Hard Contact - An LGBTQ Roleplay

Chapter 23

Summary:

Caleb addresses uncomfortable feelings surrounding their shared night together in the hotel room. After not getting the response he wants to hear, he gives Blake an ultimatum.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes .)

Blake

The house had to be cleaned before Bea flew in the next week but Blake was struggling to be productive. The previous night had been a shit show and he had been front and center; a star. Things always seemed to go to hell when it came to Caleb and Blake, Blake and Caleb. It was one of them kissing the other, dragging feelings in where they weren't welcome or screaming and shouting, trying to outdo the other on levels of hatefulness. After last night, Blake knew he'd won. Caleb hadn't used so many words but the point had been made clear. That hotel night that he'd cherished because they'd shared something so sweet in that shower had been rape. The forward hadn't used the word but it was all Blake could think about. After the call with his sister (in which he'd accidentally guilted her into a visit to the beautiful state of Jersey), he'd laid awake most of the night and let that word permeate his brain. It should feel different being a rapist. Blake mostly felt empty.

With bloodshot eyes, the man roamed his home, stuffing bachelor things into the closet and eying flights to Montreal. Blake had no concerns about Caleb taking that rendezvous to the police or even to the highest power of the team. It would compromise his career, not unlike whatever dirt Cal's mother had on him. He was no better than some child molester. The thought tore his heart to pieces. He didn't need any legal record to know that he was a piece of shit and it was even worse knowing that he was some brand of relieved that Caleb couldn't take this beyond harsh words. They were enough for Blake. He almost didn't answer the door when the bell rung through the living room, barely tore himself from the couch to answer, didn't bother with a peephole. Regret quickly followed that decision when his victim stared back. Blake blinked at him, rubbed his eyes. "We-we didn't have an appointment today." A professional response seemed the safest route. They didn't have an appointment. Blake shouldn't be seeing Caleb at all. He wished Caleb weren't seeing him looking washed up and exhausted. Not his best look if they were going to pick up right where they'd left off the night before.

Caleb

Caleb hadn't slept more than ten minutes that night, hadn't done anything other than stare up at the ceiling, pace when the sedentary positioning had gotten to be too much. He battled with fierce emotions of guilt, regret, and sadness all mingling together into one toxic combination. The dissipation of drugs in his system had provided Caleb with mortifying clarity of the events that had transpired last night, with the last moment they'd shared being the most fervent source of his torment. That night in the hotel, semantics irrespective, had been special for the forward, had been the first time he had ever genuinely felt something for another human being outside of selfish or shallow purposes. Being in that shower with Blake, remembering the sheer happiness that had swept him, feelings floating between them eerily similar to the word they were both circumventing, was nothing to make light of. Comparing that night, arguably one of the best nights of his life, with the slew of terrible ones he'd suffered with that man that had haunted his childhood felt like a cardinal sin, an act so wrong that Caleb felt nauseous thinking that he had even tried to make that connection. Blake was not him, couldn't have been further from him. But anger, hurt, and a manic fear had risen from being so vulnerable in front of the other, made him say fucked up things. The drugs hadn't helped either. Blake didn't deserve any of it.

Caleb didn't go to the rink that morning as planned, didn't attempt to stifle and repress emotion by training until his muscles burned—until the exhaustion erased any and all thought. While the safe option, the one that continued to let him hide from his problems, had been an attractive one, Caleb couldn't muster it. Not when the misery and guilt and fervid need to see Blake remained at the forefront of his thoughts. He really needed to fucking see him to dispel all the emotional constipation that would only be a liability to his capabilities on the ice if he didn't do anything about it. He'd be damned if that prick Brunner would get the opportunity to capitalize on Caleb's moments of weakness.