21. Creed

CHAPTER 21

CREED

The wind bit through the thin fabric of my jacket as I trudged onto the construction site, the skeletal frames of half-finished buildings looming against the backdrop of a gray winter sky. Piles of snow had been pushed aside into gritty mounds along the edges, and the ground beneath my boots was a mixture of ice and slush. I adjusted my gloves, tugging them tighter, trying to keep the cold from slicing through to my fingers. Even though the holidays were around the corner, the work didn't stop. Winter or not, Chicago's skyline always demanded more steel, more concrete, more sweat.

Today, we were focused on prepping the site for the long freeze—covering freshly poured concrete, ensuring the pipes wouldn't burst, double-checking the insulation. I joined the others hauling plastic sheeting over a newly laid foundation, our breath puffing in the air like clouds of smoke. The cold had settled into my bones, but at least I wasn't shivering through another night in my car. The weight of the paycheck in my back pocket reminded me of that small victory, even if it didn't feel like much.

"Hey, Creed!" Pete's voice cut through the sound of machinery. He was leaning against a pile of cement bags, a half- smile on his face. "You're distracted today, man. What's the matter? Got yourself a little holiday romance?"

The other guys snickered, their laughter rolling out like the gravel crunching underfoot. I forced a grin, but it felt tight on my face, the cold pulling at the corners of my mouth.

"Nah, nothing like that. Just thinking about how to spend all this free time over Christmas," I muttered.

Pete gave me a playful nudge with his elbow, nearly knocking me off balance. "Oh, sure, sure. That's why you're staring off into space every two minutes. Bet you've got a lady waiting to warm you up."

I laughed along with them. I still wasn't totally comfortable about them teasing me about my love life, but it'd been weeks working with them and I was starting to become inured to the women jokes. I knew they didn't mean any harm, although their assumptions about my sexuality stung a little. But what would they say if they knew the truth—that I wasn't into women? That my dreams were filled with a man whose kisses left me breathless, whose touch I craved like I needed air?

And lately, those thoughts had a face. Even with Avery halfway across the world in Japan, we kept in touch. Every few days, a message, sometimes a call, and once or twice, we'd even managed to FaceTime. It wasn't anything romantic or sexual, but there was always this undercurrent between us, a pull I couldn't ignore. I found myself looking forward to those chats more than I wanted to admit. It felt like he saw me, beyond the mess I'd become, like I mattered.

During those weeks, I'd learned a lot more about Avery—things he never mentioned back in Chicago. He told me about his father's legacy, the weight he felt carrying it, the struggles of being out and yet still feeling like he had to hide parts of himself to keep the peace. And somewhere along the way, I found myself liking him more than I already did, not just because of the way he'd stood up for me when his mother pushed or the way he looked at me like I was worth something, but because underneath all that polish and wealth, there was a guy who was just as lost as I was.

The foreman's voice cut through our chatter, sharp as the wind. "Hey, pretty boy, you gonna daydream all day, or you gonna get some work done?" He swaggered over, eyes raking over me with that familiar smirk, like he knew exactly how to get under my skin.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to keep my hands steady on the tarp. "On it, boss."

The foreman kept talking, but his voice became a distant hum, like the buzzing of the hydraulic drills. I focused on the work, hauling more material, letting the weight of it burn through my muscles, pushing myself harder just to drown out the noise in my head.

The other workers kept up their chatter, ribbing each other about holiday plans. My own plans felt like a secret I couldn't share, a lie that sat heavy in my gut. They wouldn't understand what it meant to be counting down the days to Christmas, not because of the holiday but because of a guy I'd met in a way that started out all wrong but somehow felt more right than anything in a long time.

"Better wrap up, boys. Weather's turning," the foreman barked, but this time there was a lighter edge to his voice.

The guys shuffled off, their laughter trailing behind them. I stayed back a moment, soaking up the quiet before heading home. Finally, I clocked out, the cold biting at my face as I walked to my car. The drive back was a blur, the city streets giving way to the crumbling building I called home.

In my room, I tossed some clothes into the beat-up duffel bag on the bed. My clothes were simple, practical, and cheap. A few sweaters, a flannel shirt, a decent pair of slacks I'd managed to find second-hand. They were enough for me, but next to Avery's world of tailored suits and holiday parties, they felt like rags. The metal zipper rasped against the silence as I pulled it shut.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. The thought of stepping back into Avery's family mansion again made my stomach twist. I could already hear the judgment behind polite smiles. Last time, over Thanksgiving, they'd managed to catch me off guard a time or two, but this time, I reminded myself, it couldn't get worse. It was round two, and I'd survived the first. I might not have their money, but I knew how to navigate enemy territory, keep my head down, and play my role. After all, I'd faced far worse than a few condescending glances and thinly veiled pity. There'd been actual bullets back in the desert. I could handle this.

Still, a part of me ached at the thought that Avery's world was like a glittering snow globe—beautiful, untouchable, with me stuck on the outside, watching. I shoved that thought down deep. I was doing this for him, because he'd asked, and because… well, this thing between us might become something real.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, snapping me out of my thoughts. Trent's name flashed on the screen—a surprise. He'd left the Marines before me, honorably discharged because injuries from a roadside bomb ended his career early. For a second, I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but I swiped to answer.

"Creed," his voice came through, a little rough but familiar, like a worn jacket that still fit. "Long time, huh?"

"Yeah, it's been a minute." I leaned back against the headboard, picturing his face, remembering how he used to sound over the crackle of radio static.

There was a beat of silence, then Trent chuckled. "Feels like another lifetime, doesn't it? I still hear that damn desert wind some nights."

I let out a small laugh. "Yeah, tell me about it. Guess you're keeping busy, though?"

Trent took the cue, easing into his usual pace.

"Trying, you know. Got this idea—thinking about starting up a security firm. Something small at first, but it feels good to have a plan again." He paused, the excitement in his voice tempered by something softer. "Still figuring it out, but it's better than sitting around feeling useless."

I could almost see him pacing, his hands gesturing like they used to when we'd brainstorm during those late nights, dreaming about what life might look like beyond the sand and gunfire.

"Enough about me," Trent's voice dropped, growing more serious, like he was bracing himself. "What about you, Creed? Heard you're back to civilian life. How's that going?"

I tensed, the words sticking in my throat. Civilian life. He said the words like it was normal, like that dishonorable stamp on my file wasn't sitting there like a stain, even if he hadn't outright mentioned it. Did he know? Had he heard the rumors? My mind buzzed with the questions I didn't want to ask.

I tried to keep my tone light, but my hand gripped the phone so tight it hurt. "Doing some work here and there, just trying to find my footing. You know how it is."

Trent let out a knowing grunt. "Yeah, it's tough. You got plans for the holidays?"

"Spending it with... a friend." I bit back the urge to explain more, feeling like I was exposing a little too much of my messy life. For all I knew, Avery considered this whole thing a business arrangement, a way to keep up appearances. I didn't even know where I stood with him.

"Good, good," Trent replied after a pause, but his voice carried a weight, as if he knew there was more to the story. "We should catch up in person after the holidays. Grab a drink or something."

A strange warmth flickered inside me at the thought. Trent had been through the mud with me. He was the closest thing I had to family, even if we'd drifted apart after he left the military. There weren't many people in this world who cared whether I lived or died, but at least there was Trent, calling out of the blue, reminding me I wasn't completely alone.

"Yeah," I managed, clearing my throat. "I'd like that."

We exchanged a few more words, making tentative plans before the call ended. I stood in the middle of the tiny room for a moment, the silence pressing in around me, but that ache in my chest felt a little less sharp. I didn't know what Avery really thought of me—whether he saw me as something more than a way to fend off his family's questions. But at least I had this. A friend who hadn't forgotten me, who didn't see me as a project to fix or a burden to bear.

I tossed the phone onto the bed. The thought of Avery's warm, well-lit family home with its garlands and fancy decorations gnawed at me, but I shoved it down. I'd survive, like I always did.