But I didn't. I held my tongue and let him do whatever he wanted. And for some reason, Alex wanted to take his time with me, and he wanted to do it quietly. I have no concept of time, but it seemed to stretch on forever, and yet in my mind it would never be long enough. He filled me with torturously slow strokes that went deep but never came off a leisurely pace. The only quickening was our breathing, but even that had a more subdued quality. When we came, we did it together with our hands clasped and our lips pressed together as our breath ran warm across each other's skin.

It was a hauntingly beautiful experience, the most touching sexual experience of my life. I have no clue if he was showing me that his feelings were running deep, or he was giving me something I could remember before he cut things off. Alex never told me what was wrong, he never discussed where he went for his walk, and when I woke up the next morning, he was gone and all I had was a note on the pillow beside me.

His note apologized again for his behavior after the game and told me that he had to make a quick trip back home to Canada to take care of some family business, but that he would see me back in Raleigh for our scheduled talk at Pope High School in two days.

I didn't call him and he didn't call me. I worried myself sick over this, but I felt that he needed some time. Besides, any contact almost guaranteed that I would press him for details as to what in the hell had been going on with him. I figure he didn't call me because he knew that and wasn't in a mood to share.

So, as I sit here in this parking lot, all I can do is hope Alex shows up, not just physically, but emotionally as well.

Glancing over at Alex, I give him a small smile and then turn back to the podium in front of me. I have some notes jotted down, but I know I probably won't even look at them.

He showed upatrue to his word, and just as the program was about to start. I didn't get a chance to even say hello but pressed into his hands the sheet of paper that held three paragraphs I'd need him to read when I was done, announcing the Cold Fury's support for this outreach program.

Looking out over the audience, I try to focus in on a few of the students who stare back at me. Some are interested, some are texting on their cell phones. Regardless, I know there's at least one person in this room who will find what I'm about to say interesting.

"Hi. As Principal Snyder just introduced me, you know I'm Sutton Price and that I'm a counselor at the Wake County Drug Crisis Center. What she didn't tell you, though, is that I was raised, at least for a portion of my life, by a parent who was addicted to drugs."

Stepping out from the podium, I check to make sure the portable mic is on, and move out onto center stage. I always feel more comfortable talking this way, as it feels less formal. I'm not nervous about talking to these kids, but knowing that Alex's gaze is pinned on my back gives me some tingles for sure.

"My dad was and still is addicted to heroin. My mom and I stayed with him until I was nine years old, and she was able to break away. My dad has his good moments. He's gone months at a time staying clean, but unfortunately he's always relapsed."

The auditorium is silent and I see more faces watching me than not. "What I want to talk to you about today is how you can get help...if you have a parent that is using. You see, my dad as an addict was pretty terrifying, and I spent a lot of time alone with him because he was unemployed and would watch me in the afternoons when I got home from school. When he was high on heroin, he would mostly just sleep, which meant he left me alone. When he was waiting on his next fix, and couldn't get his drugs, he got mean. Really mean."

I pause for effect and take a few steps across the stage. "He would hit me...sometimes with his hands, sometimes with his belt...it's how I got this scar," I say, pointing to my left eyebrow. "Sometimes he'd kick me. Once he dragged me across the floor by my hair and I only got away after a chunk of my scalp tore loose."

Someone in the front row gasps, but I don't look. I turn and walk back across the stage. "I had a wonderful mother. She worked to try to support us, but unfortunately she didn't make enough to support us and his drug habit. That made my dad even meaner. She's the most wonderful woman in the world. She loves me more than life itself."

I turn and risk a glance back at Alex. His eyes are glittering intensely as he watches me. Turning back to the kids, I continue. "But even though she loved me, and I knew she would do anything to protect me, I didn't tell her about what my dad was doing. I told her lies about my cuts and bruises. I was afraid because I didn't want my family to break up. Even though my dad abused me, he didn't do it all the time. I mean...he loved me, and he was always so sorry after he hurt me. So I kept silent."

I let this sink in for a few seconds. "And by me keeping silent, it just ensured he kept doing it."

Walking up to the podium, I rest my forearm on it in a casual stance and place my other hand in my pocket. "It was a teacher at school who noticed a bruise on my arm and asked me about it. I was so afraid of telling because I didn't want to let my mom down, and I was afraid of losing my dad, because even though he did those terrible things to me...he still loved me."

Now, as I gaze out over the kids, I see that several are leaning forward as they listen, and I see one nod her head up and down in agreement. All I need to do is reach one...that is all.

I go on with my talk, pushing the truth that you need to reach out for help. That teachers, school counselors...they are all prepared to help you deal. I tell them how my story turned out successfully. My teacher reached out to my mother, who in turn made my dad go to rehab for the first time. I don't sugarcoat it; I tell them how he failed at rehab, and how my mom and I were homeless. But I also tell them about Jim-Dad, and how my life turned around, and how my past is what fuels my desire to help others. Most important, I make sure they understand addiction comes in all forms, that my dad's poison was heroin but that there are a variety of drugs, not to mention alcohol and gambling and sex, that can wreak havoc on peoples' lives.

Finally, I end my talk with my contact information, including my personal cell phone number. I point out some of the crisis center materials we brought with us that are laid out on tables at the back of the room. I finish to resounding applause, then I introduce Alex, and the cheers turn deafening. I can't help but smile, because while I had the personal message, Alex's star still shines brighter than mine. They will listen to him for sure.

I sit in Alex's chair and listen to him. He doesn't read from the paper I handed him word for word but he summarizes it nicely, putting his own flavor on it. He then does something that surprises me.

"Before I head out, I want to encourage you to really listen to what Sutton said," he says as he turns and points to me with a smile. "I've come to know her pretty well over the last few months, and there is nothing more important to her than helping out others in need. You can't be afraid to ask for help. It could make a big difference not only in your life, but maybe to your loved one who is addicted as well."

Alex thanks the kids for listening and they give him a standing ovation. I want to roll my eyes, but I don't. I'm too proud of him, as well as myself, because I think this went off far better than I could have ever expected.

We don't stay around to talk to the students. The principal suggested and we agreed on a quick exit, because as kids will be kids, most were probably only interested in the hockey star in their midst. Still...I'm betting there is at least one kid here today that got the message and will reach out. I'm sure of it.

We walk out of the school and head across the parking lot. I see Alex parked his Suburban right beside my car. The silence between us hangs a bit heavy, but I don't know what to say. Apparently Alex doesn't either, because not a peep comes out of him.

When we reach the cars, he walks beside me to my driver's door. When I reach out with my keys to open it, he grabs my arm and halts me. Turning to him, I have a moment's hesitation, afraid to look in his eyes. I don't even know if we have a relationship at this point, given the radio silence between us the last two days.

I finally have the courage to raise my eyes, and relief courses through me as I see warmth and pride on his face, complemented by a big smile. He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, then leans in to give me a soft kiss.

"You were amazing, Sutton," he says quietly. "I'm truly blown away."

His gaze turns a little sad and then he pulls me in for a hug. "I'm sorry you went through that with Cosmo. I had no idea."

I shrug my shoulders, as if it's not a big deal. I mean, I know it's a big deal, but I've made my peace with it. I don't want him to be sad for me, because I'm not sad for me.

He holds me for a long time, and we just listen to the quiet. Finally, I pluck up the courage. "I missed you."

Alex squeezes me in response and murmurs in my ear. "I missed you too. A lot."

Taking two steps back, Alex pulls me with him and leans back against his Suburban. Spreading his legs, he pulls me in between and rests his hands on my hips. "I'm sorry I didn't call while I was gone."

I give him a smile that tells him it's okay. "I didn't call you either."

"I'm actually glad you didn't," he admits with a wince. "I...um, was sort of caught up in some family drama and just needed some space."

He doesn't want to talk details. I can tell by the look on his face and the tension in his shoulders, so all I ask is, "Are you okay? I mean, did everything work out okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," he says, then looks off across the parking lot. The late afternoon sun hits his eyes and lightens them to a pale blue, which pop even brighter because of his thick, dark lashes.

When he turns to look back at me, he says, "I wanted to apologize again...for the way I acted in New York. I don't have any excuse."

I'm surprised by how bothered he still is by that. He already apologized to me, and clearly I accepted it, because I let him inside my body after that. I thought that spoke volumes, so I'm not sure why he still feels the need for forgiveness.

"Alex...it's okaya" I start to assure him but he cuts in.

"No...it's not. It's not okay because I'm afraid it will happen again. I feel like I'm on a tightrope sometimes, a balancing act that I'm constantly maintaining just so I can be with you. But I feel myself tilting off it more and more lately. It's a constant push and pull within me, and half the time I feel like I should break things off with you to avoid hurting you more down the road. Honestly...it's why I didn't call you the last few days. I was thinking of ending things."

I suck in a deep breath, trying to expand my lungs past the hurt that those words create. "Can you share with me what happened to cause this? I want to help you."

Releasing my hips and bringing his hands to my face, he peers at me intently. "The details aren't important, just some shit going on with my dad. I think I got it handled."

"So where do we stand?" I ask hesitantly, because for all I know, his next words are going to break my heart.

Still cupping my face, Alex leans in and kisses me. Soft at first, but then his mouth opens and he slips his tongue inside of me, causing all of my troubles to melt away. I step in closer to him until my pelvis is resting against his, and no matter that we are in a public high school parking lot, I grind against him slightly and feel him go hard. It's a desperate move on my parta hoping that my sexual allure will keep him pinned to my side.

Alex gives a deep groan and kisses me harder, for just a moment, just to make his point clear. When he pulls away, he says, "I can't let you go. I don't want to hurt you but I don't want to be without you either. I've said it before...I'm a selfish bastard. I'll risk hurting you just so I can have another day, another week, another month. Tell me I'm a bastard."

His words are urgent and filled with need. He needs me to call him a liar and I'm going to do just that. "You are not selfish. The heart wants what the heart wants."

"Is it my heart that wants you, Sutton?" he asks on a low murmur. "Or is it just my cock?"

"Only you can answer that," I tell him breathlessly. "But my heart is involved, so whether you hurt me right now, or hurt me down the road, it's going to hurt all the same."

Alex pulls me into him hard and hugs me again. I never would have taken Alex for being much of a hugger, but he seems to find a measure of comfort in the intimacy of the act.

Placing his lips against my cheek, Alex tells me, "I'm so afraid of hurting you that I think it's safe to say my heart is definitely involved."

"So, try not to hurt me."

"I'll try," he answers, and I'm thankful that his voice is sincere.

Chapter 25.

Alex

"Crossman...in my office...now!"

Garrett slaps a comforting hand on my back and gives me a look of sympathy as he walks out of the locker room, his game bag slung over his shoulder. "Call me later, dude, if you want to go grab a beer or something."

"Sure thing," I tell him, but I know after the ass chewing I'm about to be handed, I'm not going to feel like going out. Especially not on top of that miserable performance I just turned in for my team, and especially not after we lost our third game in a row.

Walking into Coach's office, I take a seat and pick a nonexistent piece of lint off my slacks. When I look up at him across the desk, he's looking at me with a mixture of anger and worry.

"What the fuck's the problem?" he asks.

"No problem," I answer, the smart-ass in me showing up early to the game.

"Try again, Crossman. For a guy who averages at least a goal or an assist per game, something is fucking wrong that you haven't had a point since we got back from New York. Now, I want to know what the fuck the problem is."

"Gee, Coach, you've really been working on your motivational skills," I taunt.

Pretore looks at me for a moment, eyebrows raised at my audacity, then he gives me a sly grin. "What is it? Pussy you getting not good enough? Did they discontinue your favorite ice cream brand? Fuck, maybe your panties are too tight. It's gotta be something."

I can't help itaI crack up laughing, even bend over and clutch at my stomach. When I look back up, Coach is smiling at me, but his eyes are worried. "Seriously, Alex. What can I do to get you back on track? You were playing so well...really had your shit together."

The laughter dies and bitterness wells up inside of me. "I don't know. My focus is off."

"Well, no shit, Dick Tracy. How do we get you focused again?"

"I'll work harder," I tell him quickly.

"It's not your skills and we both know it. Your slap shot doesn't need polishingayour confidence does."

"You think my confidence is gone?" I ask, surprised by his conclusion. I still feel as cocky and egocentric as ever when I step out onto the ice. Granted, I get frustrated easily, and that may take away some of my focus and drive, but surely I still have confidence.

I'm Alex Fucking Crossman...most valuable prick and all that.

"Look, buddy," Coach says, really taking on the paternal tone with me. "You need to evaluate your life...figure out what is causing you stress and get rid of it. You get into a mental funk, it's hard to break free. Don't ignore it, okay?"

His words cause me immense discomfort because there are a couple of things stressing me out, one of which is my constant worry that I'll hurt Sutton. It's something that I think about every day. The other is my father. I'm worried he'll quit rehab, start drinking and kill himself. If that happens, I don't know if I can survive the guilt, because no matter what Cameron said to me that day at breakfast, I could have stepped in long ago and gotten him help.

That was proven by the fact that when I went to Canada last week, Dad easily rolled over on me when I suggested rehab. He cried when I told him I didn't want him to die, and then I packed his bags and took him to a facility that Cameron had already arranged.

Shaking my head, I stand up and look down at Pretore. "I'll get it together. I promise."

"See that you do, kid. I expect great things from you."

Great...more pressure. Now I'm worried about letting my coach down. Things were certainly a lot easier before...

Before I cared about the game.

Before I met Sutton.

Before I stepped in to help my dad.

All of it was easier and I find myself resenting the sudden burdens placed on my doorstep. It makes me wish for easier times when I could be a loner and, if I wanted to fuck someone, Cassie would be there to give me release and then leave quickly.

Leaving Coach's office, I pull my cell phone out and see a text from Sutton.

Come over tonight.

That's all it says, but it doesn't need to say more. I didn't need the invitation either, because despite my obsessive worrying about Sutton, she's like my drug and there's no way I wasn't going to take a hit tonight. I need her to maintain some level of sanity, because just her voice coats me in soothing balm. Her touch makes me feel peaceful. When I fuck her, the world melts away and only she exists.

Making my way out to the players' parking lot, I sign a few autographs for some of the fans still lingering. Then I get in my car and head for Sutton's house.

When she opens the door and I see her for the first time today, I feel immersed in serenity. I forget about the shitty game and letting my team down. I forget about my dad, and my anger and my resentment. It's so easy to let it go when she's standing there looking even lovelier than when I left her bed this morning.

She smiles at me in welcome and doesn't even wait for me to walk in before she's wrapping her arms around me and giving me a hug. Standing on the threshold of her house, I let her comfort me for the shitty game, letting my team down and the mess that is my father. She doesn't know that she's comforting me for all of those things, but I'm taking it all the same.

Then she's kissing me with such delicate care that my soul twists, and it only reinforces my desire to have her, no matter what the cost.

"Come on in," she says softly and takes me by the hand.

Her living room is glowing with flickering light as the hearth crackles with a small fire and her Christmas treeawhich she put up Thanksgiving Dayatwinkles with multicolored lights. It looks magical and romantic, and causes me to want to just cuddle with her on the couch, which is odd because my first thought would normally be that I want to fuck her on the couch.

Leading me to the sofa, she releases my hand and I take a seat. She sits beside me and curls into my side, as I wrap my arm around her shoulder. Laying her hand on my chest, she strokes me softly through the material of my dress shirt.

"So what did you think of the game?" I ask her, curious as to how she will address the fact that I played like an amateur in a local rec league. Will she sugarcoat it or give it to me straight?