Page 50 of Studs Up
He ran his hands through his hair again and then took several deep breaths. It was a panic attack. He was trying hard to control his breathing, but it wasn’t working.
“I don’t need this right now,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”
“Not likely,” I muttered.
“Why do you care so fucking much?” He rounded on me.
“I don’t know,” I answered calmly. “But I do, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”
“Fuck you,” he flicked his hand at me and kept pacing. “I don’t need you.”
“Never thought you did.” I pushed up and leaned against the headboard, watching him. He was a ball of pent up energy ready to explode. That was why he ended up in the gym nearly every night. More pieces were coming together.
“Holden,” I said, softening my tone. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m gay,” he said, irritated.
“Yeah, I got that part when you sucked my dick clean.”
He laughed, but it died quickly. He didn’t stop. He stretched his legs from one end of the room to the other.
“I don’t think you really understand,” he was angry. “This,” he gestured to me and then himself. “This is bad. Really fucking bad.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” I crossed my arms and watched him carefully.
He laughed again, cold and distant.
“Sure, until you get mad at me or want to get one up on me before a game.”
I was out of bed so fucking fast my feet hardly touched the floor. I caught him by the arm and pulled him around.
“When I tell you I’m not going to tell anyone, I’m not going to fucking tell anyone.” He matched my glare with a defiant scowl. “And I am never going to take advantage of you. I will never hurt you like that. If you’re done with this thing, you started, fine. But I will not turn on you. So don’t ever say that shit to me again.”
His eyes widened, and his lips parted. I temporarily shocked him out of his panic attack.
“Got it?”
“You say that now,” he spat back. “But you’ll take the opportunity when it presents itself.” He yanked his arm out of my grip.
He took a step back, and I crossed my arms.
“I don’t dance around shit, and I don’t want to win a game because I compromised a player. It’s cheap and cowardly. Something has you fucked up, and I want to know what it is.”
Neither of us was going to get any sleep until he dealt with this. He was so tired and trying so hard to keep himself together. I could see it in the anguish in his eyes. The fear and the walls were coming apart.
“Now, tell me.”
His arms slid around his middle, just like the night in the Portland hotel. He said nothing and held his scowl for as long as he could. I maintained my determination to get it out of him.
“I have nightmares,” he said eventually, between breaths.
“About?”
“What do you think? Being outed.” He closed his eyes and twisted his face in pain.
“That’s not all,” I said. “Keep going.”
“My career is everything to me. Something I’ve wanted since I was six. Every day, I spent hours practicing, dribbling, juggling, watching videos, and trying to learn from the masters.”
