4. Jaxon #2
Drops of sweat flew off my face, my calves burned, and my quads threatened to resign under these work conditions, yet I persisted.
It was luck that Elio pressed the stop button first, slowing down to a trot, then a stroll, then a complete halt.
He picked up his towel, water bottle, and phone before I chose to spare my legs a sudden death and killed the machine.
I hadn’t been joking. I would take this place despite him being here first. If he couldn’t live with me on campus, then I would take it all from him.
If he could, then I might be able to share.
I wasn’t going to crawl into my room and resign myself to the worst impulses that plagued me, that plagued my family.
Not all Mercer boys had to be indulgent, self-destructive sons of bitches. One was enough for this generation.
Elio had walked away from me without another look, making himself comfortable on the incline bench with heavy weight mounted on each side of the bar.
The press was up against the far wall, and straight across was a shelf with dumbbells positioned in front of a mirror.
Traditionally, this was my first workout, warming up my arms and shoulders.
I positioned myself before the mirror with a twenty-five-pound dumbbell in each hand.
In the reflection, just to my right, I could see him on the incline bench, dark olive shorts lifted up his thighs, knees spread wide, feet facing outward, chest heaving with each breath as he lowered his arms and falling as he pushed the bar up.
When his arms trembled, he thrust the bar higher, hooking it in its place and letting his arms fall to his sides.
He sat up, lifted the bottom edge of his sleeveless white T-shirt, and wiped his brow, his towel trapped on the bench under his ass.
Those abs glistened with sweat. What do you taste like? I wondered, wanting to set myself on fire or beat myself with the dumbbell that I curled upward.
When I counted off ten reps, I bent my lower back and leaned down, placing the dumbbells on the floor before my feet, my gaze locked onto the mirror.
He looked.
It was instant, gone before it had happened, but he had looked at me. And judging by the frown that creased the space between his eyebrows, he had looked at my ass rather than my face.
Straightening, I watched his reflection until he looked again. His gaze slashed the room at the level of my waist, his lips forming a pout.
This was why I had snapped last night. In the hours that had followed our encounter, I hadn’t been able to worm out the real reason, but it stared at me now.
In fact, it stared at my ass. The things I’d told him about every college having a dozen of his kind weren’t only a provocation. They were rooted in truth.
And they sparked the flames of hatred in me again.
He was a liar and a hypocrite. It was the same as it had always been. At fourteen years old, going to the local swimming pool in Pittsburgh, Elio had looked at me this way.
Maybe it wouldn’t hold in the court of law, but I knew a fuck-me glance when I saw one.
First, by instinct and then from experience, I knew it.
His gaze lingered on me just a moment longer than it needed to.
When we spoke, he looked into my eyes like he was searching for my soul.
When I laughed, he looked at my lips, the front teeth that were slightly larger than the rest, the dimples emerging on each side of my face.
And when I set my hand on my stomach, both feeling myself and feeling the temperature between us, his gaze followed.
In Still Water Cove, when we lay on our beds, only small lamps gave us light, and when we talked endlessly into the night, Elio’s head faced me.
He would listen to me rambling, and he would watch me without breaking his attention.
When the bullies rounded me with the talk of my brother’s lavish parties that left entire floors of Orbit hotels in ruin, Elio stood between them and me.
How could I not fall in love?
How could I not lose my heart to a beautiful friend who listened and cared?
And here it was again. Just like last night when I stepped out of the shower and basically served myself on a cushion for his hungry eyes, Elio was looking, minding, and undressing me.
Elio looked at his hands, folded between his legs, then shoved himself back on the bench and gripped the bar. His arms trembled as soon as he lifted the thing, thrusting it high and letting it slowly sink down to his swelling pecks.
I did my set at the same time, wondering if I would need to run over and rescue him from a self-induced choking under the bar. But I didn’t. Elio wavered around the seventh push and replaced the bar safely above, breathing deeply with his arms hanging on each side of his body, limp and exhausted.
As I lowered my dumbbells to the floor, I slowed down, leaning and watching.
He didn’t look right away, holding that gaze firmly on an empty wall.
He fought hard, but he lost the battle two seconds later.
His eyes shifted, his gaze sliding over me, pausing on my figure as I rose, then moving down to the floor in shame and self-hatred.
Oh, I knew him. I had always known him. I just didn’t think I would find myself so tempted to let him play his games with me again.
Before even a full minute had passed, Elio furiously reached for the bar, gripping it tightly with his hands.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“Good thing you’re not the one doing it,” Elio replied. His words followed mine so quickly that I had no doubt he had been waiting for an opening.
No, I decided. We are not done yet.
“You’re weak,” I said, glad to be right and offensive at the same time.
Elio still held the bar, but he didn’t take it off the safety hooks.
He knew I wasn’t shit-talking. He hesitated a few moments, then let his arms drop.
With the sort of heaviness everyone who truly worked out knew well, Elio got up.
He stretched his arms, pushed his shoulders out, and twisted his torso.
His feet were heavy as they led him to me.
I looked at my own reflection in the mirror. The anger I found on my face surprised me. It scared me. I put my hands on my hips and turned around.
Elio stood a safe distance from me. He looked at me, torn between that signature disgust a self-hating closet case like him would have and genuine shame.
“What?” I bit off, unable to soften my voice when speaking to him.
Elio steeled himself visibly, some of the natural warmth leaving his eyes. He was deceiving like that. He was kind and sweet and lovable until you loved him. Then, he was a cold-hearted monster. But as he took another step toward me, he swallowed. “Your nose.”
“What about it?” I asked, lifting my hand and feeling the small bump in the middle of it. A guy had once told me it was cute. Seeing how I’d been with a few dozen in the last two years and none echoed the sentiment, I felt like he was an unreliable judge of aesthetics.
“Was it me?” Elio asked, voice rough as if pushing the question out required physical force.
“No,” I said, making his narrow eyes widen for an instant. “I’m in a habit of having it broken by homophobic brutes.”
Elio looked down, then turned around. He stalked back to his bench.
“Wait,” I said.
He stopped, looking over his shoulder.
“That was…uncalled for,” I said not too regretfully. “Why are you asking?”
Elio shrugged. “Needed to know for sure.” He walked the rest of the way to his bench and then sat down. His strength was back, and he began to lift the bar again.
My parents had offered to pay for the correction some three months after the farewell party. I’d come home for holidays, dreading the possibility of running into Elio while I was there. I figured the crookedness reminded my parents that neither I nor my nose was straight.
I didn’t go through with it, even if the idea had been tempting. It was a good reminder of who I was and who I needed to be. Softness only led to pain and disaster. I needed to own my flaws. I needed to wear them openly, or I would drown in them.
Since that night, after everyone had learned where my true desires lay, I never hid another day. It didn’t make things easy, but it was a hell of a lot easier than pretending.
And for all the pain it had caused me, being slammed by Elio’s forehead awakened something else in me, making Elio responsible for two awakenings of my life.
The response he gave to my terrible attempt at kissing him told me that it was better to be out in the daylight, free of the burdens, than to hide like a creature of the night in some dank cavern.
At the end of the day, I pitied him.
I pitied him because I knew him. He was me from some years ago.
Few of us grew up without hating ourselves at some point in our lives. Some grew out of it. Others needed a good punch to see the truth. And yet others, the worst ones of all, never had the balls to leap.
Elio ignored me for the rest of his workout, and I didn’t tug the leash he was on. It was a small step, but a step nevertheless. God knew Ronan could never exercise a shred of self-control, and there the problems lay. If I could control myself, I could succeed.