Page 95 of The Retreat

“Are you fucking shitting me?” My heart hurts for the little boy that was so worried all the time. With my free hand, I wrap it around his arms, holding his as much as I can.

“It was fine at first. Oliver makes friends everywhere…well, friends isn’t the right word. Admirers. He thrives in any environment.” Owen exhales a long breath. “Because he was with me, I was okay at first, but then my parents told them to separate us. They said they didn’t want us to be co-dependent twins. I think they were worried I’d somehow infect Oliver. So they made me change rooms and moved all our classes so I never saw Oliver. I tried to be okay by myself, but nothing was in my control. I couldn’t follow a routine and barely knew anyone. My anxiety got worse. I couldn’t focus. My parents kept threatening to send me to a different boarding school if I kept up the depression act.”

“What fucking assholes.” I can feel how much fear that threat caused. Even all these years later.

“Holidays were unbearable. We’d go home and my parents would ignore me, or freak out if I was having a panic attack. They told me to act right and fix myself, or there would be consequences. As soon as they realized I couldn’t or wouldn’t, they stopped allowing me to go places with them. They left me alone to figure it out when I was at my worst. It’s why Oliver started taking care of me. He knew my parents wouldn’t. I feel like a fucking burden to him, and I don’t want to feel like a burden to you. I think you’re going to leave like my parents and my friends.”

“Baby.” As someone who has seen one of those panic attacks, I want to crack both of his parents upside the head. No wonder Oliver stepped in and started running Owen’s life. He was trying to protect his brother. As much as I hate to admit it, my heart softens a little to the jerk. I hug his arm tighter around me. “You’re not a burden.”

“I feel like one. Oliver puts me first, but I know he can’t anymore. Oliver shouldn’t have to take care of me. I should be able to take care of myself. But I hate it. I hate that I don’t come first to anyone. I never have. I’ve always been the spare. For the first time, I feel like someone is choosing me, and I’m scared to lose that. My friend. You feel like my best friend. I feel like I’m in control of my life since moving out and joining the national team. You listen to me and let me choose. I know why Oliver chooses everything for me, but he’s kind of his way or the highway. I love him for that, but it’s not like that with you. I like it. I like our little sanctuary.”

A little light starts in my heart. It’s delicate and wispy, but it’s there. I turn to face him, straddling his lap. He looks a little apprehensive, and I cup his cheeks. “I like it too. For the first time, I feel like maybe I’m not alone against the world.”

“You’re not.” He shakes his head.

With a smile, I kiss him. It’s comfortable, not meant to entice or excite. He wraps his arms around me in a hug, and I do the same. For a few minutes, we just exist in this space. Sharing air, both a little lighter for sharing, a little vulnerable, but happier.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty and probably stink.”

“I like the way you smell.” I lick his neck to prove my point, and he groans, his hips flexing under me.

“I have to finish my workout before I reward myself with you.”

I blush. Which is gross. I don’t blush. “My ass is definitely a reward.”

Owen bites my neck and stands. I squeak, an embarrassing sound, and he laughs as he drops me on the couch. “Stop distracting me with your delicious ass.”

“Can I watch?” I ask.

“As long as you behave!” Owen just laughs.

“No promises!”

I’m not sure why I like watching Owen practice. I’ve seen it so much that it should just be a normal part of my life, but I’m always drawn to it. Sometimes he lets me sit in the room, sometimes he banishes me to the hallway, and sometimes we spar when he needs the added challenge. But if I’m home and he’s in here, I always find myself here too.

Maybe I just want to be near him?

But since he’s trying to secure a spot on the Olympic team, he’s doing what he does with most of his time. Practicing. People don’t understand how much work it takes to be a top competitor in a sport. You have to want it more than anything else. Dedication. Pushing through the moments you want to give up. Forcing yourself to rest when your body is telling you that you need it. It’s a head game as much as a physical one.

I’m flipping through social media instead of doing homework because I need time to decompress after the heavy conversation, but I find myself watching him instead. Maybe it’s because I’m also a sabre-est, so I know just how difficult this is, that I’m in awe of him.

I lift my phone and balance it on my knee to hold it steady and press record. He has his back to me and everyone who watches or practices fencing knows fencers have fantastic asses. The precise movements, the muscle strength, the conditioning all come together to make this beautiful human the machine he’s become.

Owen spins around, catching a glimpse of me with his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and he cocks an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a video of my sexy husband’s ass.”

“For what purpose?” He grabs a towel to wipe his face.

I shrug. “To jack off to later? To post on TikTok so everyone is jealous of what’s mine?”

His eyebrows pull together as he takes a drink of water. “Post on TikTok?”

“It’s an idea. I’m betting we could have fan pages of the people worshipping you,” I joke.

“The only person I want to worship me is you.”

---