ROME
Chapter forty-four
Sweat glides down my hairline, my aching body screaming for me to stop, but I blow out a breath and force the exhaustion away as I push the barbell from my chest and lower it for another. Then another. Halfway up the next rep, my depleting strength threatens to give out completely.
Shit.
I strain myself, fighting the weight to re-rack it. Two tattooed hands curl beside mine to take some of the weight and guide it for me. “You shouldn’t be lifting that much without a spotter.” Xander smiles down at me.
I let my heavy arms fall to my sides. “I’m sure Blade would be happy if that bar did his job for him.”
“Nah, he wouldn’t. He enjoys killing people.”
The weight of Xander’s words don’t affect him like they do me. Killing people. Fucking killing people. They all say it so casually, like taking someone’s life is just another part of their day.
I move out from underneath the bar and sit on the end of the bench, Xander taking the one opposite me.
One upside to this house is the large gym with state-of-the-art equipment. “Thanks,” I breathe, swiping my water bottle from the floor to soothe my dry throat. “Sorry I haven’t seen you much.”
He smiles and shakes his head, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the backyard and lilac sunset. “You’ve had a lot going on.”
“And you?”
He shrugs, gaze sliding back to mine. “Same old shit.”
I can’t say I’ve been a good friend the past three years.
After I was drafted, my career took up most of my time, but Xan has always been…
Xan. If I ever needed him, he was there.
He’s always understood my discomfort toward his family’s activities and has kept it far away from me.
Whenever he saw me, he would drive his mother’s car, never his own.
He wouldn’t talk about what he does, rather choosing to re-watch a football match and help me evaluate the opponent’s weaknesses.
We may have gone down different paths in life, but he’s been my best friend since I was four and he was six.
“Do you want me to kill him?” Xan asks, and I hesitate before picking up my sweat towel.
“Blade? Sure.”
He laughs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Guess you just told me everything I need to know.”
I wipe my face and neck, matching his position. “I told you nothing.”
“So you don’t care about him?”
“I…” I trail off and drop my head. I shouldn’t.
“Don’t think about it. Just answer,” Xan says. “If you never heard his voice again, how would you feel?”
“Like I’d lost my favourite sound,” I answer immediately and then sigh, fisting the towel as I look across to his victorious smile. “Bloody hell,” I mutter.
“I just wanted to make sure this relationship isn’t one sided.”
“It is,” I groan and then rephrase. “It was, then it wasn’t, and now, I’m just…I don’t know.”
“Pissed off.”
I nod and wrap the towel around my neck, tugging at my sweaty hair. I want to punch the wanker and choke him to death, but as quickly as that violent thought enters my mind, it vanishes and all I’m left with is a constant image of his smiling face.
“The media surrounding that video has quietened down a bit,” he sighs.
I lift my eyes to Xander’s. “The world discovering I’m gay could still potentially derail my career.”
His brows draw together. “That’s why you never came out to anyone but me and your family? I know it was because of your parents but…mate,” he sighs. “Being gay isn’t going to pull the pin on your career.”
“It could.”
He smiles. “Fuck anyone who thinks of your sexuality as a bad thing. If they don’t respect that about you, then they aren’t worth a second of your time.
Being gay doesn’t change the fact that you’re a generational talent.
” He raises a finger, and I smile, shaking my head.
“As quoted by David Zane in his speech the night you were drafted.” His smile softens.
“Sometimes, I think you forget you’re allowed to make mistakes too. ”
My mouth parts, and I stare at him for a few beats, my father’s opposing words from when I was fifteen and just made it into Champions League thumping in my head. You’re better than this, Rome. If you keep making mistakes, you’ll be nothing but a washed up has been before you even start.
I’d missed two goals in a row because I’d overcrowded my mind with self-doubt.
We lost that game and my father refused to speak to me for a month afterward.
I mean, he didn’t talk to me much anyway, but it killed me to know how much I disappointed everyone.
From that day on, I trained harder. More often.
I didn’t allow myself to rest unless I was making twenty goals in a row from different positions.
“You’re living your dream,” Xander says, pulling me from my thoughts. “You’re twenty and one of the best players in the top football league. Yes, you have a lot of other shit going on, but…don’t forget that.”
A genuine smile curls my lips. “Thanks.”
He stands and nods. “And as much as I want to sneak you out of here and take you home like I know you want, this house is the safest place for you right now. Besides, I think those two pricks would shoot me in the leg if I tried, just to prove a point.”
“Mmm,” I hum. “That’s also something I’m having a hard time coming to terms with. Rain hunts people and sends his brother to kill them.”
“Your best friend does the same,” Xan points out.
“I’m not dating you.” Fuck, did I really just use the word dating in such a blasé manner? And fuck, he’s right. I’m a hypocrite.
His head tips back with a laugh. “Although I have no interest in dick whatsoever, you couldn’t handle me.”
I nod between my legs, a wide grin tugging my lips. “You couldn’t handle me.”
“I can’t even argue that point, because no, I couldn’t.”
“When the fuck has he seen you naked?” Rain’s voice booms across the room.
Xander’s smile turns mischievous. “Plenty of times.”
Rain’s blazing gaze narrows on me. “The only person who is ever allowed to see that giant fucking cock is me. Am I clear?”
I snatch my water bottle and stalk toward Rain. When I ghost his mouth with mine, his breath audibly hitches. “You want it? Beg for it.” I brush past him and head upstairs to call my mother and sisters for the third time today.
My steps slow out of the wardrobe when the soft melody of piano keys echoes through the silence. Quietly opening the door, I walk down the hall toward the familiar sound. When I’m standing at the threshold of Rain’s studio, I realise what song he’s playing. Better Days by Dermot Kennedy.
Of course, he knows my favourite song.
Goosebumps flow over my bare torso as I lean against the door frame, continuing to listen, the lyrics playing in my head. My heart skips, and I snap straight when the sound halts.
“Come here,” he commands. I stay rooted in place, debating whether to retreat. “Now, Rome.”
Drawing a deep breath, I hesitantly step into the room.
A lamp identical to the one in my bedroom glows behind him sat at the piano.
He nods to the chair, and, despite my brain telling me to leave, that wretched part gravitates me toward him.
He stands to grip my shoulders, forcing me to sit where he just was.
I nervously rub my thumbs against my fingers when he takes a seat behind me, forcing me to inch forward to give him room.
Why can I not just scream or throw this chair at him? Why is my heart not racing out of anger instead of nerves? Why am I drawn to him?
His breath fans my cheek, arms gliding past me to rest his fingers on the keys. The beginning melody starts again, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I watch his fingers move with ease, his leg grazing mine each time his foot pushes the peddle below.
“Close your eyes,” he whispers.
I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes, heart thrashing in my chest. It’s like he deliberately knew it would tug at my heart.
Screw him, because it’s working. I’m relaxing back into him, my hands sliding onto his thighs, and I’m forgetting every fucked-up thing that’s happening in my life.
All I can focus on is his body against mine and the song.
He’s a prick, an asshole, a bloody fucking wanker, but the thought of him doing this for anyone else boils my blood.
“I will spend every day of my life fighting to be worthy of you,” he whispers in my ear, and my heart stops.
“You can hate me, try to banish me from your life, and I will come crawling back, begging for you. I don’t give a fuck how desperate or pathetic I look.
My life is nothing without you.” The warmth of his lips heats my cheek, the soft kiss unwanted by my brain but craved by every other part of me.
We’ve only known each other a few months, so why do I feel like letting him go would be the worst decision of my life?