12. Roman
Roman
Three fucking weeks and it’s like Damon Ward has vanished into thin air.
I’ve checked all the places he usually haunts—the benches near the art building, the quad where he’d pretend not to smoke, and even the shitty little coffee shop where he’d sit with his sketchpad and earbuds, lost in his own world.
Nothing.
At first, I told myself good fucking riddance . Damon disappearing was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. No more smirks, no more taunts, no more confusing boners. And no more grabbing me and whispering things I can’t forget even when I close my eyes.
But now… now I’m looking for him wherever I go.
I walk downstairs and see Killian at the breakfast table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in a week. “Morning,” I say as I move to plate my own breakfast from the scrambled eggs and shitload of bacon in the warmer. Killian’s legit like the fucking mother in this house, making sure the place is clean and we’re fed.
“Finally,” he says, gesturing at me with his fork as I sit down opposite him. “Thought you were gonna sleep through breakfast again.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not my mom, Kill.”
“And thank fuck for that,” he deadpans, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” I grumble, stabbing at a piece of sausage with my fork. “Just… busy.”
“With what? Pissing Coach off? Brooding in classes? Or maybe sulking because you haven’t gotten into a fight in—what’s it been now—nearly twenty whole days?”
I glare at my best friend, but he’s not wrong. I haven’t felt the need to pick a fight with anyone, not after Damon punched me.
“Seriously, Rome,” Killian says, his tone softer now. “If this is about Damon—”
“It’s not,” I snap, cutting him off before he even goes there, but who am I kidding?
Killian raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Right. Because you totally haven’t been looking for him whenever we’re on campus.”
“I haven’t,” I say, but it’s a weak defense and Kill knows it.
He just laughs and leans back in his chair to watch me. “You’re a shitty liar, Bishop. Always have been.”
I shovel eggs into my mouth before I say something I’ll regret, but Killian isn’t wrong. I have been looking for him for some fucked-up reason. Maybe to apologize, or to just talk to him without pissing him off. He’s Caleb’s brother, and yeah, he used to dislike me back when Caleb and I were in high school together, but there’s no reason we can’t be civil.
Even though my thoughts about him have been anything but civil. The guy could ruin me and I’d let him. I hate that I’ve felt his absence like a phantom limb.
Killian doesn’t bring it up again— thank fuck —and we finish our breakfast before heading out to classes.
Afterward, we make our way to the rink for drills. The ice is where I’m supposed to feel at home, where I’m supposed to leave all the bullshit behind, and it works for the most part. I fall into a rhythm, skating and listening to Killian bark orders and crack jokes. He keeps the team focused while still managing to piss Coach off.
But even on the ice, Damon’s shadow lingers. Fuck knows why; he’s never come to watch a game and yet I still find myself glancing toward the stands.
We hit the gym after practice because Killian is a fucking demon who loves making me suffer. He decided we’re starting the season stronger, and I’m tired as hell but maybe sweating out whatever has been gnawing at me will help.
“Let’s hit the weights before the football guys take over,” he suggests and we weave through the gym toward the free weights at the back. But that’s when I see him.
Damon is at the pull-up bar with his back to me. He’s dressed in a pair of black baseball shorts and a black tank that clings to his body, damp with sweat. His tattooed arms flex as he lifts himself, his back muscles rippling with every movement.
I can’t fucking move.
Killian follows my line of vision and I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s smirking. “You good?”
I tear my eyes away. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
But I’m not fine. I’m so far from fucking fine right now.
“Since your favorite person is alive and well, why don’t we get started?” he drawls, and I shoot him a glare but it doesn’t have its usual bite.
My focus is back on Damon and my mouth goes fucking dry as I watch him on the pull-up bar. His tank top rides up slightly as he pulls himself up, showing a sliver of tattooed skin above his waistband.
Holy fucking shit.
“You just gonna stand there and stare at him or get to fucking work, Bishop?” Killian teases, nudging me with his elbow.
“Shut the fuck up,” I say, dragging my gaze away and picking up a set of dumbbells. Killian snickers and drops onto a bench to start his set.
The weights are heavier than usual, but I welcome the burn in my muscles, anything to keep my eyes and mind off Damon Ward, who is not ten feet away and looking like a goddamn sin I really want to commit.
I sneak another glance—because of course I fucking do—and instantly regret it. Damon’s at the squat rack now, the barbell resting on his shoulders as he lowers to a deep squat. The muscles in his legs and back flex, and the way his tank clings to his skin is nothing short of obscene.
“Jesus fucking Christmas,” I mutter under my breath and tear my gaze away, staring at the floor to get my shit together.
Killian notices because God sent him to be my best friend just so he could fuck with me. “Subtle, Rome,” he snickers. “Real subtle.”
“Fuck off, please?” I say, racking the weights harder than necessary.
Kill doesn’t let up, grinning like he’s just discovered my deepest, darkest secret. “You’re seriously down bad, horny at the gym. It’s almost impressive.”
“Drop it, Kill,” I grit out, grabbing my towel and wiping the sweat from my face.
“Not a chance,” he says, finishing his set and sitting up, his smirk widening. “Come on, man, just admit it. The guy is hot as fuck.”
I hesitate, staring at the floor like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, but the words slip out before I can stop them. “Fine, he’s hot as fuck. Happy now?”
Killian laughs, throwing a towel over his shoulder and leaning back on the bench. “Ecstatic. Took you long enough to admit it.”
“Don’t make it weird,” I groan, reaching for my water bottle.
“Oh, it’s already weird,” he says with a grin. “But seriously, if I didn’t know who he was, I’d let him ruin me. No questions asked.”
I immediately choke on the sip of water, staring at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Are you serious right now?”
“Dead serious,” he says and shrugs. “Have you seen the guy? He’s like a poster child for bad decisions, and you know that’s my type. I don’t normally bottom, but fuck, I’d spread—”
“Oh my fucking God, Kill,” I exclaim “You’re fucked up.”
“Says the guy who can’t stop drooling over him,” Killian shoots back, standing up and stretching. “I’m gonna head to the treadmills. Try not to cum in your pants from watching him, alright?”
“I hate you,” I call after him, flipping him off and truly hating him right now for leaving me alone with the guy who I’ve been trying—and failing—to stop thinking about.
I watch as Damon finishes his set, lifting the hem of his tank to wipe the sweat from his forehead and my brain nearly bluescreens at the sight of his abs and those tattoos. Either he hasn’t noticed me, or he’s doing a fucking good job of ignoring me.
I grab my towel and head his way before I can talk myself out of it.
He looks up when I approach and narrows his eyes at me. The first thing I notice is how clear his eyes look, not clouded like every other time he’s glared at me. “Hotshot,” he says, his voice flat and tired. “What do you want?”
I shrug, leaning against the rack next to him. “Just wanted to say hi. You’ve been MIA.”
Great, now he’ll know I’ve been looking for him.
“Didn’t realize you cared,” he mutters, grabbing his bottle of water and taking a long drink.
“Where’ve you been, Damon?” I ask, not caring about the edge in his tone when he answered me.
He sets the bottle down, his gaze flicking to mine. “Around.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting,” he says, standing and grabbing his shit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Damon freezes with his back to me. For a second, I think he’s going to walk away without saying anything, but then he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“I’m not avoiding you,” he says, his voice back to being flat and dismissive.
“Bullshit,” I fire back, stepping closer. “You’ve been ghosting me for three weeks. What the hell is your deal?”
He smirks, but it’s not the cocky one I’m used to. This one is more resigned, almost tired. “My deal, Roman, is that it’s better for us if we pretend the other doesn’t exist.”
The words twist something in my chest, but I push that shit down. “Why now?”
“Because this,” he says, gesturing between us, “whatever the fuck this was turning into, doesn’t go anywhere good. It’s toxic. And, if I’m being honest, I’ve got enough shit in my life without adding you to the mix.”
“Toxic?” I repeat, my voice rising. “You’re the one who started this shit by pinning me to a wall, licking my fucking lip and getting in my head. Now you’re acting like it’s my fault?”
Damon’s jaw tightens and it looks like he might swing again, but he steps back and takes a slow, measured breath. “I didn’t say it’s your fault,” he says. “I’m saying this isn’t worth it. You’re not worth it.”
The words feel like a puck to the face, but I don’t back down. “Then why are you still standing here explaining yourself? If I’m not worth it, why haven’t you walked away?”
He doesn’t answer me right away, his green eyes locking onto mine like he’s trying to figure out why I’m baiting him. “I’m trying to, but you don’t exactly make this easy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve got a way of getting under my skin,” he snaps, his composure cracking just enough for me to see the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “And I fucking hate it. I hate that you’re in my head when you shouldn’t be. I’ve decided that I’m done with you and this fucking grudge, but now you show up and start poking at shit again.”
I let his words sink in, but they don’t fucking make sense. I’ve been under his skin all this time he’s been fucking with me?
“Maybe you’re not as done with me as you think you are,” I say, crossing my arms and hating the fact that I can’t just shut the fuck up right now and let it go.
Damon lets out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t want to be done, I need to be.”
“Bullshit,” I shake my head. “You don’t get to pull this shit after everything. You don’t get to act like you don’t—”
My breath catches when he grabs the front of my tank. “You think this is easy for me?” he grits out, his pupils blown wide. “You think I like the way this feels? Like I’m losing my fucking mind whenever I look at you?”
“Then stop fucking running!” I snap, my voice louder than I intended. “Why not just—”
“Because this is wrong , Roman!” he shouts, his voice cracking on my name. “Whatever is happening is wrong and shouldn’t even have started in the first place. Caleb—”
He stops himself, chest heaving as he looks away and lets go of me, his jaw clenched so tight that I can see the muscle ticking.
“Damon…” I start, but he shakes his head.
“No,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what this is doing to me, and trust me, you don’t want to know. So just… leave it, and forget about me.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just stand there as he takes two steps back, the heat of his body lingering in the space between us. Then I watch as he walks away, and, for a second, I wonder if I’ll ever stop chasing the ghost of him in my head.