14. Breaker
CHAPTER 14
brEAKER
Now
San Francisco, California
"What the fuck is your problem?" Lennon snarls at me, his face red, a bead of sweat carving a path down his forehead. I've never seen this side of him off the football field. I think I feel my nuts shrivel up just a little.
I don't often say this, but I wish I had been drinking tonight. I never actually got a sip of the beer Lennon brought me, and after the awkwardness, I couldn't be bothered to find a drink when all I wanted was to get away from him. At least if I had been drinking then I would have an excuse for not knowing what the actual fuck is going on. Lennon and I had finally reached a sort of peace in our relationship. Not as friends but teammates at least. I shouldn't have rocked the boat by walking into the house with him tonight. He just looked so damn nervous standing outside of the mansion and even though we were both completely out of our element, my need to care for him overwhelmed all my better senses.
Then that damn adorable kid had to open her big mouth about the forehead kisses heard round the world.
Okay, maybe the words weren't heard around the entire world, but they have most definitely been running laps in my mind for weeks.
It fucking sucks. I had just gotten used to hearing the words 'brotherly shove' without wanting to retreat in on myself and die. I was even able to lie to myself and say I felt nothing everytime Lennon would hug me or kiss my head after a good play. It's just team spirit, right? It doesn't mean anything more than a high five or a butt patt.
But of course, Lennon couldn't have backtracked any further when he answered the kidlet. It's like he opened up a thesaurus to a page titled 'Words to Let the Whole World Know That There Is Absolutely No way I Could Ever See Breaker Lawson As Anything More Than a Pal' and said every single one of them. He called me bro again, and I can't decide if I hate him or myself more for letting it get under my skin.
I just wanted to get through this party, keep my head down so I don't have to face a million questions about what it's like to be the starting QB only a few games into my rookies season, and go home.
Lennon clearly has no such worries about not causing waves, because there's no way he had laying low on the brain when he grabbed me from conversation with two very polite people and shoved me in a damn pantry. He certainly isn't thinking about etiquette now as he crowds my body against a shelf, his face only inches from my own.
Lennon has a look on his face that is typically reserved for staring down his opponents on the turf. His usually icy eyes are dark with ire. His entire body is heaving, I can practically hear his heart beating heavily in his chest. Goddammit, he's gorgeous, even when he's pissed. Again, my need to care for him consumes me, and I squeeze my fists together to keep myself from running a hand over the thick facial hair on his cheek. I have to take a steadying breath before I can speak.
"What the fuck is my problem? What the fuck is your problem? You're the one who just shoved me in a fucking pantry like a lunatic," I say, attempting to gesture to the room around us, but my range of motion is cut off by Lennon's arms trapping me against the shelf.
"Because you won't talk to me!" He exclaims, his voice a thunderous echo against the four walls surrounding us. "Christ, Breaker, I thought we were finally getting somewhere after that stupid fucking fight at camp. The game in Knoxville, all the ones since, earlier tonight when we showed up at this party together. I thought we were getting past something. I thought we were going to spend some time together."
"Oh my god. We arrived at the same time, Len. It was a coincidence and acknowledging your existence was the polite thing to do. We didn't show up together. You didn't ask me to come to the party with you, Len. I was invited. The whole team was. This isn't a fucking date." I run a hand through my hair and when I look back up at him, Lennon has lost some of the anger that was just burning on his face.
"I…I wasn't suggesting…" He stammers, and god, he actually looks hurt. Dammit, I'm fucking perfecting the art of being a pissy asshole who pushes him away at every turn. I really don't want to be this guy anymore. Ignoring my feelings for Lennon and just being friends when we were in college was tiring. Whatever it is I'm doing now? The sort of friendly but also distant, semi apologetic but pissed off at every turn act? It's downright exhausting.
"Lennon, shit. I'm sorry. You're right. I'm being an asshole, but it has nothing to do with you. I'm just in a mood." I give his shoulder a squeeze and he surprises me by rolling his head back in a sarcastic laugh.
"Nothing do with me. Bullshit, B. You were fine until you weren't. You have no problem chatting away and playing the doe-eyed, future star quarterback schtick with everyone else at this fucking party, but you won't even stand in the same room as me. We used to be best friends, Breaker. We were an inseparable pair. We were meant to fucking be, and then we get to camp and you decide we're just not fucking friends anymore, out of nowhere. I have no idea what happened. Will you just tell me what I did to get that got you all hot under the collar so I can apologize and put this shit behind us? Fuck, I'm sick of tiptoeing around you, dude."
My lip trembles, and I feel the twist in my gut pull tighter. As tired as I am, in this moment, I want to keep playing the avoidance game. It's safe here. There's a big metal cage surrounding my heart here.
But fuck. He's gonna stand here and say shit like 'meant to fucking be' as if there is anything remotely platonic about that statement? He might be blind, but I know he's not stupid. There has to be some part of him that knows there's more between us, and that it's got me all completely fucked in the head.
Screw this. We've been dancing around each other long enough. I'm sick of it.
If he wants the truth, I'll give him the truth.
"What's got me hot under the collar is that I'm not your fucking brother, Lennon. I'm not your bro, not your broski, I'm not any of that shit. I never have been. What I am is the idiot who let a stupid crush get under my skin. I was fine in the friend zone, Len. I was good. I was happy there. I would've been able to sweat you out like nobody's goddamn business if you had just kept your fucking mouth shut and your hands to yourself. That night after the last championship game we won together, you just had to 'go all Lennon' on me. You had to keep your arm wrapped around me in the bar, had to climb into my bed like you always did. You had to stare up at me with your head on my goddamn pillow with your stupid, gorgeous 'fuck me' eyes and stroke my bare skin before telling I'm like a goddamn brother to you? I know you're an only child, but that's not how fucking brothers act, bro. " I spit the last word at him, poking him in the chest as I do. His mouth drops open, and I think for a second that he might skip the talking and just punch me square in the face.
"Oh my god," he says after a heavy moment. "You are an idiot." He runs a hand over his face, swiping over his jawline a few times.
"Fuck you. I'm not an idiot, Lennon. I'm stuck. I'm still there. I'm frozen in time, right where you left me in that hotel room in Houston, and I'm sad, man. I'm sad all the time. You have no idea what that feels like." I snarl, trying to shoulder past him, but he grabs me and pushes me against the row of shelves behind me.
"You don't get to do that. You don't get to tell me what sad is, Breaker. I'm sad all the fucking time, too. And yes, you are an idiot. A big, stupid fucking idiot. But you know what, B? I'm an idiot, too. You think I don't remember that night? You think I don't remember exactly what you smelled like? That mix of bonfire and sweat and menthol and fucking you? The way I sat next to you in the bar and couldn't keep myself from leaning in slightly to get a whiff of the peppermint, candy cane scent of your goddamn shampoo every time you shook out that mop of hair on your head? You think I didn't memorize the cute little sounds you made when you were trying to hold in your laugh at my horrible Forrest Gump impersonation? Breaker, do you really think I don't know exactly which vein I traced down your arm as I looked at you lying in bed next to me? How soft you felt against my calloused hands?" He demonstrates by running his pointer finger down my right arm, and even through my jacket and shirt, I know he's following the same path he took the first time he did this. He leans down and breathes against the shell of my ear, and an embarrassingly loud whimper escapes my lips.
"Breaker," he whispers against me, and my entire body tightens in response. "I remember every single moment of it. When we were lying in your bed that night, I was buzzing all over. I was fucking drunk on you, had been for a long, long time. Baby, I was so goddamn close to kissing you that night. I'd been so close to kissing you so many times. That's why I was always in your bed. I thought if I kept getting close to you, I'd eventually be brave enough to make a move. I wanted so badly to tell you how I felt about you for so long. The only reason I chickened out and said that stupid, ridiculous, bullshit lie about seeing you like a brother is because when I touched you, when I said that I loved you, you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else but with me. I got scared. In that moment, you looked like you didn't want me. Do you understand what that felt like? I said that I loved you and you just…you said nothing back. So I said the one thing that I hoped would justify dropping the 'L' word on you without having to confess what was truly in my heart. I called you my brother because it was the only thing that I thought would help me push my feelings for you back into the so-called 'friend zone' where they belonged."
He's not touching me, and still I'm trembling as his body cages me against the shelves. I can feel his breath, hot and staggered on my neck and my teeth start to clatter. My mind is racing to catch up to everything Lennon just said to me.
He…wanted to kiss me. No. There's no way. I would've known if my best friend wanted to kiss me, wouldn't I have?
Well that's a stupid fucking thought, seeing as he just admitted to not knowing how badly I wanted to kiss him.
He's right. We are both idiots.
But still, this makes no sense. Lennon is straight. Lennon has always been straight. He can't have feelings for me. He was just confused. Maybe he still is confused. Hell, I'm fucking confused.
I realize I haven't said anything in a full minute, and my silence is only broken by the sight of Lennon's trembling bottom lip.
"Len," I whisper, barely able to rasp out the syllable. I cannot form a coherent thought with him hovering over me like this, our faces only a breath away from each other, so I say the only thing running through my mind at the moment besides 'touch him, touch him'.
"You're not…you're not into guys..."
Lennon looks at me, his gaze meeting mine. I can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, and I hold my breath as I wait for his response. He presses his hips flush to me, and I gasp in shock when I feel the press of his cock, hard and heavy against my belly. His lips come down, just a whisper away from my own.
"Do us both a favor and stop pretending like you know anything about who I am anymore, Breaker." He grinds his hips up in a slow, sensuous stroke against me before abruptly pushing off the shelf and stomping towards the door of the pantry. When his hand hits the doorknob, he pauses for a moment, then looks to me over his shoulder.
"I'm still in love with you, B," he whispers softly. "I love you, and it's ruining my fucking life."
He stomps out of the pantry, closing the door behind him, and I'm left hard and panting and feeling more fucking lost than I've ever been.