Max
The room is cast in that uniquely gray-blue early morning light, the city outside calm and still for once. There are no cars passing or birds tweeting, just the low, even sound of Kyle breathing steadily next to me.
I switch off my alarm so it doesn’t wake him, shifting onto my side.
He let me cut his hair last week because it was starting to get knotty, and I notice a section next to his ear that I must have missed, reaching out to tuck it back.
His dark lashes fan out across his cheek, his arm still cradled against his torso in its sling.
He’s frowning in his sleep, his lips slack and slightly parted.
I suck in a shaky breath of our combined scents as the memory of last night comes back to me in a dizzying rush that makes my heart thump unevenly.
The quiet rustle of the sheets, the weight of the darkness and the hot press of his hand against my chest. Our legs are still tangled just like they were last night, like we barely moved apart as we slept.
I stay in the warm safety of the bed until enough time has passed that I’m definitely going to be a little late for work.
I disentangle myself from him painfully slowly, easing out of the bed so gently the mattress barely dips when I lift myself off of it.
I hold my breath as I prise open the door, praying it doesn’t creak and stealing one last glance at Kyle, who sighs in his sleep and buries his face deeper into his pillow.
I make it to the gym just after 7:30 a.m., and Marcus taps his watch before handing me a coffee, looking bleary-eyed himself.
It’s supposed to be an admin day. Something we force ourselves to do at least once a quarter, just to keep the “boring” parts of running a business like The Foundry from spiraling completely out of control while we do the fun bits of training boxers and running classes.
The problem is, I can barely sit still. I feel terrible, because Marcus is always the one taking the lead on this stuff, but today more than ever the endless stack of paperwork feels like a totally insurmountable task.
My knee bounces under my desk as I read the same line of a spreadsheet for the fourth time, compulsively clicking my pen under my thumb.
“Max,” Marcus says, his gruff voice breaking through the faint sound of the heating unit and weights clanging from beyond the office door.
I blink, looking away from the screen for the first time in what feels like hours, and struggling to focus on his face. He looks serious, but that’s not unusual.
“Yeah?” I say, my voice coming out as a dry croak. I take a sip of water. “What’s up?”
“You’ve entered the invoice for last month’s power bill three times over,” he says dryly, slotting his pen behind his ear and leaning so far back in his desk chair it looks like it might tip him out. “And no offense, but you look like shit. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I lie, the word sounding unconvincing even to me. “Just tired. I crashed on Kyle’s couch last night. It’s seen better days, let’s put it that way.”
Marcus’ dark eyebrows knit together, his eyes studying me for a long beat. He knows me well enough that he’s clearly not buying it, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he closes his laptop with a snap and stretches his arms above his head, his back cracking.
“Okay, fuck admin day,” he says, pushing himself away from the desk. “We’re not getting any more done today. It’s nearly three—Jed’ll be in soon, he can cover things until close. Let’s clock out and get out of here.”
Half an hour later, we’re sitting side by side at the bar in Duke’s.
The after-work rush hasn’t hit yet, so the bar is quiet, a few regulars scattered on tables.
There’s a sports broadcast on low volume playing on a small television above the bar, and we’re both half-watching it as we nurse a much-needed beer.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Marcus says after taking a slow draw of his drink. “About the gym. We’re growing faster than we can keep up with, and days like today are making it pretty clear that we suck at the back office stuff. And I know you’ve been suggesting we hire someone for admin for years…”
“And you’ve finally accepted that I’m always right and we should do everything I say?” I grin.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I wouldn’t go that far. But you might be right about this. I’m kind of sick of us both putting off every piece of paperwork until the last minute. Let’s just fucking hire someone who actually knows what they’re doing and stick to what we do best.”
“Well, thank fuck you’ve come around, and cheers to that,” I say, clinking my beer against his.
I watch the screen but I’m not following the game.
I wonder what Kyle’s doing back at his apartment.
I know he wouldn’t have wanted me to wake him up before I left this morning, but anxiety tugs at my chest anyway.
I think about the piece of hair I missed, and how I should cut it for him when I go over tonight.
I clear my throat.
“I’m sure Alex will be pleased to have you around a bit more,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual to mask the awkward segue I’m about to make. “You’d never, uh, been with another alpha before Alex, right?”
Marcus pauses for a beat too long after the question—because of course he does, it was a weird fucking pivot—and I can sense the confused frown dawning on his face even though we’re both facing ahead, ostensibly watching the game.
I’m a split second away from trying to laugh the question off as a bad joke when he answers. “No. Why?”
“Just curious,” I shrug. “How did you, um, know? That you wanted something more with him?”
Marcus glances at me sideways, his gaze lingering on my profile before he looks back at the screen and takes a slow sip of his beer.
“It was clear to me pretty fucking quickly,” he says.
“The first time I met him, he just… I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him afterward. ”
I think about the fact that Kyle and I have barely spent more than a couple of days apart since we were kids.
How even before everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, he’s always been the first person I thought to call.
I think about how I haven’t been able to get the image of him falling apart under my hands in the shower out of my head since it happened.
How I can still feel the ghost of his lips against mine from last night.
“And you’d never felt that way about an alpha before? ”
“I’d never felt that way about anyone before,” he says, a small, uncharacteristically dopey smile dawning across his face. “But,” he tips his beer at me, “I’d also never really been into omegas, if I’m totally honest. Male or female. I tried, sure, but… they never really did it for me.”
Hmm. I’m definitely into omegas. Strictly female omegas. And so is Kyle, unless he’s one hell of an actor.
“I was in denial for a long time,” Marcus continues. “Alex just helped open me up.”
I raise my eyebrows at him with a smirk.
He puts his head in his hands. “Jesus, not like that. Well, actually—”
I snort a laugh.
“Look,” he continues, shaking his head. “I’m just saying that before I met Alex, I didn’t know exactly what I was or what I wanted—gay, straight, omegas, alphas, whatever.
I don’t even think it matters anymore. This sounds corny as fuck, but Alex just felt right.
Once I realized that and took the gigantic stick out of my ass, all the reasons not to be with him stopped mattering. ”
Something complicated twists in my stomach, and I sigh heavily. You were always the best option. “You make it sound so fucking simple.”
Marcus laughs, a little bitterly. “Being with Alex is simple, sure. But I won’t lie to you: the world hasn’t made it easy for us. We get a lot of shit when we don’t hide, and you know Alex—he’s not one for hiding.”
I chuckle. “No, he’s not.” I take another pensive sip of my drink, and Marcus does the same. “I’m sorry you get shit, that makes me… it’s terrible, man. It must be worth it though, right?”
“Fuck yeah,” he says, without hesitation.
“I’d take ten times more abuse if it meant coming home to him at the end of every day.
Not being with him was never really an option for me, once I figured out what I was feeling.
Look, I’m not gonna ask why you’re bringing this up, because it’s none of my business, but…
don’t shy away from what you want, dude, not if it feels good.
And right. You can’t hide from this shit, trust me. ”
I nod, slowly. “When did you get so fucking cerebral, man? This is an exceptionally un-Marcus level of self-reflection.”
“Hey, I can do emotions. I read,” he says with an offended scowl. “And it helps that Alex is the fucking end-boss of emotional maturity.”
I laugh, but I feel like someone’s put all my emotions in a washer-dryer and turned it up to the highest setting. And unfortunately, I don’t have my own personal emotional guru to help me work through them.
“Okay, so what about taking a dick up the ass?” I say, needing to shift the mood to something less… confronting. It works—Marcus nearly spits out his beer, giving me a horrified look.
“Okay, I think we’re done here,” he says grimly. “Let’s talk about sports until we’ve finished these, and then I’m going home, and we’re going to pretend you never asked me that, okay?”
We manage to get through the rest of the game without any more dick-talk, and by the time we part ways, I feel… not clearer, exactly, but lighter. Like maybe it’s okay not to have everything figured out in my own head yet.
But I’m certain of one thing: I need to talk to Kyle.
I open my phone to let him know I’m on my way back to his apartment, only to find a text from him I must have missed from about half an hour ago.
Kyle: Hey man, take the night off tonight. I’ll be fine. See you in a couple of days.