Chapter 82 Garrett
Garrett
I had just about had it with the goddamn comments.
Sympathy. Encouragement. Condolences. Every variation of 'you totally should’ve won' that people could come up with kept getting thrown at me from every direction.
By lunchtime the next day, I was already exhausted from hearing it.
Josh tested the waters first while we were sitting at the table, leaning forward like he was stepping into dangerous territory.
“You deserved the spot, man.”
Evan nodded immediately. “Right. Dude, you kinda had it by the end.”
Kinda had it?
I fucking had it. Hands down. No question about it.
I bit my tongue from saying it out loud.
Aitor, on the other hand, didn't.
“That’s right, Garr. You totally had it.” He glanced at me, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.
“Well,” I said dryly, setting my fork down, “I obviously didn’t.”
That shut the conversation down pretty quickly until Trisha showed up.
She slid into the seat next to me and wrapped her arms around my neck like none of the rest of the world existed.
“I looked for you last night, babe. Called you too!” She pouted.
“Sorry, Trish. I passed out early.” I kissed her cheek.
“I understand… You were so incredible out there,” she said brightly before kissing me back. “Seriously. You’ll get the next one for sure.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
She waved the comment away like it didn’t matter.
“I don’t care if you’re the champion or not,” she continued cheerfully, brushing a kiss against my jaw. “You’ll always be the strongest and sexiest guy here.”
I forced a smile.
She had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on in my head.
None of them did.
Not everyone was pretending to be sympathetic, though.
Some people were just kissing my ass.
Rick cornered me in the locker room the next day, leaning against the metal lockers.
“That fucking charity case thinks he can just show up here and screw with people who’ve been working their asses off for years,” he said with that smug little grin of his. “Especially with you, Garr.”
I hated when he called me that.
“He fought well,” I said as I walked past him.
Rick snorted. “Yeah? Well, maybe someone needs to teach him what a real fight looks like. Fuck him over a little.”
It took every ounce of self-control not to grab him by the throat and slam him into the lockers.
You’ll touch my lion over my dead fucking body.
“Leave him the hell alone, Rick,” I said flatly. “We don’t need the goddamn trouble.”
Rick raised his hands like he was backing off, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t done talking about it.
I walked out before he could try and before I had one more wrong decision to justify to my doctor.
I needed to get off this train of thought.
Doubling my training hours on the equestrian field had turned out to be a surprisingly effective strategy.
It kept me away from people. Away from conversations I didn’t want to have. And most importantly, it gave my mind something brutal and physical to focus on until the rest of the world faded into the background.
If I had already screwed up my father’s expectations, I sure as hell wasn’t about to mess with my mother’s too.
My performance on that field needed to be flawless.
For my own sake.
That afternoon had already been a checklist of responsibilities. I had aced my art history test earlier in the day—academics, check. Then I had put up with an endless hour listening to Trisha plan every minute of our winter trip—including nodding and smiling from time to time—before making out with her behind the gym lockers afterward. Approved relationship, check.
Which left only one thing.
Training.
By the time I cleared my fiftieth jump, my thighs were burning and my shoulders ached from absorbing the impact of more than one rough landing. I had already hit the dirt twice that evening, and my hands were raw from the reins, but the pain was exactly what I needed.
It kept my head quiet.
I guided the horse back toward the stable, ready to call it a night, when I spotted another rider entering the field.
Shit... Aslan.
What the hell was he doing here this late?
The sight of him threw off the fragile balance I had been trying to hold together all week.
Before I could turn the horse around and leave, he dismounted and walked straight toward me.
“Hey,” he said cautiously. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after the match.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I replied flatly. “Congrats.”
He studied me for a moment, clearly not convinced.
“It was a good fight,” he said. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d win.”
I didn’t answer.
His gaze flicked toward the ground for a second before he added carefully, “Your dad looked… pretty intense out there. I hope you didn’t get into trouble over it.”
That did it.
“I don’t need your fucking concern,” I cut in sharply. “I can take care of my own shit.”
I turned to leave, but before I could take two steps, he grabbed my arm.
“Garrett, please wait.”
I looked down at his hand like it had personally offended me and pulled free.
“Don’t touch me again, lion.”
Aslan stepped closer instead of backing away.
“Are we really doing this again?” he asked, irritation flashing across his face. “Can we not have a civilized relationship?”
I moved forward too, closing the distance until there was barely a foot between us.
“There’s no relationship at all between us.”
“Why is it always all or nothing with you?” he shot back.
“Because I need nothing more… right now,” I said with a crooked smirk. “What is it, cub? Not satisfied with your boyfriend?”
“You are such an asshole,” he muttered, stepping back.
Maybe.
But the moment he turned to leave, my eyes followed him across the field. And deep down, where no one else could see it, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
This wasn’t over. Not even close. Sooner or later, I was going to take him back.
But I had to be careful. For all the effort I had been putting in lately, it had taken me less than a week to screw everything up. The impure thoughts. The insane jealousy. And now the latest, completely unexplainable weakness on the mat.
Dr. Graves’ stupid green line would spike right off the chart if I didn’t get my head back under control before Saturday.
Which meant immediate damage control.
A plan.
A very good plan.
Unfortunately, that plan kept getting interrupted. But at least our little exchange tonight—burning through my chest as it was—gave me one small, clean victory. One sentence that would pass Graves’ detector with flying colors.
I had resisted. I had rejected him.
One more time.