Chapter 9 #2
Because Jamari had our backs, even though he doesn’t know it.
Because Caden is surrounded by at least a few good players, should he ever want to share his sexuality with them.
Because I’m here with him.
We step around the side of the house and keep on going to the street, the distant thump of bass fading behind us.
It’s quieter now, the kind that hums with the buzz of everything left unsaid.
Caden walks close, not touching, but his shoulder brushes mine now and then, like he can’t help it.
Or maybe I can’t. I don’t even know anymore.
He exhales, long and slow. “So, that guy—the one who made that comment….”
I glance over, jaw already tight. “Yeah?”
Caden frowns, eyes forward. “Name’s Alan. Total dickhead. He’s not on the team, just some guy who hangs around because he thinks being near athletes makes him one.”
I scoff. “Well, he’s doing a great job repping the worst kind.”
“But Jamari—our captain—he’s not like that,” he says, more serious now. “He’s actually a good guy. Called Alan out once before, quiet but firm. He doesn’t put up with that crap.”
I nod, letting that sit for a second. “Anyone out? On the team?”
Caden shakes his head. “Not that I know of.”
My heart sinks, just a little. Even after everything, after all the texts, the phone calls, the whispered wishes across hundreds of miles, reality always cuts sharp.
But then he adds, quieter, like he’s trying not to make a big deal of it, “But there’s an LGBT group on campus. They do events, have meetings. Safe spaces and all that. And… I’ve seen couples, same sex, just walking across the quad, holding hands like it’s nothing.”
I stop breathing. My chest flutters with something warm and wild and way too hopeful. “Really?”
He nods, glancing sideways at me, like he’s gauging how much he should say. “Yeah. More than once.”
Something inside me expands, like a balloon inflating in my ribs. It’s ridiculous—how just a small thing, like seeing someone else living a little freer, can make me feel like the whole world might crack open for us someday. That maybe, somehow, it won’t always be this complicated.
But the feeling crumbles almost as fast as it comes, because it can’t be us. Not here. Not yet. Not when the price for being visible is everything for him—scholarship, future, pro career. One whisper could undo everything he’s built.
Unless… unless someone else does it first. Unless a trail gets blazed that makes it even a little bit safer for someone like him. Like us.
Caden stops walking and turns to face me. His expression’s unreadable for a second, but his eyes—God, his eyes are so familiar. They tell me everything. “Wanna head to my room?” His voice is low, rough in a way that scrapes across my skin and curls under my ribs.
And just like that, the air shifts. Thickens.
There’s a gravity between us that snaps into place, taut and magnetic, like the whole world went still and the only thing pulling us forward is this. I can feel him. The warmth of his body, the tension under his skin. His breath brushing the space between us.
And I know what he means. I know it without him saying another word.
And my body answers before I do—heat pooling low, my pants tightening, pulse skipping like I just hit a free fall. It’s been weeks. Six long weeks of distance and discipline, of holding back, of pretending that words in texts and pixelated smiles on grainy video calls were enough.
But it hasn’t been enough. Not even close.
It’s been building, quiet and steady and unstoppable—every lingering glance, every brush of his fingers across mine, every slow kiss that ended with me half out of my mind and aching.
And tonight… I can feel it down to my bones. Tonight is the night.
There’s no question in my mind. No fear. Just this fierce, overwhelming need to be close. To feel him in the only way we haven’t yet. Something sacred and new and inevitable.
I step in. Just a few inches, but it’s enough. I feel the way his breath stutters, the way his eyes drop to my lips. I lean forward, close enough that my voice barely has to cross the space between us. “Cade,” I whisper, and his name tastes like lightning on my tongue, “I want you inside me.”
His eyes widen before going half-lidded. Lips parting just a little.
I don’t look away. Can’t. “I want it more than anything,” I say again, softer now. A confession. A promise. A truth I’ve known for weeks but couldn’t say until now.
His fingers find mine and curl tight around them. They’re warm and trembling and solid, grounding me when I feel like I might float right out of my skin.
He squeezes once, breathes in deep, then nods before releasing his hold on me. “Let’s go.”
We walk in silence, the space between us charged, humming with anticipation. His fingers brush mine once, twice, until finally they stay, linked loosely as we move down the dark sidewalk, away from the party and into something quieter. Something just ours.
By the time we climb the stairs to his building, my pulse is racing. I don’t know if it’s the climb itself or what’s coming.
Caden’s room is dim and quiet, the door clicking shut behind us like a seal on something sacred.
It smells faintly of laundry detergent and his cologne—warm, familiar.
My heart is thudding too fast. My hands won’t stay still.
But he looks at me with this soft, open gaze like he’s just as rattled, just as sure.
We kiss first. It’s slow and deep. Every second of it’s charged. His hands find my waist, my neck, my back—like he’s mapping me. And I let him.
Sometimes it feels like this bed is the only square of the world that belongs to us. Everything outside is borrowed, performative. But here—here I get all of him. But after a while, I pull back and clear my throat. “I, uh… I should freshen up.”
Caden tilts his head, curious.
“I just… I want to be ready. Properly,” I mumble, cheeks hot. “I read stuff. Online. You know. Prep.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he nods. “Okay. Yeah. Um… take your time.”
I duck into the tiny bathroom. My hands shake a little as I go through the motions, doing what I’ve read about, trying to remember tips from LiveJournal threads and blog posts. It’s awkward. It feels clinical. But it also feels right, like I’m making space for him. For us.
When I return, Caden’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs apart, elbows on his knees. He looks up and shoots me a nervous smile full of warmth.
I cross to him and kneel beside the bed to dig into my bag. “I brought… lube. And condoms. If you want.”
He exhales a laugh that’s mostly relief. “God, thank you. I was hoping you’d know what to bring. I had nothing.”
We both laugh softly, and it cracks something open—a release of tension we didn’t know we’d been holding. Caden pulls me in again, arms warm and certain, and we kiss—this time deeper, hungrier, like we’ve both decided to stop pretending we’re not already halfway gone.
Clothes come off in uneven bursts: a sock here, my shirt over my head, his hoodie tugged with a shared grin. Clumsy. Beautiful. Our fingers keep brushing, catching, like we’re drunk on permission.
And when his shirt lifts, and I see him, really see him, I forget how to breathe.
He’s changed since he left for college. I knew he had, saw it for myself last night and this morning, plus he’d mentioned that the coach said he’s grown an inch and that he’s been lifting harder since training, but seeing him now, bare skinned, it hits me like gravity.
Caden’s chest is cut, lean muscle carved in sharp, clean lines down his torso.
His abs catch the soft light from the window—not gym-rat ripped, but athlete strong, all fluid strength and purpose.
His shoulders are broader, arms thicker with power he wears without trying.
Everything about him feels refined, sharpened.
Like the boy who first caught my eye has quietly grown into the man I can’t stop looking at.
His skin glows dark brown in the low light, warm and velvet smooth. I reach without thinking, running a hand along his side, just under his ribs. He shivers. “I could stare at you all the damn time,” I murmur, almost without meaning to.
He laughs, low and shy, ducking his head. “Yeah? I thought I was imagining that.”
I shake my head, smile tugging at my lips. “Nope. You’re just… unfair.”
His hand skims the waistband of my boxers, thumb brushing just beneath. “Still okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
We trade pieces of ourselves in touches and half sentences. My fingers skim the inside of his wrist, and Caden stills. His pulse jumps beneath my thumb.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
He huffs out a laugh, breathless. “So are you.”
I lean in and brush my mouth along his jaw. His eyes flutter half-closed, lips parting as though he’s already waiting for me. “You’re beautiful” slips out before I can stop it.
He turns toward me, smile quick and shy, and then it’s gone when our mouths meet. His lips are soft, hesitant, tasting of peppermint gum. I cradle the back of his neck, holding him there, and he exhales against me like the air’s been punched from his chest.
“God, Theo,” he whispers into the kiss, pulling me closer.
The kiss shifts, grows deeper. I take his bottom lip between my teeth and his breath stutters—then he presses back, hungrier, desperate. My hand slides down, over the curve of his hip, and I feel the muscles twitch beneath my palm. He gasps, sharp, and bites his lip to swallow the sound.
“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper, kissing down the line of his throat until I find his collarbone. My words spill against his skin. “I want to hear you.”
His fingers cling to my back. “You’re going to ruin me,” he says, but it’s a laugh, too, trembling and soft.
I press my lips harder to his collarbone, tongue tracing the ridge there. He tilts his head back, offering me more. His breath comes faster, uneven.
“I like when you do that,” I tell him, and he groans, a sound I feel more than hear.