Chapter 21. Ethan
For our last meal as "free" men, the chefs have outdone themselves. Pancakes, bacon, a bowl of fruit fresh and bright, maple syrup, eggs. A last supper.
Liam sits across from me, and he's barely eating, and he knows I'm watching. I try not to stare. Pushing makes it worse. Watching makes it worse. The only thing that doesn't make it worse is being present without pressure.
Jack is scrolling frantically on his phone, and I doubt he's paying attention to anything at all. He's just chasing the endorphins before they're taken away.
"This is pathetic," Harry says.
He's standing by the coffee machine, arms crossed. He's been watching all of us with growing irritation.
"Look at you. You'd think we were heading to the gas chamber.
Cut the drama. It's not prison, it's Aspire.
We've got beds, decent food, and each other.
Which, by the way, is more than most people on this planet can say, so maybe stop acting like the world is ending because you have to give back a phone and sleep on a mattress that doesn't have a thread count. "
We all look at each other. I wasn't expecting anything like that from Harry, the dealer, the sarcastic clown.
Jack blinks. Then his mouth starts to move.
"You're right," he says, nodding with mock gravity. "Aspire is basically a resort. The communal showers? Spa experience. The gray sweats? Athleisure chic. The mystery meat on Tuesdays? That's called molecular gastronomy, Harry. We've been living in luxury, and we didn't even know it."
Liam's lips twitch. Jack's not done. He's found the thread now. "And the beds? Memory foam, if the memory is pain. The walls? Minimalist concrete, very Scandinavian. Griff's morning roll calls? That's just a wellness check-in with military flair. We should be grateful."
"The hole is basically a sensory deprivation tank," Liam adds. "People pay thousands for that."
"Exactly!" Jack slaps the counter. "We're getting a premium rehabilitation experience, and we don't even tip."
Harry rolls his eyes. "You're all idiots," he says. We all laugh.
We pack. Harry gave us the clothes that the staff bought for us, and even the sunglasses Liam was wearing at the pool. He gives us some Nike bags as well, one for each of us, so we have somewhere to put everything. I'm so impressed I don't have words.
"Thank you, Harry," I say. He rolls his eyes again, with no patience.
"Shut up," he says. But I know he appreciates it, so I say it anyway.
"I mean it, thanks for this week, for everything," I keep going.
"Yes, man! It was probably the best week of my life," Liam says.
"Who would've thought Harry Westfield was so cool," Jack adds, grinning. Harry is now as red as a pepper.
"Fuck you all," he says. It's his love language.
"Where's your dad?" Liam asks. "So we can say goodbye."
"He had a board meeting," Harry says, and he seems upset. It's the same story all around: we're all lonely kids, no matter how poor or how rich.
The drive back is sad. It always is. Nobody speaks much.
Jack leans his head against the window and closes his eyes.
Harry stares at his phone for the last minutes.
Liam sits beside me, his knee against mine, his head on my shoulder.
I have my hand on his thigh and I'm also watching the view change outside.
We see Aspire and collectively groan. It's not bad there. It's home. It's just… I wish the circumstances were different.
Gerald pulls the car to a stop in the parking lot. The engine idles. Nobody moves. There are more kids coming back and Griff is right by the door, welcoming everybody.
There's no use stalling anymore, so we all get out.
"Thanks, Gerald. See you at Christmas," Harry says. Gerald nods. We all thank him as well.
We walk up to Griff, and he smiles with those green eyes.
"Welcome back," he says.
I nod. Jack playfully salutes as usual. Harry walks past without a word. Liam pauses in front of Griff, smiling, looks up at him with those blue eyes, and says, "Missed us?"
Griff's eyebrow rises a fraction. "Like a headache," he says, but it's full of affection.
Liam grins and we follow inside.
Miles is waiting when we get back to the room. He's sitting on the edge of his bunk, reading, but he's different. He's… smiling?
"How was it?" he asks.
Three words. Voluntary. Looking at us. Liam cocks his head sideways, the way he does when he's confused. Such a puppy. Harry, predictably, doesn't notice anything because Harry is already reclaiming his bunk with his usual bad mood.
"Good," I say, watching him. "Really good. You okay?"
Miles nods, and he's still smiling. "I'm fine, thank you. I had a good time," he says.
I look at Jack to see if he notices anything, but he's just grinning, as usual. Liam still looks puzzled, but we head to my bed and lie there together without commenting on it.
Later, after dinner, after the first full day back, the building feels different.
Maybe it's the aftertaste of freedom, maybe we're all tired in the way that comes from returning to your old life after a glimpse of something better.
The rec room is packed, everyone showing off the chips, sodas, and bags of junk they smuggled back from break.
I know staff turns a blind eye to this kind of stuff, as long as it's not cigarettes, booze or drugs, and it's nice.
Harry is running a poker table. Jack is teaching two new kids how to play pool, which is mostly him showing off trick shots and talking shit.
Even Miles is there, standing at the snack counter.
Liam nudges me. "Let's go," he says, and I know exactly what he means.
We slip out quietly, through the admin wing, up the back stairs. The staff bathroom is just down the hall, tucked behind a fire door. I check the hallway. No one.
Inside, it's cold, but there's a shower, a real one, with a curtain and a bar of soap and even a little bottle of hotel shampoo. I lock the door behind us.
Liam flicks on the light, and it's so bright I squint, but he's already pulling his sweatshirt over his head, dropping it on the tile.
He grins, that wild blue in his eyes, and strips faster than I can process, like he's running from something.
He turns on the water, waits for the steam, then steps in.
I follow. The water is scalding. We stand there, just breathing, the steam rising around us, the tile slick under our feet.
For a second, we don't touch. He's looking at me, eyes wide, the freckles on his nose standing out against the red flush of the heat.
He's beautiful. He always is. I can't look away.
I want to devour him. I feel so happy I could explode.
He steps closer, wraps his arms around my waist, and presses his face to my chest. I hold him, just hold him, his skin hot and slippery against mine. His breath is shaky.
We stand like that, just holding, while the water pounds down. Then he slides his hand down my stomach. He doesn't look up, just moves his hand, wraps it around my cock, and starts to stroke, gentle at first, then rougher, his thumb working the head the way he knows I like.
I'm instantly hard. I can't help it. I push his wet hair back from his forehead, kiss him, my hands cupping his jaw. His hand doesn't stop. He pulls away, grins up at me, and says, "You're so easy."
"You're an asshole," I say, but I can't stop smiling.
He drops to his knees, water cascading over his back, and takes me in his mouth. The heat, the pressure, the fucking devotion of it… all of it is perfect. I don't last long. I grip the bar on the wall, trying not to fall over. When I come, he swallows, then stands and kisses me, hard.
"My turn, Daddy, serve me," he says, and I laugh, because of course.
"Brat."
I push him against the wall, my hand finding him already hard, already leaking.
I wrap my hand around his cock, slick in the spray, and stroke him slow, teasing, the way I know he likes.
He shudders, his head tipped back, the line of his throat beautiful and sharp.
My other arm is braced against the tile above his head, pinning him, and I press my hips to his, letting him feel how hard I still am, even after coming.
He laughs, breathless, and then bites my shoulder.
He bucks into my fist, desperate, greedy, and I love it, I want to see him lose it entirely.
I go faster, thumb circling the head, and he's panting now, eyes squeezed shut.
The water hits us both in the face, drowning out every sound but his voice, that high, helpless noise he makes just before he comes.
"Fuck, Ethan, I'm…" and then he does, all over my hand, his chest, the tile. He slumps against me, boneless, and I hold him up, laughing, kissing his wet hair.
We stand there, catching our breath, letting the water rinse us clean. He looks up, eyes glassy, and says, "That was so fucking hot."
"I know," I say, and he grins, wicked and lovely.
We dry off with the thin, scratchy towels, and I help him back into his clothes.
When we walk in, Jack is sprawled on his bunk, holding court as usual. "Where the fuck were you two?" he says.
"Staff meeting," I say.
"Staff meeting," Liam echoes, and they all laugh.