Chapter 7 #2
Right as Caleb steadies himself and reaches up to wrap an arm around the back of Asher’s neck, Asher’s body moves with a mind of its own.
In one fluid motion, he lets himself tumble over the front of Caleb’s torso, leaving his ankles hooked tight around Caleb’s neck.
With a combination of momentum and gravity, he tucks his body into a roll and slams Caleb back-first onto the mat.
It’s as though every cell in his body predicted Caleb’s finishing move—prince’s throne. His muscles remembered being eighteen and memorizing Caleb’s entire move set by heart.
He knew.
“How did you—” Caleb’s eyes are wide as he scrambles to his feet.
Asher collects himself and tucks his hammering heart away inside a shrug. A nonanswer.
Like he said, it’s not a thing unless he makes it one. Which he’s not.
Caleb huffs out a laugh, disbelief and surprise coalescing into recognition. “You know my moves.”
“Lucky guess,” Asher mutters. He can’t bring himself to meet Caleb’s questioning gaze. “Keep going.”
And so they do, moving on to brainstorming new sequences of moves.
But through it all, something feels off.
Caleb’s holding back. Asher sees it in the way Caleb opens his mouth, wanting to offer an opinion but shutting it again.
The way Caleb starts a sequence but gives up partway through, arms falling to his side in defeat.
“What if you lock in your submission hold and I sort of . . .” Asher mimes twisting around and catching Caleb in a modified backbreaker—a codebreaker.
“Can’t.” Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. “Prichard says no one’s allowed to counter it. You’ll have to tap out the second I lock it in. It’s meant to preserve the integrity of the hold.”
“Okay, so what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know!” The words explode out of Caleb. He stalks back and forth across the length of the gym, running his fingers through his hair again. Asher is starting to think he does that when he’s stressed—and not just to draw attention to his insufferably perfect hair.
“It’s just . . .” Caleb starts and stops, searching for the right words before he tries again. “I don’t know what else to do. It’s like there’s a creative block in my head, and I can’t get over it. I haven’t come up with a new move in months. Everything is so”—his face twists—“bleh.”
“But you want to try something new?” Asher clarifies.
“Of course I do.”
Asher gives it a moment’s contemplation. He has an idea. A really good one.
Going through all of this extra effort for Caleb Knight, of all people, is mind-boggling. With minimal days off, there are much better ways in which Asher can spend his precious time. Still, a small part of him thinks this could be fun. He kind of wants to find out.
He bumps his shoulder against Caleb’s, shooting him a conspiratorial smile. “Do you trust me?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.”
Asher flounces off to the corner of the gym where his phone continues to light up with a rapid stream of incoming texts from the group chat where Bailey and Thea are trying—and failing—to explain the latest memes to Alexei.
He swipes the notifications away and instead scrolls through his contacts until he lands on the one he’s looking for.
“What did you do now?” The familiar Southern drawl sends a rush of homesickness through Asher.
“Helloooo,” Asher says.
“I swear to God, kid,” Bate says, audibly rolling her eyes. “A new batch of trainees just arrived and if anyone does anything stupid while I’m away, that’s on you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I miss you too. So, quick question: how would you feel if your favorite student borrowed your bike?”
“Extremely distraught knowing that this is just a formality and you’re going to do it anyway.”
“I’m not hearing a ‘no.’”
Bate pauses, then lets out a long-suffering exhale. “Please be careful with Valkyrie.”
“You named your bike? Yikes.”
“Yours is called Sephiroth, so perhaps those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.”
“Oi! Ava wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that!”
Bate chuckles, gruff, more of a vibration from the back of her throat than anything.
That sound, the familiarity of their easy repartee shatters the wall he’s forced himself to put up, and for the first time, it dawns upon Asher how afraid he is.
The thought comes as a surprise but lands with an ache he knows he has been harboring for some time: he’s petrified that he will let himself and everyone else down.
Back in high school, Asher was a part of the track and field team.
He liked running, so much so that it remained a part of his daily routine even upon graduating.
The second his sneakers hit the pavement, his vision would tunnel in on someone running ahead of him—the sprawling universe narrowed down a singular goal to overtake.
All he had to do was run his heart out. The harder part was what came after: keeping a constant pace and ensuring he kept the lead.
It’s a lot like that now.
Back at the Performance Center, it was just him and a dream, one still distant and half formed. He ran his heart out, doing whatever he could to make that dream take shape. Sprinting toward a goal.
Now he’s almost there. Finally, he stands at the edge of a cliff, staring out at the unraveling of a lifelong dream.
The one constant driving force in his life.
A gold belt finally within reach. He’s so close.
The stakes are higher than before, but so is the possibility of failing.
Now more than ever, he has something to lose.
He’ll do whatever it takes. If Management tells him to run, he’ll sprint till his soles bleed. If Management tells him to jump, he’ll ask, How high?
He’ll do it all because he loves this dream.
He knows that for a fact. Yet there is a part of him, a tiny voice in the back of his head that whispers, What if it doesn’t work out?
What if he ran so hard only to find that the dream doesn’t want him back?
What if he made it this far, only to fall short at the very last second?
What else will he dream about? What else will he chase after, if anything at all?
“The storage PIN is 1985,” Bate adds when the silence drags on, “but you probably already knew that.”
Asher smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know me well.”
“Has anyone told you you’ll drive me to an early grave?”
“Love you too, Bate.”
When Asher hangs up, Caleb is chewing on his lower lip. “What’s happening?” Caleb asks.
Asher grabs Caleb by the shoulder and feels him stiffen. “We’re going to do something fun!”
“Right now? But”—Caleb gestures helplessly at the mats—“practice.”
Rolling his eyes, Asher yanks Caleb toward the exit, putting an extra pep in his step because wallowing in his feelings achieves absolutely nothing.
It will only give him a rash. “Loosen up, sweetheart,” he says.
The smile on his lips finally reaches his eyes when Caleb concedes, shoulders relaxing beneath his fingers. “Trust me.”
“Absolutely not.”
Asher and Caleb stand in the middle of a mostly empty storage container staring down at a shiny ruby-red Harley-Davidson. Caleb looks like he might either run away or have a nervous breakdown.
“C’mon,” Asher says. He snaps a rubber band around the end of a hastily tied braid. A helmet dangles by its strap on the crook of his index finger.
“Ross, no.”
“Ross, yes,” Asher replies gleefully, one leg already straddling the leather seat.
“Can you even ride this thing?” Caleb hisses.
“Obviously,” Asher answers indignantly. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”
A flush settles over the scrunch of Caleb’s nose and the well of worry between his brows. Weird. Asher didn’t know Caleb was capable of forming expressions outside of scowling and dramatic brooding.
Asher sets the helmet down. He studies Caleb, and Caleb is worrying his lower lip, still glaring at the bike as though it has personally offended him. “Look, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah, no. This is fine.” Caleb repeats the words to himself, stomping to the door before he spins back around. “Worst-case scenario: I die in a badass accident, right?” He hops up and down, shaking his hands out by his side as he hypes himself up.
Horrifyingly, it’s kind of cute.
Still muttering under his breath, Caleb snatches the second helmet propped atop the gas tank. He jams it onto his head, fringe flattening against his forehead as he fastens the strap.
“Actual worst-case scenario: Prichard finds out and skins you alive,” Asher tells him.
“Been there, done that.” Caleb inhales and swings a leg across the seat.
A Harley-Davidson is by no means a small bike, but Asher and Caleb are both fully grown men who work out for a living. A soft “oh” slips out when Asher finds Caleb’s chest pressed up against his back.
“Let’s get this over with,” Caleb grumbles. His voice comes out low and sharp, breath tickling the back of Asher’s ear.
There might be a chance that Asher didn’t quite think this through.
Shoving the thought firmly to the back of his mind, Asher kicks away the side stand, revs the engine, and soon they’re speeding out of the lot, storage shutters coming down behind them.
“Ross, are you fucking insane? Slow down!” Caleb begs. He lets out a tiny yelp when Asher swerves onto the main road, feeling an unnameable yet familiar rush when the grip around his waist tightens.
“You’ll be fine!” Asher shouts back through a slightly hysterical laugh. “Hold on tight!”
By the time Asher speeds into the parking lot, a pink haze blankets the setting sun, and he’s pretty sure his legs have lost all blood circulation. He kills the engine, pulls off his helmet, and stretches out the cricks in his neck, all before prying Caleb’s arms off his waist.
“Are we there yet?” Caleb asks, voice muffled by Asher’s shoulder. He cracks an eye open and lurches away from Asher.
“Yup.”
“Where is ‘there’ exactly?”