12. Isaiah
Isaiah
February, London
No, it was no more than a silly infatuation. It was just because he had those perfect fucking abs that Isaiah wanted to feel flexing beneath his hands and a mouthwatering cock that he could vividly imagine choking on. That was all.
Getting away for the day was a good idea.
It would give him a chance to sort through his thoughts.
Being in his uncle’s office often felt like a reprieve from the heavy, insular atmosphere of Oxford, but today it was something else altogether.
The office was bouncing with energy. News of the reduction of Chris Green’s ban was on everyone’s lips, and Isaiah had more people slapping him on the back and thanking him for his work than he could keep track of.
“We’ll ask him to sign with us again, obviously.” Carl was speaking with his assistant, Melody.
“If you don’t, I’m sure Sue or Brea will scoop him up,” she replied. “Talent like that, and a little smidge of scandal with a redemption arc—sponsor catnip.”
Isaiah rolled his eyes. Chris Green’s redemption arc was almost entirely manufactured, and everyone in the office knew it.
“He said he’ll sign. But he’s gone back to school, so you might not have time to push that ‘redemption arc,’” he said, letting all the venom he felt drip into the final words.
A tiny twinge of guilt fluttered in his chest. He knew he was being too judgemental about this; Chris was a victim of the system as much as anyone, and he’d argued more than enough moral responsibility papers to understand the two sides of the coin.
He knew Green wasn’t as cocky as he came across; he’d seen glimmers of vulnerability in those emails, which of course he’d promptly bulldozed straight through because something about Green got under his skin, and it wasn’t just the way he’d spoken to Uncle Carl.
Isaiah popped out for a quick lunch at the salad bar down the road with Melody then dropped Carl’s order on his desk.
The man had barely been off the phone since they’d walked in together that morning.
Then he settled in to review some of the offers that were coming in for the rest of Carl’s roster, paying special attention to anything for Malek.
He wanted his friend to do well, sue him.
There was a commotion at the front of the office, and Isaiah knew instinctively that Green had arrived.
He sank lower in his desk chair, not wanting to turn into the person Green seemed to pull out of him.
Words drifted through the door, laughter.
He heard Carl congratulating Green, and Green demurring.
The knock on his open door was light. Isaiah didn’t look up. “If it’s another protein bar brand wanting Mal to post about ‘gut resilience,’ I’m declining on moral grounds.”
Melody leaned against the frame. “Carl wants you out front.”
Isaiah’s shoulders tightened. “Why?”
“Paperwork for Green.” She gave him a look.
He sighed, pushing his chair back. “I’m working.”
“You’re hiding.”
“Same thing.”
“You know,” she said quietly, “you’re the only person in this office who looks like someone’s died every time Chris Green’s name comes up.”
“Because every time his name comes up, I end up with more work that distracts me from my research. I need to submit my thesis in, like, three days. Even being here today was probably a mistake, but…” It was a false problem, but Melody didn’t know that.
His proposal was ready to go. Well, actually, two of them were.
He’d developed two topics, the safe one and the one he really wanted to do.
He’d been through them both with his future supervisor and she supported him either way. The only choice was which to lock in.
“But you have a weird little gratitude complex over your uncle rescuing you from homelessness even though you’ve more than paid him back for anything he fronted.”
Isaiah glared. “Yes, that. Thanks, Mel.”
Melody arched a perfectly groomed brow at him. “Well, bring the paperwork now and get him out of your hair for good.”
Isaiah blew out a breath through his nose and shoved his chair back. “Fine.”
They walked down the corridor together, the office still buzzing with that weird celebratory current that had taken hold since the news broke.
Melody lowered her voice. “Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
Melody ignored him. “What is your actual problem with him?”
Isaiah didn’t hesitate. “He doped. We all know he did it.”
Melody sighed. “It’s more complicated than—”
“He made a choice.” Isaiah cut in, his voice sharper than he meant it to be. “Everyone keeps acting like he slipped on a banana peel and landed in a vial of PEDs. There are athletes who never get contracts because of people like him.”
“Isaiah—”
“And now we’re throwing him a parade? Champagne toasts and a comeback arc?” He laughed under his breath. “Brilliant. Love a redemption story. Very marketable.”
They turned the last corner into reception. Melody stopped walking. Isaiah took two more steps before he realised she wasn’t beside him.
And then he saw why. Chris Green stood at the front desk. Not moving. Not pretending he wasn’t listening. Just…taking it. Isaiah’s stomach dipped. How much had he heard?
The receptionist hovered awkwardly nearby, smile frozen in place. A heavy glass bottle of whisky sat on the counter beside a bouquet wrapped in brown paper.
Isaiah rolled his eyes automatically. Of course he’d brought tribute like some disgraced knight returning from exile.
Chris’s head stayed bowed, gaze fixed somewhere near the floor tiles, hands shoved into the pockets of a grey hoodie like he wanted to fold into himself.
Carl, oblivious, was mid-flow. “—and going back to finish your degree, that’s what I’m happiest about. I shouldn’t have encouraged you to leave in the first place.”
The words grated. Isaiah had fought so damn hard for his place in academia, to be able to stay after his parents had kicked him out.
Hell, he’d turned to sex work to pay his tuition—not that he regretted that choice.
But fuck, Green could just saunter back into an abandoned degree like it was nothing and then blame Carl for his decision to leave in the first place.
That was bollocks. It wasn’t fair how things just fell into place for the man while he did nothing to help himself, just floated along like a fucking jellyfish.
“He’s not a kid,” Isaiah said before he could stop himself.
Carl looked over, brightening. “Ah, Isaiah, do you have the papers for Chris?”
Isaiah stepped forward, folder held in front of him like a shield. “Green made his own decisions. No one forced him.” He ran a hand through his mint-green hair, agitation prickling under his skin. “He’s a grown man.”
Carl’s smile strained. Green shuffled his feet, he still hadn’t looked up.
Something in Isaiah twisted. He had the uncomfortable sense of having said something true at the wrong volume, in the wrong place.
“Hi, Isaiah,” Green mumbled, staring at the ground.
For a moment, he regretted his words. Then Green lifted his head, and their eyes met.
A strange shiver slid down Isaiah’s spine.
Green didn’t look angry. His eyes widened for a moment and then traced all of Isaiah—not in a lascivious way, more like an inspection, like he wasn’t sure what he was looking at.
Colour drained from his face in real time. His shoulders folded inward, posture caving like he was trying to disappear into himself. He looked…wrecked.
Isaiah’s irritation flickered. This wasn’t the man from their first meeting, the one who’d argued back, who’d met Isaiah’s coldness with fire that threatened to burn them both.
It wasn’t even the man from the emails who’d snarked back at him and mocked his formal signatures. This was someone bracing for impact.
“Paperwork,” Isaiah said, sounding more neutral than he felt.
He held out the folder. Green took it with both hands. They were shaking. Not nerves-before-signing shaking. This was a proper, fine tremor, running through his fingers into the paper.
Isaiah frowned. “It’s just confirmation of the reduction,” he said, automatically slipping into professional cadence. “And acknowledgement of the time served clause.”
Green nodded too quickly. His eyes skimmed the page without landing. When he signed, the pen dragged, ink blotting slightly at the end of his name.
Isaiah watched the signature wobble. He watched Green’s breathing. It seemed shallow and uneven, nothing like you’d expect from a professional marathon runner.
Something about it needled at him.
Carl beamed. “Once that’s sorted, we’d love to bring you back onto the roster. We can make it work around your university commitments.”
Green went very still.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, voice thin.
Carl laughed. “Don’t let Isaiah scare you off. He’s only here when he’s not up at Oxford studying philosophy. I’m very proud of him, really. But we all know he’ll abandon us once he starts his doctorate.”
“Philosophy,” Green repeated, as if the word held far more weight than it should.
Isaiah blinked.
Green stepped back abruptly, like the space itself had become unsafe. “Thank you. For everything. I…I should go.”
Then he was running away, proving he really was as bloody fast as they all said. The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.
The reception area felt oddly hollow.
Melody let out a breath. “Well. That was…”
Isaiah stared at the door. His earlier anger felt distant now. Faded. Replaced with an uneasy weight in his gut. “That was weird,” he muttered.
Carl was already back on his phone. “Big week. Emotions.”
That could be it, but Isaiah couldn’t shake the sense that it was more than that.
Green had looked like he was hanging on by a thread.
It was as though something Isaiah had done had hit a bruise he didn’t know was there.
Had it really been that harsh? Did he really hate Isaiah so much that he couldn’t even look at him?
Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed back so hard. Maybe he was the one who’d driven him away and ruined whatever his uncle was trying to fix—Isaiah was good at that, after all.45