Page 89 of Full Split

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.