Chapter 7 Caleb
SEVEN
CALEB
Iwake up to faint sunlight filtering through the bedroom curtains, the warmth of Miguel’s body pressed against mine. A sigh escapes my lips as I snuggle closer. This is my favorite part—waking up in his arms, feeling safe and loved.
Sometimes the drop afterward can feel overwhelming—confusing even—but this morning, I feel good.
Miguel stirs, his arm tightening around my waist. “Morning, hermoso,” he breathes into my neck, his voice husky with sleep. “How’d you sleep?”
I turn to face him, a soft smile playing on my lips. “Like the dead,” I reply, my fingers drawing patterns on his chest. “You?”
He grins, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Best sleep of my life. You know why?”
I shake my head. I can only guess what he’s going to say. “Why’s that?”
“Because I had you in my arms.” There’s no teasing in his tone. I know he’s being sincere. “I meant it when I told you this was your home, too. Fuck.”
He stretches and pulls me into him. “I want… no, I need you to be in my arms every morning when I wake up. With you falling asleep on my chest every night.”
My heart swells with love, and I give him a quick kiss. “I feel the same way,” I whisper. “But…”
“There’s always a but,” he groans. “Caleb…”
“Let me finish.” I press my finger to his lips to silence him.
He sighs but nods, letting me continue.
“My housing grant is already paid for. I don’t know if not living in the dorms could cause problems.” It’s the truth. I don’t know if moving out would cause problems, and I only have two years left. I’d rather not jeopardize my education. “Next year I won’t apply for one.”
“Okay. But that’s not going to make the rest of this year any easier. Maybe I’ll just have to come sleep with you on that tiny dorm bed.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me and it makes me laugh.
We lie there for a moment longer, holding each other, before Miguel sits up, stretching his arms above his head. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” he asks, turning to look at me. “No classes or practice, right?”
I nod, nerves fluttering in my stomach. A whole day for just us. “No, but I have a game on Tuesday. I’m nervous about it. So anything to get my mind off that would be awesome.”
Miguel’s eyes soften, and he reaches out to cup my cheek. “You’ve got this, Caleb. You’re an amazing player, and you’re going to kill it out there. Hey, wanna go to the park and practice together? I’m sure we both could use a bit of fresh air.”
I laugh, playfully pushing him away. “You? At the park? The last time you tried to play ball with me, you nearly broke your ankle doing a layup.”
He chuckles, and it does things to me I can’t explain. “Hey, I was just trying to impress you with my mad skills. Besides, I’ve been practicing in secret. You never know. I might just surprise you.”
I raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on my lips. “Oh yeah? And what skills have you been honing exactly?”
Miguel winks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You’ll just have to wait and see, pretty boy. Now, how about that shower?”
“Mmm, yes. Hot water sounds amazing right now.” I don’t want to tell him how sore I am—not just from the sex, but from practice and school.
Surviving.
We make our way to the bathroom, the steam from the hot water filling the room as we step into the tiled space.
Miggy pulls me into his arms, his hands roaming over my body, his touch gentle and possessive.
He takes his time washing me with body wash, shampoo, and conditioner.
Then I do the same for him, making sure I use the right products for his curly hair.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he says, his voice quieter. I pause to let the conditioner sit. “Maybe we should make a day of it. A little practice, then grab some groceries so I can make you some real food to take back to the dorms. Maybe even watch a movie if you’re up for it.”
I lean into his touch, content. “That sounds perfect. I’d love that.”
“It’s a plan.” He kisses the tip of my nose, then goes back into the spray to rinse his hair. We finish our shower and dry off. Miguel pulls me into his arms, his mouth capturing mine in a deep kiss that lingers.
“Let’s get you fed,” he says, breaking the kiss with a grin. “I’m making chilaquiles. You in?”
My stomach rumbles at the mention of food, and I nod. “You know I can’t resist your cooking. Your mom ruined me growing up. All I crave is Mexican food now.”
“I guess it’s a good thing she taught me how to make almost everything you love.
I’m still working on the tamales, though.
” He winks, and we make our way to the kitchen.
Soon the aroma of sizzling tortillas and spicy sauce filling the air makes my mouth water.
Miguel moves with ease, his hands deftly preparing the dish, his movements fluid and confident.
I lean against the counter, watching him, feeling that familiar swell of admiration and love in my chest.
We sit down to eat with the sun streaming through the big window over the sink, and a calm settles over me. This is what happiness is supposed to feel like—simple moments with the person you love.
Love.
Because I do love him.
Even when I can’t love myself, I know I can love him.
“So, tell me about this game,” Miguel says, his voice gentle as he reaches across the table to take my hand. “What are you most nervous about?”
I take a deep breath, my mind racing with a million thoughts. “I’m just worried about letting the team down, you know? What if I mess up or miss a really important shot? What if I can’t live up to everyone’s expectations?”
“Is Dad going to be there?”
I nod.
Miguel squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles.
“Caleb, you are an incredible player. Everyone on that team is lucky to have you. And as for expectations, the only person you need to live up to is yourself. You do you, and you’ll be amazing.
Don’t think about Dad being there. Think about me. ”
I smile, “Thanks, baby. I needed to hear that.”
He leans back in his chair, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Anytime, pretty boy. Now, how about we finish up here and head to the park? I’m ready to show you my sweet, new moves.”
I laugh, standing up and gathering our dishes. “Alright, alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Our walk to the park is filled with easy conversation and playful banter. As we approach the court, I can feel the mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in my stomach.
Miguel must sense my apprehension because he stops and turns to face me, his hands cupping my cheeks. “You’ve got this, Caleb. Remember, it’s just a game. Have fun, and the rest will fall into place.”
I take a deep breath, nodding, his words grounding me.
He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Alright, pretty boy. Now, how about we see if you can still beat me one-on-one?” He snatches the ball from me and dribbles backward onto the blacktop court.
I laugh, a challenge sparking in my eyes. “Oh, you’re on. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when I kick your ass on the court.”
We start our game, Miguel dribbles forward, his eyes locked on mine, a competitive fire burning in his gaze. I mirror his movements, my body ready to spring into action.
“Ready to eat my dust, little brother?” Miguel teases, a smirk playing on his lips.
I roll my eyes, giving a playful smirk of my own.
“In your dreams. You’re going down.” We start to play, the ball arcing through the air as we pass and shoot, our movements fluid and synchronized.
Miguel is surprisingly good, his shots precise and his defense tight.
I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead as I push myself harder, determined to come out on top.
“Come on, Caleb,” Miguel taunts, his voice breathless with exertion. “Is that all you’ve got?”
I grin, a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. “You want more? You’ve got it.”
I dribble past him, slipping through his defense with ease. Approaching the basket, I leap into the air, the ball soaring through the hoop in a perfect arc.
“Fuck yeah!” I shout, pumping my fist in the air as I land, my heart pounding with excitement.
Miguel laughs, filled with pride and amusement. “Not bad, pretty boy. Not bad at all. But the game’s not over yet.”
He dribbles the ball, his movements quick and agile as he weaves through an imaginary defense. I can see the determination in his eyes, the fire that drives him to be the best. He pivots and leaps from the three-point arc, the ball spinning from his fingers in what has to be the perfect shot.
“Score!” he shouts, his voice filled with triumph as the ball swishes through the net.
I clap, a grin spreading across my face. “Nice shot. You’ve definitely been working on that three-pointer.”
We continue to play, our banter and laughter filling the air, the tension and nerves of earlier fading away.
“I want a rematch.” Miguel pants, his arm slung over my shoulders as we make our way off the court.
I nod, a contented sigh escaping my lips. “You’re on.”
He chuckles. “I’ll be waiting, baby.”
Next on the agenda is the local grocery store. Miguel has his arm slung over my shoulders, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin, making my insides melt.
“Alright, pretty boy,” he says, his voice low and playful. “Let’s plan out some meals for you to take back to the dorm. I want to make sure you’re well-fed, even when you’re not with me.”
I smile, leaning into his touch, my heart swelling with love. “Look at you. Who would have thought Miguel Veracruz could be so… domestic?”
He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only for you, baby. Now, let’s see. How about we start with some enchiladas? Red or green?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Definitely green. And maybe some Tinga Verde? I’ve been craving that lately.”
Miguel smirks, and that look makes my stomach flip. “Going for multiple days of heartburn, I see. You got it. And for dessert, how about some arroz con leche?”
I laugh, my eyes shining with amusement. “You’re spoiling me, Miguel. Have you been talking to Mom? Is she telling you I’m not eating?”
“She would never try to get me to do her bidding.” He feigns shock, and that’s when I know it was definitely Celeste. I gotta hand it to my stepmother—using her son to make sure I get fed was a smart move.
We make our way through the aisles, Miguel pushing the cart with a determined look on his face. He consults his mental list, his brow furrowed in concentration as he talks to himself.
His love for me really shows.
Why do I deserve it? I don’t give him anything back in return.
He deserves someone who… who’s not me. Someone better than me.
“I can see you,” he whispers from behind me. His arms snake around my waist, pulling me into his chest. “Whatever is going through your head right now… forget it.”
“I just don’t underst—”
He spins me and presses his lips to mine, and we share a soft, lingering kiss, and any thought I had is gone. Miguel and I pull apart, and immediately I can feel the weight of the world lift from my shoulders, my anxiety fading away.
The way he has the power to just make my brain turn off. It’s addictive.
“Better?”
“Much better.” I give him a smile, and he nods, stepping back to the cart.
But as we turn to continue our shopping, I notice a few people giving us dirty looks, their expressions ranging from disapproval to outright disgust. My stomach drops, and I can feel the familiar tightness in my chest, the panic rising like a tide.
“Miguel,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “People are staring at us. God, what if my dad…”
Miguel follows my gaze, his expression softening as he takes in the scene.
He turns back to me, his hands cupping my cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over my skin.
“Caleb, look at me. It’s okay. We’re adults, and we can do whatever the fuck we want.
If your dad sees us, then so be it. We have nothing to be ashamed of. ”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of my heart, but the anxiety gnaws at me, a persistent, insidious voice in the back of my mind. “But what if he doesn’t understand? What if he’s angry? I don’t want to lose him, Miguel. I don’t want to lose anyone.”
Miguel’s expression turns serious, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that leaves me breathless. “Caleb, listen to me. Dad loves you, and he wants you to be happy. If he can’t accept us, that’s his loss, not ours. We have each other, and that’s all that matters. You hear me?”
I nod, his words grounding me, anchoring me to the present moment. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I just... I get anxious.”
He smiles, a soft, tender expression that makes my heart ache with love. “It’s okay, pretty boy. I’m here for you. Now, how about we finish up here and head home?”
I laugh, the tension easing from my body as I lean into his embrace. “That sounds good.”