What the fuck did I do?

Waking up without a hangover or still drunk had been a nice change. Scottie thought a stiff drink might help him make sense of everything. He certainly found it hard to wrap his mind around how much he’d enjoyed the release of submitting to Gray.

All the whirling, chaotic rage in his mind had calmed for the briefest of moments. Scottie had only ever felt a similar freedom on the rugby pitch. He hated how much he craved it again.

Both the rugby and the submission.

Scottie rolled over on his back and stretched his arms out in the empty bed. He rarely spent the night with his sexual partners and usually ducked out in the early morning hours when he did. The smell of breakfast forced him to drag himself up out of the covers.

Right.

Clothes.

A glance around the room told him someone had clearly made off with his jeans and T-shirt. I’m not running around with my bits out. I’ve been vulnerable enough for one day. Scottie yawned loudly and cleared the sleep from his eyes with a rough swipe of his hand.

It was impossible to deny he’d thoroughly enjoyed last night. Only in the light of day, he didn’t know how to process all of it. Time alone to think would be his next priority.

After I find my fucking clothes.

Following the smell of coffee and sausage, Scottie found the former marine standing in front of the hob in his briefs and an old USMC T-shirt. He watched Gray for several minutes while he moved confidently around the kitchen. The man had definite passion when it came to cooking.

“I’m fucking starved.” Scottie noticed his jeans and T-shirt folded on one of the stools that surrounded the island in the centre of the kitchen. “Where are my boxers?”

“You can manage without them.” Gray nodded toward the fridge across from him. “Juice? Milk? Or something more caffeinated?”

“I can manage without them?” Scottie found himself ogling at a turned back as Gray completely ignored his dumbfounded question. Wanker. He dragged the freshly washed T-shirt over his head, pulled on his jeans, and wandered barefoot over to grab the mug of coffee on the counter. “Am I supposed to not have socks either?”

“They’re by the door in your shoes.” Gray smacked his hand with the wooden spatula in his hand. “Never fuck with a marine’s coffee, kitten. Pour your own damn mug.”

Before Scottie could stop himself, he’d wrested the spatula out of Gray’s loose grip and snapped it in half. They both stared at the broken utensil for a few seconds. Right. Fuck. Maybe I should’ve paid attention in all those anger management classes. He flung the pieces in his hand to the floor and fled the room.

Fumbling with his socks and then his riding boots, Scottie managed to get them on before a fully dressed Gray strode toward him. He had no desire to discuss anything with the man. His helmet and leather jacket lay by the door, and he made a quick escape.

Well, you’re a fucking cowardly twat.

His stomach grumbled over the missed breakfast. Scottie grew more disgusted with himself during the ride across Cardiff. The icy rain battering him kept him focused on the road and not his internal angst.

“Scottie?”

He jerked out of his daze to find a concerned Remi standing beside him on the kerb. “Thought you’d gone back to your Cornish ginger.”

“You know my wife’s name.” Remi scowled at him. “You’ve sat here for almost twenty minutes in the rain. Are you hoping to turn hypothermic?”

“Fuck off.” Scottie slowly got off his bike and shook his arms out a bit. They’d started to cramp up on him from the damp cold and his fists being so tightly clenched. “Did I forget a meeting?”

“Francis is here making the changes to décor that we asked for.” Remi stepped into his path when Scottie started toward the club. “Why don’t we grab coffee across the street?”

“Is Caddock still hacked off about what I said to little Frannie?”

“Don’t be an arsehole, Scott.” Remi waited until Scottie had removed his helmet and placed it on the handlebar before he grabbed his arm to force him toward the café. “Francis hasn’t done anything to deserve your nonsense. We’ll have breakfast, and you can tell me why you’re as pale as a ghost.”

His initial thought was to argue, but Remi’s glare changed his mind. Of all his friends, the Frenchie intimidated him when none of the others even fazed him. He wouldn’t cross the man for anything, not without copious amounts of liquor involved.

They squashed uncomfortably around the only available two-seater table at the café. Remi stuck with a plain coffee while Scottie ordered two bacon sarnies to go with his hot drink. He dumped enough sugar to rot his teeth into his mug for something to do to avoid the steady stare from the man across from him.

Scottie eventually lost his patience with his friend. “What? Why the sodding hell are you glaring at me?”

“You’ve got the most fantastic love bite that I’ve ever seen on the side of your jaw.” He chuckled when Scottie snarled at him. “I’ll leave the jokes for BC. What happened last night to cause you to be so out of sorts?”

“Nothing.”

“I haven’t seen you so pale since the time you broke three ribs during a qualifier.” Remi held his mug in both hands, clearly enjoying the warmth. “You know, friends of mine have seen your American at a few of the Cardiff munches in the past.”

Scottie inhaled coffee into his mouth and coughed violently as a result. “Wanker.”

“I’ve never seen him—but Sarah and I attend ones closer to home usually.” He dropped the insight into his personal life rather casually, to Scottie’s surprise. The Frenchman tended to closely guard his relationship with his wife. “You share this information, Scott, and I will break your nose—again.”

Arsehole.

“Why tell me, then?” Scottie asked after the server had dropped off his sandwiches.

Remi stole a handful of the chips on Scottie’s plate before answering. “You won’t talk to your American about your fears. Who else do you know that plays in the fetish pool aside from me?”

“I’ve got twenty quid on Tens.” Scottie had watched the man with his boyfriend and wondered about their relationship a few times. He blinked in surprise when a chip hit him between the eyes. “What?”

“You leave Freddie and Taine alone.” Remi stabbed a chip in his direction for emphasis. “They’ve had enough troubles without you being your usual self.”

Scottie gave a shrug and pulled his plate out of his friend’s reach when he went for another handful of chips. “Order your own, you thieving bastard.”

“Stingy.” Remi signalled one of the servers to place an order and took the chance to ask for a top-up of their coffees. “Has Gray discussed what specific flavour of relationship he wants?”

“Remi.” Scottie managed not to shout at his friend. “No, no, no, no, no. I’m not fucking chatting with you about this.”

“Was it your first scene?”

“I will break your nose and send you back to your wife bleeding,” Scottie ground out angrily.

“You would try and fail—like last time.” Remi paused when the server brought over his order of chips and topped up their coffee. “Let me guess what happened. You enjoyed submitting. You woke up, panicked that you found pleasure in it, and ran off.”

“I don’t know.” Scottie took a large bite of one of his sandwiches and chewed slowly while glaring across the table. “And I don’t see how it’s any of your fucking business.”

“So, yes.” He pointed one of his chips at Scottie for a second time. “Why didn’t you stay and talk to him about your fears?”

“I wasn’t fucking afraid.” Scottie’s voice sounded weak even to himself. He chugged down the coffee, ignoring the slight burn of the hot liquid. “I’m done.”

Throwing money on the table to cover his part of the bill, Scottie grabbed the remaining half of the sandwich and stormed out of the café. He’d been pushed enough for one day. Remi didn’t immediately follow him, allowing him to make it up to his office without being harassed by anyone else.

What bothered him most was Remi hadn’t been wrong; Scottie just didn’t have it in him to answer them yet. He had enjoyed it and panicked as a result. Gray had been everything Scottie hadn’t known he needed.

And I fucking ran like a coward.

Shit.

What am I doing?

Best sex I’ve ever had. Best night of sleep I’ve had in ages. And I ruin it by sneaking out?

The act of submission had freed Scottie in ways he hadn’t imagined possible. He’d surrendered completely to it. He wanted the feeling again—over and over, which terrified him and made him never want it again. Fuck.

Scottie collapsed into his desk chair, setting his sandwich on top of a stack of paper and dropping his head back with a grown. Wonder if anyone would notice if I drowned myself in an ocean of whisky. “I will not turn into my sodding father. I fucking won’t.”

One drink can’t hurt, though.

The first shot of whisky burned all the way down, the third dulled the pain, and the seventh numbed him to everything going on around him. Slumped in his chair in his office, Scottie drank his way through one of the most expensive bottles the Sin Bin served. He stayed behind the locked door the entire day in a stupor, feeling wretched and so much like his father that reaching for another drink seemed the only answer.

“Scottie?”

A heavy banging jerked Scottie out of his sleep. He immediately grunted in pain when his head connected with the unforgiving wood of the underside of his desk. Why the hell am I on the floor in the first place? Carefully extracting himself out from underneath it, he swayed on his feet for a moment and clutched at his chair to avoid slumping to the ground.

“Scottie. I know you’re in there; I’ll bash this bloody door in if you don’t open it.” Taine jiggled the handle roughly a few times, as if trying to make a point. “You’re not dead, are you?”

Wanker.

With a pounding head and blurry vision, Scottie managed to make it across the room to unlock the door. Taine crossed his arms and glared at him. He waited for his old rugby mate to lecture him. Fuck. Time hasn’t changed anything, I’m still being told off for acting like a stupid arse.

Taine opened his mouth and then appeared to reconsider barely a second later. He shook his head slowly. “All right, lad, why don’t I take you home? We can manage the club for a night without you.”

“I’ll be brilliant after a few coffees,” Scottie argued with a confidence he didn’t actually feel; even the thought of caffeine made his stomach churn. How much did I actually drink? “What time is it?”

“Five.”

“In the afternoon?” Scottie glanced around in confusion at the lack of staff. “Where is everyone? We’ll be opening soon.”

“Five in the morning, you absolutely idiotic knobdobber.” Taine’s slight Scottish brogue always seemed more pronounced when he swore. Part Maori and part Scot, the massive retired rugby player looked more the former and sounded more the latter. “You’ve either drunk or slept through an entire day.”

“Fuck.” Scottie drew the word out slowly. He gripped the frame of the door. “Fuck.”

Taine’s scowl faded into something more like concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Thank God.” Taine rested a hand on Scottie’s shoulder and used it to ease him out of the office. “We’re worried about you.”

“We?”

“Look, you’re an arse, but you’re still our friend. We’ve known each other for ages.” Taine carefully led him down the flights of stairs to get to the first-floor exit. “Whatever you might think, we’re not letting you drink yourself into an early grave. You hear me?”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Scottie scoffed at him. He didn’t want to consider the truth behind his friend’s concern. The Monk family had a history of alcohol-related deaths; an ignominious distinction in which he obviously partook. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Taine pushed him out into the crisp night air. “Why don’t I get you a takeaway for later?”

Thinking about food made Scottie queasy enough to have to pause to take a few deep breaths before he was sick. Taine chuckled beside him. Fucking bastard. They eventually made it to his friend’s SUV, and he tumbled into the passenger seat, fumbling with the seat belt before getting situated.

“Scottie?”

He shook his head to clear it, only to realise that he’d fallen asleep. “Where are we?”

“The hospital.”

Scottie sat up slowly and glanced around to find the scenery had changed quite significantly. “Why the fuck am I in a hospital bed?”

Taine placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated. “You passed out. I couldn’t wake you up. How much did you drink?”

Scottie ran his fingers vigorously across his head. “Not a clue. It’s all a blur. I honestly can’t remember. What happened?”

“You almost drank yourself into the grave,” Taine remarked bluntly.

“You’re lucky you didn’t need a catheter or to be intubated. The doctor decided the IV drip was sufficient.” Freddie stepped up beside Taine and leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Have you heard of alcohol poisoning?”

Scottie shrugged and glared down at the tube stuck into his arm. He couldn’t help twitching at the thought of a catheter. How much had he drunk? The last clear memory was having breakfast with Remi—and trying to avoid a conversation about Gray.

“You could’ve died from a heart attack, from seizures, or even from choking on your own vomit.” Freddie brutally went through each possible danger of alcohol poisoning without giving him a chance to process. “I’ve seen cases where individuals inhaled their own bile and the damage to their lungs was fatal.”

“I get it. Fuck.” Scottie rubbed his chest absently at the sudden tightness he felt just considering what might’ve happened. “Aren’t nurses supposed to offer comfort?”

“I would, but you’re too stubborn for it to help.” Freddie led Taine across the room, where they had a brief whispered conversation. “I’ll see if I can find the doctor.”

Taine returned to the chair near Scottie’s bed. “They’re going to suggest you either enter rehab or perhaps Alcoholics Anonymous.”

“Not a fucking chance,” Scottie snarled instinctively at the idea. “I can manage on my own.”

“You could’ve died in my vehicle, and I would’ve had no idea how to help you.” He slammed his fist against the mattress, jolting Scottie slightly. “You either get some help, or you’re done as the manager of the Sin Bin. None of us wants to stand over your grave because you couldn’t be arsed to try to defeat your family demons.”

“Tens.”

Taine held his hand up to stop Scottie. “Think about it. They’re keeping you for a few more hours at least. Not watching my friend die. Understand?”

“Wanker.” Scottie couldn’t manage to inflect any true bite to the word. “I’ll think about it.”

The obvious concern beneath Taine’s well-meant bullying forced Scottie to really consider what he’d said. Did he want to turn into his father? And grandfather, and aunt, and uncle, and mother, and just about everyone else in my fucking family. Can I do this?

“Scott?”

“Hmm?” He glanced away from the IV drip to find Taine still watching him. “What?”

“You’re not alone. You know that, right? You might be an annoying as shite knobdobber, but you’re our little brother. You’re family. We don’t abandon family.” Taine grabbed his hand firmly, not letting go when Scottie tried to tug it away. “You’ll get through this battle just like you did on the rugby pitch.”