Body Checked by My Straight Captain novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Rest Stop

Lars's hand stays on Ty's hip through the night; at a travel plaza Lars locks them in a bathroom, nearly kisses him, then walks out with a cold Go back to sleep, Prince, and at dawn texts Ty to meet him at the rink alone.

Ty did not move.

The bus hummed along the dark highway, and Lars's breath stayed hot against his ear.

Up front, someone snored.

A phone screen lit a face two rows ahead and went dark again.

"You awake?" Lars asked, so quietly it barely counted as a sound.

"Obviously," Ty whispered.

"Okay."

Lars's hand came out from between them.

It settled on Ty's hip, flat and heavy, and stayed there.

Ty's whole body went tight under it.

"Tell me to move it," Lars said.

Ty thought about that for a long second.

"Don't," he said.

Lars let out a rough breath against his neck.

His hand slid an inch, to the bone of Ty's hip, and gripped.

Then the bus hit a seam in the road, and Ty pushed back into him before he could stop himself.

Lars's hips jerked forward in answer.

Neither of them said anything.

Ty bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.

Lars's thumb moved once along his stomach, under the hem of the hoodie, over bare skin.

Ty had imagined this in a lot of ways.

Not one of them had happened on a team bus with the whole roster asleep a few rows ahead.

It went on a long time, and nothing happened except heat and the road.

At two in the morning the driver's voice came over the speaker.

"Rest stop, fifteen minutes. Stay with the bus."

The lights came on.

Lars's hand left Ty's hip, and the weight behind him was gone.

Ty sat up with his face burning and dragged his hoodie down over his lap.

Lars was already in the aisle with his duffel strap over one shoulder.

His face showed no expression at all.

Ty sat there until the bus emptied.

Then he followed the others across the lot to the travel plaza.

The fluorescent light inside made everyone look sick.

Guys wandered the snack aisle in socks and slides, arguing about beef jerky.

Cullen Pratt, the goalie, waved a cheese stick at Ty from the cooler.

"Ingram. You look like you got hit by the bus instead of riding it."

"Bad seat," Ty said.

"Sit up front next time. I'll save you one."

Cullen pushed a bag of pretzels into his hand and wandered off, still talking to himself.

Ty stood there holding the pretzels, oddly warm in the chest.

Nobody ever saved him a seat.

He went to the single bathroom at the back of the plaza and locked the door behind him.

He ran the cold tap and held both wrists under it.

The lock clicked.

Ty spun around.

He had locked that door. He was sure of it.

Lars stood inside with a small brass key in his hand, the one the clerk kept on a wooden paddle.

He shut the door and turned the lock again.

"You took the key," Ty said stupidly.

"I asked for it."

"What did you tell the clerk?"

"That my winger was sick."

Lars set the key on the sink.

"Tell me that didn't happen on the bus."

Ty looked at him.

Lars was six foot two, and the room was the size of a closet.

His hair was flat on one side from the window.

The green of his eyes was steadier than his voice.

"It happened," Ty said.

"Ingram."

"You put your hand on me. I told you not to take it off."

"I know what you told me."

"Then why are you asking me to say it didn't?"

Lars said nothing.

He crossed the space between them in two steps, and Ty's back hit the door.

Lars planted a forearm beside Ty's head and leaned in.

He stopped with his mouth an inch from Ty's.

They were both breathing hard.

"Everybody says you're straight," Ty said. His voice came out lower than he meant it to.

"Everybody says a lot of things."

Ty dragged his gaze down to Lars's mouth and back up.

"So what are you?"

For a second Lars's eyes closed, and his forehead dropped nearly to Ty's.

Then he pushed off the door and picked the key up off the sink.

He unlocked the bathroom, and cold air from the store rolled in.

"Go back to sleep, Prince," Lars said, in a flat, cold voice, and walked out.

Ty stayed where he was with his pulse banging in his throat.

The name had never sounded like that from anyone.

For the rest of the ride Lars sat three rows from the front with his arms crossed and his hood up.

He did not look back once.

The bus pulled into the Lakemont lot at twenty past five.

Ty carried his bag across the frozen asphalt, and his phone buzzed in his pocket.

In two years Lars Holmgren had never sent him anything that wasn't a group message.

This one read: Rink. Six. Come alone.

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