Rough and Tumble

by Shae Connor

  Darryn’s not there—and yes, I damn well checked the door for a note this time—and his backpack’s not in its usual spot by his desk, so I figure he’s at the library. Or at Rich’s, my traitorous mind supplies, and I trip over my own feet as I go to set down my backpack.

  Fuck. I have got to get past this. No, I’m not gonna get over being in love with Darryn any time soon. Not when I’m still around him all the damn time. I’ve got to learn to keep my emotions in check. Treat him like a friend and teammate, not like the guy I’m pining for.

  Even if that’s exactly what I’m doing. All the time.

  I need a distraction. Practice helps, but I can’t separate things completely because, no matter how focused I am, Darryn’s always there. School may do it some of the time, but this evening’s reading fail shows it’s not going to be enough. I could go out and find a guy of my own, but that would just look like sour grapes.

  Besides, I’m not ready for that anyway.

  A memory floats back from practice earlier in the week—that kid Kenny working on his flairs. Maybe I can talk to Coach Everson about helping him out sometime. I can always use the extra work, and it’d be good practice, especially if I decide to get into coaching eventually.

  It’s a good plan. I can work toward my goal, it means more time in the gym, and it’ll keep my mind off Darryn.

  All right, then. I’ll do it.

  I feel a little better having made that decision. Now all I can do is hope that it’s enough to do the trick.

  Unfortunately, my grand find a distraction and don’t mope about Darryn plan has to be put on hold until I get the chance to talk to Coach Everson. He’s MIA from practice one day, and the next he has us split up into groups, each working with a different apparatus. I’m on rings, definitely my weakest of the six disciplines, and after a grueling two hours spent taking my turns holding myself steady with my arms straight out to the sides—the Iron Cross should be registered as medieval torture—I’m too wiped to think about anything other than a shower. Maybe I should work myself into exhaustion every day. It shuts my brain down pretty well, and I get the best night’s sleep I’ve had in over a week.

  Doesn’t stop me from waking up thinking about Darryn.

  That afternoon, I manage to get to the gym early enough to catch Coach Everson before he leaves his office. I knock on the jamb of the open door, and Coach glances up, then lifts an eyebrow before he waves me in.

  “Clark.” His voice is neutral. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I was thinking…” That maybe I should’ve planned what I was going to say first, dammit. “I mean, I saw you working with Washington—I mean, Kenny—on his flairs on the floor earlier in the week. I thought maybe I could work with him a little on that. Give him some tips and get some coaching practice at the same time.”

  It’s not the smoothest speech ever, but it gets the point across. Coach must think so, too, because he’s nodding by the time I’m done.

  “That could work.” He tilts his head. “It’s not going to affect your schoolwork?”

  I shake my head. “I’m doing fine. I can handle it.” My classes right now are mostly boring and not all that difficult. I’m not a straight-A student like Annie, but I hold my own.

  “Okay, then. I’ll talk to Niko”—Coach Sato— “and Kenny about it, see what they think. Let you know what we decide.”

  I nod quickly. “Thanks. I’ll just…” I point. “Go get changed.”

  Smooth, Clark.

  I spin on my heel and book it down the hall to the locker room before I embarrass myself any more.

  …

  Among the perks of no longer being a freshman is that I have more flexibility about my schedule, so I have only one class on Fridays, and it’s not until eleven. Darryn’s schedule is the same, though the class is different, so we’ve taken to sleeping in until the last possible second and then scrambling into whatever clothes we can find and running across campus.

  The freedom to sleep in also means that I’m always up late on Thursday nights, watching whatever’s hot on Netflix or surfing the internet aimlessly. It’s well after midnight and I’ve just finished a ridiculously bad disaster flick—Annie and I have been trying to one-up each other by finding the very worst ones for years—when the door handle turns and Darryn slips quietly into the room.

  “Don’t bother,” I say, doing my best to sound teasing and not like an accusation. “I’m still up.”

  Darryn snorts and drops his backpack in its usual spot. “You didn’t need to wait up for me, Dad. I was only a couple of blocks away.”

  I open my mouth to make a comment about the dad thing when his words sink in. I thought he’d been at the library. “You were with Rich?”

  That does sound accusatory, and Darryn recoils like I’d slapped him.

  “Yes, I was with my boyfriend,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “You have a problem with that?”

  It takes every drop of willpower in every fiber of my being not to tell him the truth. “No,” I finally force out. “Sorry. I just… I thought you were at the library.”

  I kind of mumble the last of it into the thick tension filling the room. It’s a lame excuse, considering the library closed nearly an hour ago. Eventually, Darryn turns toward his closet.

  “I’m headed to the showers,” he throws back over his shoulder. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  His shoulders slump, and I want nothing in the world more than to go to him. Comfort him. But that’s not my job. It never was. And if I don’t keep my yap shut and leave him alone about this, there’s not a chance in hell it ever could be.

  “I don’t want to fight, either.” I close my laptop and push it aside. “I’m trying. I was surprised, okay? I need a little time to adjust.”

  Darryn nods, but he still doesn’t turn to face me. “I get that. I do.”

  He doesn’t say anything more, just grabs his towel and shower caddy and heads for the bathroom across the hall. I watch the door fall shut behind him and stare at the bare wood until my eyes start to burn.

  Dammit. I climb off the bed, move my laptop to my desk, and then strip down to my boxer-briefs and crawl under the covers. Curled up on my side, my back to Darryn’s bed, I close my eyes and try to will myself to fall asleep before he comes back.

  Sometimes outright avoidance is the greater part of valor.

  …

  Avoidance seems to be Darryn’s plan, too. He’s up and gone before I even wake up on Friday, and he doesn’t reappear after class, when we usually grab lunch in the student union before heading to the gym. I go through my usual routine anyway, trying to keep my mind on my workout and decidedly off my MIA best friend.

  We don’t do a lot of weightlifting as part of our training—muscle injury can be a huge problem—but I know I need to get my shoulders and arms stronger if I want to up my game on the rings. When I walk into the weight room, I’m happy to see I’ve got the place to myself. I know it won’t last, but I’m sure as hell going to take advantage.

  After a warmup on the elliptical, I settle into the biceps machine and start curling. I’m working slow and steady, increasing the weight by ten pounds after every set of ten reps, when the door across the room opens and Pace Solomon walks in.

  “Hey.” I nod my acknowledgment.

  “Hey.” He does the same as he crosses to the same elliptical machine I used. “Arms day?”

  It’s a silly question, considering what I’m doing. “Yeah. Need to work on my shoulders for rings.”

  Pace gives a small laugh and shakes his head, then climbs onto the machine. “That stuff where you have to hold yourself up like you’re on a cross? Damn, man. That’s gotta hurt.”

  I snort and bend down to increase the weight again. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  I go back to my biceps curls while
Pace gets started on his warmup. We work in silence except for harsh breathing and a grunt or two for the next five minutes, until the timer on Pace’s machine sounds and he slows to a stop. He climbs down and grabs the towel he brought with him to wipe his face and neck—he wasn’t working that hard, but he had a sweat going anyway—and then heads my way.

  “You close to done?” he asks. “’Cause I can start with lats if you aren’t.”

  My arms are starting to shake, so I give him a nod. “Four more.”

  I power through the last four curls and lower the weight back into place, then lean back and shake out both arms.

  “Burning?” Pace asks.

  I bark out a quick laugh. “Feels like victory!”

  I slide off the machine and grab my towel to give it a quick wipe-down. Pace nods his thanks and takes my place while I move to the butterfly machine. We’re both on our second round of reps before he speaks again.

  “So,” he says, arms curling in perfect form. I try not to watch the muscles bulging too closely. Hey, he’s a hot guy; what can I say?

  “Haven’t seen your boy around much lately.” Pace’s words take a few seconds to sink in. My boy. Not so much.

  “You mean Darryn?” I’m proud of myself for not choking on the name. “He’s been busy. Personal stuff. Nothing bad.”

  Well, it’s true, as far at that goes. I’m not about to out him without his permission, and “dating someone” would only draw more questions.

  “Oh, okay.” Pace pauses to increase his weight. “That guy he was with the other day? He a friend of yours?”

  That gets my attention. “What guy?” I ask carefully.

  Pace shrugs and slides his arms back into the curl bars. “Big. Kinda muscley. Shaved head. Looked like he was mad about something.”

  I take in a breath and blow it out carefully. “No, not a friend of mine. Friend of Darryn’s. I only met him once.”

  Jesus Christ, this is like navigating a mine field. Why did Pace have to go and get conversational now, of all times?

  “Oh. Just wondering. Thought I saw him in the dorm a couple of weeks ago. He looked mad then, too.”

  Probably because he didn’t get his rocks off. I shrug as I lean over to adjust the weights. “Maybe. That’s about when I met him.”

  I focus on my workout then, hoping Pace will do the same—or, at least, stop asking me questions about Darryn. We make it through our rounds on those machines, and I’m halfway through my lat workout before Pace pipes up again.

  “Don’t you and Darryn usually work out together?”

  Fuck this. I let the weight clang down and swing around to stare at Pace.

  “Why the hell do you suddenly care? You wanna get me out of the picture so you can get in his pants or something?”

  Fuckity fuck. The words aren’t even out of my mouth before I regret them. “Sorry!” I choke out, holding up one hand, palm out. I’m apologizing a lot lately. “That was totally out of bounds. And homophobic. And ridiculous on about eight different levels.” I take another cleansing breath and let my arm drop to my side. “Seriously, though. Darryn and I aren’t joined at the hip.” At least not this semester. “He’s doing some things on his own right now.” Things I wish he was doing with me and not some other guy. “It’s no big deal.” It’s only turned my entire life upside down.

  Pace’s eyes are wide, and I’m betting he has about a billion more questions now than he ever did before. He might be a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but he’s not stupid. He gives a short nod and goes back to his workout.

  Fifteen minutes later, I finish up and climb off the last machine. I’m giving it the usual wipe-down when Pace speaks up again.

  “So, uh.” He clears his throat. “If you wanna… Maybe we could work out together sometimes? I could use some spotting on a couple of the machines when I’m working core, at least. If you’re not working out with D… With someone else.”

  I don’t have a good reason to turn him down, and workouts do seem to go faster when you’re with someone else. “That might work,” I tell him. “Look for me in the dorm later and we’ll set something up.”

  “Great!” Pace smiles his Hollywood-perfect smile, and despite myself, I flush. Damn, he is one fine-looking man. My heart might belong to Darryn, but that doesn’t stop my hormones from reacting to someone as gorgeous as Pace.

  My hormones are just going to have to get over it. I do my best to return Pace’s smile and then head to the locker room. Where I will not think about Darryn while I’m in the shower, dammit.

  Chapter Three

  A door slamming down the hall jerks me awake in the middle of the night, and my neck screams a protest at the movement. I wince and rub the sore muscles from where I fell asleep propped up on my side, my laptop running Netflix in front of me. The screen is asking if I’m still there, and I reach over to click out of the system. I’ll have to go back later to figure out where I left off. My plan had been a binge re-watch of Stranger Things, but the last bit I remember was the opening scene of the fourth episode.

  I roll onto my back and stretch my whole body before glancing over at the bedside clock, which glows a red 2:13. My brain finally catches up, and I sit up and stare over at Darryn’s side of the room.

  Empty bed. No backpack. No sign that he’s been here at all.

  My stomach twists at the implications, and I have to push back the urge to grab my phone and text to find out where he is. He’s a grown man. He can stay out late if he wants to.

  Or stay out all night, for that matter.

  With his boyfriend.

  Just like that, the pile of Cheez-Its I scarfed while Netflixing threatens to make a reappearance. I swallow down the bile and swing my legs over the side of the bed to prop my elbows on my knees and scrub my palms over my eyes. I’ve got to quit acting like I have a reason to be angry about this. It’s my own damn fault for not speaking up.

  It’s my own damn fault I let him get away.

  My skin feels too small for my body, tight and itchy, and the walls are closing in around me. I can’t lie back down and stare at the ceiling until morning and do nothing but replay my entire relationship with Darryn and how not once did I find the courage to tell him how I feel.

  Enough.

  I stand up and yank open the top drawer of my dresser to pull out a pair of socks, shove my feet into them, and then put on my sneakers and a hoodie. I grab my cell phone off the charger and jam my keys into my pocket on my way out the door.

  It feels like every tight muscle in my body relaxes when I step outside. The dark, cool night soothes me, the fresh air washing over my skin like a smooth dive into a clear lake. It’s a nice campus, all green spaces and curved, lighted sidewalks, and I see a few other students wandering around, mostly in pairs. I ignore the handholding and faces too close together to be “just friends” and instead turn my attention to the sky high above. Stars are hard to pick out even on a good night this close to the city, and tonight the moon is near full, the added brightness overpowering the dimmer points of light.

  I stop at a bench near the library and sit down, hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets and my head tilted back. Eyes closed, I listen to the breeze ruffling through the leaves in the trees, the soft trills of frogs in the pond nearby, and the distant sounds of traffic along the road at the mouth of the campus.

  My mind settles, and I’m the calmest I’ve been in weeks. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.

  It doesn’t last long. Soon I hear voices approaching, the chatter and laughter of a group of girls—women, I suppose, since they’re college students. They pass me by, throwing glances my way but not stopping, and somehow the way they act, like it’s not weird for me to be sitting alone out here in the middle of the night, washes away the last of my disquiet.

  Yeah, okay, I might be an adult, legally speaking. But I�
��m still a teenager for a few more months, at least. I know all about adolescent hormones and the kind of havoc they can wreak even when things are going well. Throw in the kind of turmoil I’ve been dealing with, and even though I spend half the time feeling like I’m about to lose it, I’m practically a poster boy for mental health stability.

  I don’t know if that’s enough to help me sleep at night, but it’s a start.

  I push to my feet and walk some more, eventually making a round of the entire campus. I’ve never measured the distance or counted the steps. I’d guess it’s a mile and a half all told. By the time I get back to the dorm, exhaustion is settling into my bones, and it’s all I can do to drag myself up to the second floor and down the hall to the room. Once inside, I shuffle to my bed, dropping my shoes and hoodie on the floor and my keys and phone on my bedside table.

  I crawl back onto the mattress, curling up against my pillow, my brain silent for once. Not empty—Darryn’s still there, like always. But it’s a quiet presence, the knowledge that he’s still in my life, and that I’m lucky to have him.

  Within minutes, I’m dead to the world.

  …

  Saturday passes with no word from Darryn. At midafternoon, I convince myself that his disappearing without a word gives me enough reason to send him a quick text. I stick to everything ok? and get a reply an hour later: yeah, sorry, be back late tomorrow. No word about where he is or what (who) he’s doing, but I’m not his keeper, right?

  I spend Sunday mostly in the library. I have a tendency to let my schoolwork slide until the weekend—or until the night before an exam—so I spend a lot of the Saturdays and Sundays when we don’t have meets camped out in a carrel, catching up on reading and assignments. Probably not the most efficient way of doing things, but it’s worked okay to this point. Anyway, my grades are good enough to keep my coaches and my parents satisfied—and it’s no mistake that they’re ranked in that order of importance.