Jason
The punching bag is hanging on another branch, and this one better not break. I only have a couple more days before the fight, and I’m spending every free moment I’ve got preparing for it.
Plus I need the distraction.
I’ve avoided Gabe like the plague since we had sex, sneaking out when he comes home from work or putting in my earbuds and avoiding eye contact when we’re alone together.
The hurt on his face makes my gut coil every single time I see it.
But I can’t think about that right now.
I need to focus.
I have a fight coming up—a future to prepare for.
A future that I want.
Gabe has his own life: a job, a trailer, his mom.
What do I have?
Nothing.
When he’s not here, I’m just sitting around this fucking trailer all day thinking about how good it felt to hear his husky moan while my dick was buried inside him.
He made all of my fight and drive vanish when we fucked. I didn’t want to be anywhere else but right there in that bed with him.
Forever.
Which is why I have to get out. If I don’t win this fight and earn my spot on the HellCats, I don’t know what will happen to me.
The backdoor creaks open, and the man who has plagued my thoughts for days walks onto the grass with a sheepish look on his face.
The impulse to say hello and ask how work went is almost too strong to resist, but I manage to stop myself.
I set my sights on the punching bag and go to town.
Gabe approaches, standing a few feet away, watching as I battle this bag.
I try to ignore him—I really do.
But he’s standing there in sleeveless flannel and a black baseball cap, and fuck if he doesn't look so good.
I stop training, letting the bag swing in the air until it settles. “What?” I ask.
Silence. He just stares at me.
I lean against the tree with one hand and sigh. “Gabe, I can’t do this. It’s too much.”
When I look at him again, his expression nearly breaks my heart.
“Look…I’m sorry, but we just can’t do this. We can’t hook up and stuff. It’s not you. I just—”
I rub my eyes, trying to figure out how to say this.
“Was I bad?” he whispers.
My stomach drops. “What? No! You were fucking awesome; that’s the problem.”
He looks at me, confused.
I huff in frustration, trying to find the words. “I just shouldn’t have fucked you, alright? That was a mistake.”
I regret saying it immediately.
Gabe’s mouth falls open, and his eyes look shattered. “Gabe, I didn’t—”
He shakes his head and backs away, wrapping his arms around his body.
I open my mouth to try to speak, but the words won’t come.
I want to tell him it’s because I fucking care—too much.
That he’s the only one who has the power to bring me to my knees, and that if we kiss and fuck and god knows what else, I’ll lose myself in him forever, but then fucking Linda walks into the backyard.
“Boys, I'd like you both to come on over for dinner,” she says.
We both just stare at her in disbelief. “Are you fucking serious?” I ask as sweat streams down my face.
She throws her hands on her hips and barks, “Yes. Dinner’s ready, and you both have to come. And don’t say fuck!”
She leaves in a huff, and I scrub my hands over my face.
“I’m gonna lose my mind,” I say under my breath.
“I WANT YOU AT THE TABLE IN FIVE MINUTES,” Linda yells from the front yard, her voice echoing through the trailer park.
“Jesus!” I turn to Gabe and ask, “Can you believe this?”
But he’s not paying attention to Linda. His narrowed eyes bore into me like lasers. Then he sneers and walks off, leaving me alone in the backyard with nothing but a punching bag and my guilt.