Page 28 of Shattered On Ice

Westin turns to me with his palm raised, and I slap it. He closes his hand around mine, sending a shock wave of pleasure ricocheting through my arm. His face is so open, happiness filling every feature and crevice, lighting up his eyes in a way that was missing just moments before. I smile back, awash in his joy, elated that we can share this, as innocent as it is.

“You’re going down, bestie,” Rook vows, crossing his arms with a pout.

Westin hands me a ball. “You got this.”

I do not, in fact, have this. My shot misses once again. I let out a quiet curse.

Nico sends a ball into another of our cups, and I’m determined to drink this one, but Westin fishes the ball out and knocks it back before I can even reach for it.

I study him for a moment in between rounds. He looks pained as he glances over at Rook, who is once again turned toward the baseball game on the TV. There’s no trace of the confident jokester with an ever-present grin he wears when there’s the possibility of being seen.

Is he willing to drink every cup to help me while playing the game, or to cope with the stress of hiding right in front of his best friend?

When Rook sinks his next shot, and Westin drinks again, swaying where he stands, I’m starting to see the pattern more clearly. He’s no longer maintaining his sunny disposition. The smile is gone, and he’s lost in his thoughts, eyes finding mine more often than not. It’s so obvious to me that he’s miserable. Why is he doing this to himself?

My clinical brain is screaming at me to pull him aside. To analyze this self-destructive coping mechanism. To talk to him about the psychological toll of the closet. Even if we aren't going to tell Rook about us, he would benefit from his friends knowing the truth about him. But I bite back the well-meaning advice. I promised myself I wouldn't be his therapist. I’m just the guy he’s secretly sleeping with, even as it kills me to watch him drown his anxiety in cheap beer.

“You’re going hard over there. That’s gonna catch up with you faster than you realize,” Nico calls, as Westin leans heavily on the ping pong table, making it shift under his weight.

“You gotta stay in the guestroom tonight. There’s no reason for you to drive home like that,” Rook demands.

Westin spending the night at my house is what dreams are made of, but it's the worst-case scenario for me. I imagined the first time we stayed over at each other’s houses, it would be together, not with him in another room, where I could torture myself thinking about him while not being able to have him.

“I’m fine,” Westin slurs, throwing a ball down the table and missing the cups completely.

I turn to face him, ready to remind him of whatever I need to that would keep him from driving home drunk, but Rook beats me to it.

“I’ve seen you fine after drinking, and I’ve seen you shit-faced. You’re much closer to sloppy than driving right now, so that’s off the table. You're staying here. Can't let my bestie get a DUI or hurt someone.” Rook crosses his arms, ending the argument.

“The game’s over, anyway. San Francisco won, and it’s getting late,” Nico offers. “Might as well call it a night.”

I’m thrilled to be done with beer pong, but I keep my excitement to myself. I’m more concerned with Westin’s state than happy to be done with a game I’m terrible at. Rook walks Nico to the door as Westin and I collect the cups. He stumbles, spilling beer on the table.

“I’m fine,” Westin mutters again, waving off my attempt to steady his elbow.

“I’ll get you some water,” I offer as we make it into the kitchen. It’s as quick as pulling open the fridge and unscrewing a bottle, but when I turn back, Westin is leaning heavily on the island, eyes closed and face screwed up.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” I say as I press the bottle into his hand and make him lift it. I watch as he takes a few sips and rubs his eyes. He’s practically asleep on his feet. “Come on. You should sit down while we get the guestroom set up for you.”

“You don't have to take care of me, mon ange,” he grumbles. “I should take care of you. But of course I’m fucked at that, also.”

My heart takes a tumble, thumping against my ribcage at his drunken sentimentality. “We all need to be taken care of sometimes.” I lead him to the couch and get him settled. “There’s no shame in needing help, or accepting it.”

His head falls back against the cushion, eyes closing slowly with heavy blinks as he tries to keep me in focus. I smooth his hair back from his face and let him rest.

Rook comes back into the house a moment after I’ve stepped away, looking from me to Westin. “He okay?” he asks me as I start down the hallway.

“You know him better,” I concede quietly. “Does he drink like that a lot? Is this normal for him?”

“I’ve seen him worse, but he doesn't do it often. I’m kind of surprised that what he drank fucked him up that much. Maybe it was the heat,” he guesses. “You okay making up the guestroom? I need a shower badly. The swamp ass is real in this heat.”

I chuckle. “Sure. You head to bed. I’ll handle it.”

“You’re the best, Knight, thanks.”

“Hey, Rook?” I call quietly as he starts toward the stairs, Indiana padding along beside him. When he pauses and looks at me, I finish. “Thanks for including me tonight.”

He smiles and waves off my comment as he heads up the stairs. “You’re always included. You just have to accept it.”