and it feels the opposite of wrong.
I’ve kissed probably a hundred girls, all of them not worth remembering, aside from Aurora, and I know from kissing her what it feels like to truly enjoy it. So why does this kiss feel the exact same? Why do my best friends’ lips both taste like salvation?
Before my body has a chance to catch up with my head, Harden abruptly pulls away. “Fuck, Griff, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that,” he rushes out, jumping off his bed and stumbling away from me. “Fuck,” he shouts, his voice raw and fucking perfect, and my cock comes to life in my shorts.
He stumbles back toward his door, no doubt to rip it open and ask me to leave, but I move on instinct, grabbing him and pushing him into the back of it. Then I kiss him, and my entire world turns on its axis. He reacts instantly, a low groan slipping from the back of his throat in surprise, and I use it to force my tongue past his lips until I can tangle it with his. His lips are hard and firm and taste like whiskey, and I can’t get enough. Fuck he tastes perfect, and my cock twitches, not caring that it’s for my best friend, no, the only thing I seem to care about is the taste of him on my tongue. My hands reach up to cup his face, desperate for more, but he freezes, ripping his mouth away from mine.
I open my mouth, to say what, I’m not sure, but most likely to beg him to kiss me again, but instead he grips my shoulders, pushing me away from him, then spinning us until he can slam me back into the door. His confused and lust-drenched stare meets mine, his chest heaving, as he searches my eyes for an answer, but I don’t have one, not for this. I know what he’s thinking, it’s the same thing I’m thinking, what the fuck are we doing here, but I don’t know what we’re doing, I only know it feels right.
My tongue darts out, licking the remnants of our kiss from my lips in disbelief, and his eyes drop down and track the movement. His stare on me elicits something I can’t describe, let alone fathom. He’s my best friend, he’s a fucking guy, so why am I desperate for him to kiss me again?
I lean forward to erase the space between us, but his hand flies out and grips my throat, collaring me in place against his door in warning.
“Harden,” I gasp in desperation, which quickly turns to a groan, as his fingers squeeze around my neck roughly, again trying to send a warning, but he may as well be waving a red flag in front of a bull.
I want him, my body is screaming for him, and I don’t care that it doesn’t make any sense.
Pushing against his hold, it forces his fingers tighter around my throat, making his eyes darken as he watches me. “Griff,” he warns, and no word has ever sounded so fucking perfect before. It’s filled with pain and regret, and so much lust that I want to fucking drown in it.
“Kiss me again, please,” I beg, needing to see if it tastes just as perfect the third time round, and the restraint he was clinging to evaporates.
His lips are back on mine in an instant, and heat ripples through me as the hand around my throat flexes and squeezes in tandem with his mouth. His tongue tangles with mine, as his other hand flexes around my hip, pulling me against him, as his body presses me harder into the door. His kiss isn’t soft or gentle, it’s rough, forceful, and the reasons why drag me into submission, letting him use me for whatever he needs. If he wants pain he can have it, if he wants pleasure he can have it, and if he wants me, he can fucking take me.
He kisses like a suffocating man searching for air, and fuck do I want to be his damn oxygen.
When he rips himself away from me again, I groan in outrage, pushing against the hand still around my throat, desperately seeking more, finding his stare on me completely black. I’m not stupid, I know the war that is waging inside of him, the same way I know that this is probably the first time he has kissed anyone since he was fourteen and he gave in to Aurora. That thought shouldn’t delight me, shouldn't turn me on, but my cock leaks beneath my shorts, desperate for him to keep giving in to me.
I hold his stare as I lean forward and trail my mouth along his jaw, pulling a full body shudder from him as my tongue trails along his skin. His stubble is rough against my tongue, and so foreign and alluring that I groan out loud at the taste of him.
“Griffin,” he curses in warning, and fuck I want to hear him scream my name like that while begging me not to stop.
My mouth and tongue lick, and suck, their way along his jaw and down his neck, savoring every hitch of his breath that I pull from the back of his throat. When my teeth latch onto a particular part of his skin, he uses his hold still on my throat to push me back against the door.
“What’s the matter, Haze, don’t want to wear my mark?” I ask, dropping my head back against the door and praying he can feel the rapid flicker of my pulse against his fingers.
What the fuck is he doing to me?
The hand around my throat squeezes even harder, before his thumb comes up to brush against my lips roughly, and for the first time in my life I wonder what it would be like to suck a cock into my mouth. Not just any cock though, his cock. The thought has my mouth opening and my tongue darting out to caress the tip of his thumb. He watches in a mixture of confusion and fascination, and I pray it’s driving him as crazy as he’s driving me.
A thought that is answered when he slams his mouth back to mine again, tipping my head back to give him better access than before, and groaning as his tongue plunges even deeper. He’s kissing me more forcefully now, claiming me completely, and fuck, I feel like I am free-falling into a pleasure-filled oblivion. I don’t care that he’s a guy, I don’t care that he’s my best friend, no, the only thing I care about right now is how sweet his kiss tastes, and how fucking good his hard cock feels against mine.
This isn’t just a kiss, a hookup that we will blame on his alcohol and grief, no, it’s an earth shattering realization that I fucking want my best friend. And I can only pray that he isn’t too deep in his trauma to realize the same.
I lose track of time, too lost in his lips to care about anything else, moaning deeply, as his rock hard cock rubs against my own. I feel like I’m fucking thirteen again and ready to come in my pants, but when it’s for him I don’t seem to care. I want more, need more, and will take anything he is willing to offer, until I feel his body trembling against my own.
It starts small at first, a little quiver that I think means he’s getting as close to release as I am, until it turns into a violent shake that has him ripping his mouth away from mine. His eyes are a mixture of lust and panic as he looks at me now, struggling to catch his breath, and pain burns through my chest. He wants this, I know he does, but he’s too fucked up to admit it. I know him better than I know anyone, he’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and the taste of him isn’t going to erase that. If anything it only makes me know him more. I know what he wants, but right now what he needs is more important, and I will my heart rate and cock to relax, as I bring us back down to reality.
“It’s okay, Haze, you’re okay, you’re safe, just take a deep breath for me,” I whisper, my own lust-drenched voice sounding foreign to my ears, as I hold his stare.
It takes everything in me to remain calm, to stay rooted in place, when all I want to do is fucking scream. She raped him, she raped her own fucking son and I didn’t protect him. Bile burns the back of my throat with only the taste of him fresh on my lips keeping it at bay. I want him, and even though it’s a stark realization, it doesn’t bother me in the slightest, or change the way I feel about him. He’s my best friend and I’d do anything for him, including sacrificing the pleasure currently buzzing through my veins.
“Come on, just breathe for me please,” I plead, his chest still heaving with short, panted breaths, that have me wanting to put my fist through a fucking wall.
Still he nods at my words, because through all that pain and all that abuse, he is somehow the strongest person I know. His eyes hold mine and I breathe in and out for him, forcing him to mimic my breaths until his body stops shaking. I have to fist my hands in my shorts to stop myself from touching him, so desperate just to save him, to make up for all the times I fucking failed him.
How many nights did he spend in the dark beneath her? How many times did she touch him and steal more of his light? How many times did she fuck him against his will and erase his voice?
