Chapter 81 Garrett
Garrett
The whistle blew, and the last round exploded into motion.
We crashed into each other again and again, a blur of holds, reversals, and pure exhaustion while the crowd roared around us.
By the time the final seconds arrived, my lungs were burning and every muscle in my body felt like it was tearing apart. But the sight of him—his fierce determination, the contact of his skin against mine, his scent, his breathing, his intoxicating presence—kept me fighting, kept me going, kept me alive, like he always did.
We fell into a savage dance of push and pull, just like everything between us.
I launched at him and he met me right in the middle, panting, sweating, tempting as hell and dangerously close while we both fought hard.
And somehow we were still even.
Then suddenly I had him. My arm locked around him, the move already halfway secured, my weight shifting forward exactly the way I had practiced a thousand times. One more push—that was all it would take. My heart hammered inside my chest as I held on to my lion.
Behind me, I could almost feel my father leaning forward in his seat.
My God, this was it—the moment I had been working toward my entire life. His approval. His pride.
Finally.
Aslan was right there in front of me, chest rising and falling hard, his breath warm against my face as we both fought to stay upright...
And then he looked at me, realizing the position I had him in gave me the upper hand; realizing he was about to lose.
I’m sorry, cub…
Time slowed just enough for something strange to pass between us. I felt him—not angry, not scared, just… sad.
He had worked so damn hard for this, and yet it wasn’t happening. For a second, everything else disappeared: the crowd, the mat, the pressure that had followed me my entire life.
And suddenly it hit me how fucking pathetic it was, spending all these years trying to earn the respect of a man who would probably never give it and the approval of a mother who would always hate me, while the guy in front of me was fighting for something real—for his future, for his mother.
I had heard it from Aitor. Everyone had. This was everything to him, and he was about to lose it all.
The move was already there, victory sitting in the palm of my hand, and in that single second I made a decision that would probably change everything.
My grip loosened just enough. Aslan reacted instantly, twisting out of the hold and driving forward, using my shifted balance to spin behind me and slam me onto the mat. His weight locked over my shoulders before I could recover.
The whistle blew as the gym erupted into a frenzy.
I stepped away from the mat slowly while the referee lifted his arm and the crowd shouted his name. My father looked livid. My mother stood frozen beside him, rage written all over her face.
Across the stands I caught Aitor watching me, and the look in his eyes told me he knew exactly what I had just done. I walked away and didn’t stop walking.
I locked myself in the shower and turned the water as hot as it would go. Steam filled the room almost instantly, curling around the tiles as the heat poured over my shoulders. I stood there with my hands braced against the wall, letting it run down my neck and back, trying to wash everything away—the sweat, the strain in my muscles, the lingering memory of Aslan’s skin against mine, the heat of his breath when we had been locked together on the mat, the uncontrollable need I felt, and—
And whatever the hell I had experienced after he looked at me.
Emotion?
No.
There were no emotions between us.
“That was weakness,” I muttered under my breath, staring at the tile while the water hammered against my back. “A momentary lack of focus that’s going to cost me so goddamn much.”
But even as I said it, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back into the stream, because the truth was, I had to do it.
I had to.
The sounds of the locker room shifted around me while time dragged on. Wrestlers came in and out, the noise of lockers slamming and showers running echoing through the room. A few voices drifted through the steam, talking about the match, about the finals, about the next season.
Then I heard his voice. My lion’s.
And he sounded so overwhelmed by his own emotions that he almost made me feel.
Feel him.
I remembered his eyes burning through every ounce of my self-restraint, his perfect body, slick with sweat, the way it had pressed against mine, his muscles flexing under warm skin, his lips almost brushing my ear as we whispered to each other.
Yeah… those lips.
God, I had wanted to kiss him so badly.
I still wanted to.
I wanted him.
I needed him.
Stop.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood and watched the droplets mix with the water.
Relief. Momentary calm.
One Graves would not see.
Eventually the place fell quiet.
By the time the water began to run cold and my body started to shake, I knew I couldn’t hide there any longer. I shut it off, grabbed a towel, and dressed slowly, every movement heavy with the weight of what I had just done.
Then I walked out to face the consequences.
The post-match reception had already started when I stepped into the hall. Players had changed into clean clothes and were standing around in clusters with trainers, parents, and the occasional scout discussing performances and future opportunities.
Aslan was easy to spot.
He stood near Mr. Halt with two men I recognized as sponsors from the regional program. He looked different somehow, lighter, like the weight he carried around his shoulders had finally eased. He was smiling, answering their questions with that polite humility of his, clearly emotional but trying his best not to show it.
He deserved it.
He truly did.
He didn’t have family there to celebrate with him, but he wasn’t alone. Around him stood a few of the other wrestlers, clapping him on the back, James practically vibrating with pride while Aitor lingered a step away, watching quietly with that calm support he always seemed to offer.
I, on the other hand, had more family around me than I wanted.
Olivia, the only one I welcomed, reached me first. She rushed forward and threw her arms around me before I could even react.
“You were incredible,” she said warmly. “Garrett, that was amazing.”
Second goddamned place was, after all, most players' dream.
When my father approached with a small group of sponsors trailing behind him, he wore a smooth, practiced smile. He waited until the others had finished congratulating me, shaking hands and praising my performance—with future offers and whatnot—before stepping closer and resting a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Well done,” he said pleasantly.
Then he guided me a few feet away from the group. The moment we were out of earshot, the smile vanished.
He leaned in until his face was inches from mine. “What the hell was that?”
His voice was low, but the fury in it was unmistakable.
“You had the match. Everyone saw it. Your grip slipped. Explain to me how you manage to lose control in the final seconds after everything that has been invested in you.”
His jaw tightened, the anger barely contained.
“Do you have any idea what you just did? You threw away your position. You damaged the team’s standing. You embarrassed this family after the time, money, and effort spent getting you to this point.”
In between his words, all I could think was that the only thing he had actually invested was money. He hadn’t been there for the early mornings, the training sessions, the hours in the gym until my muscles screamed and my lungs burned.
I had done that.
I had put in the work.
But I said nothing. I just clenched my jaw and let him finish.
Eventually he stepped back, disgust written across his face, and turned away without another word.
My mother approached next.
Her arms wrapped around me in a quick, controlled embrace that felt more like a performance than affection. Then she leaned close enough that only I could hear her.
“Tell me something,” she whispered softly. “Did you lose that match because of a mistake…, a distraction…, or a weakness?”
I opened my mouth to answer.
She stopped me with a light touch on my arm.
“Don’t bother,” she said calmly. “Save the answer for Dr. Graves this Saturday, darling.”
Then she smiled at the room as if nothing had happened.
And walked away.