5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Elia s

Seventeen Years Old

School had been awful. Jarman hadn't shown up and practice just wasn’t the same without him. The weather had been cold and wet, signaling the oncoming winter weather. He hadn't been answering his phone either, so I called his sister, Caitlyn. She was the only one left of the four that still lived at home.

“Hey Catie!”

“Hey Mouse! What can I do for my favorite brother?”

I scoffed. “I’m not your brother, but favorite I will take—especially now. Where’s Jarman? He isn’t answering his phone and he missed school, and practice…Is everything okay?” I knew my words came out jumbled and way too fast, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I stood against my locker, leg jiggling as she took way too long to reply.

“He has a cold, Mousey. Just give him a few days and he will be back to normal.”

My stomach churned. I could count on one hand the number of times Jarman had gotten sick. He was my rock, my big, strong best friend.

“Is he okay?” The worry in my voice couldn’t be misinterpreted for anything but. With each second she took to reply my heart thumped a little harder.

“He isn’t great, but he’ll be okay, it’s just the flu. He doesn’t want you to get sick.”

“Okay, tell him to get better.” I bluffed, hanging up and mentally making a plan. That’s how I found myself at Jarman’s door after school with two oversized paper bags.

“Is that you hiding behind those bags, Mouse?” Anne asked, laughter in her tone.

I lowered them enough to smile. “Catie said Jarman was sick?”

“He is, honey. He doesn't want to spread his germs though. He specifically asked me to send you home and no sneaking in.”

My face heated. “I'm sorry, but I can't leave. I have chicken soup, cold compresses, and Tylenol. I need to see him and help him get better. He went to prom for me, so I owe him.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “Okay, but if you get sick, he’ll never forgive me.”

“I won't! Thanks, Anne!” I ran to his room, slowly easing the door open with my foot.

There he was, curled up in bed and looking uncharacteristically small. My stomach flipped, much like the time I tried the spinning cup ride: wouldn’t recommend, I liked going fast and spinning on the ice but spinning tea cups were a whole other ball game.

“Hey, Jar…” I circled the bed, heart sinking with how pale he was. My body revolted at the sight of the hard frown on his face that displayed his discomfort. I placed my hand on his forehead. He was burning up.

“Go, Mouse. No sick,” he grumbled.

I ignored it.

I dug out one of the ice packs, wrapped it in a cloth, and placed it on his head. Jarman sighed and relaxed into the feeling. He was shivering despite the sweat-soaked sheets. I wrestled him out of bed, replacing the sheet before tucking him beneath the comforter .

I spent the night listening to his grumbles of pain, which made my heart stutter in worry. Changing the cold pack on his head seemed to keep his temperature down and I kept his fluids up with Gatorade. After a few hours of sleep, he managed the chicken soup. I knew I was going to get grounded the next day when I didn't go to school but all I cared about was nursing Jarman back to health. That night, he got some color back in his cheeks. The one after that, the fever broke. I laid beside him, watching him doze peacefully without the grizzly grumbles. Finally, after over twenty-four hours, I was able to sleep myself.

The sound of commotion down the hall jolted me awake, breaking through the haze of a deep sleep. "Is my son here?" My father's voice, sharp and urgent, pierced the serene morning.

I glanced at the clock and cursed. I'd forgotten to set my alarm again. I’d been MIA for two consecutive nights tending to Jarman, who now slept soundly beside me. He appeared much like his old self, albeit a bit disheveled with stubble dusting his cheeks. If not for the clamor echoing down the hallway, I might have taken a second to marvel at the sight. I'd always wondered what it felt like to have body hair—my own seemed to have missed the memo.

"He's here," Anne replied. I tried to shake off my drowsiness. "He was worried about Shane. He's been sick for the past couple of days."

There was a palpable grumble in my father’s response. I could almost hear his thoughts; he never liked losing his composure, especially in front of the Jarman’s.

"Next time, please send him home," he said tersely. "I've been told he missed school yesterday. I won't tolerate failing grades."

"Of course, I'm sorry," Anne's sweet voice chimed in. It sounded sincere enough, but I knew better. That sweetness was saccharine—masking something far more sinister beneath the surface .

Anne's footsteps drew nearer and I scrambled to dress and gather my things. I silently thanked her for walking slowly enough to afford me the chance to prepare.

"Mouse?" Shane's groggy voice interrupted my flurry of activity. Bleary eyes watched me with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.

"It's fine, go back to sleep," I assured him.

"I feel like all I've done is sleep," he muttered, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to collect himself.

Anne appeared in the doorway, her expression etched with concern. "Hey, Mouse, your dad's here."

I shot a quick glance back at Shane, whose concern mirrored his mothers. I offered them a reassuring smile and made my way down the hallway, bracing myself for the impending lecture. His anger simmered behind his fa?ade, and I knew full well that I was about to face the consequences—most likely a grounding. But I regretted nothing. My best friend was on the mend, and that was all that mattered.

"Elias Michaels, you have some explaining to do!" My father's booming voice echoed through the living room at home, his hands planted firmly on his hips.

"He was sick, Dad!"

"With the flu, Elias! I understand he's your friend, but this is too far. You're not allowed to see him for the rest of the week. You'll go to school, you’ll go to practice, and then I expect you home and studying. If your grades slip even a hair below a B, there will be further consequences. Do you understand?" His tone brooked no argument.

I nodded, trying to convince myself that I could survive a week without Jar. He was better now, and we'd still see each other at school. I could totally do that. Right?

Wrong. That very night, my body began to ache.

"Elias! School!" My father's voice penetrated my restless slumber, and I reluctantly pulled my aching body from bed. Each step made the room spin.

I stumbled into the kitchen, probably looking as awful as I felt. My dad muttered a curse and stepped forward, reaching out to feel my forehead.

"This is what you get," he muttered, his concerned tone laced with frustration. "Consider it your punishment. Go back to bed."

I nodded silently, too weary to argue, and shuffled back to my room. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, a cool breeze washed over me. Had I opened the window?

A familiar, earthy scent wafted around the room, followed by the comforting touch of a warm hand on my forehead.

"Goddamn it, Eli,” a gruff voice said. “This is why I didn't want you near me."

There was a rustle of movement, then the sound of him slipping back through the window. When I pried my heavy eyelids open, I caught him just before he placed a cool cloth on my forehead. I sighed with relief.

I wouldn't admit it to Shane, but I was secretly grateful for falling ill. It meant he could nurse me back to health, and I wouldn't have to miss a single night of sharing a bed with him.

Present

I glared down at the ad profile I was supposed to be working on. All the interns had been given a big project four weeks in: an opportunity to advertise for a well-known recruitment company.

“Dude, stop tapping your pen! You’re driving us nuts.”

I looked to the guy across my stall. He wore the same scowl he’d been giving me since day one. I was starting to think it was a permanent fixture on his face. If I were a meaner man, I would have told him to pluck his brows if he was going to spend all that time frowning… but I wasn’t that type of person. Call me entitled but when I started working for my dad , I didn’t think I would be working in the trenches. He’d thrown me in with the other interns like a steak in shark-infested waters. He called it some sort of “character building.” I was all for competition, I thrived on it—on the ice. Here, I felt like a polar bear in Florida, out of my depth and feeling the heat. Every hope I had to make friends with my colleagues dashed out the door with the announcement that I was the boss’s son.

I mumbled an apology and stopped my tapping. My tongue was starting to feel fat in my mouth, dry from doing nothing but sit in one spot of my mouth. What was worse was going home to an empty apartment every day because Jenna had been pulling long hours. I sighed and flipped my phone over to see if Jarman had gotten back to me. I was left with a big, fat, nothing . Tyler hadn’t replied to me either and I was starting to get concerned. Had I done something wrong?

Having the gift of the gab didn’t exactly make for good advertising either. I looked back to the proposal I was working on and the best I could come up with was, “We will get you the job.” Creative.

Asking my dad for help wasn’t an option. That wouldn’t do me any favors. This was where I needed Jarman. Just having someone to bounce ideas off would have been nice. Except … I had no one.

“Interns! Please gather your proposal and head to the boardroom.”

I looked up to our senior marketing executive, Georgia. She reminded me of Meranda’s old assistant Emily from The Devil Wears Prada… scary. Her laser-focused eyes bore into me. I had been on the receiving end of those looks plenty of times. The only difference was on the ice, I had the confidence to defend myself. Here though? I felt like a duck landing on the ocean waves wondering where the pond was.

I gathered my lack of a proposal and readied myself for what I expected to be a reaming after a bad game. Fifteen eager interns sat poised in their Sunday best, laptops, and files ready to impress the man sitting at the table: my father. Though I felt the heat of his unwavering stare, I tried to avert my gaze.

“Alright, since you aren’t competing for the position, we’ll start with you, Elias,” Georgia so kindly offered. I swallowed the lump in my throat, which might as well have been my tongue. I wish it had been.

I stood and plugged my computer to the boring website of Game Changers Recruitment . Picking apart their website counted as a presentation, right?

“So, uhm, let's be honest. Their site is boring, it has no presence and from their current statistics they’re working by word of mouth alone. It’s served them well, but unless you wanted to read what looks to be a thousand-word essay on their ethics you’d overlook it, right?”

I was met with blank faces. My father waved his hand, signaling me to move the conversation along.

So, I did, pushing past the tightness in my throat. Was it just me or was there no air in that room? “So, considering their name, what if they designed their website like a sports website? But with statistics. Have their recruiters displayed like game stats. Think about how during the intermission of a hockey game you have the top players listed, their percentage of positions filled, longevity in a role… That way the performance of their team is clear as day. It makes them accountable, and it makes people want to use that ‘Player’ per se.”

I was making things up as I went but, to be honest, I kind of liked the idea. If only I had thought of it the last few weeks of staring at the proposal days on end.

“Do you have an example of how this would look?” My father asked, eyeing me expectantly.

Cue stomach drop.

“I’m still working on it,” I lied.

Dad’s expression dropped—disappointment flooding his features. Meanwhile, my colleagues were busy covering up their amusement.

“Have it on my desk by tomorrow morning.” And with that, he moved onto the next person. My face burned hotter than the time Jarman and I got fried by the sun in the Hamptons.

It was one in the morning by the time I got back to my apartment, dragging my feet behind me like they were made of lead. The feeling of finishing a proposal on time wasn’t anything like the high after a hockey win. My heart plummeted at the reminder that there would be no hockey season after this summer. Just more of… this. I’d dealt with snide remarks of my colleagues all day. To them I was nothing but an entitled golden boy, born with a silver spoon in my mouth. If only they knew that I hadn’t always dreamt of being a well-paid salesman.

But right then? I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and fall asleep.

I tried to be quiet as I stripped and crawled into bed but a murmur from Jenna told me I had failed.

“You're home late.” She mumbled, shifting to throw her leg over me and straddle my lap. Her hands mapped out the lines of my chest, which after losing my gym hours was less than impressive. Jen ground her hips down on me, lips leaving mine to work their way south.

But I just wasn't feeling it. Which was shit because I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d been together.How often were you supposed to have sex in a steady relationship?

“Jen…” I warned, her mouth still traveling toward my flaccid dick. He was as ready for bed as I was.

The fact that I couldn’t get hard for my girlfriend only added to the weight of the embarrassment from earlier that day .

She dipped her hand between my legs and her immediate pause spoke volumes. I didn’t know much about women but I didn’t think they’d find a soft cock… arousing.

“Yeah, Eli?” The disappointment bled through her tone—through my skin, sinking into my bones and making me feel dirty. I just wanted to curl up and wallow, which I could happily say was a foreign feeling for me. Whenever I got sad, there was always one person who could make it better—and that person wasn’t speaking to me.

“I’m just exhausted, can we take a raincheck?”

Jenna stiffened, sliding off me and curling into herself on her side of the bed. I scrubbed a hand over my face, rolling over to wrap my arm around her. “I'm sorry. I promise it's nothing to do with you.”

She sighed. “It's fine Eli, really.”

Nothing sounded “fine.” But I was too exhausted to argue. I held her until she fell asleep, then rolled to my side. Despite how tired I was, my mind was stuck on the fact that I missed sharing a house with my best friend. I missed the sound of his heartbeat being able to soothe my every worry.

With that in mind, I decided what I wanted—what I needed . I had to get out of whatever funk I was in. And only one person could help.

By the next morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a mack truck.

I hadn’t slept, so I spent the early hours booking an immediate flight to Vancouver. Packing consisted of throwing enough clothes in a bag that looked good and tossing it in my car. The only hiccup? I still had a day job to attend to. With a groan, I went back up to my apartment to get ready.

On my way out the door, I eyed the untouched coffee machine. If any day called for a pick me up… I loaded up some instructional video as I fiddled with the buttons. Of course, there wasn't one specifically for this model. I opted for the cappuccino button, hoping for the best. As the machine whirred to life, I grabbed milk and a mug, forgoing the stainless steel one they used in the demo and reaching for the frother.

Scalding metal singed my fingers and I yelped. I shook off the pain and re-positioned the mug, careful not to touch the hot metal. The machine spit and sputtered, spewing coffee onto my pristine, white shirt and scorching my skin.

"Shit!" I cursed, dropping the full mug to the floor where it shattered. Sighing in frustration, I realized I needed to do more research before attempting the thing again. I glanced at the clock—already late. I hastily cleaned the mess, not bothering to change out of my stained shirt as I headed for the door, telling myself it was fine, everything was just fine. Suddenly I realised Ross from Friends was all too relatable when it came to being an adult.

Eyes followed my every step to my desk, though I wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion on my face, the stains on my clothes or my hair standing on end from me tugging at it in frustration. As I got to my desk, my favorite colleague Georgia came in, giving me a snarky once over in—pausing at the appearance of me. “Mr. Michaels has requested to see you.”

I nodded, not missing the snickers and whispers coming from behind me. I’d only been the victim of bullying a handful of times in my life. I’d been the last person in the world to hit my growth spurt and it made me a target—until they realized I had a bodyguard named Jarman. The taunting from my colleagues only made his loss hurt worse.

I fortified myself, making an ill-fated attempt to straighten my suit before I knocked on my father’s office door, pushing it open at the sound of his voice. The stern, disapproving look on his face had me biting my lip.

“Take a seat, Elias.”

I did as he asked, unable to stop fiddling with my tie.

“God, son, did I not raise you better? I don’t know where to start.”

I did the only thing I could do: I submitted. I turned my gaze to my lap.

“Elias, look at me.” His palm slammed down on the desk, making me jump. “When will you ever grow up? I hoped that by letting you have your youth, you would come into this and take it seriously. But you’ve barely put any effort. You look like you slept in your suit. You didn’t finish a project that you had four weeks to complete. Did all that money I spent on college go to waste?”

“No sir… I’m sorry. I’ll do better,”

His shoulders relaxed a bit.

“I don’t know what to do with you Elias, but you can’t sweet talk your way out of this. You need to step up. Your idea wasn’t half bad, but your execution was lackluster to say the least. You didn’t have the material to support yourself. What I received last night should have been what you brought in.”

I only nodded in response

“Goon, get back to work. Show up like that again and you’ll go straight home. And get a haircut!”

With another quick “yes sir,” I went back to my desk and tried to act busy for the remainder of the day.

When I clocked out early, I only got more dirty looks . But it seemed to fit: I was the walking disappointment. I couldn’t find it in me to care. I was only a few hours away from seeing the one person that mattered most. With every minute, my heart beat a little faster. One short flight later, I was standing in front of his door. His sister gave me the address, so I owed her a favor but that was a problem for future me.

I took a deep breath, shaking with nerves as I knocked on the door. Though I couldn’t quite comprehend why—I was about to see my best friend. The door opened to a shirtless Hunter, whose eyes widened as he took me in. Tyler sat behind him on the couch wearing an equally stunned expression. “Mouse?”

“Hey!” I lunged, wrapping the big man in a hug, because damn, I missed seeing those guys every day. Even if they were surprised to see me, at least they weren’t looking at me like I was the town fool.

Hunter returned the embrace, only letting go so Tyler could do the same. “Mouse, I love you, but you stink, and you look like you slept in your clothes. Are you okay?”

I couldn’t help but smile. I missed Tyler’s protective nature. “I am now. It's been… anyways! I’m here! In Canada!” I bounced on my toes, struggling to peek around them to try and find Jarman.

“Where's Jar?”

They looked at each other, sharing some secret exchange I wasn’t privy to.

“He went out with Cal,” Tyler answered.

Damn. “Oh, okay. Do you mind if I use your bathroom? I can get cleaned up and then go try and find them.”

They exchanged another similar look. “I don’t know if that's a good idea,” Tyler said, my smile falling from my face.

“Why?” I didn’t like how my voice trembled. My heart raced with the mere prospect of not seeing him after I traveled so far. I needed him. Obviously seeing the distress in my eyes, something shifted in Hunter's body language.

“Go get cleaned up. He’s playing wingman for Cal at Club Spirit.”

Elated, I leapt into his arms once more. “Thankyou! I owe you!”

Showered and looking a little more presentable, I stood outside a club with some colorful characters waiting in line. I’d never been in a gay club before and by the looks I was receiving, I clearly wasn’t dressed for the occasion. Form fitting suit pants and a plain t-shirt likely wasn’t the best choice. I got to the front of the line and the drag queen checking IDs looked me up and down as I showed her mine. “First time, Honey?”

I gave her a shy grin. “That obvious?”

“It is. You are going to get eaten alive in there, sweetheart. They can smell fresh meat a mile away.”

I gulped. If it wasn’t for Jarman being on the other side of that door, I might have run away given the hungry look she was giving me. That makeup job was fire, but I only had one interest in mind.

The music engulfed me the same way a wave muffled your voice when you went under. But the environment made it clear that no one was there to talk. The dance floor buzzed in a way I hadn’t seen before. Men grinding against men, women were wrapped up in other women. I was frozen in place, unsure of what I thought I might see. Like, I knew the concept, but that energy was something you could never prepare yourself for. It hit me that hetero clubs were far more… tame. Here, people just didn’t care.

I finally found it in me to drag my feet to the bar, which was slightly higher than the dance floor. I scanned the space, half expecting to find him standing back in the shadows like he did at every hockey party. Not finding him there, I studied the dance floor.

My eyes landed on a familiar frame, and my whole body went rigid.

I did a double take but that was definitely Jarman— my Jarman—kissing a man . Passionate kissing, making out like—okay they were practically tongue fucking each other. A flush of heat washed over my body. My jaw went slack. I gaped, unable to connect the dots in my mind. This was my best friend, my playboy best friend who I had spent my whole life with—and I didn’t know he liked men. The way he was kissing that guy, he definitely liked it. His body rolled against the other man, hands gripping his ass, hips swaying in time to the music.

My gut twisted. I felt my chest ache.

My best friend had been keeping secrets from me. The combination of everything made my eyes burn. I couldn’t fight the tears if I wanted to; they poured down my cheeks involuntarily, the taste of salt hitting my lips but I did nothing to wipe the wetness away. What was the point? The tears would just keep coming.

As if he felt some tug towards me, Jarman ripped his lips away from the small, muscular man. Our eyes met, and his went wide. Apparently, I had that effect on people that day.

I saw my name on his lips, the same lips that had just been kissing that guy. I don’t know what it was, but it had my heart snapping in two and my mind telling me to leave. I spun and ran out of the club, hardly recognizing what my life had become in just four short weeks.