Chapter 5
Declan
The strength and conditioning room smelled of vulcanized rubber flooring, chalk,
and clean sweat. Declan walked in at ten-thirty at night with a towel draped
over his neck, intending to run a quick set of heavy pull-ups before turning in
to his bunk. He stopped two paces inside the double doors when he saw the lone
figure standing at the cable crossover station.
Sawyer stood with his back to the door, stripped down to black compression
shorts and a grey sleeveless tank top. His skin was glistening with sweat under
the fluorescent tubes, the athletic lines of his back and shoulders moving in
tight, sculpted definition. He held the single nylon stirrup handle of the cable
pulley in his left hand, performing standing external rotations with a ten-pound
iron plate to rehabilitate his healing shoulder joint.
Declan watched the movement for three repetitions. Sawyer had grit, but fatigue
was setting in. On the fourth rep, Sawyer’s left elbow flared two inches away
from his ribs, his upper torso torquing to compensate for the weak rotator cuff.
Declan crossed the rubber floor in silent, measured strides, stepping up
directly behind Sawyer until his chest brushed the younger man’s damp shoulder
blades.
"Your form is sloppy, Brand," Declan said, his voice a low, rough rumble right
above Sawyer’s ear.
Sawyer froze mid-stroke, the weight stack hovering an inch above the guide pins.
"I am on repetition fifteen of my fourth set, Ross. The infraspinatus is
exhausted."
"Then you drop the weight or you lock the joint in place," Declan said.
Without waiting for permission, Declan stepped in closer, bracketing Sawyer’s
body with his own massive frame. Declan placed his large left hand flat against
Sawyer’s lower ribs, his thick fingers splaying wide over Sawyer’s side to pin
the elbow tight against the torso. With his right hand, Declan reached over
Sawyer’s shoulder, wrapping his fingers firmly around Sawyer’s wrist above the
cable handle.
Sawyer let out a rough, ragged breath, his back yielding into Declan’s chest.
The heat coming off Sawyer’s skin was intense, carrying the clean scent of cedar
soap and fresh sweat. Sawyer did not pull away. He stood locked inside Declan’s
grip, his head tilted back slightly until the crown of his blond hair brushed
Declan’s jaw.
"Now pull," Declan commanded, his voice dropping into hard authority. "Rotate
from the shoulder socket. Keep the shoulder blade pinned down and back."
Declan guided Sawyer’s forearm outward through a slow, perfect ninety-degree
arc. He held Sawyer’s elbow immovable against his flank with his left hand,
feeling every rib expand and contract under his palm. Sawyer’s core was
rock-solid, his breath coming in fast, rhythmic gasps as Declan controlled the
entire movement.
"Hold the contraction for two seconds," Declan murmured against Sawyer’s temple,
his lips brushing the damp hair above the ear. "Now release. Three seconds on
the eccentric return. Smooth. Don't let the stack slam."
They completed five more reps in total synchronization. Declan felt the heavy,
rigid line of his own arousal pressing against the small of Sawyer’s back
through his sweatpants. Sawyer felt it too. Instead of pulling forward, Sawyer
leaned back another fraction of an inch, his hips settling firmly against
Declan’s pelvis as he completed the final repetition.
The iron plates clinked softly onto the rubber bumper.
Declan kept his hands locked on Sawyer’s body for three long heartbeats,
breathing in the scent of him, feeling the rapid, heavy rise and fall of
Sawyer’s chest beneath his palm. The urge to spin Sawyer around, pin him against
the steel frame of the cable tower, and take his mouth was a raw, roaring fire
in Declan’s skull.
Declan slowly released Sawyer’s wrist, stepping back one pace to give them room.
Sawyer turned around, leaning his lower back against the cable bar. His hazel
eyes were dark, dilated, and burning with a fierce, challenging heat that made
Declan’s jaw tighten. Sawyer’s chest heaved as he wiped a bead of sweat from his
chin with the back of his forearm.
"You like being in control, don't you, Ross?" Sawyer asked, his voice low,
husky, and defiant.
Declan held his gaze with unyielding intensity. "I keep people alive by staying
in control, Brand. Low-pressure front hits at zero-six-hundred tomorrow. We are
dropping explosive charges on the south ridge before the blizzard closes the
highway. Get off your feet and get to your rack."
Sawyer offered him a slow, knowing smirk that made Declan’s pulse pound in his
throat. "See you at six, Captain."