Chapter Four
Olle sprang out of bed, stumbling on his feet as he hastily made the bed and searched for his phone. He found it in yesterday’s pants pocket and was dismayed to see it was already nine o’clock.
How the hell had he slept so late?
He’d wanted to shower again, but his post-game shower and some deodorant were going to have to hold him. Neither was doing much for his hair, though, which he hadn’t taken the time to tie back before bed. It looked like something had nested on his head overnight. Shit.
He heard Jamie and his roommates being greeted at the door and hastily scraped his hair back into a messy bun that only served to further the impression that someone should check him for birds. Then he yanked on sweatpants, the cuffs of which clung to the middle of his calves—being super tall was a bitch—and a t-shirt.
He should be okay, though. Breakfast around here was often eaten in pajamas, including Callum and Rupert, who always looked rumpled and happy, and Mike and Alexei, who always looked so well-pressed it was obvious they didn’t wear their pajamas to bed.
Olle stepped out of his room and learned the breakfast rules didn’t apply to brunch.
Everyone was not only dressed, but Jamie, Tim, and Chris were wearing actual button-down shirts and dress slacks.
Of course they are, they’re eating breakfast with their bosses.
Olle hovered in the hallway, about to execute an about-face, when Jamie spotted him.
Olle froze like a deer in headlights until Callum came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder. Olle jumped and offered a weak smile. At least Callum was wearing jeans and sneakers, though Olle could do without the blatant sympathy in Callum’s eyes as he glanced between Olle and Jamie.
Alexei finally took pity on him and demanded his assistance in the kitchen. Olle threw himself into helping and kept his head down, doing exactly what he was asked to do and ignoring the strange looks he was getting from Alexei and Mike.
Even Christian was looking at him oddly.
Maybe his hair was worse than he’d originally thought. Or maybe everyone was used to him being a lot more talkative. He’d definitely gotten over his shyness around here.
Olle brought dish after dish of food to the table, carefully skirting their guests so he wouldn’t break up their conversations. He tried not to act weird, forcing himself to keep his shoulders back and his head up, but he still felt awkward and too big.
He was carrying what had to be ten pounds of breakfast potatoes to the table when Jamie struck up a conversation with Christian. Olle recognized the rosy glow in Christian’s cheeks, his bright eyes locked on Jamie like a deer in headlights while Jamie asked him about his skating and school.
Olle’s heart ached with sympathy as Christian’s cheeks got redder. Man, Olle knew just how that felt. To have all of Jamie’s attention on him, that big smile flashing, his hazel eyes bright, cheekbones high and fucking perfect…
Someone cleared their throat right behind Olle and he dropped the potatoes he’d been holding suspended an inch above the table with an ignominious thump. He refused to acknowledge Rupert‘s laughter and stomped back to the kitchen. He snatched the platter of bacon from Callum, who had clearly told his husband about Olle’s confession, but at least had his back to the rest of the room when he grinned at Olle’s scowl.
These people were the worst and Olle loved them for it.
Once all the food was on the table, they took their seats. Olle gritted his teeth at the blatant machinations of basically the entire family to ensure he ended up seated next to Jamie. They needn’t have bothered, since all that did was make Olle want to be even quieter. Smaller.
Jamie was in his element. He had the whole table cracking up, first with stories from when he and Chris had been kids, and then by teasing Chris and Tim about their constant bickering because of Chris’s messiness and Tim’s obsessive cleanliness.
Olle listened and mostly kept his eyes on his plate.
“So, Jamie, how did you like your first game as an Ice Cat?” Callum asked.
“It was great,” Jamie said. “Though I hope they don’t all have that many penalties.”
Callum laughed along with everyone else, but he kept one eye on Olle.
Olle suddenly wanted to dive under the table.
Callum smirked. “Well, someone had to give Olle the night off.”
Olle wanted to die. He wanted to glare at Callum, the interfering pain in the ass, but instead stared at his plate. He could feel Jamie’s eyes on him and wished fervently he had left his hair down to hide his face. Some of the guys were still laughing, and Olle hoped like hell they thought Callum was just teasing him about his penalties on the Eagles—and not working out why he’d taken them.
He barely registered the last ten minutes of the meal. As soon as Callum stood to clear the table, Olle shot to his feet to help.
Jamie rose more slowly. “Olle, can you show me your room?”
Olle didn’t think he was imagining that the whole room came to a halt.
He blinked stupidly at Jamie as he left the table and walked toward the hallway. “It’s this way, right? You looked like you rolled right out of bed when you came into the room this morning.”
Olle winced, as did a few others at the table.
Rupert shot an accusatory glare at his husband, which Olle appreciated. Then Rupert opened his mouth to say something, god knew what, and Olle leaped into motion.
“Yeah, it’s through that door,” Olle said quickly, practically jogging to catch up with Jamie. “Go ahead in.”
Jamie did.
Olle cast a glance back at the table and found everyone watching, then followed Jamie.
Jamie shut the door as soon as Olle stepped through it.
Olle shifted away nervously, looking around his own room like he’d never seen it before.
“What did Callum mean?” Jamie asked.
“About what?” Olle asked the far wall.
Jamie stepped closer, his chin tilted to see Olle’s face, his voice firm. “Olle.”
The prettiest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen zeroed in on him.
Jamie clenched his fists at his side, battling frustration and the urge to touch Olle equally. “What did Callum mean when he said the guys got in all those fights because you needed a night off?”
Olle looked away again and shrugged. “I don’t know?”
Jamie took a deep breath, because that was bullshit, but he wasn’t going to jump on Olle about it because he was still trying to rearrange things in his own mind. He’d spent a good chunk of breakfast running through their games with the Eagles. The fights and scuffles. The penalties Olle had taken. The time he’d tripped a teammate right after he’d refused to hug Jamie while celebrating a goal. The time Olle had crashed into their own goalie, pretending he’d lost control of his huge body, when Jamie knew how hard he worked to never let that happen.
Jamie thought he had it figured out, but he needed to be sure.
“Why don’t you look at them?” Why don’t you look at me?
Olle’s eyes darted back to him. “What are you talking about?”
Jamie gestured toward the door. “Rupert. Callum. Everyone at that table.”
“I look at them,” Olle said, confused.
“You didn’t. You didn’t look at Christian when he was talking about his big figure skating tournament. Or at Alexei and Mike when they talked about their trip to New York last summer. You ignored them all.”
“I didn’t ignore them,” Olle said vehemently. “I love this family. I would never do anything to hurt them.” Olle stepped back. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, taking another step, and another, gaining speed as he turned for the door. He’d almost got his hand around the knob when Jamie leaped forward and grabbed his arm.
“Then why wouldn’t you look at them? Why won’t you look at me anymore?”
Olle closed his eyes. “Because I’m embarrassed. Because they’re meddling and I didn’t know what to say. What to do.” He paused, and Jamie thought he was done, but then he said, “I don’t know how to apologize to you.”
Something painful and sweet fluttered in Jamie’s chest. “For what?”
“I was upset when I found you in that bathroom. I just…I shouldn’t have run. I should have stayed and made sure you were okay.”
“Why did you run?” Jamie asked.
“I thought we—I thought…” He shook his head, dismissing whatever he’d been about to say. “It doesn’t matter. I should have handled it better. I’m sorry.”
Jamie appreciated the apology, but the weeks that had followed had been awful and Olle had been part of that. He couldn’t just let it go. “Why didn’t you talk to me after? Why wouldn’t you look at me?” Jamie was alarmed to feel the sting of tears in his eyes.
Olle stared at him, a helpless expression on his face. He opened his mouth a few times without managing any words before he screwed his eyes closed and whispered, “You broke my heart.”
Jamie stopped breathing. “What?”
Olle shook his head. “I was an idiot. I thought we were…it doesn’t matter. I should have been a better friend.”
“You thought we were what?” Jamie asked.
“Dating,” Olle admitted with a wince.
Jamie’s fingers dug into tight muscles. “What? But we never—”
“I was nervous,” Olle said in a rush. “I’ve never…not with a man. I thought maybe you hadn’t either, so we were just…going slow.” Olle’s lips twisted bitterly. “Obviously, I was wrong.”
Jamie slumped. Jesus fucking Christ, he was such an idiot. “God, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I misunderstood.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You blowing that man in the bathroom says otherwise,” Olle muttered, his gaze cutting to the side.
Jamie studied Olle’s face. Ten minutes ago he would have thought this was disgust. God, he was such an asshole.
Olle wasn’t disgusted. He was hurt.