Chapter 18: Head Trauma

I woke to the sound of Mason’s breathing across the room from me where I could see the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept. His hair was a mess, his mouth slack in a way I’d never seen before. He looked peaceful, almost boyish. The light leaking in from the blinds caught the edges of his jaw, making him look softer than he had any right to after what he’d done to me last night.

I lay still, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, my mind replaying every detail the previous evening. I remembered the way his hands locked around my hips, the sound of his voice, low and certain in my ear and the way his firm, hard body pressed against mine.

This time there was no pretending he’d been too drunk to remember. No hazy morning-after excuse that could undo what had happened. Mason had been sober; he’d known exactly what he was doing, and so had I. That truth sat heavy in my chest, both thrilling and unsettling.

Would it happen again? Would he want it? Expect it? The thought made my stomach twist. I wanted him to want me, but I didn’t know what that would do to the way we lived together. Would every casual joke or glance be different now?

I turned my head slightly, taking in the curve of his shoulder, the faint smudge of a bruise on his neck. My body smarted in familiar places, a slow throb that brought every moment back. I could stay. I could wait for him to wake and see if his eyes said the same things his body had last night. But the possibility of awkwardness, of him brushing it off or making a joke, felt too risky.

Two men lying on a bed

AI-generated content may be incorrect. I slid out from under the covers, careful not to shift the mattress and make too much noise. Mason didn’t stir. I pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie, moving quietly, then slipped my shoes on by the door. I didn’t look back before easing it shut behind me.

The hallway air was cool and faintly smelled of last night’s takeout from someone else’s room. I stood there for a second with my hands in my pockets, trying to steady myself. My heart still felt tight, like I’d left something behind in that room.

I needed to move, to clear my head. The gym was as good a place as any.

Outside, the morning air bit against my face, harsh and invigorating. I walked quickly, my legs moving on instinct while my thoughts stayed behind with Mason.

By the time I reached the gym’s glass doors, my pulse had evened out. My reflection in the glass looked calm enough, but I knew better. I pushed the door open, telling myself I was here to work, not think.

The gym was quiet for a Monday morning. A few people were scattered on machines, the sound of weights clanking in the distance. I scanned the room, hoping to blend in and work through my thoughts in peace.

Of course, luck wasn’t on my side. Casper stepped out from the locker room just as I was heading toward the treadmills. His hair was damp at the edges, his T-shirt clinging to him in a way that made it obvious he’d already warmed up.

“Morning,” he said, his voice carrying across the room.

I gave a quick nod. “Hey.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion exactly, but like he was sizing me up. He crossed the floor toward me, every step easy and confident.

“You look ... off,” he said once he was closer. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I replied too quickly.

Casper tilted his head, unconvinced. “You’re a bad liar.”

I forced a shrug. “Just tired.”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced toward the far side of the gym, where the open workout room was empty. “You need a reset. Something heavy. Let’s do a full circuit—cardio, lifts, deep stretches. Get your head out of whatever’s eating at you.”

The offer caught me off guard. I’d come here to be alone, but the thought of pushing myself hard enough to quiet my thoughts had its appeal. “Alright,” I said finally.

“Good.” Casper’s mouth twitched into a small grin. “Come on.”

We started with cardio: ten minutes of sprints on the treadmill until my lungs burned and sweat slicked the back of my neck. Casper kept pace beside me, his stride smooth and unbroken. He didn’t talk much, just gave the occasional nod or gesture for me to keep my speed up.

From there, he led me to the free weights. We moved through a series of lifts that left my muscles screaming halfway through each set. Casper spotted me the whole time, his hands hovering near the bar when I benched, his voice steady with quiet instructions.

“You’re tensing your shoulders,” he said at one point, reaching down to tap them lightly. “Loosen up. Let the chest do the work.”

I adjusted, focusing on form, counting each rep in my head. The familiar feeling of strain began to drown out the restless loop of thoughts about Mason.

We finished with stretches on the mats. Casper knelt beside me, guiding my posture when I leaned into a hamstring stretch, pressing down gently on my back until I felt the pull run all the way down my legs.

“Better?” he asked.

“A little,” I admitted.

He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re still distracted,” he said finally.

I didn’t answer. He wasn’t wrong; I was still thinking about Mason, but saying anything risked too much.

Casper’s gaze lingered, like he was deciding whether to push further.

Casper didn’t waste time once we hit the next set. He set the treadmill speed for a sprint and started running beside me, matching my pace easily. We stayed quiet for the first few minutes, the pounding of our feet filling the space.

Then, without looking over, he said, “You’ve still got that look.”