Broken Glass

“Fuck!”

Glass scattered everywhere. Tiny slivers littered the floor as far as his eyes could see. A few large shards glinted under the refrigerator’s LEDs. He reached for one that had narrowly missed his bare foot, carefully picked it up, and set it on the counter. Leaving the fridge open for the light, he cautiously stepped toward the switch on the wall.

“Mother fucker!”

Apparently not cautiously enough. Jamie hissed as the piece of glass dug into the ball of his foot. There was nothing for it though. He couldn’t see to clean up without more light, and he couldn’t turn on the lights without walking a few more feet. So he crept closer, straining his tired eyes to see the glint of more glass, trying not to put more pressure on the piece already embedded in his foot.

“Fucking mother god damn fuck!”

Another piece dug into his heel, and he launched himself over to the switch, flipped the light on, and leapt as far away from the kitchen as he could get, shouting expletives all the way, collapsing on the rug next to the couch.

He pounded his fists on the floor like a toddler throwing a tantrum and yelled at the top of his lungs — no words, just noise — until his throat was raw and he was out of breath. Weeks of frustration poured out, triggered by the sharp, if relatively minor, pain of the glass in his feet. As he ran out of breath and voice, he rested his forehead on his balled-up fists and just fucking sobbed.

Fuck, he hated crying. It made him feel weak and stupid, childish. But he supposed he was already in full baby mode on the floor; he may as well complete the regression. At least no one was there to see.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been lying there when he heard his name — a soft sound from far away.

“Jamie, baby are you ok? Jame?”

Gentle hands on his shoulders, his neck, the back of his head. He turned away from them and wiped his face on his sleeve before looking up — into the sweet, concerned face of his girlfriend.

“Jamie, talk to me, what’s wrong? Why is the fridge open and glass everywhere? What happened? Why are you over here on the floor?”

“I …” He couldn’t think of what to say. And his voice was a wreck. He shook his head, unable to form words, and pushed himself up to his knees. His big eyes locked on hers, and she reached up to touch his cheek. Leaning into her hand, he closed his eyes and sighed before he fell into her, burying his face in her hair, wrapping his arms around her body and pulling her closer. She held him tightly, stroked his head, murmured soft, soothing nonsense into his ear.

When he felt calmer, still clinging to her, still nuzzled into her neck, he tried again to explain what had happened.

“I dropped a glass,” he began, then cleared his throat. “It was dark. It slipped out of my hand. I couldn’t see all the pieces and stepped on some trying to get to the light switch. I basically dove over here so I’d stop cutting up my feet.”

He fell silent then, not wanting to admit his meltdown.

Her voice was soft, sympathetic. “Oh, Jame, your poor feet. Let me see.”

After some awkward shifting around, they both decided he should just lie back down on the rug. She hissed when she saw how many little slivers of glass were embedded in his feet.

“Oh, Jamie, babe, this is gonna take a while to get out. Let me clean up the glass first, ok?”

“You don’t have to do that. I made the mess, I’ll clean it up.”

“On your hands and knees? So you can get more of it stuck in you? No. I have shoes on, I’ll get it.”

His “thank you” was small, sheepish, his eyes downcast.

“Hey,” she said, a little sharply, “don’t do that. Don’t be mad at yourself for needing help. Let me friggin’ take care of you once in a while, yeah?”

“Yeah, ok,” he blushed. “I just …”

“Jamie. Leave it.” She wasn’t having any of his self-condemnation tonight.

He shut up and sat on the rug, picking at the glass in his feet, glancing up to watch her occasionally, feeling like a fool.

After she’d cleaned up his mess in the kitchen, she came back and sat in front of him on the floor. He looked at her with pensive but grateful eyes, and she couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him softly.

“How are your feet?” she asked when she sat back.

“Fine.”

“Jamie.”

“What am I supposed to say?” he snapped. “They’re full of glass.”

“How about ‘They hurt like hell. Can you please help me get all this glass out of them?’”

“It’s not that bad,” he rolled his eyes. She gave him a blank stare. He sighed. “But can you please help?”

“Of course I’ll help, you stubborn ass. Where do you wanna sit?”

Sheepishly, he looked down at the floor as he spoke, so softly she barely heard him. “Can you … I mean, can I …” A sigh. A head shake. “Would it be ok if I lay down on the couch with my feet in your lap?”

“Hey, look at me.” Eyes slowly lift to hers. “Of course that’s ok.” A grateful but still embarrassed half-smile. “Baby, I told you. Let me take care of you for a change.”

A soft “Yeah, ok.” Then her lips on his, reassuring, comforting, full of love.

“I’ll go get tweezers and whatnot and something to put the glass in. You get comfortable on the couch, ok?”

“Yeah, ok. Um, can you get me something to drink too? Please?”

“Sure, what would you like?”

“I could really use a beer right now.”

Chuckling softly, she nodded. “You got it, babe.”

Twenty minutes later, he was halfway through his second beer and swearing somewhat less than he had through the first one. There were just a few more slivers of glass to pick out, and then she was going to have him soak his feet before she finished doctoring. He couldn’t afford to have them get infected. They were kind of necessary to his job. Luckily, none of the cuts were deep at all.

“You still ok over there?”

Jamie raised his beer bottle to her and laughed. “Yup, perfect.”

“You are not drunk off two beers.”

“Nope. But I am not tense either.”

“Fair enough,” she chuckled. “Almost done here.”

“Excellent.”

Four more little fragments of glass dropped into the cup she had brought to collect them, and she was done. She gently put some clean socks on his feet so he wouldn’t track blood across the floor, then went to fill up the sink with warm water.

“Ok, Babe, come stick your feet in the sink.”

Loose enough to just follow directions without protest, he grabbed another beer from the fridge on his way and hoisted his butt up onto the counter, then pulled the socks off, swung his long legs around, and stuck his feet gingerly into the water. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt at all.

“That actually feels good,” he said as he twisted the cap off his beer and took a swig.

“Saline,” she nodded.

“Salt water?”

“Basically, yeah. The water in your body is salty, so the saline feels less foreign than just tap water.”

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“Mhmm. When you walked over here, did you feel like there was any more glass in your feet?”

“Mmmnope. I think you got it all.”

“I’ll double check after you soak for a bit and they’re nice and clean and I can see better.”

“My feet were not dirty! I showered!”

“Yes and then you walked around barefoot. I’m not saying they were super dirty. I just want to have another look to be sure I got it all.”

“Ok ok. I get it.”

Hopping up onto the counter behind him, she ran her fingers through his hair before settling them on his shoulders and digging her thumbs into the back of his neck.

“Mmmmm fuck that feels good,” he moaned.

Continuing to rub his neck, she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You wanna tell me what was going on when I got home?”

Jamie tensed up. “I told you already. I dropped a glass.”

“Mhmm. And you cut up your feet trying to get to the light switch. Yes you told me that.”

He took another swig of his beer. “Yup.”

“Babe. You were lying face down on the rug and had to wipe your eyes before you could look at me.”

“It … hurt,” he mumbled.

“You said the glass didn’t hurt that much.”

Another swig. Silence.

“Jamie,” she nudged, “c’mon baby, tell me. What’s wrong?”

Deep sigh. Another swig. Another sigh. “Nothing …” A frustrated sigh from her, thumbs digging harder into his neck. “Fuck. Nothing new. Just … y’know. Hockey.”

“Is it that bad?” Another kiss, this time on the join of his neck and shoulder.

“No. Yes. Fuck, I don’t know. It’s … exhausting. It’s just a lot.” He drained his beer and hung his head, ashamed. Weak.

“You know you don’t have to hide it from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“I almost needed a crowbar just now to pry it out of you, and you’ve still only said like five words.”

“I …” Heavy sigh. Head shake.

She kissed the back of his neck, just below the hairline, and he shivered. “Talk to me.”

“I’m tired.”

Another kiss, further down, hands working their way under his shirt collar, still digging into tense muscles. Lips lingering on skin. “And?”

He melted. “I’m tired of losing. Tired of being blamed for losing. Tired of being responsible for losing. Tired of letting people down. I’m just … so fucking tired .”

Gentle but firm hands on his shoulders turned him sideways and then lifted his face, but her voice is what made him actually look up. Soft, so so soft, barely more than a whisper, and raw with emotion, but adamant. “Hey. No. No sir. You will not put this on yourself.”

He opened his mouth to disagree, but she silenced him with a kiss. Twisted around on his kitchen counter, feet stuck in a sink full of salt water, his already foggy head spun with the intensity of it.

When she finally let him breathe, she only pulled away enough to give him a warning look before she rested her forehead against his and sighed. “I love you, but you drive me a little insane with the impossible standards you hold yourself to.”

“I have a lot of responsibility,” he protested. “To the team, the fans. They expect me to deliver. And I haven’t been.”

A soft kiss to his lips. “Oh sweetheart, you’re trying.” She pulled away to look him in the eyes again, ran her hand across his cheek. “You’re human, you know. And it’s a team sport. You can’t do it alone.”

“I need to do better.”

“You need to admit it’s hard.”

“That’s what she said,” he smirked. She rolled her eyes. He sighed and bowed his head. “I know. You’re right. It is fucking hard.”

“See, was that so difficult?”

“Yes.”

“Stubborn.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

He couldn’t help smiling. He was stubborn. But it had served him well. Gotten him where he was. It wasn’t a bad thing. Mostly.

“You don’t have to be so proud of it,” she shook her head. But she was smiling.

“If I wasn’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t have you,” he smirked.

That got a full-blown laugh. “Fine. Be proud of it. But stop being so stubborn about letting me help, ok?” Her hand brushed his cheek again, and he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

“Yeah. Ok,” barely above a whisper.

Lips on his again. Soft, tender. She was right. He needed her. It was ok to need her. He let himself relax into the kiss and threaded his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull. Soft, sweet kisses slowly melted into needy, passionate ones, until she breathlessly pulled away.

“We should finish doctoring your feet.”

“We should.”

Handing him a towel, she hopped down from the counter and went to grab the first aid kit. Once she had slathered all the cuts in antibiotic ointment, she wrapped his feet in gauze and had him put the socks back on to keep it from shifting and give him some cushion.

“Good?” she asked.

“Yeah. Feels ok.”

“C’mon, let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Jamie climbed down from the counter, gingerly tested walking, and was pleased to discover that it didn’t hurt much at all. “Yeah,” he smiled. “Thank you,” he murmured as he pulled her into a warm hug.

“Any time, my love.”

He let her lead him by the hand to the bedroom, peeled off his t-shirt and shorts, watched quietly as she stripped down to her tank top and panties, and wrapped her in another hug before they climbed into bed.

They lay facing each other, his somber brown eyes focused on her sympathetic blue ones. One soft finger traced the contours of his face, and when it reached his chin, he turned his face to kiss her palm. Smiling, she cupped his cheek and leaned in to kiss him, and he took the opening to pull her body closer, his hand at the small of her back at first but drifting down to pull her leg over his hip.

It didn’t take long before he was half-hard and grabbing at her ass, pulling her tighter against him, kisses growing needy and urgent. His hand under her top, tracing, teasing. His mouth trailing kisses up to her ear and down her neck to her shoulder. He needed her.

He let his hand meander down her side, not so light as to tickle, but soft, gentle, almost reverent. Took the time to grab her ass again before snaking his hand around to the front and dipping between her legs. Fuck, she was wet already. His cock jumped against her leg, and suddenly her hand was on him, freeing him from his shorts, wrapping around him, stroking. He let himself be still and savor the feeling for a moment, jaw going slack against her skin, a soft moan high in his throat.

Motion against his hand got his attention. She was rubbing herself against his fingers, reminding him that he could take care of her too. Pulling her panties to the side, he dragged his thumb up her center and enjoyed the quiet gasp it earned him. Mouth back on hers. Thumb working softly on her clit, teasing. Hips rolling ever so slightly as her hand continued to stroke him, building.

When she started to lose focus and rhythm, he swiveled his hand around and dipped two fingers inside her. She whimpered . Kisses down her jaw to her ear, thumb back on her clit, fingers moving slowly in and out, pressing up to drag across the little ridges that would have her moaning his name in a moment.

“Let me hear you, baby,” murmured in her ear, lips touching skin.

“Fuck, Jamie, don’t stop.”

Her breathing was erratic, panting. Fingers dug into his scalp. He kept the same steady rhythm, picked up the pace a bit. Nibbled on her ear.

“Jamie …”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck. Close, Jame. Fuck.” Her voice got higher with each word.

He grazed his teeth on her neck just behind her ear, and she cried out as she came around his fingers.

Before she could come down, he guided his cock into her, moaning as her walls squeezed around him and she cried out again.

“Fuck, Jamie!”

“Want me to stop?”

“No! Fuck. No. Never stop. Fuck me. Please fuck me.”

Permission granted, he pulled back and snapped his hips, bottoming out with a grunt before moving to shallower, slower thrusts. He wasn’t going to last. Between the buildup and the feel of her still throbbing around him and the noises she was making and the raw emotion of the day, he was so gone. But he dragged it out as long as he could, until he spilled inside her with a moan that was too high and needy but uncontrollable.

He pulled her tight against his chest, panting into her hair, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, hand on her ass. Her fingers drifting down his spine, light as a feather. Lips on his shoulder.

They stayed there, tangled together, for a long while. When she pulled away, it was to brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheek softly.

“I love you.”

He had to kiss her, long and deep, before he could speak.

“I love you too. God, so much.” Lips to her forehead. Squeezing her tight. Pulling away and tucking themselves back into their clothes before cuddling up together under the sheets.

It had been a rough day. But drifting off to sleep with her in his arms, he felt peace.

Notes

Oops, this popped into my head and distracted me from what I was supposed to be writing. Sorry not sorry.