Chapter 38 Aslan
Aslan
Whatever peace and quiet I’d scraped together over the weekend evaporated the second I stepped back into Crownwell.
James’ house hadn’t exactly been peaceful, and definitely it wasn’t quiet—his family was loud, affectionate, and chaotic—but I’d had peace on the inside. When I’d called him early Saturday morning, asking if I could still come over, he’d shown up outside the academy in under twenty minutes. Barely sunrise. No questions asked. He hadn’t pushed at first. Just handed me coffee and let me sit in silence.
I told him eventually. About Garrett. About the question. About the way my body had reacted despite everything.
James had nearly choked on his drink.
“I’m done now,” I’d said firmly. “Whatever that was, I’m done.”
He’d rolled his eyes like he didn’t buy it for a second. Still, he kept me laughing all weekend. Distracted. Steady. Like he was physically keeping me from walking back into a fire I already knew would burn me.
By Monday morning, I almost believed myself.
Almost.
Then I walked into the cafeteria, and Garrett didn’t look away. Not once.
It was the same look he’d given me since day one—the one that made my stomach drop and my pulse spike. The one that felt like being hunted and wanted at the same time. I hated that it still worked.
I spent the entire morning avoiding him. Avoiding eye contact. Avoiding proximity.
Self-defense class ruined that plan.
“Today we’re working on neutral control transitions,” Mr. Holt announced, clapping his hands once. “Wrestling base. Head pressure. Hand fighting. I want you comfortable being uncomfortable.”
A ripple of groans went through the class.
“Partners.”
I turned to pair with someone—anyone—but a hand caught my wrist without giving me a choice.
Damn you, Garrett.
“Why the hell can’t you pair up with someone else?” I asked quietly, hating the slight tremor in my voice.
Mr. Holt paced past us. “Forehead-to-forehead stance. Light contact. Feel your opponent’s balance.”
We stepped in.
Neutral position. Foreheads pressed together. Knees bent. Weight forward. Arms hovering, not quite touching. Close enough to feel his breath. Close enough to hear his swallow.
“Because,” Garrett murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear it, “I’m not letting anyone else be this close to you.”
My pulse slammed.
“Touch you,” he added softly.
I forced a steady breath. “You don’t get to decide who touches me.”
His fingers brushed my wrist, testing grip, sliding into a collar tie at the back of my neck.
Mr. Holt barked, “Hand fight! Control the head, control the body!”
Garrett applied pressure, trying to steer me off-center.
“You didn’t look this steady when you asked to fuck me,” I muttered.
His jaw flexed.
Good.
He tried a snap-down. I resisted. He circled left; I mirrored. Our bodies brushed—thigh to thigh, chest to shoulder—controlled but charged.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“So are you.”
He shifted suddenly, attempting a single-leg takedown. I sprawled hard, hips driving back, chest pressing over his upper back. The contact stole my breath.
We scrambled. Limbs tangled. Grip against grip. His hand slid around my waist; mine hooked behind his knee.
“You can’t pretend you don’t feel it,” he breathed.
“You pretend that all the time…” I hissed, shoving him back upright. “And I’m done playing your game.”
We reset.
He came in harder this time—dominant, aggressive—managing to trap my arm and pivot, driving me down to the mat. “Oh, no, you’re not fucking done.”
The air rushed from my lungs as he pinned my shoulders halfway, braced over me. His face hovered inches from mine.
No one else could hear him over the shuffle of the other pairs.
“You know you want this too,” he murmured against my ear as we struggled for leverage. “Why are you fighting it, lion?”
My heart hammered so violently I was sure he felt it through my ribs. He leaned closer—close enough that if I tilted my head—
The class blurred. The mat beneath us disappeared.
If he wanted to mess with my head, I could mess with his first.
I lifted my chin, closing the distance deliberately, like I was about to kiss him right there in front of everyone. Garrett recoiled, something like terror flashing across his face as he froze—just for a second—but that was all I needed. To win this fight. And to lose him.
I hooked his trapped arm, shifted my hips, and rolled. Momentum carried him over. I landed on top, securing side control and pressing him flat to the mat, panting.
Mr. Holt blew his whistle. “Good reversal!”
I leaned down, my mouth near his ear.
“I was never the one fighting it, Garrett,” I whispered evenly, tightening my hold just enough to make the point clear. “You are.”
I released him, stood, and stepped back.
“Now stay the fuck away from me… coward.”
I walked off before he could answer. My chest hurt—not just from the wrestling, but from the strain of my own emotions. My breathing felt irregular. My pulse hammered at my temples. My heart felt like it might collapse under the weight of it all.
But I managed to stumble out of there.
I went straight to the closest bathroom, one hand pressed hard against my chest, barely managing to breathe.
What the hell was going on with me?
I hadn’t even worked out that hard. Sure, I’d gone for a run that morning—trying to get his face out of my head—and the day had been pretty active. But I could usually handle that. I could handle physical strain.
Stress was a different thing, though…
And, yeah, I’d been stressed. On edge all day. Especially the last hour. But I could fucking handle most emotions. I was a grown man. I wasn’t made of glass.
I braced myself and stared at my reflection. Pale. Sweat clinging to my temples. My pulse fluttering erratically under my ribs.
“Get it together,” I muttered.
I splashed cold water over my face once. Twice. Again. Then I gripped the edge of the sink and forced myself to breathe in slow, controlled pulls.
In. Out.
In. Out.
My fingers shook as I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pills. It had probably been foolish to think I could handle both physical and emotional strain at once. My mind could. My body usually could.
But my goddamn heart obviously couldn’t.
Just as I swallowed them dry, the bathroom door swung open.
“Holy shit,” a voice drawled behind me. “Are you a fucking pill-popper?”
I spun around too fast. My heart jolted again, slamming hard against my ribs.
Garrett stood there. Ready to deliver the killing blow.
“Garrett, please,” I said, my voice thinner than I wanted it to be. “Leave me alone.”
His eyes flicked to my hand. To the bottle. Back to my face.
“I’ve seen you take those before. Hide them,” he said slowly. “Is that why you left? Why you always run?” His jaw tightened. “To get your fix?”
I clenched my teeth. “Just go.”
He stepped closer instead.
“How the hell did you think I could let myself be seen with someone like you?” His voice dropped, sharp and poisonous. “A drug addict and a trailer whore?”
The words hit, but I didn’t react.
“You’re good for a hookup,” he continued, something wild and wounded flickering behind his eyes. “That’s it. And yet you think you can reject me?”
My breathing stuttered again, too fast, too uneven.
“Garrett,” I warned, struggling to steady my voice—steady my chest. “Please. Just leave.”
He let out a short, bitter laugh. “What? Too good for me? You get to mess with my head and then walk away like you’re above it?”
My pulse spiked. Faster. Harder. “I told you to leave me the fuck alone!” I snapped, my control finally cracking. “Get out. Get the hell out!”
My voice echoed off the tile.
The bathroom door opened again.
Footsteps. Voices.
Max was among the students walking in—just in time to see me falter.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest. My breath vanished. The room tilted.
I dropped to my knees, one hand clawing at my shirt, the other bracing uselessly against the floor. My vision blurred. Sound warped. My skin felt cold—too cold.
Someone swore.
“Dude—what’s wrong with him?”
Max was at my side instantly. “Aslan? Hey—look at me. Look at me.”
But I couldn’t.
Across the room, Garrett had gone completely still. The anger drained from his face, replaced by something raw.
Fear.
He took a step back. Then another. And then he turned and bolted out of the bathroom.
As the world dimmed and my body finally gave out, I heard Max shout after him—
“What the hell did you do to him?! What did you do?!”
And then everything went black.