Page 18

Chapter 18

Blake

“ I ’m going to fucking kill Carter for this bullshit.” Chase growls as he storms away from the door, heading further into the locker room. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I follow behind him, trying to determine what exactly has him throwing up his arms in frustration. When I pass by the row of lockers blocking my view, I see it. An air mattress, as promised. But only one, and it looks to be either a king or queen size, inflated and resting flat on the floor.

Carter is really wanting the most out of this weekend, pushing us as close together as he can. I knew I had a time limit to spill my truth to Chase before he took it upon himself to tell him himself. Guess this is his not so gentle nudge to do it so he doesn’t have to.

I let out a deep sigh, knowing that once I’m done telling him the truth, Chase is either going to hate me forever or hopefully forgive me and not cut me completely out of his life.

“Yeah, but I think us being locked in here is more about me than you,” I tell him, blowing out a breath of air before making my way over to my locker and sitting down on the bench. I rub my palms on my pants, wiping away the sweat building from my nervousness.

“What do you mean?” he asks, opening his locker and rummaging inside of it, as if he’ll find something that’ll get the two of us out of our current predicament.

“Because he gave me a deadline to tell you the truth about that night. The truth about how I really feel about you before he takes that choice away from me and does it himself.”

Chase freezes with my words, slowly turning around to face me. “He knows what happened?”

I just nod. “I told him.” The moment the words leave my lips, the color drains from his face. His breath hitches, chest rising in a sharp, uneven pull as if the very air has turned to glass in his lungs. His eyes—wide, disbelieving—locks onto mine, the betrayal settling in, slow and devastating, like a knife pressing against flesh before the inevitable plunge.

“He… he knew?” Chase's voice cracks, raw and disoriented, as if his mind refuses to piece the truth together. His hands tremble at his sides, curling into fists before uncurling again, fingers twitching like they don’t know whether to lash out or hold on to something—anything—to keep from shattering.

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his throat working as he swallows hard, trying to choke back the emotion that threatens to drown him. But it is there, spilling through in the wave of his words, in the way his voice dips lower.

“He fucking knew ,” he repeats, louder this time, his voice thick with something more than just anger—pain. Deep, unrelenting pain. The kind that doesn’t just sting, but leaves wounds no amount of time can heal.

Chase’s breath comes in uneven gasps, his body tensing as if he might break apart under the weight of what he’s just realized. His eyes, now glassy with unshed tears, flicker with a thousand unspoken emotions—hurt, betrayal, fury, heartbreak.

“Instead of talking to me, telling me what really happened that night, you spilled your guts to my brother. My fucking brother, the very one who’s looked me in the eye since you did it and didn’t utter a word to me. Both of you can go to hell.”

As I watch Chase struggle to hold himself together, I realize the truth—this isn’t just anger. This is the kind of betrayal that rewrites a person, that leaves scars no apology can erase. I can’t let him hate his brother because of me. I can live with Chase hating me, but not Carter.

Fuck!

The air between us feels thick, suffocating, like the weight of everything left unsaid has poisoned it. Chase is barely holding it together, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his breaths shallow and unsteady. His eyes—those eyes that once looked at me with nothing but warmth—are now hollow, darkened by my betrayal, by the wreckage caused.

I rake a hand through my hair, my fingers shaking as I try to find the courage to say what needs to be said. But how can I? How can I possibly explain something so unforgivable? Sure, Carter forgave and seems to think Chase will. But I’m not so sure about that.

"Can you sit and please listen to me?" My voice comes out more desperate than I intend, raw and pleading. "I need to get it all out, and then we can talk. You can scream at me, hit me, do whatever the fuck you want—I won’t stop you. Just let me get it all out first."

Chase hesitates, his jaw tightening like he’s forcing himself not to snap, but finally, he exhales sharply and sinks down onto the bench in front of his locker, his posture rigid, his entire body coiled tight like a wire about to snap.

“Fine. Spill your guts.”

I grip my thigh hard, pinching the skin, digging my nails in through my sweats—not just to ground myself, but to feel something. Maybe even to punish myself. Maybe to try and grasp the smallest fraction of the pain Chase is feeling right now. But I know—it would never come close.

I swallow, my throat dry, my breath uneven. "Okay," I say, barely above a whisper. My voice cracks, but I force myself to continue.

"That night, when you said you didn’t want to announce we were a couple, I was devastated." My eyes flicker over to his, but Chase's face is unreadable, carefully guarded. That hurts, but I press on. "We’d been together the whole trip, and I loved it. I loved being in the open with you. Then, suddenly, it felt like you wanted to shove me back into the closet."

Chase flinches, just barely, but it was just enough that I was able to catch him doing it.

"I didn’t want to hide us," I admit, my voice barely holding steady. "I love that we finally found each other, Chase. And I wanted the whole goddamn world to know you were mine."

He opens his mouth, his expression flickering with something—guilt? Regret?—but I lift a hand to stop him before he can speak. I’m not finished; there is so much more to tell him. To share. What I’ve told him is barely icing on top of the whole sordid truth.

"So I left." My throat burns as I force the words out. "I went to the bar, planning to drown myself in alcohol, come home, and pass out. Then the next day, I was going to talk to you." I let out a bitter, broken laugh. "But then… shit went sideways."

I dare to take a glance at Chase, at the way his fingers curl against his knees, the way his lips press into a hard, thin line. His breathing is sharp, like he is trying to keep from falling apart completely.

I did this to him, made him this shattered shell of a man before me.

And now I have to watch him break all over again as I prepare to tell him the rest.

“I went to that same dive bar we went to our first night there, and I sat my ass down at the bar. I don't know how many drinks I'd had when she sat down beside me. I can't even tell you what she looked like or what her name was. All I knew was that she was listening to me and what I had to say. How hurt I was about what happened between us.” I let out a sigh, biting on my bottom lip. I’d give anything to not be here telling Chase what I did. How I wish I could just go back in time and change that one moment. I would've stayed and tried to work through Chase’s issues with coming out instead of running from him. Running from the pain.

“She didn't know at that time that I was bisexual. She just thought I was a gay man having a spat with his lover. She started talking to me about herself and her mess of a life, and we kept the drinks coming. Somewhere along the way, she discovered I liked women too. I'm not really sure how, but she did. She started touching me, and as much as I hate to admit it, I didn't push her away.”

I can see Chase’s legs moving, how hard he’s fighting to remain sitting there while he listens to me. While I rip his heart out even more a little at a time.

“In a way, I thought why not hurt you a little bit so you’d feel some of the way I was feeling. The touches led to kissing.” My breath hitches as a tear starts to roll down my face. I look up at him, wanting to see him one last time, knowing I won’t be able to look at him again when I tell him the rest of the story.

“I let her, and I kissed back. I hate that I did. We left the bar and went back to her house and ended up drinking more. I was barely moving at that point, both of us stumbling through her apartment before ending up in her bed. Naked.”

I reach down, gripping the edge of the bench, my knuckles going white at how tightly I'm holding on. I blow out a breath. My heart is racing so quickly I fear I may pass out. My breath is ragged, and it’s taking everything in me to keep myself together so I can get everything out and finally be free of all the secrets I’ve been keeping from him.

“I went down on her.” I bite my lip, knowing I need to get at least part of the truth out before going further. I don't elaborate on it. There is no need to cause more torture. “Then she wanted to reciprocate, so she gave me a blowjob. Not to make me come, but to prepare me to fuck her. Once she was ready, she put a condom on me.” I swallow hard. But I don't look at him. I don't want to see the pain in his eyes. After I tell him the next part, he’ll never speak to me again. He’ll wish I was dead.

“She laid down and I… well I umm, I put my dick inside of her,” I rush out, a tiny bit of relief that it’s out in the open, no longer poisoning me. “But when I looked down at her, it wasn't you looking back at me. It wasn’t your face with green eyes, your dimples or bow-shaped lips. It was a stranger. It’s all it took to sober me up and hit me with the reality of what I was about to do. My cock went soft as shit and when I went to pull out of her, she dug her nails in my back. That's where those marks came from. I never fucked her, but what I did was just as bad. I betrayed you and what we were together, and I can never forgive myself for that.”

The silence between us stretches unbearably, thick with the weight of my confession. My voice feels like it has been ripped from my throat, leaving nothing but a raw ache in its place. The moment the last word crossed my lips, I felt it—felt the break, the fracture between us splitting wider than I ever could have imagined.

I can’t look at him. I can’t bear to see the wreckage I’ve wrought reflecting in his eyes. My knuckles have gone white from the grip I have on the bench, but it is the only thing keeping me grounded, the only thing stopping me from completely unraveling.

I pull my wallet from my pocket, removing a folded paper from it, and he watches, my heart pounding. "I was tested when we came back. I wanted you to know I was clean, in case you forgave me. I can understand if you don't," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper as I hold the paper out to him, my hands trembling.

But he doesn’t take it.

For a long, agonizing moment, Chase just sits there, unmoving. His face is blank, but his eyes—his beautiful, green eyes—are anything but. The pain in them is unbearable. It’s the kind of pain that hollows a person out, that destroys them from the inside.

And I put it there.

I did this to him.

I swallow hard, my throat dry, my entire body numb with shame. My chest aches, not just with guilt, but with something deeper—something that feels a lot like grief.

Then, without a word, Chase stands.

For a split second, hope flares inside me. Maybe he’ll take the paper. Maybe he’ll give me something— anything —to hold on to. To tell me there’s still hope for us. Maybe he can see how much I hate myself for what I’ve done, how much I wish I could take it all back.

But he doesn’t even look at me.

He steps past me without a single glance, and keeps walking—further into the locker room, further away from me.

I turn my head just enough to watch him go, my stomach twisting painfully, my heart cracking open inside my chest.

I knew this would happen. I had known .

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.