Chapter 94 Garrett
Garrett
I woke up with the worst fucking headache.
Which, honestly, felt deserved.
Last night—after that whole shower situation—I had gone back to my room fully intending to bury myself under a pillow and not resurface until Monday. Preferably with partial memory loss and a personality reset.
Should I be so lucky.
Trisha had shown up not long after, all bright eyes and relentless energy, launching straight into everything we needed to plan for our goddamn Canada trip like my brain wasn’t actively trying to shut itself off. She talked about schedules, outfits, bookings, and events like they were the most exciting thing in the world.
It used to be.
Our version of Christmas break had always been chaos in the best way. Sex, alcohol, no rules, no expectations. Just fun, whatever that looked like at the time.
Now it sounded like a week-long sentence.
The only person I wanted anywhere near me or my cock was currently very much not available—and very much not alone.
And the one I was supposed to want?
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
Which was its own kind of problem.
The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in the middle of nowhere for a week with Trisha practically glued to my side, hanging off me exactly the way Aslan had so kindly pointed out.
Jesus effing Christ.
Before I could even open my eyes properly, I heard my phone ringing.
And then Trisha’s voice answering it.
What the hell? The nerve…
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just listened.
It took me about three seconds to recognize who she was talking to, and for once, I was actually grateful she had picked up. The last thing I needed first thing in the morning was my mother’s voice drilling straight into my skull.
“Yes, hi! I’m here already,” Trisha was saying, cheerful and composed in that way she always was when it mattered. “Garrett’s still sleeping, but we have a full day planned. Studying, practice, and then a little more shopping for the trip. We’re really excited.”
Oh, my Goooood. On Sunday… Somebody shoot me, please. Or shoot her. Put me out of my misery already.
There was a pause, and then her voice softened just enough. “Yes. Of course. Love you too.”
I kinda threw up a bit in my mouth. I was a complete asshole, I know, but that day when I planned on telling her the truth was not coming fast enough.
The call ended.
Silence settled for a second, and I kept my eyes closed, seriously reconsidering every decision that had led me to this exact moment.
And they all brought me to those goddamned, dangerous honey eyes.
I stayed still a little longer, shaking off the thought and pretending to be asleep, hoping—stupidly—that she might just leave.
She didn’t.
I felt the mattress dip, then her presence too close, too warm, invading what little space I had left to breathe.
“Hey,” she murmured softly, fingers brushing against my arm. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
I didn’t move.
Didn’t respond.
Maybe if I committed hard enough, I could fake a coma.
Her lips pressed lightly against my cheek.
“Honey, it’s time to get up.”
Yeah.
I was screwed.
I could only stall for so long.
I dragged it out through a shower, breakfast, half-assed studying, and even throwing in a horse practice in the middle just to have an excuse to stay away from my phone a little longer.
It didn’t matter.
The moment Trisha had casually mentioned that my mother had asked me to call her back right away, something in my chest had tightened, and my heart hadn’t stopped pounding since.
I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Well… Apart from harassing Aslan by the stables. Apart from jerking off to him and Aitor in the showers like some kind of deranged voyeur. Apart from not being able to get the image of them out of my head, no matter how hard I tried.
But she couldn’t know any of that.
Unless—
Unless Aslan had told Aitor, and Aitor had… what? Called my mother?
Right.
Because we were apparently five years old now, running to tell on each other.
I let out a short breath, shaking my head with a dry smile.
I had nothing to worry about. And yet the knot in my stomach didn’t loosen until I finally gave up and hit call.
“Hi, Mother.”
Silence.
Not the normal kind.
The kind that made your spine straighten before you even realized why.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” she said calmly.
My heart slammed hard enough to hurt.
Every possible scenario ran through my head at once, fast and messy and completely out of control.
“Find out about what?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay level despite the dryness in my mouth.
“I saw Aitor last night.”
Everything in me stilled.
Holy shit. No way.
I almost laughed.
So we were toddlers after all.
“Mother, I don’t know what he told you, but—”
“He didn’t have to,” she cut in sharply, and something in her tone made me stop immediately. “I saw him myself. Downtown. With that boy—Aslan Rivers.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Kissing him,” she continued, each word precise, controlled. “In public. And from what I gathered, not for the first time.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t know what pissed me off more—that she had seen it, or that it'd happened.
“That’s not—” I stopped myself, jaw tightening. “That’s not my business.”
“It became your business the moment you failed to inform me that your so-called ‘best friend’ was… homosexual.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Aitor is bisexual,” I said flatly. “And no, I didn’t ‘fail’ to inform you. It wasn’t relevant. He’s never shown interest in anyone except Linnea.”
“Until now,” she replied coldly.
I ran a hand through my hair, already feeling the headache coming back full force. “People move on.”
“But they don't just become gay,” she said, and I could practically hear the disapproval dripping through the line. “Or is this boy simply… influencing him?”
There it was.
Of course it was going to be Aslan’s fault.
“Aslan isn’t influencing anyone,” I said, sharper than I meant to.
“A scholarship student with no pedigree, suddenly entangled with members of the Constellation?” she went on, ignoring me completely. “You expect me to believe that’s coincidence?”
My jaw clenched.
“Whatever is between Aitor and Aslan is their own business,” I said. “It has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you,” she snapped. “Did you forget your recent slip because of him?”
My stomach dropped.
“And if this is a pattern,” she continued, her voice menacing, “perhaps it’s something the academy director should be made aware of. I’m sure Mr. Roosevelt would be very interested in knowing if a scholarship student is… harassing or compromising others.”
My entire body went rigid.
No.
Absolutely not.
“Mother,” I said, my tone tightening despite every instinct telling me to stay calm, “Aslan and I have nothing. We never did. I told you—we argued over Trisha. That’s it.”
Silence.
Sharp. Evaluating.
“And Aitor?” she pressed.
“Aitor makes his own choices,” I said. “You can’t remove every not-straight student in the academy, Mother."
“Watch your tone,” she warned.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing myself to rein it in.
“I’m just saying there’s nothing here to act on,” I added, more controlled now.
Another pause.
Then—
“You will stay away from both of them.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Mother—”
“You will not be seen with them, and you will not speak to either of them, away from class,” she continued, her voice final. “Do I make myself clear?”
Every muscle in my body locked.
Rage crawled up my spine, hot and sharp and impossible to ignore.
But I swallowed it.
Forced it down.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” she replied.
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at nothing. My jaw hurt from how hard I was clenching it.
She thought she could control this.
Control me.
Control who I saw, who I wanted, who I—
I dragged a hand down my face, forcing myself to breathe. I had to play this right.
I wasn’t losing Aitor, and I sure as hell wasn’t letting her touch Aslan.
Not now.
Not ever.
When I stepped back into the room, Trisha was smiling like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
I let her kiss me. Let her wrap herself around me. Let her play her part, and I played mine, but every time her lips touched mine, all I could see—was Aitor, under the lights, kissing Aslan.
Soft.
Careful.
Fucking romantic.
And God, it burned. It burned so badly I could barely stand it. Because I didn’t know what was worse—not knowing if Aslan felt something for him… or that he might think I felt nothing for him at all.
Unless…
I told him.