Page 26 of Iron

“I know that. Up here.” I tap my temple. “Doesn’t always make it to the rest of me.”

Geoff nods slowly, choosing his words with genuine care. “Trust, real trust, especially after an awful experience… look, let’s be blunt?”

I nod in relief.

“You do not have to bottom for someone just because they want it, or because you think you’re supposed to. It’s something you build to, with someone who’s actually earns it. Slowly, if that’s what you need. There should not be any rush. Not if you are building a relationship.”

“What if Gavin doesn’t want to wait for that?”

“Then he’s not the guy for you, and better you find that out early.” Geoff says it plainly, no judgment, just fact. “But from everything Ben’s told me, that man’s spent weeks tying himself in knots just over how he looked at you. I don’t think patience is gonna be the problem.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I don’t even know how to tell him. Any of it. The stuff with Matt, or that I’m scared, or that I want this and yet some part of me still flinches. Dammit, I don’t want to flinch.”

“You tell him the truth when you’re ready. Only as much of it as you want to give him at a time. Real trust gets built one honest piece at a time, not delivered all at once.” Geoff picks his club back up, though he doesn’t start working on it, just holds it. “And for what it’s worth, that you’re even asking this question, thinking this hard about doing it right instead of just doing it? That tells me you already know more than you think you do.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Trust doesn’t feel like much of anything until suddenly it does.” He smiles, small and warm. “Took me and Ben a long time to get where we are. Longer than either of us expected. Worth every bit of the wait. The angst.”

I nod, something in my chest loosening slightly, not fixed, not solved, but lighter than it was when I walked in.

“Thanks, Geoff.”

“Anytime, kid.” He goes back to his stringing, letting me sit with the quiet a moment longer before adding, without looking up, “For what it’s worth. Whenever you’re ready, if you’re ready, that man would be lucky to have you trust him with any of this. Not the other way around.”

He looks at me and takes a breath. Then continues.

“He has some damage to get over, too. Ben mentioned someone named Marius Webb. Wrecked him up pretty bad.” He looks down at the club and resumes winding. “Trust will be needed both ways. Just so you know.”

I close the web browser. Marius Webb is a total asshole. That shit had to really hurt bad. Being strung along for three years only to have the man you love marry a woman? I’d like to find this guy and…

So we are both damaged goods. We both need to heal.

It’s a starting point.

24

GAVIN

Iknow exactly which practice green he’s on before I even round the corner, which should embarrass me more than it does at this point. I’m so gone for this guy.

Four weeks of half-formed resolutions. Four weeks of Netra’s voice in my head asking if I’m going to keep running. And here I am, standing at the edge of the putting green with a bucket of balls I don’t actually need, watching TJ line up a twenty-footer with Caleb crouched behind him reading the break.

He looks good. Better than good. Steadier somehow, like something in him has settled since Illinois, some new confidence in the set of his shoulders that wasn’t there a month ago.

He hasn’t seen me yet.

I tell myself to keep walking, find my own spot on the green, do the professional thing and acknowledge him with a nod like any other competitor. I don’t move.

Then he sinks the putt, straightens up, and turns, and there it is. Now. The exact moment I’ve been half-dreading and half-living for since Netra put the tournament date in front of me. His eyes find mine across the green.

Neither of us moves for a moment. The wind picks up, ruffling the flags on the far holes. Somewhere behind me, a group of amateurs laughs too loud at something. None of it registers. None of it matters. There’s just TJ, twenty feet away, looking at me like he’s waiting for something.

I nod. Small, careful, the same gesture I gave him at that turn in Illinois. It’s safe, deniable, nothing anyone watching could read as more than professional courtesy.

He doesn’t nod back this time.

He just holds my gaze, steady, unflinching, something new and resolved in his expression that makes my chest go tight entirely differently than it usually does. Not shy. Not hopeful and terrified. Something calmer. Something that looks like a decision already made.