Chapter 18: Hidden Scars: Chapter 17

of this dinner that’s going to go well for me. Every breath I take, every word I say, will be used against me later. I don’t know what my father is trying to achieve with this, but it will be painful for me at some point.

I close my eyes and lean against the sink.

A shudder wracks my body for a long few seconds. Being touched hurts but I want it so fucking bad.

It’s better this way. My father can’t use them against me if I’m alone.

I strip off my clothes, careful to wrap my shirt up so cum doesn’t get on anything else, and unzip my garment bag.

On autopilot, I slip into my suit, the recently ironed fabrics sliding over my skin so familiar. With the suit comes the public mask. It’s second nature to shut myself off and perform. I’ve been in the public eye most of my life, but it got worse once my father started making a name for himself. He used me as his pawn, a marketing tool.

See what a good father I am? My son is a great hockey player. I can balance being a surgeon and a single father.

Meanwhile, my younger sister is shipped off to boarding schools so he doesn’t have to deal with her while making sure his dirty secret was hidden in the shadows.

With a deep breath, I make sure my grandfather’s cufflinks are aligned, my shirt is tucked in, and I am wrinkle-free.

Leaving the bathroom for socks and my dress shoes, I’m confused when Jeremy isn’t in here getting dressed. Where the fuck did he go?

Striding to his bed, I grab the garment bag. The suit is still in there. What the fuck is he doing? I scan the room quickly, looking for any sign of where he would have gone. His shirt is crumpled up on the floor by the foot of his bed.

Brendon and Paul. Flinging our door open hard enough to slam it against the wall, I storm down the hallway, a few people moving out of my way without a word, until I’m in front of Brendon and Paul’s room and pounding on the door.

Paul opens the door with a raised eyebrow. “You the cops now?”

“Where’s Jeremy?” I’m shaking with fury. He is not wearing Brendon’s fucking clothes. If I have to ruin more clothes by ripping them from his body, I fucking will. So help me, Christ.

“What’s going on?” Brendon steps up behind Paul with confusion pulling his brows together.

“Where’s. Jeremy.” I grit the words through my teeth, ready to fucking snap. Drawing in a deep breath through my nose, I try to calm my urge to hurt Brendon.

I have no claim to Jeremy. Logically, I know that. But I want to. It doesn’t make sense and this fucking dinner with my father has set me on edge. Every muscle in my body is tight. I need Jeremy where I can fucking see him and not in Brendon’s fucking clothes.

Paul and Brendon share a look before turning back to me.

“He’s getting ready for dinner with your daddy. What do you want?” Brendon crosses his arms over his chest like he’s won something. He’s won nothing, the smug bastard.

If Jeremy’s shitty mood is anything to go by, he’s not getting laid anymore, which means he’s not fucking Brendon.

“None of your fucking business. Get him. Now.” I’m about to shove my way inside this fucking room. The eyes of people milling about in the hall are hot on me, but I don’t give a shit.

Paul looks around and notices that people are watching. I’m sure there are phones out, which means Coach will probably hear about this.

“You’re making a scene,” Paul says quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but this isn’t the place for a dick measuring contest.”

The bathroom door opens, light from inside illuminating both of them.

“Preston?” Jeremy’s voice lowers the tension in my shoulders slightly. “What’s going on?”

I force myself to swallow and release some of the tension in my face, allowing my public mask to come through.

“I need to speak with you.”

Brendon turns and Jeremy looks at him for a second. Brendon shakes his head but he pushes past his friend. The black slacks and gray oxford look so fucking good on him, but they’re Brendon’s. They have to be. Paul is slimmer than Jeremy. There’s no way something fitted like a suit would fit.

“Okay.” He looks like he doesn’t trust me but that’s fine, I don’t trust me either.

I lift my hand to motion for our room and realize I’m still holding the garment bag. Jesus.

The urge to rip the clothes off him and shove them at Brendon is stronger than I would like it to be, but I follow him to our room. His ass looks fucking delicious in those damn pants. I should make him cum in those fucking pants before I give them back to Brendon.

In our room with the door closed, I shove the garment bag at Jeremy.

“Change.” The word is a command.

Jeremy straightens, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me?”

I step closer to him, into his personal space. “Change.”

“Why? What I’m wearing is fine.”

I drag in a deep breath, inhaling his cologne, which goes straight to my head.

“You are going to my father’s house, you have to be as perfect as humanly possible.” Now he’s confused. This isn’t fucking fair to him, I know, but I can’t stop it. I need him to just go with it and not argue.

Grabbing his shirt in both my hands, I jerk him toward me until we’re face to face. He’s up on his toes to make him equal in height to me. For a second, his arms flail as he tries to keep his balance. I prepare to flinch when his hands touch my chest, but they don’t. He’s watching me watch him.

Jeremy grabs onto my wrists. This is the second time today he’s purposefully avoided touching my body. What does that mean?

“Change your fucking clothes.” My body shakes with the nerves trying so hard to consume me. It would be so easy to fall headfirst into the fear and anxiety of this fucking dinner. I don’t know what to expect and that’s terrifying. I squeeze my eyes shut until little speckles of light dance behind my eyelids. “Please.”

“Tell me why.” The stubbornness from just a few minutes ago is gone.

My eyes open to find Jeremy watching me, the unevenness of his irises is impossible to look away from. So fucking different than anyone else I’ve ever met.

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

I rest my forehead on his, wanting so desperately to find comfort in this man while knowing I can’t afford to. “I don’t know.”

We stand there for another moment, our exhales mixing between us. Jeremy gives my wrist a gentle squeeze before he quietly says, “Okay.”

I lift my head, my eyes snapping open to peer into his. Did I hear what I think I heard?

“What?” The word sounds harsh coming from my tight throat.

“Okay. I’ll change.”

Something in my chest lets go, some of the pressure loosening enough to breathe. Jeremy relaxes, his shoulders dropping and his hands leaving me. I both love it and hate it. Fighting is easy, it’s comfortable. Whatever this is, sucks. The urge to push him and piss him off is strong, but I don’t.

Instead, I release him and step back.

“Good,” I try to slide that fucking mask back on but I’m struggling. Like it’s cracked or I’ve outgrown it. It doesn’t feel right but I don’t know how to survive without it.

Dropping his gaze, I look around for the garment bag but I have no idea what happened to it. I find it on the floor by my dresser and pick it up.

“If it’s wrinkled, I’ll iron it, but you have to hurry or we’ll be late.” I hand it over, holding one side of the hanger, Jeremy grabbing the other. I hold onto it until he looks up at me again. “I can’t be late.”

He nods and I let go of the bag. Turning to my dresser, I dig through my drawer for dress socks and pull out my dress shoes.

Sitting on my bed, I finish getting ready while Jeremy strips down to his boxer briefs and pulls on the suit that’s slightly too big for him. The inseam is too long by an inch or more and the jacket is too wide in the shoulder and long in the arm. Fuck.

My father will definitely notice that.

“If others take their jackets off, take yours off too.” I stand and adjust my pants, so they lay straight. “Do everything you can to not talk to my father.”

“Why don’t you want me to talk to your dad?” Jeremy asks, more curious than insulted this time. I reach for his hand and pull on the sleeves of the cream dress shirt. Digging in the bag, I find the small box with cufflinks.

“I don’t want him talking to you,” I say as I slip them on. These are plain white gold circles, no engraving or decoration. Simple.

My eyes meet his again when I finish with the second sleeve and drop his hand.

In my pocket, my phone vibrates with the five-minute alarm telling us to go downstairs.

“Hurry up, we need to go.” I spray my cologne and check my hair in the mirror, making sure not a hair is out of place. Jeremy opens the door and we walk out into the hallway. Paul and Brendon are leaving their room too. Great.

Brendon looks at Jeremy and glowers. For some reason, it makes me want to smile. I allow a smirk to turn up one side of my lips.

“Nice suit.” I hear Brendon scoff behind me as he falls into step with Jeremy.

“Uh yeah, thanks.” Jeremy mumbles. I don’t need to see him to know there’s a red blush crawling up his neck right now. Maybe next time I give in to the temptation to touch him, I’ll leave marks. I do love to see my handy work left behind.

The ride down to the main floor is quick, the space filled with Brendon’s snide remarks about me being a spoiled brat.

The vans are lined up outside the rink and the weight on my chest makes itself known again. I don’t know what it is about Jeremy that makes me want to stay close to him, but I do. As the vans fill, I start counting how many seats are left versus how many of us are left. Who will fit in which space, and will I be separated from him?

Paul and Brendon climb into a van with only a bench seat left, room for one more. They look at Jeremy, expecting him to get in with them, but he holds up a hand to wave them off.

“It’s cool, I’ll get the next one. See you guys there.” Brendon’s head looks like it’s about to explode.

This time, I smile, following it up with a wink at Brendon before following Jeremy to the last van. He climbs in, sliding into the middle seat since someone is already against the far window. Did he know that’s where I would want to sit?

I don’t like having people behind me.

There’s already someone sitting in the row, so I take the last seat by the door, pressed against Jeremy as we squeeze our athletic bodies into the seat made for much smaller humans. I think toddlers could fit back here comfortably.

With every mile closer to the building my father lives in, the weight on my chest grows. My hands slide across the tops of my thighs while I try to breathe through the unknowns of what I’m going to walk into. Logically, I know I will leave with no new marks. He can’t get me away from the team for that long.

“If I disappear for more than five minutes, come looking for me.”

The words are quiet as they tumble out of my mouth. Only Jeremy could have heard them, the rest of the guys in here are laughing and screwing around. His finger hooks around mine and my eyes close at the contact, my breathing hitching in my chest as my stomach cramps painfully.

There’s no way I’m going to be able to eat. Is he going to make me sit next to him or just in his line of sight so I can’t escape him?