Page 8

Chapter eight

~ARES~

She won’t get out of my head.

I’ve tried. I worked out, pushing my body to the limit. I sparred. Abused the hell out of my hip. Celebrated the victory with the team. Nothing worked. Every time I close my eyes, every time I let my mind slip for even a second, she’s there. Soft, bright, bubbly, and clueless of the thoughts running through my mind. And yet, brave. Too fucking brave.

She’s been acting innocent around me since day one, stammering, blushing, avoiding eye contact like I’m too much for her. I’ve always been too much for people. Too intense, too scary, too broken, too fucked up. And I've been told enough times. It’s not news to me. I know what I am and what I bring with me wherever I go. And it’s never been enough for anyone. Too much to handle, too much to fix, too much to take.

I learned to tone it down, to dull the edges. To make myself easier for people to stomach. You get used to it after a while. You learn to make others more comfortable with your existence. You stop being the person you used to be—stop being too much—so they don’t run the other way. But every time I try, it feels like I’m suffocating.

And then Sunday happened. She stepped in front of me, blocked my path, grabbed me, and threatened me, all in under five minutes.

The concern in her eyes. The genuine worry. The way she looked at me like she wasn’t letting me go until I listened to her.

And fuck if it wasn’t attractive.

I should be annoyed. But instead, I’m intrigued. And now, true to my word, I’m on my way to her office.

It’s early Tuesday morning, and the facility is already buzzing with activity. Rowan walks beside me, glancing my way like he knows something is off. “You’re on edge,” he mutters. “Are you worried about the physical?”

“Why should I be?” I shrug.

Rowan stops walking, turning to face me. “You’re fucking hurt, aren’t you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

I don’t answer. He doesn’t need me to. I walk past him instead.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, frustrated. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he adds, catching up to me.

“It’s not that bad,” I assure him, knowing he won’t buy it.

“Ares.” He steps in front of me.

What’s with people stepping in front of me lately?

“What?” I grit out.

“If you’re injured, I don’t want you playing. I’ve noticed you haven’t been stretching with the rest of us. You do it by yourself. And that’s odd, even for you. Get in there, behave, and do whatever they tell you.”

“I’m not taking a break.” I meet him dead-on.

“You stubborn prick.” He shakes his head. “If I find out you’re playing with an injury, I’ll tie you to the bench.”

“Are you done with the threats, Captain?” I raise a brow at him. “Cause I have an appointment.”

He’s silent for a moment before stepping aside.

“Let me know how it goes.”

“I will, Dad,” I throw over my shoulder, earning me a light push forward.

I hear her as soon as I reach her office. The door is slightly open, her voice spilling out—happy, vibrant, and so fucking sweet.

“Yeah, I have one more exam this morning, then I’ll check on Davidson’s shoulder again before lunch. He took a nasty hit on Sunday,” she says. “I’ll evaluate his range again—if it’s still stiff by tomorrow, we might need to consider ultrasound therapy.”

“Alright, kid. You’re doing good. Keep me posted,” Dr. Mathews responds.

A chair scrapes back, and I hear footsteps. I knock on the door before pushing it open all the way.

She looks up and freezes. For half a second, her body locks up like she wasn’t expecting me actually to show up.

Dr. Mathews reaches me and claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Black. Have fun.” He smiles, walking past me.

The door swings shut behind him, leaving us completely alone. Irene recovers fast, plastering on a smile and flipping up her tablet.

“Good morning!” she says brightly, moving like she’s suddenly all business. Like she’s not thinking about what I did to her after the game. But I see everything. I see the way she won’t quite meet my eyes, the way her fingers tighten around the pen, the way her cheeks turn pink.

“Good morning.” I take a slow step forward.

She’s nervous, yet she’s pretending to be professional. And I’m trying my best not to imagine all the other guys who came here before me, who got to feel her hands on them first. Fuck, now I’m thinking about it. The thought sticks in my head like a thorn.

“Alright,” she says, flipping through her notes. “Let’s get started.”

I sit down on the examination table as she sets her pen down.

“You can just sit—” She turns to face me. “Oh, right.” She lets out a small laugh before she takes a step closer.

I don’t say a word; I just sit there, bracing myself for her touch.

She takes a step closer and another until she’s standing right between my legs, close enough that I can feel her warmth. My eyes go dark, and for the first time, I really look at her. Not just the surface, but every little thing I missed before—the flecks of green in her eyes, the way her lashes catch the light, that little beauty mark above her left eyebrow. A tiny dot on the right side of her upturned nose makes my lips twitch.

She used to have a nose ring.

Her sweet scent is faint, but it hits me like a drug, and I have to fight the urge to lean in. My muscles are already reacting to her. I hate how easy it is for her to mess with me without even trying.

“Let me know if anything feels tender or painful, okay?” Her voice is steady but softer now.

I give her a nod, still studying her face, taking in every little detail and trying to make my mind remember where I’ve seen it before. I don’t like not knowing, not remembering, and not being able to tell if she’s really someone I’ve seen or if my mind is playing tricks on me. If I’ve really seen her before, wouldn’t she remember me, too? Or am I the only one deluding myself with potentially false memories?

Her hands move up, and I’m already tense, bracing for her touch. My pulse speeds up as her soft palms land on my shoulders, feeling for any tightness or pain. There isn’t any—just the burn of her hands on me.

I’ve lost count of how many of these exams I’ve gone through. This one is torture.

Her fingers press into the muscle in my shoulder, and my chest tightens. Her touch is measured, gentle, and precise, but the fact that she’s touching me makes me lose track of what I’m even supposed to be doing here. I feel the heat of her touch where her fingers dig into my skin. She leans in slightly, her legs brushing against mine for the briefest moment, and I feel it in my core.

I feel her fingers slide over the muscles in my back, digging deeper into the tissue as she works through the knots.

“No pain?” she asks, moving lower now, trailing her fingers down my biceps, checking for strains.

“No,” I murmur, my voice coming out gravelly.

“That’s good.” She nods, stepping back. “Can you please lie down?”

I roll my shoulders back and brace myself for the moment she’s been waiting for. This is where she finds out just how bad it is. I already know what’s coming, and I’m dreading it. I’ve done this a thousand times before. The exams. The exercises. The stupid physical check-ups. I’ve been through it all. So why is this girl making me feel like a horny teenager who can’t wait to rub one out in the fucking bathroom after saying hi to his crush? This isn’t me. It never has been.

What the hell are you doing to me, little one?

I shift and lie back on the table, my back hitting the cool surface. I put an arm behind my head as I stare at the ceiling.

“Good,” she says, her voice still steady, her expression hard and assessing. She moves to the side of the table, standing right next to me. “Bring your knees up, please.”

I obey and feel the familiar pressure in my hip. No pain yet, but it’s slowly getting there.

“Perfect.” She nods. “Now, I’m going to put my fist between your knees, and I want you to squeeze. Okay?”

I silently bring my knees together, with her tiny fist balled up between them. I squeeze her fist, careful not to hurt her. My hip fights every second of it, but I do it.

“Can you do it harder?” she asks, looking down at me.

“Can you handle harder?” I shoot back, watching her brows furrow before her eyes widen a little, the pink tint returning to her cheeks. I can’t help it. I chuckle before applying a bit more pressure on her fist, still careful not to squeeze her too much. The pressure in my hip turns into an ache.

“Okay, you can bring your legs down,” she says with a nod, and my knees release her fist. I let my legs fall flat against the table, my arm propping my head up. Her fist is too small to do anything. I need something bigger, and she knows it. I can tell by how she’s looking at me and how her eyes dart to the ball on her desk that she should’ve used instead of her fist. She knows my hip’s fucked; she’s just doing this all for show.

She shifts, and then her hand presses against my right hip, right where I forced her hand a few days ago.

Pain shoots through me as she presses harder. A pained growl claws its way up my throat and spills past my gritted teeth. My fingers curl into fists, and her hand stills.

And that’s when I see it. Her eyes. The way they flash.

“I told you you’re injured,” she murmurs, her voice soft. Her fingertips press against the exact spot that’s fucked. “Right here.”

My stomach tightens from pain and…what her touch is doing to me.

“I need to take a better look.” She wets her lips, glancing back down at my hip. “Take off your shorts.”

Silence. Her breath stalls before she sucks in another one. She just realized what the she asked me to do.

“I…I just need to see the…” she tries to cover it up and swallows.

I sit up and slide off the examination table, towering over her again. She doesn’t take a step back; she just tilts her head up to look at me.

“You need to see the what?” I ask, tilting my head to the side

“The area better,” she replies, her voice breathy and weak. “I mean…the injury.” She’s not even trying to hide it anymore. Her eyes are locked onto me, watching every movement, unaware of how fucking badly I’m starting to lose control.

I step back and lean against the table, not saying a word. I reach down and tuck my fingers into the waistband of my black shorts. The fabric stretches as I pull it down, giving her a clear view of the V-line that leads straight down—the hard cut of muscle at my waist, every line of my body.

I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. I want her to watch.

Her eyes dart between me and the angry bruise on my hip, her fingers twitching like she wants to touch it, but she doesn’t move.

“Go ahead,” I murmur darkly, voice low and teasing. “Take a better look.”

She hesitates, just for a moment, her eyes still flicking between my eyes and my abdomen. She knows what’s happening. I can see it in the way her chest rises and falls, the way her throat works as she swallows.

She steps forward, her hand trembling as she moves closer to my side, her fingers pressing gently against the bruise.

“Fuck,” I let out another groan at the pressure, my body tensing from the pain, but it’s more than that now.

“I need to do a scan,” she says, her voice flustered, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink. “It could be a strain. A pull. Could be minor…or it could be serious.”

I don’t even hear her words. My body’s already reacting, that involuntary shift of heat, the way my cock twitches at her touch.

Her hand lingers, gently moving around the area.

“I need you to take your wallet out of your pocket. So, I can feel the area better.”

Wallet?

The words barely register before she taps my dick through my shorts.

Just the lightest touch. Just a fucking tap, but it might as well be an electric shock that runs straight through me.

“That’s not my wallet,” I say, my voice low.

She looks down at her hand for a split second, then back up at my face. Her eyes go wide, and I see the flicker of realization.

Her lips part and her breaths go shallow, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. No, instead, she lets her fingers glide over the bruise in a feather-light touch, sliding lower.

Then I grab her. Fast. Smooth. No warning. I twist our positions in a second flat, my hands snaking around her waist, flipping her around.

And just like that, she’s the one against the exam table. Trapped, caged, and pinned. A small, sharp gasp escapes her lips, her chest rising too fast. Her pulse slams under my touch as I keep her locked there.

Her eyes go wide as I let my gaze drop to her mouth.

She notices, and her lips part instantly in a silent invitation. Her breathing is ragged now, and for a moment, I let myself think about it. What she’d taste like.

What she’d sound like if I really pushed. If I let her fall straight into the fire I’m trying to keep her away from.

“Ares…” Her eyes flick to mine, like she can read my thoughts. Like she knows exactly how close I am to ruining her.

I lean in closer, and her breath stalls.

I could do it. I could fucking take her apart right here. Make her beg for the things she doesn’t even understand yet. But she’s too soft, too goddamn pure to be anywhere near this raw, filthy mess I’m about to get her into.

She’s trying to take care of me—soft, sweet, and way too good—and this is me trying like hell to protect her from the wreckage that’s me.

She doesn’t need a guy like me dragging her into the dark.

She deserves light. Peace. A future that doesn’t come with bruised knuckles and baggage. The selfish part of me wants to give in—wants to give her exactly what those pleading eyes are asking for. But I can’t, even though my hand’s are already twitching, wanting to reach out. To trace the curve of her lips. To brush her hair back, just so I can bury my face in her neck and pretend, just for a second, that I get to have this. That I get to have her. Both sides of me are reckless. Stupid. Screaming. I don’t deserve her care—or her affection. But God, I wish I did

“That’s enough for today,” I say and muster all the self-control I have to pull her back up and release her. I take a step back, running a hand through my hair.

She sways slightly like she just lost her balance. Like her body hasn’t caught up to the fact that I let her go.

Good.

She should be grateful I stopped. Because next time she touches my dick, I won’t—accidental or not. Because she didn’t pull back when she realized what she’d touched. She didn’t stop. Instead, she let her fingers slide lower, testing how much she could touch and get away with.

The little fucking tease.

I watch her for a moment, the way she’s still standing there, hands trembling slightly trying to recover. I take a slow step back, giving us both space. She’s still frozen and still trying to process. But I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for any of it. I have to get out of here before I find out if those lips are just as soft as they look.

I step over to the table where she keeps her clipboard, where she’s scribbled notes about me.

I grab the pen she left behind, fingers curling around it as I glance down at the paper—my name already scrawled across the top. Then I add mine beneath it, in bold and sure writing “Full range of motion – passed.” Then I add a small note in parentheses under it: “Cleared for all activities.”

I set the pen down, my hand resting on the clipboard for a second longer.

I look at her one last time, at those wide eyes, the way she’s struggling to figure out what she’s feeling.

“Ares, you can’t…” Her eyes dart between the clipboard and me, realizing what I’ve just done. “You can’t do that.”

“Good job today, doc,” I mutter in response, my voice low.

And then, I turn, walking out without another word, leaving her behind in a tension-filled room.

Today is my day off. No practice, no team meetings, and no Irene. I head to the youth center like I always do. No one knows about it, and no one needs to, except for Rowan and Damien. It’s an old building tucked away in one of the rougher parts of the city—but not run-down or understaffed. I make generous donations that cover a good portion of the costs and the renovations.

The kids inside are the ones who fell through the cracks, whose parents failed them. Orphans and CPS kids, abandoned and left to figure life out on their own.

I know what that feels like. I know what it’s like to grow up angry. To have nowhere to put it. To have no one to turn to. And when you’re that broken, the last thing you expect is someone to help you. To actually give a shit.

But I had one person. A good man found me after I left the system and ended up with a bad crowd. He took me under his wing, and even though I was already fucked up, even though it was almost too late, he helped me. And I owe him everything. Everything I have, everything I am—I owe it to him. And I never want to be a broken spare part to him. I might not be able to repay him fully, but I’ll be damned if I don’t give these kids the chance I never had.

I don’t want them to be like me. I don’t want them to have the anger, the isolation. I don’t want them to spend their nights wondering why other children have mommies and daddies, and they have nothing.

So, I come here whenever my schedule allows me to, quietly and happily. Not to play hero, not to fix them, but to make sure they don’t have to fight the same way I did—alone.

Whenever I have free time, I spend it here, drawing with the kids, watching movies, taking them out for a picnic, playing games, and building Legos. Everything I never got to do when I was stuck in the system, bouncing from foster home to foster home, always getting sent back for being a problem. I want them to have the things I didn’t have. To have the freedom to be kids.

I park my car, step out, and head for the entrance. But before I’ve fully walked through the door, I’m ambushed by a dozen screaming kids.

“ Ares! ” Tiny bodies slam into my legs.

Small hands grip my arms, waist, and shirt. I stagger back half a step, but I’m already laughing under my breath, bracing for impact.

“Whoa, whoa. You’re gonna knock me out, guys.”

“You’re late!” a little girl with dark curls huffs, standing with her arms crossed like she’s about to put me in time-out. Mandy.

“Am I?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, you are!” Tommy yells, tugging at my wrist. “We’ve been waiting forever!”

“Yeah!” another shouts. “You said we could play soccer today!”

“Nu-uh, he said basketball!”

“No, he said tag!” Mandy’s high-pitched voice cuts through the rest. “Ares, tell them!”

“Carry me!” A small hand tugs at the hem of my hoodie. I look down to see the smallest one, Gracie, blinking up at me. She does this every time.

I smile, bending down to scoop her up and settle her on my hip.

“Weather’s better up here, huh?” I joke, ruffling her hair.

She nods, burying her face in my shoulder.

I feel my chest loosen in a way it never does anywhere else. This is why I come here. To be something else, someone else. Someone who can make people happy, even if it’s just for a little while.

“You really do have a mini fan club, huh?”

I glance up and spot Tia, the center’s coordinator. She’s leaning against the doorway. All curly hair, caramel skin, and bright hazel eyes. She’s been trying to flirt with me for months. Not in a desperate way, just in a way to make me notice her.

“We have a new addition to the team,” she teases, smiling wide.

“Another kid?” I ask, my stomach dropping. I hate seeing new kids here, the scared look on their faces, not understanding why they no longer have a family. I remember my first day coming here, seeing how scared some of these kids were of me. Because I’m a man. Because I have tattoos. Because I look like someone who could hurt them. It fucking broke me.

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s a new volunteer. Let me introduce you,” she adds before stepping aside.

I carry Gracie inside, the others rushing ahead, already arguing about what game we’re playing today and where we’re going. It was my idea to start taking the kids on something like field trips. They rarely leave this place, and I use my time to organize little adventures for them. Whatever it takes to create memories they otherwise wouldn’t get. The second we step into the main room, I set Gracie down, stretching out my arms.

“Alright, what’s it gonna be?” I ask, already knowing it’s a stupid question. It’s the same thing every time until I eventually decide for them.

“Soccer!”

“Tag!”

“No, dodgeball!”

“You do this to yourself, you know that?” Tia laughs.

“I can handle it.” I glance at her, crouching next to Tommy to tie his shoelaces that have been flapping around for the past minute. The pain in my hip flares for a moment before subsiding.

And that’s when I feel a weird shift in the air. The energy just changed. My intuition has always been honed to perfection, so when something feels off, I know it’s off.

Someone’s staring at my back. I can feel their eyes on me. And then, a voice.

“Ares?” A soft, shocked, familiar sound that hasn’t left my mind ever since I heard it for the first time.

I freeze. Slowly, my head turns, my heart skipping a beat. And that’s when I see her standing near the entrance, dressed in a yellow polka-dot dress. Her pretty eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted.

Irene .

She’s staring at me like she just uncovered a fucking secret. And she has. For a second, neither of us speaks. The kids are still tugging at me, still shouting over each other, clinging to my arms and legs, one of them climbing my back, but all I feel is her gaze—burning, searing.

She’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time.

“Oh, you two know each other?” Tia asks, oblivious to the tension. “We’ll have no problems, then!”

Oh, we’ll definitely have some fucking problems.