Chapter One #2
Rage flared in Ty’s chest hot and fast. Without thinking, he stepped forward and gripped Oren’s throat—not hard, just enough to say stop speaking now, I’m in fucking charge.
Then he kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was heat and history and hunger. Their mouths collided, Ty’s fingers flexing at Oren’s neck, while Oren’s hands locked onto Ty’s waist and the back of his shirt like he needed the grounding or he’d fly apart.
Ty growled against his lips, then his jaw, then slipping his hand to the man’s nape, he grazed his teeth along Oren’s neck, just to feel him shiver.
“Don’t talk about you being hurt,” he practically snarled. “It messes with the caveman in me.”
With a calming breath he stepped back, letting his hand and eyes drop—and, yeah, Oren was in the same state he was. Flushed. Breathless. Hard as fuck. Wanting.
Ty raised a brow and his gaze. “You like my caveman, Callaghan?”
Oren smirked, voice low and rough. “Apparently.”
Ty chuckled as he stepped past. “Don’t take too long in the shower. Or do if you need to take matters into your own hands if you know what I mean. Think about me and Dale rolling around on the mat all sweaty. Might help.”
Oren groaned audibly, and Ty grinned as he stepped away and moved out of the barracks and into the sunlight.
The gym wasn’t far. He passed the outdoor track and water stations where a few teams lingered. Bateman and Ricky leaned against the rail fence, watching the trainees cycle through cool downs.
“Ricoh’s still in there,” Bateman said, tilting his head toward the gym door. “He’s pushing the groups hard today. Seems tense.”
Ricky gave Ty a sly grin. “Maybe you can help him blow off some steam with a quickie on the mats.”
Ty stopped walking, jaw tight as the anger rose sharp and swift.
“It’s not like that. This isn’t about blowing off steam or a quick fuck.
” His voice was low, edged with steel. “I’m building something here.
Something long-term. Non-traditional, maybe.
But real. If either of you has a problem with that, I honestly don’t give a fuck. ”
Both men straightened slightly, surprised by the weight in his voice.
Ty took a calming breath and added. “I’m looking for a future with both of them.”
Ricky’s smirk faded into something thoughtful. Bateman just nodded, eyes narrowing with understanding.
Ty left them behind and stepped into the gym.
Time to get a little closer to what he wanted—and who.
Ty stepped into the gym, heart rate kicking up a notch. Dale Ricoh stood at the far end, toweling off his hands. His eyes met Ty’s, and something unreadable passed between them.
“Ty Monroe,” Dale said flatly.
Ty tilted his head, letting a smirk curl the edge of his mouth. “Coach.”
“You signed up for a private session?”
“Didn’t want to wait for the group warm-up,” Ty said easily. “Figured I’d get my ass handed to me in style and in private.”
Dale tossed the towel aside and stepped onto the mat. “I won’t go easy on you just because we know each other.”
“I don’t want easy,” Ty replied, stepping forward. “I want you.”
That made Dale pause—just a beat. Then he smiled. “Gloves or no gloves?”
Ty’s grin spread slow and deliberate. “No gloves. Let’s make it interesting.”
They circled each other on the mat, both barefoot, stripped down to skin and reflex. Dale came at him first—quick, fluid, testing his reactions. Ty parried, spun, dropped low and swept. Dale jumped the sweep.
Dale’s brows lifted. “You’ve had some training.”
Ty grinned. “Wasn’t just watching YouTube videos during basic you know.”
Dale’s answering grin was slow. “Good. Then we can skip some of the easy shit.”
The next round was faster, Dale pushing angles, using joint locks and off-balancing tactics that were a masterclass in efficiency. Ty faltered once, twice—but found his footing, his breathing, his rhythm.
They didn’t speak much—just moved. Hit. Blocked. Grappled. For two solid hours they danced and fought and learned each other’s bodies in a language only warriors understood. Sweat pooled, breath came harsh, and still they didn’t stop.
At one point, as Ty circled and reset his stance, he caught a flicker of movement in the dark corner of the gym.
Oren, half-shadowed, arms folded across his chest, was watching them—eyes fixed, unreadable, intense.
Ty’s chest tightened, something primal stirring—but then Dale came at him fast, and Ty had no choice but to snap back into motion.
The fight dragged out in a blur of strikes and blocks, Ty pushing himself harder than he had in months.
When it finally ended, he dropped to the mat with a grunt, muscles trembling, lungs burning.
Dale, the fit bastard, didn’t even look winded—standing over him, barely glistening with sweat, like he’d just finished a light warm-up.
As Ty lay back, catching his breath, he looked toward the corner again. Oren was gone.
Dale noticed, too. His gaze tracked Ty’s. “He was watching?”
Ty nodded, still breathing hard. “Yeah, but he slipped out just before the end.”
Dale crouched down beside him, close enough to touch, voice low. “Why do you think he didn’t come over?”
Ty sat up slowly. “He’s only ever been kissed by a man twice.”
Dale’s brow rose.
Ty gave him a wicked smirk. “Both times were me.”
Dale’s eyes darkened with interest. “Lucky bastard.”
Ty leaned forward, close enough to feel the heat radiating between them. “Want to even the score?”
Dale didn’t answer. He just grabbed a fistful of Ty’s shirt, yanked him in, and kissed him.
It was a battle.
Not soft. Not hesitant. Tongues clashed, teeth scraped, hands grappled. Ty pressed forward with heat and demand, and Dale met him with fire—until, at last, Ty let go, eased back, and let Dale take control.
The groan that slipped from Dale’s throat was guttural. He broke the kiss only when his lungs screamed for air.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “That was ... different.”
Dale’s smirk was slow and feral. “Yeah. Confident. Sure. You’re a dangerous man, Monroe.”
Ty nodded, serious now. “If I am not mistaken, we both want a future with him and with each other. But before we get there ... we’ve got a past to face.”
Dale’s gaze sobered. “One he doesn’t even remember.”
Ty looked toward the empty doorway. “But we do. And it’s about time we stopped protecting him from the past. He deserves to know the truth—every bloody piece of it.”