Chapter 10 Brody
brODY
I spend a solid thirty seconds after the match trying to catch my breath and pretend I’m fine. I’m not. I’m not fine at all.
My dick is staging a full rebellion in my singlet. Coach walks by, clapping a hand on my shoulder and chuckling to himself.
“Jesus Christ, Miller,” he mutters with a wheezy laugh. “Hit the showers. Walk it off, kid.”
I choke on nothing and duck my head, pushing past him and straight for the showers.
Cold water. I need cold water. Or a lobotomy.
The locker room is blessedly empty. I strip out of my uniform so fast I almost tear the strap and stand under water cold enough it could legally classify as torture.
It doesn’t help.
Not with the way Beckett looked tonight. All pissed and determined and… Fuck.
I think I might actually want Lincoln Beckett. I thought I was just playing with him, but that little display back there fucking did things to me.
When I can finally stand up straight without embarrassing myself, I towel off and pull on a pair of sweats. I’m about to head back to the gym to watch the end of the showcase and mingle when I hear voices.
I freeze on instinct, back hitting the wall. I’m not sure why until I register the familiar biting tone. It’s low, controlled, and venomous.
“…one point? One point? That’s what you bring me? This is unacceptable, Lincoln. I expect better from you.”
Lincoln?
I almost step out, because surely someone isn’t talking to the Lincoln Beckett that way. But then Beckett’s voice replies, small and defeated and unlike anything I’ve ever heard from him.
“I’m sorry I disappointed you. It was a close—”
“Close? Close is for losers. I didn’t raise a son to settle for close. I raised you to win. To dominate.”
Damn. Mr. Beckett is just as cold as he seemed sitting in the stands. I kind of feel bad for taunting my surly captain with his dad now.
I inch closer, not enough to be seen, but enough to feel the barbs in his voice when he starts talking about me.
“You embarrassed yourself. And me. You had every advantage, and you still managed to fail. You choked and handed what should have been an easy victory to some bottom-feeding charity case like the Miller boy?”
Ah, there it is. I was wondering when my social status would enter the conversation. It’s good to know exactly where I stand with people before I ever even meet them. Not that it’s surprising at all. Most of these people are all the same.
But Mr. Beckett isn’t done. His voice cuts through the air, hitting his son like a lash from a belt would.
“Do you know what people saw out there? They saw a future CEO getting pushed around by a low-class scholarship nobody. You don’t let trash like that take anything from you. Not points. Not ground. And certainly not your goddamn dignity.”
My jaw cracks from clenching.
“What do you think happens to Beckett Holdings if its heir apparent gets manhandled by someone whose greatest accomplishment is likely to be a minimum wage job as a factory worker? You think shareholders want a weak link at the top?”
Jesus Christ. What an asshole.
He lowers his voice, crueler than anything I’ve ever heard.
“You’ve gone soft, Lincoln. Weak. Hesitant. I didn’t spend years grooming you for leadership just for you to fold the second someone with calloused hands grabs you.”
Calloused hands? Obviously he means me, but does that mean he’s picturing me touching his son? Overpowering him?
Does he have any idea how close he is to the truth?
Meanwhile, Beckett stands there, taking it, because this is normal to him. And this was only an intra-squad matchup. A friendly showcase for friends and family. It wasn’t even a real competition.
“You are not here to try,” Mr. Beckett finishes. “You are here to crush anyone beneath you. Do you understand?”
Beckett’s answer is barely a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
My chest aches for the boy that had to grow up with a parent like that. No wonder he takes everything too seriously, can’t enjoy anything.
Before I can move, the team floods the locker room. Noise explodes everywhere. Mr. Beckett snaps into his polite-parent persona like flipping a light switch.
He walks out, and Beckett moves to follow him. Instinctively, I follow Beckett. He stops in the hallway, shoulders still rigid. I take a step toward him without thinking.
His entire body snaps upright. He slams the side of his fist against the locker room door like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Then he turns to me with a perfect, hard-edged mask.
“Here to gloat?”
My eyebrows shoot up. Does he know I saw the whole interaction with his father?
He steps closer. Not touching, but crowding, trying to reclaim some of the dominance his father just ripped out of him. Trying to act like the version of himself he thinks he’s supposed to be.
“You did win, after all,” he says, jaw tight. “One point. Maybe that’s something to brag about where you’re from.”
There it is. A sharp little jab, a direct imitation of his father’s cruelty.
His posture and tone don’t give me the impression he’s acting out for the sake of insulting me. No, I think he wants me mad. He wants me to fight back, because fighting me is familiar and safe. It’s a distraction from everything clouding his mind right now.
He wants the heat, not the hurt.
I step into his space, slow and intentionally. “You offering excuses now?”
He bristles. “I’m not offering anything.”
“Funny,” I say softly, “You already offered yourself.”
His breath catches, and I see it. A spark. There’s some trepidation there, sure. Definitely some unresolved rage. But more than anything, what I see is interest. Need. Want.
Before I can press further, a girl calls his name. Then his father barks his name sharply.
“Lincoln. It’s rude to make people wait for you.”
I watch Beckett’s spine straighten. Watch him plaster on a too-bright smile. Watch him transform.
He walks out of the hallway with purpose, and I slink around the corner to watch, keeping myself out of view from his father.
A tiny girl in a frilly top launches herself at Lin—No.
Just Beckett. I think I understand now why he doesn’t like people to use his first name.
After hearing all of that, I’ll never call him Lincoln again.
Beckett picks her up like she weighs nothing and spins her around once.
When he places her back on her feet, Mr. Beckett gives him a curt handshake before bending to give the girl a double-cheek kiss. She giggles.
As Mr. Beckett walks away, my Beckett bends down to whisper something against her lips.
The burn in my stomach turns molten, but I don’t look away. I pay attention. And I notice that he’s not actually kissing her. He’s using her as armor. He wants people to see him kiss her—wants his father to see it.
And when he cuts his eyes in my direction, I know it’s also for me. He wants me to see it. He wants me to react. Because he wants to get under my skin, rile me up for what he really wants.
A distraction. Something intense to wipe out the echo of his father’s voice and all that heavy anxiety he carries around.
When he finally says goodbye to the girl and walks back towards the hallway, I speak before I can stop myself.
“Who was that?”
“My girlfriend,” he says.
I snort. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
My eye twitches, even knowing he’s doing this on purpose.
“Does she know you’re going to be choking on my cock later?”
He chokes, eyes huge. “What… the fuck?”
“I won, didn’t I?”
“By one point.”
“Still sounds like I won.”
“You think one point is worth—”
“Did I or did I not win?”
“Technically, yes, but—”
“And wasn’t the deal that I get you any way I want you?”
He doesn’t answer, gaping at me without anything left to say. “Well then, technically,” I say, lowering my voice so only he hears, “you’re going to get down on your knees and suck me.”
I watch the exact moment his breath picks up. His pupils darken. And his dick presses against his shorts like it’s trying to escape.
“That’s interesting,” I murmur, cutting my eyes to the front of his uniform..
“It’s—because I’m angry,” he blurts. “It’s… angry. An angry boner.”
I grin so hard it hurts. “Can’t wait to see how angry it gets later. Midnight. Outside the rec room.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As serious as your angry boner,” I say, adjusting myself just to watch him turn red before I walk away.
I get to the rec room early. Not because I’m eager. Okay, maybe because I’m eager.
Mostly it’s so I can hide in the shadows near the stairwell and see him come down the hall, but I almost miss him because the bastard shows up at eleven forty-fucking-five.
“Eager, are we?” I say, turning my own eagerness on him.
He jumps, then scowls at me. “Says the guy who got here even earlier to lurk like some kind of creeper.”
“Well, at least we know it’s dark enough.” I smirk. “And duh, of course I’m eager. I’m about to get my dick sucked.”
He hesitates. “About that…”
“Going back on a challenge so easily?” I tease, although obviously I’d never force him to do something he doesn’t actually want to do. The thing is, I truly believe he does want it. He just needs the excuse as a cover. He needs the direction and dominance to get him out of his head.
“N-no!” he says way too fast. “I just… I’m not into men. So I’ve never done… that… before.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding in a way that makes him think I believe him. I don’t. “I understand.”
“You do?” he asks, hopeful.
“You’re scared,” I say simply. “But don’t worry. I won’t hurt you unless you want me to.”
His whole damn body reacts. Even in the dark, I can see him fold forward a fraction, like he’s trying to hide the way his hips jerk. Oh yeah, he wants this. He wants it bad.
I step closer.
“Is it the dirty talk?” I ask quietly. “Or the humiliation?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s okay,” I say, letting my mouth drop low enough to brush along his neck. “I’ll figure it out myself.”
I lean in, lips almost touching his ear.
“Get on your knees.”