Open Wounds: The Boxed Set

by Michelle Frost

  Pulling his arms back in a stretch, Dagen paced in his little corner of the locker room. He could have stayed upstairs in the apartment to get ready, but he liked to have a separation from the safety of home and the nerves that always accompanied a lift. It didn’t help that every time he was in the main room of the apartment, all he could remember were Ollie’s hands on him last night.

  “Do you have saran wrap?”

  “Um, yeah I think so? For what? We demolished that whole pan of pasta.”

  “Not for leftovers, for your tattoo.”

  Dagen hadn’t understood at first, but Ollie had taken the plastic wrap Dagen had dug out of a drawer in the kitchen then asked where Dagen wanted the tattoo and what he wanted a tattoo of. That was how he’d found himself with hands splayed and braced against the edge of the kitchen island with Ollie kneeling behind his spread legs. The tattoo Dagen had decided on was a shield covering the back of his thigh and his still tender hamstring. Ollie hadn’t even batted an eye. He’d simply had Dagen assume position, rolled up the leg of Dagen’s basketball shorts, wrapped a layer of plastic wrap around his leg, and used a marker he’d gotten from his room to draw an outline of the shield as described right on the plastic molded to the contours of Dagen’s leg.

  Dagen had been hard as steel less than twenty seconds in. Luckily, once Ollie had his drawing he had immediately wanted to trace it on paper giving Dagen a minute to collect and calm himself. Rory stepped through the locker room door and made his way to where Dagen was pacing. The tight expression on his face told Dagen that Magnus had arrived before Rory even opened his mouth.

  “Your brother is here. I just left Ollie with him.”

  A flare of panic lit up Dagen’s already nervous stomach. “You what?” Shit. Dagen took a step towards the door. Magnus always had best intentions, but Dagen had basically revealed his whole hand on the phone the other day. Who knew what he’d say to Ollie?

  Rory caught his arm, bringing him to a stop. “Stop your frettin’.” He lowered his voice and stepped closer so only Dagen would hear him. “Maggie may be a lot of things, but he wouldn’t out you to anyone. Or tell Ollie more than he should. You know that.”

  Dagen blew out a breath and nodded. He did know that. His competition nerves were clouding everything else in his head. This was his first time competing after his injury and he felt more nervous now than when he’d competed for the first time ever.

  “Now,” Rory said, coming to stand directly in front of him and clasping both his shoulders. “Put him from your mind. All that matters is the lift. It’s time.”

  The staging area that had been cleared for the lifts was divided into a three different sections. One had a floor mat with an almost comically large dumbbell sitting in the middle of it, the second had a mat with a long weight bar with weight plates already attached to both ends, and the third had four giant round stones lined up in front of what looked like a shelf with slots for each stone. The shelf would be at least chest high on Ollie and he thought surely there was no way the competitors were meant to pick up those stones and place them on the shelf. The crowd around the area had grown and Magnus, who was still standing beside him, gripped his elbow and moved them so they were standing just at the edge of the staging area. Vidar walked to the middle between the mats and stopped. The buzz of voices all around died almost instantly.

  “Thank you all for coming out to support your local gyms and athletes,” Vidar said, projecting his voice enough for it to carry to the whole of the gym. “We’ve got five events lined up for the lift today. We’ll start inside with the circus dumbbell and deadlift before we move out into the drizzle for hand-over-hand, tire flip, and finish up back indoors with the atlas stones.”

  “Did all that mean anything to you? He lost me after deadlift.” Ollie whispered to Magnus who laughed.

  “How long have you been living with Dagen? I’m surprised all these strong man events aren’t already permanently etched into your brain.”

  Ollie opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when the locker room doors opened and a line of men walked out to cheers and applause from the audience. They came to a stop behind Vidar and Ollie’s eyes immediately sought Dagen out. He stood tall, only one other of a similar height, in a black Rourke MMA shirt and dark blue compression shorts. Each man looked like they belonged there. They were of varying heights and size, but they emanated strength, from their posture to the muscled breadth of shoulders and arms to the confidence showing on their faces.

  “We’ve got a great line up today,” Vidar continued when the crowd quieted. “Eighteen competitors over three weight classes. The top three in each will qualify to compete at state level in July. Now, allow me to introduce…” Vidar called each competitor’s name and which gym they represented. Ollie’s eyes moved down the line stopping when Vidar came to the end and said, “And I couldn’t be prouder of this one. Dagen Rourke, Representing Rourke MMA.” He found himself clapping harder and a cheer erupted out of him when Dagen’s eyes connected with his. The side of Dagen’s mouth pulled up and he winked.

  There was an electric buzz moving through the gym as Rory and several others in various colored shirts sporting their gyms logos moved around the staging area, lining up the competitors in competition order and readying equipment. Ollie watched transfixed as the first man stepped up to the large dumbbell, circus dumbbell as Vidar had called it, and preceded to lift it over his head with one hand seven times. Each lift was counted by Vidar only after the lifter had brought the dumbbell all the way back down to the floor and then pushed it back up until his arm was at full extension. Finally, after the man was struggling to lift the weight an eighth rep the man timing the event called that time was up.

  “Holy shit.” Ollie breathed as he clapped along with everyone else. It was damn impressive.

  “Right?” Magnus said. “I can’t lift a hundred pounds over my head with both hands let alone one-hundred and fifty with only one.” Magnus turned his face enough to catch Ollie’s eye. “Just wait until it’s Dagen’s turn.”

  Dagen was in the heaviest weight class, super-heavy it was called, and was the last competitor in the rotation. Ollie didn’t know if that was good or bad. Was it better to know what score you had to beat or merely intimidating? Dagen didn’t look intimidated when he stepped onto the mat and took position to lift the dumbbell. His face was set in a hard mask, raw determination etched into every line. Ollie had never seen him look so serious. Or hot. He seemed a million miles away from the man Ollie often found in black framed reading glasses camped out on their couch with a fantasy novel or asking him about his day while he puttered around the kitchen making dinner. Vidar took a step back to allow someone from one of the other gyms to score Dagen. While they were switching places, Dagen’s eyes tracked to Ollie’s and his breath caught at the sheer intensity in his gaze.

  The man keeping time said, “Athlete, ready?” and Dagen broke their stare to nod at the man. At “Go,” Dagen lifted the dumbbell as if it weighed nothing and pressed it fifteen times, blowing past every other participant. When the event staff member yelled, “Time.” Dagen dropped the dumbbell to the mat amongst thundering applause and stalked across the open space of the staging area to where Magnus and Ollie stood.

  “Good job, little brother!” Magnus said as soon as Dagen was close and offered his fist for a bump.

  “Thanks.” Dagen’s chest was heaving as he turned to Ollie. Ollie stuck his fist out and Dagen smiled at him, bumping it the same way he’d done Magnus’s.

  “I’m glad you didn’t make me do that in my training.”

  Dagen dropped his head back and laughed. “Maybe I’ll throw it in your next rotation.

  “You’re like, really strong, huh?” Ollie slurred from his place under Dagen’s arm as they stumbled their way up the steps to their apartment. Rory was somewhere behind them he thought. After Dagen won his weight class and the overall competition despite his lackluster deadlift, they’d all decided to go out and
celebrate. Actually, Rory had decided and somehow he and Ollie had been roped into going with him and then doing shots. So many shots. Personally, Dagen thought Rory just really needed to blow off some steam after having been in the same room as Magnus all day.

  Pulling his keys from his pocket, Dagen struggled to get the key in the door while Ollie laughed, causing the phone’s flashlight Dagen had asked him to hold to bounce all over place blinding Dagen for a moment. “Hold it still!”

  The shaking only got worse as Ollie giggled and nearly dropped the phone all together. “I never drink. Did I tell you that? Never. Nope. Look at your muscles. They’re so big. How’d did you do that? Did you have to eat a cow?”

  “Lots of cows.” Dagen was giggling now too, but finally managed to get the door open. He took his phone back from Ollie and managed to get an arm around him just as he tripped over the threshold.

  “Oh shit!” Ollie cackled, hanging face down and nearly horizontal in Dagen’s grasp. The cool air had done a lot to sober Dagen up, but he outweighed Ollie by over two hundred pounds and Rory had been hell bent on drinking himself under the table so despite the amount he’d imbibed he wasn’t in nearly the shape they were. He looked over his shoulder to see Rory finally cresting the top of the stairs at a crawl. He felt sorry for the driver of the cab they’d just spilled out of.

  “Can you make it?” He asked his friend, while giving up on Ollie regaining his feet and turning him around so that he could get one arm under his knees and the other around his back. Ollie yelped when Dagen lifted him against his chest, but it quickly dissolved into more laughter. Rory chuckled too and gripped the handrail to pull himself to his feet.

  “Get that one ta bed.” His brogue was a thousand times more prominent when he was intoxicated. “I’ll be fine, lad.” He also only ever called Dagen “lad” when he’d had more than his share.

  Dagen used his foot to hold the door while Rory stumbled through. After which, he immediately walked to the living room and collapsed on the couch. Dagen kicked the door shut and carried Ollie to his bedroom, he’d check on Rory after he got Ollie tucked in. “Do you need the bathroom?” He asked after he sat Ollie on the bed and flipped on the bedside lamp. It bathed with golden glow, only bright enough to see the bed and cast the corners into shadow.

  “No,” Ollie said, as Dagen knelt to remove his shoes. He’d already made Ollie drink one glass of water at the bar, but as soon as he had his shoes off he went to the fridge and got three bottles and the Tylenol from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He downed one bottle himself and put one on the coffee table with two pills for the already snoring Rory. He pulled the blanket from the back of the couch down over his friend and sighed before walking back into Ollie’s room and stopping short.

  Ollie was sprawled back across the bed on top of the covers, but he’d stripped everything off save his boxers. His long limbs were were half tangled in his discarded clothes and he was snoring softly. Dagen swallowed and followed the line of arrow tattoos down from Ollie’s right thigh all the way down his leg to the bullseye target tattooed on the top of his foot. He’d never seen a tat like that before and it was as stunning as it was different. There were other little tattoos dotting his left leg, but as his eyes roamed, Ollie shifted, bringing the prominent bulge between his legs into Dagen’s line of sight and he ripped his eyes away, his face on fire. He immediately set the bottle of water and pill bottle on the nightstand, and not looking directly at Ollie maneuvered him enough that he could pull back the covers on one side and stretch them over him.

  “Dagen?” Ollie’s voice was quiet and rough. He reached a hand to touch Dagen’s wrist. Dagen stilled and met his glossy eyes. Were those tears? “Why do you take care of me?”

  Dagen’s heart clenched in his chest at the small voice that had replaced the laughter of only a few minutes ago. He sat down on the edge of the bad and used the hand Ollie was still touching to smooth a errand bit of hair back from Ollie’s forehead. “Because I care about you. And everyone needs someone to take care of them sometimes.”

  Ollie nodded and burrowed further down under the covers. “I’m glad my someone is you.”

  Chapter Eight

  I’m glad my someone is you.

  Ollie’s eyes weren’t even open yet, and it was still the first thought in his head. Oh my god, did I really say that? Maybe I dreamed it. The headache he could feel building behind his eyes worsened as he lay there taking stock of the hangover he was in for. It wasn’t the worst he’d had by a mile, but opening his eyes and facing the day still sounded like the worst idea ever.

  He barely even remembered stumbling up the stairs last night. After Dagen had won yesterday, Rory had insisted they go celebrate. Which apparently meant drinking. So much drinking. A noise from the kitchen had him opening his eyes to a slit and he inhaled at the sight of a bottle of water and Tylenol on the nightstand. He hadn’t dreamed it. Dagen really had tucked him him and Ollie really had said what he thought he said. Another noise sounded from the kitchen. He was positive Dagen had had more to drink than him, but he was always up early. Ollie supposed a hangover didn’t offer an exception. Hell, maybe Dagen didn’t even get hangovers. Maybe his giant muscles just ate all the alcohol.

  Ollie took a breath as a little wave of nausea washed over him. The scent of coffee reached him and nausea or not, he stumbled out of bed and to the door. Coffee would help. Coffee fixed everything.

  “Oh god,” he gasped and threw an arm up over his eyes at the blinding light coming in through the kitchen windows.

  “Mornin’.” Someone grunted at him from the direction of the counter where the coffee pot lived, and he scrunched up his face. That didn’t sound like Dagen.

  Carefully lowering his arm, he found Rory leaning back against the counter, coffee cup in hand. The man’s red hair was sticking up in a billion directions and he was shirtless, his pale muscled torso on full display in the morning light.

  Ollie opened his mouth to respond when the door to the bathroom opened behind him and he looked over his shoulder only for his brain to short circuit.

  Holy hell.

  Dagen walked out in a cloud of steam with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was in a similar state to Rory’s, dark tufts sticking out every which way, but damp and soft and Ollie wanted to feel it between his fingers. A few stray drops of water escaped his hairline and ran down over sculpted shoulders to disappear in the thatch of dark hair spread over the prominent curves of his pecs. Ollie’s mouth went dry. The man was a masterpiece. All solid muscle and achingly beautiful tattoos mapping the contours of his perfect skin.

  “Vi wants us in the gym in thirty minutes to get it set back to normal.” Rory said to Dagen and Ollie startled, having completely forgotten he was there.

  Ollie’s eyes snapped to Dagen’s and he found the big man watching him closely. An ugly, creeping sensation started in his belly. He looked from Rory’s half dressed, tousled state to Dagen fresh from the shower, in only a towel, and felt himself flush. “Oh…” He was surprised he could hear himself over the roaring in his ears. He was such an idiot. Spouting off sappy bullshit to Dagen while Rory had been waiting for him. And what the ever-loving fuck? After yesterday, he thought Rory was hung up on Magnus, not Dagen. A stab of hurt punched through him so solidly he was surprised he kept his feet and he cleared his throat preparing to run. “I’ll just get out of your hair.”

  Dagen sent him a questioning look, before his eyes widened and Rory chuckled.

  “It’s not like that, lad.” Rory said, taking a gulp of coffee before stepping around both of them and shutting himself in the bathroom, coffee cup and all.

  Dagen stepped toward him, towel parting around one thick thigh and slipping dangerously low on the dark trail of hair leading beneath it. Ollie swallowed and almost ran into the island in his haste to turn around and escape the sight before the boxers he was wearing revealed how much he wanted to do exactly the opposite. His eyes landed on the coffee pot
and he yanked open a cabinet door to rummage for a cup.

  “Ollie.” Dagen’s voice came from right behind him.

  “I’m sorry, alright?” Ollie said without looking at him. He grabbed a cup and reached for the pot. “I didn’t mean to imply that you and Rory had..” His voice faltered. “That you’re…”

  “Gay?” Dagen asked. “You don’t have to imply it. I am. And I thought maybe you’d picked up on that by now and…” Dagen paused for a moment before sucking in a breath. “Definitely not interested in Rory. He’s like my brother.”

  Ollie stilled, coffee pot in his grasp. He set it back on the burner and his cup on the counter before turning to face Dagen and meeting his eyes.

  “He had too much last night like all of us, I think, and crashed on the couch.”

  “Oh.” Ollie said, eyes losing the battle of focusing on Dagen’s face rather than letting them trace his muscular torso. He wanted to run his fingers through the dark hair covering Dagen’s chest. Would it be soft?

  “Ollie…”

  “Maybe, uh, maybe clothes.”

  “Am I distracting you?” Dagen asked, stepping a bit closer. The counter dug into Ollie’s lower back as he leaned back against it. He was basically eye level with Dagen’s collarbone and that beautiful fucking rose tattoo that was finally bare to him, and he couldn’t help think that if Dagen hugged him how he’d fit perfectly under his chin. How amazing would it feel to have all that strength wrapping him up? Holding him tight? He had a brief flash of being cradled against Dagen’s chest. It felt like a memory. Had Dagen carried him last night? “You know I could say the same to you.” Dagen’s voice pulled him back out of his thoughts.

  “What?”

  Dagen’s eyes dropped to Ollie’s chest, Ollie’s bare chest. Shit. He’d forgotten he’d neglected to put on a shirt in his quest for coffee and he felt himself flush all over again and wished he had something to cover himself with. “Oh, uh, it’s not really the same, but right. Clothes.” He started to slide away and escape back to his bedroom when Dagen’s hands landed on the counter on either side of him, caging him in. Dagen leaned down so that he and Ollie were eye level.