by Layla Reyne
“Sit down, dear.” His mother gestured at the end of the table closest to her, set for three. “Shannon has brunch ready for us.”
“Shannon?”
“The private chef we hired.” She said it like it was a matter of course. Then again, why would she do any differently here than at home, where they also had a personal chef? Dane had only learned to cook for himself in college, at Mo’s insistence. He’d kept up the practice by giving their home cook the night off whenever his parents were out of town, but she still made sure the fridge was stocked for his particular diet. This Shannon person . . . “I can’t just eat anything. I’m in training mode. My diet’s regulated.”
His mother rattled off the list, and Shannon appeared on cue, setting out plates with his usual midmorning fruit and protein blast.
“Sit, darling,” his mother said again.
He took the seat closest to the foyer, closest to the exit. “Where’s Roger?”
His father held out the chair across from him for his mother, pushed it under as she sat, then claimed the seat at the head of the table, his briefcase on the floor next to the chair. “We thought it best to discuss this amongst ourselves first.”
Dane fidgeted against the uncomfortable, ornately carved chair back. “Discuss what?”
His mother held up a hand, gesturing silence, as Shannon entered with the coffee tray. She sat it on the table, then asked, “Anything else, Mrs. Ellis?”
“Leave us,” his father barked in reply.
Dane dropped his fork, the clatter of sterling silver on china ringing in his ears, but not nearly loud enough to drown out the roar of rushing blood his father’s increasingly foul mood set off. Shannon started back to help him, and Dane waved her off. “I’m good, thank you, Shannon.” Once she’d left, he pushed his plate aside and rested his forearms on the table. “Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“Dane, language,” his mother scolded.
His father leaned to the side, rooted around in his briefcase, and righted himself holding three red file folders. Dane clenched his hands in front of him, to stop them from shaking and to prevent himself from cracking his knuckles. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what was in those folders.
“We know what you were up to the other night,” his mother said.
“Swimming? That’s all I’ve been up to since I got here.”
His father tossed the first of the folders in front of him. “That’s not all.”
The roar in Dane’s ears grew louder. When he was sure his hand wouldn’t shake, he reached for it. Inside were a couple snapshots of him with the drug dealer at the River Walk. “I didn’t buy it. Alex—” He cut himself off. If they had pictures of this, what was in those other two folders?
“Is Alex also the reason you can’t buy your own clothes anymore?” His father tossed down the second folder, and Dane didn’t have to look to know what was in it. His father opened it for him, using his index finger to push pictures under his nose. Half a dozen photos of him and Alex digging through the bags behind the Goodwill.
“We’d had a bad day,” Dane said. “We decided to go out and blow off some steam, but we needed disguises.”
“You should have done a better job.” His father threw down the last folder, open. The pictures were dark, lit by dim club lights, but even grainy and shadowed, disguised in clothes that were not their usual, he and Alex were unmistakable on the crowded dance floor. Their figures taller, more defined than those around them, and fitting oh so perfectly together.
Memories rushed in with each picture he flipped over.
Hands all over each other—dancing, touching, teasing.
In this picture, Alex dancing in front of him, hand in Dane’s hair while Dane’s hand was somewhere low the camera couldn’t see. But Alex’s slack jaw, visible under the lip of the cowboy hat, made it pretty clear where Dane’s hand had wandered.
Palming the length of Alex’s erection. Stroking the curve of his ass through the rips in those secondhand jeans.
In the next photo, his face buried in Alex’s neck.
Alex’s curls tickling his nose. Dane begging for more. The wish granted, Alex turning in his arms, giving him an out, and Dane refusing to take it, sealing their mouths together.
Their make-out caught on another dozen pictures. A particularly erotic one with Alex’s finger in his mouth.
Sucking, wishing it was Alex’s dick in his mouth, and in his ass as Alex pushed a finger inside him, throwing them both into orgasm. Coming together.
Their blissed-out faces after, nuzzling.
Even on dim celluloid, their connection was as unmistakable as their bodies. As their identities. Dane’s cheeks burned.
“Don’t bother denying it,” his mother said. “Your face says it all.”
Dane skated his fingers over the picture of Alex smiling wide, happy. He’d done that; he wanted to do it again. But that look was only for him, not to be captured by some stranger on film. “Where did you get these?”
“We paid the pap from the press conference to follow you,” his father said.
Dane swallowed hard, closing the folder. He thought they’d been careful. Disguised. Not well enough. Because his parents were always watching.
“If any of this got out,” his mother said, “you’d be done. You’d lose your sponsorships.”
“Drug test me. I’ve been clean since before Trials. And Saturday night, Alex put a stop to it before I did anything stupid.”
“That boy,” she muttered, and Dane shot a murderous glare across the table, forceful enough she actually looked quelled, until his father broke the stare down.
“What do you want, Dane?” he asked.
Alex.
But that was the last thing his parents wanted to hear, and that answer, which had so readily come to mind, scared Dane more than a little too. He’d never put another person, much less a guy, at the top of his priorities—ahead of swimming, ahead of his sponsorships, ahead of himself. He’d been infatuated with Alex ten years ago, just acknowledging his attraction to men, but if someone had asked him then what he wanted, it would have been to go back to the life he knew, not the one he was afraid to live. He was still afraid of it, but he was beginning to think he was more afraid of walking away from it again.
He’d protect that truth, just like he’d protect Alex. He fell back on the old answer, hoping to divert his parents. “To swim and be the best. To win the gold.”
“And to please your sponsors,” his mother added.
“Of course.”
“If that’s what you want, then now is not the time to fall back into bad habits.”
Alex, a bad habit? The notion caused Dane to rage. If anything, Alex had been good for him. Helping Dane shave time off his laps, thawing the ice between him and his teammates, saving him from near career-ending stupidity. But his parents didn’t want to hear any of those things.
“Do you understand what’s at stake here?” his mother asked. “Don’t throw away twenty-six years of hard work over a passing phase.”
A passing phase that had lasted his entire life to date and would continue to last the rest of it. Rage boiling over, he shot to his feet, hands slamming the table. “This—” he sent the folder full of club pictures careening across the table at his mother “—is not a passing phase. When are you going to get that? Do I have to call a press conference and officially announce it for it to sink in?” Even as he bellowed, the thought scared the hell out of him. Announcing to the world something he hadn’t even admitted to . . . But he had . . . Words from the cab the other night filtered back to him, words he’d spoken to Alex, the man he loved. He’d fight for him, for them, and for his team that needed them. He split a glare between his parents. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” his mother snapped.
“We won’t let you, son,” his father added.
“What do you mean, you won’t let me?”
“Keep your head down and get in line.” Translation: stay in the closet. “If you don’t, we’ll make sure you won’t veer from it.”
“Threats, threats, and more threats. What are you gonna do? Tell the sponsors? They’ll probably love it. A new angle to play. Tell the world? No, because that only hurts your image. God forbid you two have a son who is—”
“You’ve handed us leverage,” his father cut him off, voice as cold as the ice in his eyes. He spread his hands at the pictures strewn across the table. “More than a little.”
Apprehension shot up Dane’s spine, immediately recognizing the trap they’d laid. The trap he’d stepped right into.
A trap his mother confirmed. “We have no intention of ruining you, but him . . .”
Alex was no longer a pretty face his mother wanted to recruit or a soul his father was encouraging him to save. He was the enemy, confirmed as much by Dane himself, by the fact he wanted Alex enough to risk it all. Dane’s rage burst under a groundswell of fear. “If you do something to Alex—”
“You’ll do what?” his mother said, sweet as honey. Deadly as a copperhead hiding in the weeds. “Stay focused, Dane. Don’t force our hand, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
Fuck. He’d given them all the leverage and kept none for himself. They still held all the strings, including, until he was thirty, control of his trust fund, which was the named party on all his sponsorship contracts. They still held all his power and money, everything he’d need to fight them, or leave them behind and live on his own with Alex. Tax benefits, his parents had said. Control, he now realized. And because he was their golden goose, they’d never do anything to burn him or jeopardize his sponsorships or income. Or the family’s reputation. But Alex, he was fair game. As much as Dane wanted him, he didn’t want to be the reason Alex lost everything he’d worked so hard and sacrificed for.
That would be even more unfair than turning his back again.
“Do you understand, son?” his father asked.
For Alex’s safety, Dane needed to get back in the car. Again.
He sank into his chair, defeated. He’d been an idiot to think he could ever beat his parents at their own game. But at least he knew the game now—saw the whole board—and could protect his king, his captain. “I understand. I’ll stay in line.”
“Excellent, that’s done then,” his mother said brightly, brushing off the entire conversation like they hadn’t just blackmailed their own son. “Now, let’s eat.”
It was the same meal Dane ate every day.
It’d never tasted worse.
Sitting in Dane’s spot at the top of the bleachers, needing the sun’s heat to chase away the chill that had blown in with Reverend Ellis, Alex waited for the rest of the team to clear out after the meeting before checking his phone again. Still no response to the text he’d sent Dane before the meeting. He didn’t much expect one, but he’d wanted Dane to know he and the team had his back with whatever he was walking into.
Alex’s chest had expanded with pride and something else at the stand Dane had made against his father. He was getting there. Growing that backbone that had been missing ten years ago. Missing just a few days ago even. Alex had seen it, had felt confidence surge through Dane, vibrating under his palm earlier. But in the time since, had Dane been able to hold firm without the rest of them at his side? Alex wanted him back in the safety of the training facility, with his team, and if he had his way, Alex would have Dane in his arms tonight too. Their escapades on the dance floor were still seared into his brain, had left him wanting more, and that desire had only grown this past week with each touch, each lingering gaze. Dane might not remember all of it, but he remembered the underlying feelings, the underlying want.
“What’s that weird look on your face, Cantu?”
Head whipping up, Alex spied Coach at the foot of the bleachers, stopwatch he must have come back for dangling from his hand.
“What look is that?” Alex asked.
“I think it’s called a smile.”
Alex grinned wider, proving Coach’s point. “You’ve seen me smile before.”
“Not like you have the past few days. Things are better?”
He nodded. “You must see it too. The team’s gelling, hitting their marks, shaving off time. Jacob had that one bad day, but since then, we’re looking good.”
“I meant with you.” Coach leaned a hip against the stair post. “You seem better, like you’ve got your energy back.”
Alex pocketed his phone, grabbed his goggles and cap off the bleacher, and pushed to his feet, heading down the side stairs. “The day off helped.” In more ways than he could mention, but suffice it to say . . . “That was the first time off I’ve taken in a while. I needed it, more than I realized. Things are better at home too. Mom’s doing okay, and the farm’s fine without me.”
“Good to hear. And things between you and Ellis, that’s resolved? I was worried after the presser Saturday, but he’s been a real team player this week.”
Things were far from resolved, but in the way Coach meant, yes. “We buried the hatchet. He’s got enough issues with his parents.” He met Coach’s eyes, owing him an apology as well. “I’m sorry for fighting you about his spot on the relay team. He’s an asset. I had no business vetoing him.”
“He’s an asset now because you got him, and yourself, in line. Good job, Captain.”
“Thanks for trusting me.”
“Always.” Coach slapped his back, then headed out.
After checking his phone once more, Alex moved to do the same, but Bas appeared on deck, graphics tablet in one hand, their gear bags in the other, saving Alex the trip to the locker room. “To the hotel for break?” Alex said.
Bas dropped their stuff in the aisle, blocking Alex’s exit. “Not until you fess up.”
“About what?” Alex asked, playing dumb. He knew about what. He was surprised Bas had let it go this long without an interrogation. He’d have to thank Jacob for distracting his best friend. “I’m just glad things are coming together finally,” he deflected.
“And what about you and Dane?” Bas said with a leer. “You two coming together?”
Alex threw his goggles at Bas, who caught them swinging around one finger.
“Don’t think the rest of us haven’t noticed the way you two are acting around each other.”
“How’s that?”
Bas threw the goggles back at him with a knowing smirk.
Alex caught them against his chest. “You’ve all welcomed him into the fold too.”
“Because I told everyone to follow your lead.”
Alex hung his head, humbled to have such a loyal best friend and co-captain who worked to get the team in line behind them, no matter the dramatic shifts of the past few days. It hadn’t just been Alex working hard to get everyone in sync. Bas had been too, silently, behind the scenes. Taking an immeasurable load off his shoulders. A long, long way from four years ago. “Thank you.”
“I owed you, for last time.” Bas threw a leg over the bottom bleacher, straddling it and sitting in the shade, leaving enough room on the end for Alex to do the same. “But you can still thank me by giving me the whole story.”
“I followed him to the River Walk. Like you said, we all needed some air after that disaster of a press conference.” He left out the bit about the almost drug deal, picking up with their visit to the bar, Dane getting mobbed by fans, then going someplace a little less noticeable.
“Someplace you came back from smelling like booze, sweat, and sex.”
“How the hell have you held your tongue this long?”
“Not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Following your lead, we’ve been swimming the best we have all training. I don’t want to see that go sideways, especially after the Reverend’s appearance this morning. I want gold for us—for you—this time.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Bullshit, Cantu.”
Yeah, there was
no getting out of this, given Bas’s determined look. “Okay, fine,” Alex said, cracking. “We made out and got off on the dance floor, but he doesn’t remember it.”
“More bullshit.”
“He was hammered, Bas. I believe him that it’s blurry.”
“He remembers well enough to keep things flirty.”
Alex glanced out at the pool, squinting as sunlight reflected off the water. “Since that night, he’s been the Dane from ten years ago. The real Dane.”
“Or has that Dane, your Dane, always been an illusion? Daddy snapped his fingers this morning and he went running.”
Alex’s gaze shot back, defiant. “He didn’t go running; he went searching. You were there. You saw it go down. He made a stand.”
“But how long will that stand last? When will your Dane disappear again?”
“You say that like it’s bound to happen.”
Bas hung his head, attempting, and failing, to hide how fast his face had fallen. “None of us want to see you get hurt.”
“I’m a big boy,” Alex gritted out, moving to stand, furious that Bas wasn’t on his side. And furious at himself for thinking, with each passing minute of Dane’s absence, that Bas would be proven right. “I can take care of myself.”
Bas grabbed his wrist, halting his retreat. “But will you?”
Alex wrenched free but respected Bas enough to sit and listen. He owed him that much, after years of friendship and for his efforts this past week. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You spend so much time taking care of everyone else, Alex. Your family, this team, Dane. But someone has to look out for you too.”
“And that someone’s you?”
Bas made a sweeping motion with his arm toward the pool and locker room. “That someone’s all of us. You’re our captain.”
Overwhelming humility swamped him again. “Thank you,” he said. “And my eyes are wide open. I’m not going to dive into shallow water with Dane.”
Bas laughed, though it didn’t sound very amused. “I’m more worried about you diving into the deep end without a life preserver.”