Heartbeats and Hurt

Heartbeats and Hurt
Cody POV

I’m sweaty on Ryan’s bed, chest buzzing from our wild win over Tara. Toys still hum soft, air hot and close. My phone buzzes loud, sharp on the floor. My heart jumps, fast and tight. Ryan laughs shaky, leaning over me. “Who?” I say, soft. My hand shakes, grabbing it quick. My breath stops, cold and fast. Jake’s name glows big, bright on the screen. My throat burns, scared and dumb. I swipe fast, voice shaky. “Jake?” I say, low. My chest tightens, waiting real hard.

“Cody,” he slurs, slow and rough. My stomach drops, sick and quick. “You okay?” I ask, voice small. My hands tremble, gripping tight. “Messed up,” he says, words sloppy and loud. My heart slams, cold and wild. “Where are you?” I say, loud. My throat closes up, scared bad. “Home,” he mumbles, then clicks off. My chest hurts, tight and raw. “He’s high,” I say, soft. My eyes sting, blurry and hot. Ryan’s hand lands on me, warm and fast.

I sit up quick, legs shaky and weak. “Gotta go,” I say, loud. My voice breaks, mad and dumb. My chest heaves, crumbling fast. “Wait,” Ryan says, rough and low. My hands claw my hair, tugging hard. “It’s my fault,” I say, hoarse. My throat burns, guilt loud and mean. “No,” he says, soft. His arms wrap me, pulling close. My breath shakes, fighting him weak. “I left him,” I say, loud. My tears spill hot, soaking my face.

He pulls my shirt off, slow and gentle. My chest’s bare, sweaty and quick. “Not your fault,” he says, low. My heart hurts, heavy and real. I shake my head fast, sobs breaking loud. “Should’ve stayed,” I say, soft. My throat closes up, choking me bad. He strips his shirt too, skin warm on mine. My legs wobble, sinking to the bed. My chest presses his back, tight and close. His heartbeat thumps, steady and strong.

I curl up small, knees to my chest. My hands shake, clinging to him. “He was good,” I say, quiet. My voice shakes, thinking of Jake sober. My tears drip slow, wet on his shoulder. “He’s fighting,” Ryan says, soft. His lips kiss my cheek, brushing tears away. My chest tightens, warm and quick. “I failed him,” I say, hoarse. My throat burns, guilt loud and real. “No,” he says, firm. His arms squeeze me, tight and sure.

We lie there, naked and close. My skin’s sweaty, sticking to his. My breath’s fast, shaky and raw. His hand rubs my arm, slow and gentle. My heart slams, heavy and wild. “Love you,” he says, low in my ear. My eyes sting, blurry and hot. “Love you too,” I say, soft. My voice breaks, needing him bad. His chest rises slow, warm on my back. My throat burns, tears slowing down. “Not your fault,” he says again, quiet.

I turn slow, facing him close. My nose brushes his, warm and wet. My chest feels big, hurt loud and real. “He called before,” I say, soft. My mind flashes to Jake’s shaky voice. My hands grip his shoulders, shaky and tight. “He’s strong,” Ryan says, low. His lips kiss my forehead, soft and sure. My breath shakes, calming slow. “I’m weak,” I say, quiet. My throat closes up, crumbling fast.

He pulls me tighter, legs tangling mine. My chest presses his, skin on skin. “You’re enough,” he says, rough and low. My heart jumps, warm and dumb. My tears drip slow, soaking his chest. “Jake’s lost,” I say, hoarse. My hands shake, holding him close. “We’ll find him,” he says, soft. His heartbeat thumps under me, steady and real. My chest heaves, faith shaky but there. “Together,” I say, quiet. My voice shakes less, trusting him big.

We stay still, room dark and quiet. My body’s cold, curling into him. His breath’s warm on my neck, slow and good. My chest hurts, guilt loud and mean. “I left for tour,” I say, soft. My throat burns, thinking of distance. “You came back,” he says, low. His hand rubs my back, gentle and warm. My eyes sting, wet and blurry. “Too late,” I say, hoarse. My heart slams, heavy and raw.

He shifts slow, pulling me up. My legs flop loose, weak and close. “Not too late,” he says, soft. His lips kiss my eyes, wiping tears dry. My chest warms, shaky and quick. “He’s my brother,” I say, quiet. My voice breaks, love loud and real. “I know,” he says, low. His arms wrap me, tight and safe. My breath slows, steady with him. “Can’t lose him,” I say, soft. My throat burns, scared and dumb.

We cuddle close, skin sweaty and warm. My hand rests on his chest, feeling heartbeat. “We’ll fix it,” he says, quiet. His voice shakes a little, strong for me. My chest heaves, calming slow. “I’m sorry,” I say, soft. My tears drip slow, wet on his skin. “Nothing to sorry for,” he says, rough. His lips brush my hair, gentle and sure. My heart jumps, warm and real. “You’re here,” I say, quiet. My voice steadies, grounded by him.

Time drags slow, night deep and dark. My body’s heavy, sinking in. His arm stays on me, warm and solid. My chest feels full, hurt loud but soft. “He’s tough,” Ryan says, low. My throat burns, thinking of Jake’s fight. “Yeah,” I say, soft. My hand squeezes his, hard and tight. “Like you,” he adds, quiet. My stomach flutters, shy and quick. My breath slows, cozy with him. “Like us,” I say, hoarse.

We lie there, naked and still. My legs tangle his, warm and close. His hand rubs my arm, steady and good. My chest heaves, slowing down. “Not your fault,” he says again, soft. His voice shakes less, sure and real. My eyes sting, blurry and happy. “Okay,” I say, quiet. My throat burns, faith growing slow. His heartbeat thumps, steady under me. My heart slows, love loud and true. “We’ll save him,” I say, soft.

Dawn peeks in, light gray and soft. My body’s sore, tired and close. His breath’s warm on my face, calming me. “You’re my rock,” I say, quiet. My hand rests on his chest, feeling him breathe. He grins small, eyes soft and bright. “Always,” he says, low. My chest warms, trust solid now. “No sex,” I say, soft. My voice shakes, needing this raw. “Just us,” he says, rough. My heart jumps, grounded and real.

Then a knock hits the door. Loud. Hard. My eyes snap open, heart jumping fast. Ryan shifts quick, breath shaky. My stomach twists, cold and quick. “Who’s that?” I say, soft. My voice breaks, scared and dumb. He sits up slow, hand on my arm. “Cody, we’ll—” he says, low and soft.