Page 16

Chapter 16

Panorama

Parker

We don’t stay out late. Brandon’s social battery crashes after he devours his bodyweight in greasy pizza, and we walk home together, giggling like schoolkids, swapping stories and replacing lost time.

Unable to sleep, I throw weights around in the deserted gym. Brandon was in love with me. Still restless, I hit the treadmill and run until the sun rises. As my head hits the pillow, one thought stubbornly remains:

But you already knew that.

****

I wake up horny.

I close my eyes, sliding my hand below my waist just enough to get things moving. No dice. Weird. I guess mental inspiration alone isn’t doing it for me this morning. I grab my phone, and fire up my socials.

Don’t judge, but I have two accounts. One’s my main, which I only use to keep track of the boring-ass life events of some guys from my hometown. I skip those. Scrolling through engagement announcements with my dick in one hand feels wrong on so many levels.

I quickly check Summit’s account, noting the slight uptick in their follower count since I started posting some BTS training footage of Brandon’s training. I was kind of surprised Sheryl let me loose on their social media, but she seemed mesmerised by what she called ‘The Facebook’.

In-fact, she even—hang on. Nope. Thinking about Sheryl right now isn’t so good either.

I switch quickly to my second account.

It’s not as messed up as it sounds, I promise. I made it to keep track of my MMA progress. I follow a bunch of fighters, some local promotions and more than one fitness model. A couple even follow me back. And on occasion, they even slide into my DMs. What can I say, the internet’s a beautiful thing.

I’ve posted training footage, including some videos from my old wrestling matches. The quality sucks, but it’s a start. I used to fantasise that when I made it as a pro fighter, this grainy-ass footage would be played at the start of my promo videos.

Just to show the world how hard I’d grinded to make it.

I flick through some stories, stopping at a video of a stunning redhead posting some content from a fitness photoshoot. Gorgeous body, full sleeve tattoo. A little bit nasty. Just my type.

Except, today it’s not quite connecting. My dick’s responding just fine, but it feels like something is missing.

Suddenly my phone chimes, and a notification headline flashes up.

Brandon Carter started following you .

I glow with pleasure, which is nuts because it’s not like I needed a social media follow to formalise our rekindled bro-ship. But still. This is how it should have been all along.

I open his profile. I consider not following him back. Not because I don’t want to, but because I know it’d drive him mad and it’s always tempting to mess with him. His follower count is in the thousands, and he’s dropped hundreds of posts.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I hit the follow button. Fuck! I realise my mistake as soon as I’ve made it. I’ve followed him back from my secret account.

Damn it. I quickly unfollow him, then follow him back from my regular account. Hopefully it’s quick enough so that he didn’t see. But it’s too late, another notification.

Brandon Carter followed you back!

Damn. Well, fine. It’s not like anything NSFW is on there. I brush my self-irritation aside and swipe his profile.

Jeez. My boy might be photogenic but by god he knows it. There are tons of soccer action shots, all taken professionally. He’s even got some local brand endorsements, which apparently required him to take his shirt off. I’ll definitely be hazing him about those.

All in the life of a soon-to-be professional soccer player, I guess.

The only off-duty pictures show him at various charity functions, most of which look like his dad had a hand in them. I scroll back a little further. I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly.

Definitely no sign of any romantic interests.

I keep scrolling until I see one that stops me dead. It’s us. Suited and booted, on the night of the Carter Summer Ball. It’s got a classic Brandon douche-like caption. Heading to Di Ball with Di Rossi.

Something’s not quite right. In his earlier photos, there’s group shots of friends—kids from school, loads of his mom and dad, but everything from the last three years is either soccer or work.

No parties, no birthdays, no socials or holidays. Nobody. It’s like all of a sudden, any kind of friendship stopped. I get a weird, twisted feeling in my stomach, like somehow I might have been the cause of that. And that he must have been really fucking lonely. Maybe he still is.

But you can fix that .

Recently it’s either training, studying, or the obligatory post work-out selfie. And another. And another. And another. At least we can trace his aversion to shirts back to freshman year, which was right around the time he started bulking up.

These comments are wild. The first is his teammates ( go off, Carter ), or thirsty girls desperate to get into his DMs ( lit emojis ). Hate to break it to ya, but you’re getting left on read, girls.

A pang of jealousy prickles me. His teammates look like a fun bunch. I mean, whatever. It’s not like it’s my business. I don’t even like soccer. Chances are if we’d stayed friends, we’d be all over each other’s grid too.

There’s no reason for this to bother me.

And definitely no reason for me to still be stalking his page.

You’re up early. For a minute my stomach flips when I think it’s Brandon, but it’s not. It’s Tanya, a woman I met at my uncle’s bachelor party in Chicago. We’d hit it off and spent the night together. It was strictly sex only, but we kept in touch, usually reaching out when one of us was horny and needed to get off.

I don’t even know her last name.

I’m always up . My dick is still coming round, but sense memory is a wonderful thing. The things this girl can do with her tongue should be put in a textbook and studied. She can only be messaging for one thing, and a second later she sends me a photo that confirms it.

Holy fuck . I send an equally provocative one in return, then reach into my bedside drawer and grab some lubricant. I quickly check my door is locked, then hit the call button.

“My favourite Italian stallion”, she answers huskily. This is about as close to pleasantries as we ever get. “Where are you?”

“Still in bed”, I match her tone, “Wishing you were here next to me”.

She giggles. “What else do you wish?”

“That you’re naked”, I bite my lip, “And as horny as I am”.

“Consider the first one granted”, I groan as she giggles. “As for the second one, why don’t you help me get there? Start by describing what you’re going to do to me with that rock hard….body of yours”.

I close my eyes, letting fantasies roll easily off my tongue. I’m working myself into a frenzy at the sound of her voice, as she takes over and begins describing herself climbing on top of me, when I glance at the screen and realise I’m somehow back on Brandon’s profile.

As she whispers all the things she’s desperate to do to me, my finger scrolls through Brandon porn. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I can’t tear my eyes away from him until suddenly I feel a warm shiver that starts in my legs and…

“Fuck”, I groan, as the orgasm ripples through my body. I swallow, trying to catch my breath. “Did you finish?”

“Twice. Damn, Parker. You’re not usually so loud, I loved it”, I hear water blasting from her shower, “I must have really turned you on, right?”

The photo of Brandon, sweat running down his bare chest, all aviators, jawline and tousled hair surrounded by discarded dumbbells, gazes tauntingly back at me.

* * * *

“How was your morning?” Brandon swipes a bite of my pancakes. “Get up to anything fun?”

“Who, me?” I say, nearly choking. “No, nothing. Why?”

“I’m onto you”. He shoots me a suggestive look. “Your thirst traps? Hot damn. Way more Parker than I was expecting to see in the morning. And you a good Catholic boy”, he adds in a whisper so scandalised that I can’t help but smile. “I didn’t know you were still into all that MMA shit”.

I ignore the hollow flutter in my chest, trying not to be bothered by how casually he dismisses the one thing I ever really wanted for myself. “I’m a man of many surprises”.

“I watched some of your videos. You’ve got skills”.

“Don’t you forget it”, I throw up a mock karate pose, and he holds up his hands in defence, laughing. “Gotta give the people what they want, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Sure is, and thank fuck, someone has finally listened. It’s a Summit miracle. Fancy a kickabout later?”

“Some of us have work. And you’re meant to be resting”.

“Rest day is for pussies”.

“I thought that was your philosophy for leg day?” I grin at his indignant expression. “I’m taking advantage of Simon being out of town for a few days”.

The next job on the shit list is replacing the old netting from the goalposts in storage. Most of the pitches are fully functional, but the grounds extend for miles. The more functional nets there are, the more training opportunities there’ll be.

I guess that Simon’s plan anyway. I haven’t really spoken to him about it.

“What’s that?” Brandon nods towards my notebook.

Fuck. It’s dumb really. I always keep one with me, just to jot down any random thoughts or ideas I have. Usually I use it for training plans. I close it quickly, before Brandon can see my scribbled idea for organic vending machines.

I don’t think Simon would thank me for butting into his business either.

“Nothing”, I stash it in my bag and start packing up my breakfast things, “You’re welcome to join me, but there’ll be a lot of cardio involved and developing calf definition is clearly not your top priority”.

He bristles, good naturedly. “Although”, I continue casually, “There’s a bar with a bottomless brunch nearby that I was going to hit up afterwards. Shame to eat alone”.

“Bottomless brunch? What the hell are we waiting for?” He starts clearing my tray for me, bursting into song, much to the alarm of the people sitting next to us. “Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, it’s off to change Simon’s perception of Parker we go…”

* * * *

“Carter, I cannot emphasise this enough”, I say through gritted teeth. “If you don’t shut the fuck up with that goddamn song, I am going to tie you to these goalposts and, and…”

“Unlock a secret level by revealing an interest in BDSM?”

“And leave you here to starve ”, I finish. That shuts him up. I tie the last knot and stand back to survey my handiwork.

Despite Brandon’s abstract definition of the word ‘help’, he’s surprisingly adept at getting his hands dirty. We’ve got most of the nets untangled in record time.

He tosses me a water. This storage shed is filled with so much junk it should be on the shit list itself. There are about a hundred deflated soccer balls, alongside a ton of busted training kit. There’s even an old tent and stove dumped in the corner. I blink as memories threaten to pull me under.

Remember we used to go camping all the time, kid?

Dad took me every few months, no matter the weather. Even when he got so sick that he could barely walk, he still insisted. It was our time. Father and son. Nothing could change his mind.

That’s why I had to pretend to hate it, near the end. Camping in the freezing cold in the middle of chemo would have killed him. Instead, disappointing him just killed me.

Brandon lets out a low whistle. “This place reminds me of your dad”.

When I don’t reply, he comes and sits by me. “He always came for a kickabout after work, remember?” There’s nothing I don’t remember.

“You were thinking about him too, weren’t you?” I’ve got an urge to swallow but my throat is suddenly too tight. “You get this look in your eye sometimes. Like you’re imagining him here with us. I’d forgotten you did it, until just now”. His eyes land on my dad's portrait, embedded on my forearm. “Does it still hurt?”

“He died a long time ago, Brandon”.

“I don’t think time has much to do with it”.

It doesn’t. People die twice. Nobody ever tells you. The first when they stop living. The second when people stop talking about them. “He’d be proud of you”.

“Don’t say that”.

“He would. You’re crushing it at college. Cool job for the summer. Get senior year out the way and the world’s your oyster. Unless”, he catches me sideways. “There’s something you’re not telling me”.

Wordlessly, I slide my phone over.

It’s still open at the email I can’t bring myself to respond to, the one that confirms that as of this morning, I am officially no longer a college student. I risk a glance and can see Brandon having a minor short circuit.

“Oh”, he says softly. Brandon’s always been masterful with a pause. “For fighting?” he adds, managing to use several different inflections on the same word.

It’s worse that he doesn’t say anything else. He’s seen my temper take me down more than once. Brandon’s unshakeable belief that I could be better wasn’t the biggest thing I missed about him when we weren’t speaking, but it was close. “Aren’t you going to tell me I had this coming?”

“You know me better than that”.

“You warned me. You said that I needed to get a handle on it”, I exhale softly, furious at the crack that threatens my voice. “And I tried. I really did”.

He says nothing. Just waits.

I swallow, hard. “There was a party at the fraternity. Darwin’s our president. He actually recruited me. I never planned on pledging. But he has a way of making you feel like you belonged, and I missed that”.

Brandon tugs gently at his collar.

“We had this big party after Christmas. He asked me to keep an eye out for a friend of his visiting from out of town. Of course I said yes. I hung around the front door all night, making small talk, but this mystery friend never showed up”.

“How come?”

“Because he wasn’t real, Brandon”. I close my eyes, “It was a diversion to keep me out of the way. I went to go and find Darwin, to tell him I think maybe his friend was lost, but that’s when I saw them. He was taking this girl upstairs. She could barely walk”.

Brandon’s face tangles in a mix of horror and revulsion. “Did he drug her?”

“I don’t know. She was in no position to consent. I kept waiting for him to ask for help. But then I saw him unlocking his bedroom door and knew something was wrong”.

“You stepped in?”

“He was mad as hell that I called him out. He wanted us to settle it outside. Our boys—his boys—were holding him back. Until they weren’t”.

“They beat you up?”

“I beat them up”, I flex my knuckles painfully. “It provided enough of a distraction for the girl’s friends to realise what was happening, and they got her home”.

Anticipating his next question, I continue, “Darwin’s a legacy. His parents are close friends with the Dean. They didn’t have enough to fully expel me, so I was suspended. It’s basically been a cold war in the frat house for months”.

“I can’t imagine living there with all that going on”. Where else was I gonna go? “Why didn’t you tell anyone what really happened?”

“Do you honestly think anyone would believe me? It’s their word against mine. I have a record, and his family have a library named after them”.

“But surely your mom…”

“I’ve been letting my mom down for years. You know that better than anyone”.

It’s hard for Brandon, a guy born into privilege, to understand how unfair the world can be to people who aren’t. “How did we get from suspension to full expulsion?”

I bite my lip. “I got into another fight at the Rosebud. Darwin wasn’t even meant to be there. They were saying things, provoking me. I should have just walked away. One of them filmed it and sent the footage to the disciplinary committee. It’s on me. I should have been smarter”.

“What could they have been saying that was so bad?”

“Stuff about you”.

He blinks, then realisation crosses his face. “Oh”.

“I shouldn’t have let it get to me. But, I freaked out after watching you get hurt, and then we had that weird interaction and I thought I’d blown my chance at fixing things between us”.

“I wish I had been there”. Brandon grips my shoulder. The rest remains unsaid. So that I could have protected you. “And that’s why you’re here?”

I wipe my face angrily. “I’m basically the favour that Simon’s doing my parents after they kicked me out. Until I screw this up too”.

“Looks like you’re the one doing the favours”, Brandon nods towards the nets. “I don’t see anyone else working this hard. Or writing down secret business plans in their notebook”.

“You should keep away from me, Carter”. The words fall hotly out of my mouth. “Every single thing that I touch turns to dust”.

“Not everything. I didn’t”.

“Things between us have been broken for a while”.

“We’re fixing them”. He fiddles with his chain. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Until you run too”.

“You say it like I’ve got a choice”, he murmurs. “I couldn’t run. Not even if I wanted to”. I’ve got a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. Hug him. Have him hug me. Instead, he lightly punches my arm. “Still fancy some food? I’d say we earned it”.

We start packing up. “Shit!” I snap my fingers. “The bottomless brunch place closes early today”.

He catches my eye, then turns away quickly like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I’m sorry, man. We’d have made it in time if I hadn’t taken us on a detour through my car crash of a life”.

We begin making our way back. He’s walking ahead of me, and the wind has picked up so it’s only by chance I hear his reply.

“It was worth it”.