Chapter 14 Damien
Damien
The heat from practice still lingers in my muscles, a low throb echoing beneath my skin. The windows are rolled down a little, letting in the cold air, but even that doesn’t clear the mess in my head.
It’s been a long day. Sprints, drills, weight training, and a meeting with Coach that dragged longer than necessary. All I want is to get home, shower, maybe eat something that isn’t microwaved, and pass out.
My phone buzzes with a notification I ignore. Probably Ryan sending another meme or Killian bitching about someone stealing his protein powder again. I’m not in the mood for either.
I’m around the corner from campus when I see them.
It’s the tail end of a laugh that does it. That sound Noah makes when he’s caught off guard—head tipping back a little, eyes lighting up. It hits me square in the chest before I even fully register who he’s with.
Adrian.
They’re standing just outside the little coffee place one block over from campus. That weird indie one that always smells of cinnamon and burnt espresso beans. Noah’s holding a to-go cup in one hand and his phone in the other, grinning as Adrian says something I can’t hear.
I slow down for a second without meaning to, lucky that no one’s behind me. They don’t notice me, thank fuck, because the last thing I need is to be caught watching like some kind of creep.
Noah steps back, smiling shyly, and Adrian pulls out his phone.
Then I watch what seems to be them exchanging numbers.
I see the slow flick of Adrian’s thumb, the way Noah glances down at the screen and types something in before they nod at each other and wave goodbye.
There’s no hug, and no touch, but the fact that Noah was laughing with another guy has me contemplating murder.
Why the hell am I jealous?
I grip the steering wheel tighter than I should, and drive away.
I shouldn’t feel this way, not after all this time. Not after the mess I made when I left him behind.
But I do. My gut is sour when I get home, and my pulse is erratic. I don’t want to go upstairs. I don’t want to see anyone. I park around back, cut the engine, and head straight for the basement gym. No shower, no pause. Just rage.
The punching bag hangs in the far corner. I quickly wrap my hands tight, ignoring the sting where old callouses haven’t healed. I’m halfway through the first round—jabs, uppercuts, a right hook that nearly knocks the chain loose—when I hear the clang of a weight plate being re-racked.
“You’re gonna break your wrist doing that.”
I turn my head mid-swing, sweat stinging my eyes, and find Luca standing near the benchpress, arms crossed over his chest and still in his practice shorts. His hair’s damp, blond strands sticking to his forehead, and there’s a half-empty Gatorade bottle in his hand.
“Fuck off, Devereaux,” I mutter, teeth gritted as I swing back to the bag, fists throbbing from the repeated impact.
But he doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch. Of course, he doesn’t. That’s Luca—annoyingly persistent.
Instead, he steps in without another word, wedges his hands against the sides of the bag, and leans his weight into it, steadying it with practiced ease.
He plants his feet and locks his gaze on the battered leather.
It’s the kind of quiet, no-bullshit help I’ve come to expect from him.
He doesn’t push. He just holds the bag and lets me burn it all out.
By the time I’m done, I’m bent over at the waist, hands braced on my thighs, dripping sweat. My lungs are burning, chest rising and falling, and my skin’s tacky with a mix of adrenaline and the kind of emotional whiplash I haven’t felt in years.
Luca wipes his palms on a towel and tosses me a bottle of water from the mini fridge. The plastic lands with a soft thud on the bench beside me. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks, picking up his Gatorade.
I twist the cap off and take a long drink, the cold water hitting my throat hard enough to make my eyes water. “Not really,” I manage, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
He shrugs, then tosses the towel over his shoulder and leans back against the wall. “Cool. I’ll just stand here and look pretty until you crack.”
I shoot him a glare, grabbing the towel to mop sweat off my face. “You always this annoying after leg day?”
“Only when a close friend is clearly losing their shit over something and trying not to say it,” Luca fires back, raising an eyebrow. He uncaps his Gatorade and takes a lazy sip, like he’s got nowhere else to be.
I curse under my breath and run a hand through my damp hair, dragging sweat back off my forehead. “It’s nothing,” I say.
“Sure,” Luca says slowly, humoring me. “Except you’re down here beating the shit out of a punching bag like it owes you money.”
I give a rough laugh, dropping down onto the bench nearby, elbows planted on my knees. My fists are still shaking a little as I unwind the wrap. “It’s not a big deal. Just… saw something earlier.”
He nods, not pushing.
I stare at my hands, knuckles bruised, before finally spitting it out. “I saw Noah with Adrian. They were laughing, and he looked… happy.”
Luca comes over, sits beside me, stretching his legs out in front of him. He bumps my shoulder lightly with his own. “So? That’s not a bad thing. Red’s a good guy.”
“I know that,” I murmur. “It’s not a bad thing. I want him to be happy.”
Luca quirks an eyebrow, studying my face for a second too long. “But?”
I exhale, the sound scraping in my throat. “But I hate that I’m not the reason he’s smiling like that.”
Luca hums thoughtfully, twisting his Gatorade cap back and forth. “You in love with him?”
I don’t answer directly. Maybe I don’t have to.
“You’re jealous,” he says without an ounce of doubt when I still don’t respond. “It’s fine. I’ve been there.”
I turn to him, brow furrowed. Luca, jealous? I can’t ever see that happening. “When?”
He exhales, the memory pulling his gaze down to his feet. “You remember that party before I got clean? The one where you left with Sage?”
I’m about to tell him no when the memory slams into me so fast I almost choke. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” he says with a soft chuckle, but there’s no humor in it.
“You were… You and Sage were…?”
“Not officially,” Luca says, holding up a hand as he explains further. “We were circling each other, or rather, I was circling him. I hadn’t figured my shit out yet, and you didn’t know. But yeah, I tried to stop you that night, remember?”
I do, now. Vividly. He grabbed my arm, tried to say something, and I brushed him off, ready to throw hands for the way he grabbed me. I thought he was just being an ass, but now I see that moment for what it was. “Fuck, Luca. I didn’t know.”
He waves me off. “Told you, it’s fine. I wasn’t in a good place back then. I was using, hooking up, and trying to numb everything. Sage was… I don’t know—he got under my skin faster than I could pull him out. You weren’t the problem, man.”
I stare at the floor, the guilt a dull throb in my gut. “Still feels like a dick move.”
Luca shrugs, watching the condensation on his Gatorade drip onto the floor.
“It was what it was. I’m not mad. I just—” He stops, running a hand over his jaw, then lets out a slow breath.
“I know how it feels seeing someone you know you shouldn’t care about, with someone else.
Even if they’re not yours. Even if they were never yours to begin with.
When you want someone, everything feels like a threat. ”
I run my thumb along the bruised line of my knuckle, swallowing thickly. “I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me, D. You care about him. And maybe you’ve spent the last few years trying to act like you don’t, but the second he started smiling again—with someone else—you remembered exactly how much you do.”
My throat tightens… fuck me, he’s right. But what can I do about it? Blue doesn’t think of me that way. I’m just his ex-stepbrother who packed up and left him behind.
“I know it fucking sucks, man,” Luca leans forward, elbows braced on his thighs, eyes fixed on some spot in the middle distance.
“Wanting someone so badly that the thought of them being with anyone else physically hurts. Watching them laugh with someone else and knowing you can’t be the one to make them feel that safe anymore. ”
I nod slowly, pressing the heel of my hand into my chest. “I’m just scared.”
“Of what, though?” Luca prompts, voice gentler than before.
“That I’ll ruin it again,” I admit. “That I’ll want too much and fuck it all up like I always do.”
He lets out a sigh, shaking his head as he turns to look at me. “You’re not the same guy you were back then, D. You’ve changed.”
I look up, meeting his eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Because a year ago, you would’ve looked for a warm hole to fill your time. You wouldn’t be down here beating the shit out of a punching bag over a guy you’re too scared to admit you love.”
I swallow hard, looking away. “You think I should do something?”
“I think,” Luca says gently, putting a hand on my shoulder, “you should stop lying to yourself and pretending you don’t care.”
I stare at the ground, shoulders tense. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Start small,” he says. “Text him. Check in. Be his friend, if that’s what he’ll let you be. But don’t sit back and stew while someone else does what you’re too scared to do.”
I drag a hand over my face, scrubbing at the sweat on my brow. “He’s not mine.”
“He might not be,” Luca agrees. “But maybe he still wants you in his life. You’ll never know unless you stop hiding in here and beating up our punching bags.”
I laugh weakly. “You’re starting to sound like Sage.”
Luca snorts, pushing himself to his feet. “Sage would’ve just kicked your ass and told you to stop being a little bitch.”
“Accurate,” I mutter, a small smile pulling at my lips.