Page 44 of Full Split (Forbidden Goals #8)

WYATT

Weston is nervous. He doesn’t want to admit it, but I know him well enough to recognize the quiet twitch in his jaw and the way he fidgets, the way he rubs his fingers together.

I watch him walk ahead of me and Niles, his duffel slung over one shoulder, his competition jacket tied around his waist. He looks steady, confident. He’s been trying to look that way all morning.

“You’ve got this,” I tell him when we separate at the security gate.

He nods and moves into the security line.

“You feeling alright?” I ask Niles.

His smile is crooked but warm. “I’m fine, Wyatt. Quit hovering.”

He gives me an amused eyebrow. I know he wants to say it.

“Watch it,” I warn, low and menacing.

The twinkle in his eye and the way he bites his lip lets me know he’s okay.

I’ve spent the past twelve hours convincing myself last night didn’t happen.

Or rather, that it shouldn’t have happened the way it did.

Niles insists it was the hottest night of his life.

His words, not mine. It doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty every time I remember just how much I liked it. Just how fast I’d let go.

I really shouldn’t have gone that hard, especially in the middle of a huge competition. It was stupid of me.

At least he promised he’d be more careful about calling me Daddy in public.

I’m not holding my breath.

He whispered it in my ear at breakfast, so I don’t have much hope.

Right now, he’s focused. Harris pulled him aside during the Women’s All-Around Finals yesterday. Niles told me after, practically vibrating with energy, that Harris is on board with him taking a few more risks. Not everything Niles wanted, but enough.

He’s hungry. He wants to beat his scores from Thursday.

I want that for him too. I’m glad he’s feeling back to himself and that he’s ready to show off again. It’s his natural state, and I love seeing him shine.

Mik, Jason, and Jace are already in their seats when we enter the arena. I see them watching me, exchanging quiet words. Can they tell I spent all night having overly vigorous sex with a man half my age?

I don’t make a lot of eye contact just in case, and keep my eyes focused on the competition floor. It’s Weston’s big day.

Today is Apparatus Finals Day One. The events are floor, pommel horse, and rings.

Niles stays on the sidelines, warmed up and ready in case he’s needed as an alternate for floor. He fidgets more than usual but keeps his mask on as he cheers his team on.

He doesn’t end up needing to do anything, and I’m glad. He needs the rest, even if he thinks I’m hovering.

Apparatus days move fast, each event only lasting half an hour, then maybe ten minutes for medals after each event. Before I’ve processed that the competition has started, the floor routines are done. Shane Linz takes silver for Team USA on floor. Brandon Isaacs pulls a surprise bronze.

Pommel horse is next. I hold my breath from the first second as Weston takes the floor for his event.

He nails it without faltering. His routine is clean, smooth, and perfect. I barely realize I’m standing until the medal is draped around his neck. Silver. By the look on his face, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my son look prouder.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s on rings. Not quite as sharp as pommel, but solid. Solid enough to earn him another medal. He takes the bronze while Cody Jenkins snags silver for the team.

When Weston stands on the podium, beaming, it’s like nothing else matters. All the stress from the last days and weeks are nothing in the wake of the pure and simple pride I feel for my boy.

Mik thumps me on the back. Jason leans in, smiling. Jace whoops loudly enough to embarrass his father.

Even Coach Harris is grinning ear to ear after the event.

“Tomorrow we’ll see gold,” he says, clapping Weston on the back, then turning to Niles with a wink. “Right, kid?”

Niles laughs, softer than usual, but it’s there.

He looks at me and smiles. He’s tired, I can tell.

But he’s ready.

We have dinner early to celebrate a great day and all Weston accomplished. He’s stiff and quiet, and he doesn’t look at me or Niles much, but he’s here and that’s a start.

Niles and I are careful. We don’t touch or sit too close.

We don’t exchange anything that could be read as intimate.

I have a feeling that our stiffness is probably just as uncomfortable as the slightest public display of affection might be, but even in the elevator, alone, we stand side by side, silent and not touching.

The energy that fills the elevator car could power the whole city, though. It’s buzzing beneath my skin like I’m vibrating. I half expect the power to start flickering at any moment.

Back in the hotel room, he pulls me into the bathroom. We fill the oversized tub, squeezing together, knees bumping. It’s a little awkward, but with all that slick skin and closeness, we can’t avoid touching and kissing.

I manage to keep it together, though. When he tries to push things further, I stop him. I tell him, for just one more night, we’re going to behave.

His disappointed groan is melodramatic, but he agrees. Eventually.

“After the competition,” I tell him, lips caressing the back of his neck, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

That gets me a grin so sharp it makes me worry for my soul. And my back. And my knees. And my dick. And my ass.

I’m in trouble, at any rate.

We fall asleep curled together in bed, half-watching a movie I don’t remember the name of.

Despite all the stress of the last few days, it feels like we made a breakthrough.

Nothing is perfect, there’s still a lot to deal with, but at the same time it is perfect in a way. Because we have each other.

The next morning dawns bright. Niles wakes before the alarm goes off, already filled with restless energy.

We stretch together, do some light warm-ups in the room, then get in the shower together.

I’m washing his back when he perks up like he’s just had a lightning bulb moment and bolts out of the stall, nearly slipping on the tile.

“Niles—”

“Hang on.”

He returns seconds later, holding something in his hand.

“I’ve been saving this.”

I blink. “What?”

“Remember when you said I could do whatever I wanted to you tonight?”

My stomach tightens. “Uh… yeah?”

He grins. “Turn around.”

I do. Slowly, warily. But I do it.

And when he tells me to put my hands on the wall, I also obey.

His fingers on me are expected. As are his fingers in me. But then there’s something else.

“Niles, we really shouldn’t—” There’s pressure, but it’s definitely not the same as his cock.

Although even thinking about it makes me all tingly in the right places, he doesn’t need to be exerting himself that much.

Mostly because we’ve learned I have no self-control and will actually go into beast mode if provoked.

My nostrils flare. “What exactly are you putting in my ass?”

I feel like I should know.

“Just a little plug, Daddy.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

I groan, forehead resting against the tiles. He is doing this shit on purpose to get my blood pressure up. I know he is. He enjoys taunting me.

“You’re evil.”

“You’re hard.”

I grit my teeth. He presses gently against the bulb he’s pushed inside me, and I shudder. He fucks it in and out of my ass until I want to beg for him to fuck me.

“Behave. Until tonight,” he says, and kisses my shoulder.

I groan again, but end up laughing. That brat.

We’re both grinning like idiots when we leave the room. So much so that Weston glares at us the whole elevator ride down.

“You guys are gross,” he mutters.

“Agreed,” Niles says cheerfully. He’s glowing.

We get to the arena, with Niles walking between Weston and me like usual. Everything seems normal on the outside, but the atmosphere is different. Niles stops, and I know he feels it too.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“No idea,” Weston says, but his voice and body language are tight.

I glance around. People are watching and whispering, but there’s a blanket of hushed awkwardness over everything. The fans outside are more subdued, and the usual event chatter as we enter the building is strained. We don’t even get the typically friendly banter from the security guards.

Something is very wrong. I don’t like it.

I don’t want to separate from them, but I have no choice. Niles and Weston peel off towards warmups while I head into the stands. Mik is there, waiting, his expression grim.

“Okay, what’s going on?” I say as I drop into the seat beside him. “What did I miss?”

Mik hesitates, then he pulls out his phone. “Have you checked social media today? News?”

“No. We’ve been avoiding it since competition season started and the press started hounding Niles. Why?”

“You might want to see this.”

He hands me the phone. A tabloid headline shows Niles’ name in bold, but I can’t process it at first.

‘Multiple Anonymous Victims Come Forward: Olympic Hopeful’s Sex Scandal.’

I read the first few lines, and my stomach sinks to the floor. I’m going to be sick.

Unnamed sources… Claims of wild sex parties… Hookup apps.

No no no…

There are people everywhere, talking about Niles like he’s nothing more than a walking scandal. Like he’s something dirty and shameful to whisper about to your friends behind your hand, and apparently to reporters.

I scroll down to see photos. Blurry pictures of him in a club, dancing.

Pictures of him and Weston laughing together.

Pictures of him and me. The same ones from the other article, plus more.

Some are from the BBQ when I’m following him into the house.

In the parking lot, right when he kissed my cheek.

It was innocent and chaste, but in this context they might as well have footage from the hot tub. Thank fuck there isn’t that, at least.

There’s even one from the other day when I put my jacket around his shoulders. He was right to push me away.

This is bad. So bad. I feel cold, and like the walls of the arena are closing in. All the sounds from the people around us sound like we’re in a tunnel.

The article twists everything. Spins every image into something sordid. There’s even a quote from someone claiming they were rejected because Niles was “in love with his best friend’s dad.” I shove the phone back into Mik’s hand.

“This is bullshit.”

“I know.”

“I— Most of it isn’t even?—”

“I know.”

I can’t find the words.

Mik looks at me steadily. “The problem is that they’ve spun it well enough that some of it feels like it could be true. There’s just enough reality mixed in with the garbage to make people listen.”

I feel like I’m going to throw up. “What happens now?”

“I’m hearing rumors that USAG might open an investigation.”

I shake my head. “No. No, they can’t?—”

“It’s already spreading.”

I look down at my hands. They’re shaking. I need to make this stop. This can’t happen. Not now. Not when we’ve just gotten over a huge obstacle and have finally started moving forward again.

Mik’s voice drops. “I don’t need to tell you who’s behind this.”

“Peter.”

He nods. “He’s all over the press, playing the victim. Claiming Niles harassed him during competitions and even in the bathroom. He’s saying USAG knows everything and covered it up so they have a ringer.”

“He what!?” My voice booms so loud, even the crowd quiets to look over at the commotion. I lower my voice. “He’s literally repeating the things he did to Niles at Classic and Nationals. Incidents Niles didn’t report because he didn’t want to draw more attention to himself.”

I press my hands over my face. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

What are we going to do?

Somewhere in the distance, I hear the start of the competition.

Niles is up there, about to put everything on the line to bring home gold for Team USA. While the world tries, yet again, to kick him down.