Chapter 72 Garrett
Garrett
I fucking nailed Spring Creek that Saturday. Oscar-level performance.
And the best part? I didn’t even have to lie.
How was that for insanely awesome?
I mean, sure, it sucked for my life in general, but right there sitting in that stupid chair while Julian watched his little green lie-detector line like it was the holy word of God, I felt pretty damn proud of myself.
“Did you break any of the behavioral requirements set for this week?”
“No.”
The line stayed flat.
“Did you spend any intimate time with another man?”
“No.”
Still flat.
“Did you have any physical contact with Aslan Rivers?”
“No.”
The horse moment didn't count.
“Did you feel attraction toward him at any point?”
“Yeah.”
No point lying about that one. The machine would’ve caught me, anyway.
Julian barely reacted, just tapped something into his tablet like attraction was some kind of annoying rash I’d eventually grow out of.
“Did you act on that attraction?”
“No.”
Green line. Beautiful, obedient green line.
“Are there any feelings or romantic emotions between you and Mr. Rivers?”
Now there was the million-dollar question.
And thanks to Aslan’s very eloquent clarification of that matter on Friday night, I could confidently refer to the only side of that equation I actually knew for sure—his.
“No.”
The line didn’t spike.
Julian watched the screen for another second before giving one of those small, satisfied nods therapists seem to practice in the mirror.
Apparently, heartbreak looked exactly like emotional progress on a polygraph.
“Good,” he said.
Good. Right.
At least Dr. Graves was happy. Which meant my mother was happy. Which meant I was… not exactly happy. I wasn’t happy. But at least I wasn't fucked either, and my life would remain temporarily unruined.
And honestly?
At that point, I was willing to count that as a win.
One week down.
Three more to go before my positive evaluation could discontinue the maintenance program.
Three more weeks before I could go back to whatever unemotional but fucking intense thing Aslan and I had before all of this started.
Feelingless, apparently.
Complicated.
But completely goddamn addictive.
Trisha was sitting on my lap in my room Wednesday evening, arms looped around my neck, talking a mile a minute.
“C’mon, babe,” she insisted, brushing her fingers through my hair. “If we leave for my parents’ place now, we can catch the whole break. Tonight we usually play games, go cut a tree, bake… it’s actually really fun.”
I shook my head.
“I can’t miss the recital.”
She frowned slightly. “Garrett…”
“Aitor is my fucking best friend,” I cut in. “If I’m not there tonight, he’ll never forgive me.”
She sighed but didn’t move from my lap.
“We could head out in the morning,” I added, already standing up and gently setting her aside. “That way I have time to get some rest and pack for the weekend.”
Those were the words I said out loud. Reality was slightly different.
Aitor would absolutely forgive me for missing the recital. In fact, given the awkward circumstances between the three of us, he’d probably appreciate it if I wasn’t sitting there staring holes into the stage the entire time.
And I could pack for a trip in about five minutes with time to spare and to jerk off.
But the truth was I needed to be there.
Not for Aitor.
For my lion.
I needed to sit in that auditorium and watch him perform.
I needed the evening to watch the show from the first row and the night afterward to sulk and suffer without anyone watching.
Then tomorrow morning I could flip the switch back on and go celebrate Thanksgiving with the one person I wasn’t particularly thankful for.
Shit, did I just think that?
What an asshole.
God, I was such an awful, awful person.
And the worst part was I hated myself for it… just not enough to change my plans for a night of carefully orchestrated emotional self-harming.
At least Dr. Graves wouldn’t see this one under my watch’s wristband.
By the time we reached the performing center, I was already regretting the entire idea.
Trisha sat next to me, happily chatting about decorations and family traditions while I stared at the stage like someone waiting for an execution.
White noise.
That was what her voice became after a while.
Then the lights dimmed.
Aitor stepped onto the stage first, violin in hand, tall and composed under the warm glow of the spotlights.
And then Aslan walked out beside him.
My chest tightened instantly.
The first notes filled the room—Aitor’s violin clear and sharp, cutting through the quiet like light through glass. Then Aslan’s voice joined it, soft, pure, perfectly in sync with the music.
Jesus. He sounded like a damn angel.
The two of them moved through the piece like they were breathing the same air, feeling every note together, every shift in tempo, every rise in emotion.
Aslan stood there under the stage lights, golden eyes shining, his expression completely lost in the music. His beautiful, full lips parted as he hit the higher notes, the sound so effortless it almost didn’t seem human.
The emotion on his face was impossible to miss—all of it, all the things he had told me he didn’t feel. But he was feeling something now.
The connection between them was obvious. They looked… right together. Beautiful.
Aitor’s violin soared through the melody while Aslan’s voice wrapped around it, warm and alive, the two sounds blending into something that made my chest ache.
It almost sounded like love.
The kind of love I would never have.
Why not me, little lion?
The thought slipped into my head before I could stop it. Why not me…?
By the time the final note faded, my vision had gone blurry. I wiped at my face quickly, annoyed to realize a tear had slipped down my cheek, and before the last song in the program started, I stood up and walked out.
Trisha caught up with me in the hallway a minute later.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded. “You made us stay for this, and then you just leave?”
“I have a headache. Gotta close my eyes,” I answered, then just kept walking.
Eventually, I made it back to my room, where the self-pity portion of my evening could officially begin.
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over my shoulders, staring blankly at the tile wall while every muscle in my body throbbed with exhaustion.
At some point the images started creeping in—Aslan on the stage, Aslan with me, laughing and kissing me. I slid down slowly until I was sitting on the cold tiles, trembling as the water kept running over my head.
Maybe this was harder than I had anticipated.
My hand reached for the razor resting on the edge of the shower. I wasn’t going to use it, obviously, but holding it in my fingers brought a strange sense of control.
Maybe we should’ve left for Trisha’s tonight.
I closed my eyes, reciting the mantras Dr. Graves had drilled into my head: breathe, focus, redirect.
The cold tile beneath me. The sound of the water. The memory of the last time I’d completely lost control—the studio, Aslan finding me there, the way he had wrapped his arms around me and refused to let go.
The warmth. The safety. The way he had held me like I was worth saving.
I could almost feel it again.
And suddenly there were hands on my shoulders, steady and warm. A towel wrapped around me, a body pulling me gently against it.
For one second my brain didn’t question it. I leaned forward, burying my face in the crook of his neck, the relief hitting me so hard it almost knocked the air out of my lungs.
“You came back…”
My arms wrapped around him, and I kissed him before I could stop myself.
The voice that answered wasn’t angry. It wasn’t condemning. Just quiet, gentle, firm.
“Garr,” the voice said softly. “Look at me.”
A pause.
“It’s me, Aitor.”