Page 88 of Built To Perform

“All that stuff about me and Jefferson eating together.”

Donny side-eyed me as he pitched balled-up napkins into the nearest open bag. Groaned, then, as they ricocheted onto the ground.

“I don’t think he meant anything by it, dude.” He bent to scoop up the trash.

“I don’t even know what ‘it’ is meant to be,” I complained.

Donny sighed, turning to lean his ass against the edge of the picnic table we’d all sat at. The others had cleared out - mainly, I suspected, to avoid getting roped into cleanup duties - with a promise to reconvene in the hot tub later.

“You and Jefferson are close, right?”

“I mean, of course, yeah. We’re all close, aren’t we?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Well, sure. But you and him maybe have a special... friendship.”

I shrugged. “I mean, if you’re asking whether I wish I could be more like him, of course I do.”

Donny smiled, nodding. “Worse people you could try to model yourself after, I won’t argue with that.”

“And I never really had a friend like him,” I continued, feeling a little sheepish as I admitted it. Not like I thought Donny would judge me; he - like all of my team bros - knew what was involved, what was sacrificed, when you had big ambitions to commit to. “I just hope he’s getting as much out of it as I am, y’know?”

Donny’s wink seemed positively conspiratorial, which was fine except I wasn’t sure what we were conspiring about.

“It takes a lot to process all this stuff,” he said, instead of explaining. “But there’s no rush, dude.”

I nodded. Feeling like I was missing something, like there was some undercurrent of knowledge that the other guys - heck, probably Coach and Luke, too - had all figured out, and understood already, but which hadn’t dawned on me yet.

Then again, I was the youngest of the group. It wasn’t exactly rare for me to be the slowest to grasp something new, too.

“I’m just glad everyone is so patient with me,” I told him.

Donny slung his wiry, muscled arm around my shoulders, and patted my stomach amiably.

“No fear of that, Eoin. Now remember, hot tub rule number one is no swimsuits allowed. Got it?”

I frowned. That particular rule hadn’t been shared before, though I guessed I could understand it.

“Got it,” I told him, and got a squeeze in reply.

#

It was a relief to be first to the hot tub. Not like my bros hadn’t already seen me naked, but getting caught in nothing but a jock strap once already this trip was more than sufficient. Donny could keep his exhibitionist tendencies.

Quickly, I shoved off my shorts and yanked the t-shirt over my head. I’d not bothered with underwear, so it was only seconds before I was sliding my legs into the water.

It wasn’t like the day was cold, but the hot tub was a pleasant few degrees higher. Instantly coaxing stress out of muscles I hadn’t even realized were tense, my lower back tingling as the worry of the past couple of weeks began to dissipate.

Sighing, and resisting the urge to slip down until I disappeared completely beneath the surface, I let my head rock back. Staring up at the gathering darkness; the sky still far from night’s ink, yet already punctuated with more stars than it felt like I could ever recall seeing before.

I’d been worried about the trip, for all I was excited at the prospect of it, too. Eager to spend more time with my big bros, and curious about Coach’s boyfriend, and fascinated - if unnerved - by the thought of Coach himself in a more casual situation.

And at the same time, concerned that some of the most important people in my life would bring up the mistakes I’d made recently, and force me to confront how I’d let people down. People that I cared about, and who - I was finally getting to grips with accepting - cared about me, too. It already tore me up inside that I hadn’t been able to save Brayden’s job, and that Jefferson had been forced to come rescue me, and that Coach probably still wasn’t entirely sure he could trust me to make good, sensible decisions. My brain had preemptively convulsed at the idea of having to discuss such things right in front of them.

Instead, it’d been fine. Better than fine, really: comfortable, and relaxing, and a sort of fun that, growing up, I’d only really thought was a plot device in movies.

“Hey, lil bro.”

I raised my head to see Carlos sauntering over to the hot tub. A towel tossed over one shoulder; the bright white slash of a swimsuit stretched across his midsection. He was grinning, all white teeth and clear amusement, by the time my eyes met his again.