20. Gabe

CHAPTER 20

GABE

The door clicks shut behind me, and I tiptoe to the bathroom. It was risky going into Ellis' room while Elliot was still up, working on a paper he wants to finish before our first series this weekend. I should be doing the same, but I couldn't bear to have Ellis take care of himself before he goes to bed. I've made it my job, and I take it very seriously.

"Couldn't sleep?"

I jump at the sound of Elliot's voice, and he snickers. Then he sees the raging boner trying to bust a hole through my pajama bottoms, and sputters on the sip of water he just took.

"You, uh, need the bathroom?" He laughs knowingly and shakes his head. It wouldn't be the first time he's seen me on my way to take a shower after watching porn or something. Thank fuck he didn't see me come out of his brother's room, so nothing seems out of the ordinary.

"I'm headed to bed. You want to run with me in the morning?"

"Yeah, I'm in. "

"Five A.M. sharp," he reminds me, like I haven't been going on morning runs with him since we were in middle school.

"Yeah, yeah. Masochist," I grumble as I close the bathroom door behind me and start the shower.

Honestly, if he weren't so dedicated, I'd never have gotten this far. Huntston only wanted me because of him. Elliot broke records and led our high school to three consecutive national championships, and he insisted that we're a package deal. Everything I have is because of him. My scholarship, attending a prestigious university like Huntston, the opportunity to pull myself out of the situation I grew up in—it's all because of Elliot.

And here I am, nurturing an unhealthy obsession for his twin brother. Jesus. I just had two fingers planted deep inside Ellis' ass, milking his prostate until he cried into his pillow. Two fingers I now have to force myself to put under the water, because I don't want to wash away the evidence.

I'm the real masochist here. And completely full of shit, telling myself and Ellis that I'm just helping. Yes, most of me is focused on righting a major wrong. I need to take care of him, to make it better. But there's a lot more to it than that. I needed the excuse to touch him after I swore not to. Even if I never get to feel his hand or mouth around my cock again, getting to touch him and make him feel good is enough. And I can fantasize about the rest while I furiously beat my dick after each visit to his room, the sounds of his moans echoing in my ears. I refuse to even fantasize about ever feeling his ass around my cock again—I'm still sickened and ashamed of how I lost control, how I just took without being aware of anything other than my own pleasure. Shit, even thinking about it nearly has me going soft, remembering the smear of blood on my cock.

I'm thankful for his forgiveness, because without it I'd probably sink lower than I could climb up fro m. But I don't deserve it. And I'll never forgive myself.

The paragraph I've been trying to read for the past half hour swims in front of my face. It's the middle of the afternoon, but my eyes are crossing. I swallow the last of my energy drink.

I don't know if I can do this.

We killed our first series and had a shutout for our single game against Southern last night. It was a great opening weekend, and the team is playing better than Coach even hoped. And that's awesome. But the season has barely started, and I'm already exhausted.

I thought forcing the issue and having Ellis live here would help calm the possessive need inside me, but I underestimated how hard it would be to sleep knowing he's just across the hall. I get to put my hands on him for just a few minutes each night, but the longer it goes on, the more I want. Who would have thought that having anxiety over not sucking a dick would give me this much trouble?

We're getting on a plane tomorrow, and I hate how much I'm dreading it. We'll be in Texas for six days, and while I loved away games in high school, I'm not enjoying the prospect of being gone that long. It's impossible to get any studying or homework done on the road, so I normally don't bother trying. But the way things are going, I'm not going to have a choice. We're barely a month into the new semester, and I'm already behind. My professors are pretty lenient and give me a little extra time and help since the baseball schedule is so grueling, but it's not like high school where the teachers would let me get away with doing things half-assed .

I'm not sure if what I'm doing could be considered my best. I'm distracted, and I can't sleep. My body aches from too much exercise and not enough sleep. My diet hasn't been great, because I've been relying on sugar and energy drinks to get me through my morning classes and these afternoon slumps. Not that it's helping much. I've got a lab in an hour and a half and hoped I'd get some of this homework out of the way this afternoon, but it's just not happening. I groan and rest my head against my arms.

The sweetest voice, low and soft, says my name. It sends a little chill over my skin. The smell of oil paints stings my nostrils, and I know it's him, back from his studio. I grin and lean into the warm hand on my shoulder, a contented sigh rumbling in my chest.

"The fuck are you dreaming about, dude?" A different voice, also familiar and affectionate but significantly less appreciated, cuts through my sleepy haze. Elliot pats me on the shoulder, chuckling. "Good dreams, princess?"

Fuck. I fell asleep!

"Shit, what time is it?" I say, sitting up so fast I nearly knock my entire stack of books and papers off the table that doubles as our kitchen counter.

"It's just after four thirty," Ellis answers softly.

I groan and return my head to the counter. " Fuuuuuuuuuck, " I whine against the faux granite.

There's no way I can make it across campus in time for the professor to let me in. And since it's a chemistry lab, I'd miss the entire beginning of the lesson and wouldn't be able to keep up, anyway. Shit, shit, shit. I'll have to email my professor and apologize, but what excuse can I even make? Sorry, Teach. I missed your class to nap. I can't sleep because of the blue balls I have over my best friend's brother .

When I lift my head from the cooling puddle of drool I was sleeping in, Elliot and Ellis are watching me with matching concerned expressions. There are very few moments when you can tell that they're twins, and this is one of them. While Ellis' features are softer than Elliot's more chiseled jawline and broad nose, they still both have their dad's dark hair and high cheekbones, and their mother's striking blue eyes. They're both standing with their heads cocked, arms crossed, and tiny matching furrows between their brows as they wait for me to tell them what's wrong.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," I explain. "Missed my afternoon lab."

Missing the labs is a big deal, because they make up a significant part of our grades and are only once a week. I was careful to only schedule labs on days that we are less likely to have games, but I miss enough as it is because of our playing schedule. It's going to be impossible to catch up. I slump in my chair, running a hand over my face. I don't even have the benefit of feeling rested for my efforts, just a crick in my neck and a bad taste in my mouth.

"Do you think you'll be able to make it up?" Ellis asks. He's the only one that knows just how hard I worked to survive our first semester.

"I don't know," I say honestly, shrugging and then dropping my arms in defeat. I really don't want to be a downer or be too whiny. I'm thankful for the life I have, the opportunities I've been given. I want to be here. But I just don't know how I'm going to make it through four years of this. The pressure of it all is bad enough, but I don't know if I'm capable of juggling an Ivy League education with a grueling sports schedule. It's too much.

"We'll get you a meeting with the team's academic counselor," Elliot says, always the fucking optimist. Everything comes so easily to him. He works hard. I'm not taking that for granted. But he's fucking smart on top of being driven. He doesn't seem to struggle with studying or keeping up with the course load, even though our schedules are so busy. He'd agree that it's all a lot to keep up with, but he takes it in stride and excels no matter what the challenge.

Elliot thumps against my back. "You've got this, big guy. Now, how about we head down to the dining hall early, and you can tell us who had you smiling in your dream like that."

Avoiding looking at Ellis on the pain of being beaten half to death by my best friend, I mumble something about being too tired and stumble to my room to finish my nap. Of course, once I'm in there, I'm wide awake, listening to the brothers argue over whether Ellis is going to stay on as equipment manager for the Howler's baseball team. Brandon is going to be out for the rest of the season due to needing a second surgery for his broken leg, and there's no telling when he'll be able to do much more than hobble around in a boot. It's an official school job that qualifies for the work-study program, and Coach intercepted the job listing for Ellis, assuming he'd want it.

I don't think Ellis minds as much as he's letting on. He likes baseball even if he doesn't like playing. He pretends not to, but why would anyone that isn't interested just randomly be able to spout off player stats about upcoming rival teams? Ellis has always been his brother's biggest fan, and mine. I shouldn't like having him there as much as I do, but I never play better than when I can feel his eyes on me. I wonder how I didn't notice earlier that his attention felt different.

There's a soft tap at the door a while later, after I've spent too much time staring at the ceiling, telling myself that I'm just wasting time and might as well just get up and force myself to focus. Ellis comes in with a plate of three sandwiches and a bowl of fruit.

"Hey," he whispers .

"Hey."

"I thought you might be hungry," he says, swiping half of one of the sandwiches before setting the plate on my nightstand.

Instead of leaving, he sits down in my desk chair. It's the first time he's been in my room since that night, not that it was ever a regular occurrence. Since I watch him so closely these days, I notice he doesn't wince at all when he sits. I wonder if he's only letting me apply the medicine for the sake of orgasms, but decide I don't mind that. I don't want to stop.

Ellis watches me while he chews a corner of the sandwich. "You seem stressed."

I let out a derisive chuckle and push myself up to sit on the side of the bed, tossing a few grapes into my mouth and picking up a sandwich. "I'm behind again, already," I say with my mouth full, as if poor manners could cover up just how over my head I am right now.

"Feels like more than that." He knows me too well. "Are you getting enough sleep? I feel like all you do is go to class, work out, practice, and work out some more."

"Meh."

"Not meh ," he says, stealing a grape and throwing it at my head. "Your eye bags have eye bags. You should cut back on the workouts and get some sleep."

"I'm not missing sleep to work out, E. I'm working out to help me sleep," I admit. "Every time I look at one of my books, my eyes cross, but as soon as I get in bed, I'm wide awake."

My bed is cursed, I'm sure of it. It was fine until I had Ellis in it, maybe too much so, considering I spent most of the winter break hibernating. But having him the way I wanted him just that one time and fucking everything up so royally, I haven't really slept since. I can't tell him that, though . I can't admit how wrecked I am over him, and I don't want him taking on any blame regarding what happened that night.

"How long has this been going on?"

"I dunno, since classes started back up again, I guess." He raises an eyebrow.

"Or maybe a few days before that?"

I grunt. He knows me too well. "Maybe."

"You've got to let it go, Gabe. I promise I'm okay, and I don't blame you for anything."

"I blame me!" I say, raising my voice. "Because I fucked up. I fucked everything up."

"Yeah," he agrees, and it takes some of the wind out of me. "You did fuck up. But you came back. You apologized." His voice lowers, and he holds my gaze intently. "You made it all better."

Fuuuuuck. The way those last five words came out of his mouth was wrong. Wrong in a way that makes my tongue feel heavy.

Of course, he notices my reaction. He aimed to kill and hit his mark perfectly.

"Nothing will ever make what I did okay. No amount of groveling will ever be enough."

Ellis stands and reaches for a piece of fruit. He eats the piece of pineapple slowly, leaning against my desk, knowing that I'm watching every movement of his jaw as he chews, waiting to watch his Adam's apple as he swallows.

"So keep groveling then," he says before licking his fingers clean.

"Ellis… "

"Gabe," he repeats, mimicking my tone. "You think you need to pay some kind of penance to earn the forgiveness I've already given you, so earn it."

He's maintaining an impossible level of calm and collected while I'm fighting to keep my mouth from gaping open. There's an excess of saliva in my mouth, but not enough to swallow the small bite of a strawberry I was working on before Ellis shocked me to my core.

"What do you mean?"

Even though I have zero doubts where he's going with this, I need him to say the words, if only to stall so I can remember how to think. He cocks his head, that laser gaze of his burning through me.

It feels impossible to say no when every cell in my body wants to scream yes, to please him in any and every way possible. But it's too risky.

"You want to grovel, to make yourself feel better about what you did. So get on your knees and grovel. Because you're the only one that can make me feel good."

"We can't?—"

"I'm not asking you to propose, Gabe." He straightens and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it on the bed next to me.

I stare at it, and the bed itself, and shake my head.

"Not here."