Chapter 7
Stone
“Hey, Hanlon. Breathe.”
He’s wheezing, and I could tell he was pushing too hard in the workout, but he said he could handle himself, so I tried to give him the opportunity to prove it.
I won’t be making that mistake again.
Grabbing his hand, I place it against my sweaty chest, letting him feel the rhythm of my heartbeat, my inhales, and my exhales so he can match the pattern, getting his own breathing under control.
I used to do this when he was younger and would get too excited and have a hard time catching his breath.
He tries to pull out of my grasp, but I bear down on his wrist, not giving an inch.
“I’ll let you go when you’re breathing normally. Now focus on my heartbeat,” I command.
He closes his eyes, and his jaw is clenched tightly, making me well aware that he’s not enjoying being seen like this, but I’ll worry about that later.
I begin to think it’s not working, but eventually, his fingers splay a little wider across my chest, and his breathing slows to a normal rhythm, restoring his heart rate to normal as well.
Marie is the first to intrude on the moment. The rest of the class has recovered already and is cleaning up the weights. Meanwhile, Hanlon and I are on the receiving end of more than one curious glance.
Needing to take this bull by the horns, I clear my throat and call to everyone. “Hey, guys, this is Hanlon. He’s an intern working with me for the next few months. Gather round for a quick lesson in backcountry rescue.”
Hanlon tries to pull his hand back and scramble away from me, the look on his face pure rage.
I throw my leg across his hips and scoot him back toward me, keeping his hand locked on my chest.
“Goddammit, Hanlon. Stop moving. I’m trying to get us out of this unscathed,” I quietly seethe as our classmates begin circling us.
He doesn’t like it, but he knows continuing to fight me will only raise more questions, so he goes limp and allows me to take the lead.
“If you guys are ever in the backcountry with your buddies, and you need to move someone but they’re deadweight, you can try this trick.
It’ll actually work really well since I know everyone in this group can back squat their weight.
” Shifting my gaze to Hanlon, I discreetly lower his hand from my chest because I have a feeling my heart rate is about to start ramping back up, and he doesn’t need to know that. “Hanlon, how much do you weigh?”
“One-ninety.”
Oh, shit. He’s got me by fifteen pounds.
“Okay, so he weighs a little more than me and he’s about an inch taller, which just proves that when done correctly, a mild-to-moderate size difference between you and the victim shouldn’t matter.
Hanlon, I just want you to be as passive and floppy as possible.
Pretend you’re unconscious. Since you’re not, you’ll have to trust me.
If you fight, I’ll lose my balance and dump you, okay?
Oh, and flex your stomach. If you were really unconscious, it wouldn’t matter, but again, you’re not, so… ”
He pins me with an angry glare, but stays silent and nods before he falls backward and sprawls out on the floor. The movement of the fabric alerts me to his flexing torso.
I stare a beat too long.
Hanlon’s never had noticeable muscle mass.
“I’m going to go full speed first and then break it down,” I tell the class.
I’ve done this maneuver a hundred times, and I try like hell to concentrate on the familiar steps as I demonstrate.
Standing about two feet from Hanlon’s right foot, I leap forward, dropping my shoulder low and rolling across his body with my back to his chest, pulling him with me as I go, wrapping myself up like a burrito, using his body as the tortilla.
Before his weight can fully settle on my back, I push up onto my hands and knees.
From here, I clamp one hand around his wrists and throw my other arm behind me to catch his thigh and shift his weight higher so I can stand, but I miscalculate a little, and my hand grabs his ass.
Fuck it. I’m committed now. I bring my torso upright, and step my right foot out, balancing again, then stand fully upright with Hanlon draped across my back and address the group.
“There’s a variation where you can use essentially the same movement and get them across your shoulders instead of on your back, but you guys get the gist. Thank you, Hanlon,” I say, tapping his arm and leaning sideways to bring his feet back to the floor, “for allowing me to demonstrate. I’m not sure he knew what he was in for when he got placed as my student. ”
People chuckle and offer him fist bumps.
As the circle of onlookers dwindles, Hanlon steps into me, the front of his right shoulder against my left as he places his lips next to my ear.
“Thanks.”
And then he’s gone, walking toward the locker room…with Micah jogging to catch up to him.
Something about the eagerness in our coach’s step has me bristling, which is stupid. Hanlon needs friends, and Micah is a solid guy.
Plus, I’m not the jealous type.
What would I even be jealous about?
When they reemerge a few minutes later, Hanlon is handing Micah his phone, and the pair are all smiles as they fist bump and Hanlon heads for the door.
I watch as my stepbrother disappears into the early morning darkness.
Spinning around to finish cleaning up Hanlon’s and my equipment, Marie grabs a rubber plate and follows me to the pile where it belongs.
“So…he’s cute,” she gushes.
“Already called dibs!” Micah says, passing us with a huge grin.
Marie’s face falls. “Damn. All the hot single guys are gay.”
My eyes widen. “He’s not gay, and he’s not a piece of meat you can call dibs on, for Christ’s sake,” I say immediately.
“He gave me his number pretty easily, and I wasn’t really hiding my interest. You sure he’s straight?” Micah jokes as he hangs jump ropes back up along the wall.
“Pretty damn,” I mutter, although the uncomfortable truth is that I actually don’t know.
“We’ll see,” Micah says, unfazed.
I make it all of ten embarrassing minutes before I send Hanlon a text. My rationale? It’s still my job to look out for him.
Me:
Micah thinks you guys hanging out is a date, just FYI.
Hanlon
How sweet.
Me
Sweet?
Hanlon
Yeah, I’m flattered.
It’s like he’s purposely keeping his answers vague so as not to tell me anything helpful.
I don’t know what my problem is, but I know it’s pissing me off.
I don’t respond to that because I have absolutely no clue what to say.
Instead, I drive back home, shower, and prepare to spend the day taking care of every chore I’ve been putting off just to keep my hands and my mind occupied.
I’m so desperate, I even think about calling Logan, but I never dial the number. In the end, I know that will only make things worse.