Page 23 of Nothing to Lose

Hunter’s face loses that post-orgasmic euphoria, morphing into something much more vulnerable. This is where I should get up, tell him we can’t keep doing this, and shut it all down. But I can’t. So, I lean down, capturing his lips with mine and pressing hard before pulling back.

“Yeah, I fucking loved it.”

His smile returns, that sexy-as-fuck grin that fills one side of his face. I roll my eyes as I push up off of him, his cum leaking as he leaves my body. My legs are shaking as I get dressed, my ass clenching around nothing, already wanting more of what we just did. I’ve had sex before, but I’ve never experienced anything close to what Hunter and I just did.

We stumble out of the confessional, our sneakers crunching over the leaves and aged stones when two ravens croak from right above us before flying off. It’s followed by the unmistakable call of our names, combined with the heavy steps of someone walking through the forest. Hunter and I both freeze, and my heart bottoms out of my fucking ass.

Hunter reaches for me a moment later, and I shrug him off. His face pinches, hurt etched into his features. I feel guilty for about one second, but I force myself to swallow it down. What the fuck have we done?

“This can’t happen again. It was a one-and-done. We got it out of our system, and now we need to move on.”

“You aren’t fucking serious? Eli . . .” Hunter pleads.

“No. The team will never take me seriously if I’m fucking my stepbrother. I want to lead this team next year, Hunter! I thought at one point you did, too!”

“I do! But I want this more!”

“Well, tough shit! Have you even thought about how our parents would feel? Coach? The team? The fucking school! Let’s pretend we aren’t in some fucked-up blended family now; have you forgotten that we’re gay? Do you see any other openly gay athletes? I’m not about to be the poster child for it. I can’t handle my sexuality being scrutinized publicly when it’s none of anyone’s business! But that’s exactly what will happen.”

“Eli, just let’s talk about this. We can figure out a way through this together if you’ll just . . .” Hunter’s words are cut off by Silas stepping into what’s left standing of the cathedral.

“There you guys are,” he says as he looks around at the ruins surrounding us. His eyes squint when they land on us, probably taking in the hostility permeating the air. Better that than the sex. “Everything okay? Who won?”

“Eli did. We’re good. I’m just pissed to lose. You know, brotherly bullshit,” Hunter says, and I shoot him a glare.

“Well, if you’re done here, let’s get back to the team and let them know. They’re all starving and bitching.”

I nod, stomping out of the crumbled remains, leaving everything that happened between Hunter and me behind in the confessional for the forest to swallow up.

Chapter 15

Eli

Team dinner fucking sucks when my stomach is in goddamn knots, and Hunter’s cum is leaking from my asshole. A reminder of what I gave in to back in the Corvus woods. It shouldn’t be this goddamn hard. There should be no conflict, no anxiety or worry over perception, or the stability of my future as an athlete and as a human on planet Earth. I should be allowed to exist out in the open, unapologetically. But here I am, hiding who I am, over some outdated, barbaric bullshit where everyone assumes every person is straight until proven otherwise. And when they’re proven otherwise, there’s a huge motherfucking chance that things will change. The way they look at you, the way they treat you, who shares meals with you.

I’ve spent my entire life being the version of myself everyone else wanted that I almost forgot there was another version underneath it all, past the son, the friend, the student, the athlete. Not until Hunter broke me right open and reminded me. I’m not ashamed of being gay, despite allowing people to make assumptions about me. I’m completely fine with it. What I am, though, is fucking terrified. What happens after I break the misconception and start correcting everyone? College athletics have a way of turning you into a symbol before it ever allows you to be a person . . . if it ever happens at all. You’re the player first and foremost, the captain, the star; you become your stats, and even though you’re on a team, you’re still competing against each other—for play time, for scouts, for press. People look at you for the jersey you wear before they ever bother learning that there’s a man under it, and somewhere along the way, I started believing that if they knew the real me, they’d stop seeing all my other accomplishments and prevent me from reaching any more.

I’ve never wanted to rock the boat, especially when I’ve spent my life living this way. Over the years, I’ve watched teammates ridicule and make fun of people just because they’re different. They make jokes they think are harmless fun without considering who could be in the room, and the one that stuck the most? The coaches that make it clear that fitting the mold matters more than being yourself. We are a perfectly curated image, and our job isn’t to make a spectacle out of it, it’s to play our part.

So, I learned to adapt, to edit myself and be who they’ve already decided me to be. When everyone around you only knows the version of you that’s been carefully rehearsed, you don’t ask yourself, “Do they like me?” You ask, “Would they like me if they knew the real me?” And isn’t that the most fucked up way to live?

The cruelest part, though? The one that really gets me when I lean into the thought of it all: none of those doubts are organically my own. From the moment I realized I was gay, I was okay with it. It was everyone else that was going to have their expectations destroyed. It’s people’s discomfort, their prejudice, their assumptions about masculinity, athletes, and about what a man is supposed to be. I’ve been carrying around other people’s expectations and thoughts for so long I convinced myself they were my own thoughts. And it’s those thoughts that made me feel like I’ve had to choose between being accepted and being authentic.

It was fine. Until it wasn’t.

And I have Hunter to thank for that.

After dinner, I clean up my mess and decide I’m not ready to face Hunter. I’ve got to get my head on straight before I push my shit further onto him. He doesn’t deserve my bullshit as much as I don’t deserve to carry the burden of everyone else’s.

I catch up with Silas outside the dining hall, students milling around, all dressed in various costumes. “Hey, Silas! You got a minute?”

He turns to face me, pushing his shaggy blond hair out of his face. “Hey, what’s up, man?”

“This is gonna be a weird-ass request, and I hope I’m not putting you out. I really need a break from my living situation. Any chance you’ve got a free couch for the night?”

He regards me for a second but then nods. The relief is instant, followed by a hefty wave of guilt. “Definitely. Are you going to the Fright Night party tonight? Heard it’s going to be a good one.”

“Was planning on skipping, actually.”