I jerk back like I've been burned.
The gym slams back into focus all at once, too loud, too bright, and I have no idea how long I was standing there gone. Seconds. Minutes. I genuinely don't know, and that frightens me more than me touching him did.
I glance sideways to make sure no one caught my mistake.
Rhys sits up slowly, eyes finding mine. He's smirking, obviously amused. Of course he is. Always unbothered.
I am the opposite of unbothered. I just lost an entire piece of myself standing in a public gym, in front of him, and I don't know how to get it back.
And I wonder how far he would have let me go.
"You sure you’re good, Captain?"
I nod, throat too tight to speak.
My hand's still tingling.
I want to run.
I turn away from Rhys before he can see whatever the hell is on my face. The rest of practice is a blur. I finish the workout. I talk to Fitch. I give the team the cooldown instructions. I do everything I’m supposed to do because that’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done. I put one thing in front of the other until there’s no room for anything else. Except when everyone starts clearing out, I head for the locker room too quickly.
Too fast to look casual.
I strip my shirt off before I even reach my locker, needing air, needing space, needing anything that isn’t the image of Rhys under the bar, breathing hard, looking at me like he knew exactly what it was doing to me. I shove my clothes into my bag and head for the showers before half the guys make it in. Turn the water down until it's almost nothing. Stand under it with my hands flat on the tile and my head dropped forward.
The water turns cold over my head.
I stand under it and close my eyes.
It doesn’t help.
Because the problem is still there.
Low in my stomach.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
I look down and swear under my breath.
This is not happening.
Not here. Not because of him.
My hands brace against the tile and I drop my head forward, water running down my neck, my shoulders, my back. Ibreathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, like I can discipline my own body into obedience. Like I haven’t spent most of my life doing exactly that.
Be harder.
Be better.
Don’t give anyone a reason.
Don’t be soft.
Don’t be anything anyone can see.
My father’s voice is distant, but it still finds me when I’m weakest. Most vulnerable. I turn the water colder. It still doesn’t help.
