Page 69 of Bound By Obsession

“Alright, who’s dealing?” Garrett takes charge, shuffling the cards with practiced ease. No one immediately steps up so I shrug.

“We could do paper, scissors, stone for it?” I sit forward, my closed fist at the ready. The others do the same, except for Garrett.

“Excuse me?” he stares at me like I’ve gone another head. “We could…what?”

“Paper, scissors, stone?” I repeat, my eyes flicking between the others. They’re smirking but only Garrett seems to have a problem.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” Garrett holds the cards closer to his chest as if I’ve offended them as well. “She’s fucking with me.” He huffs out a laugh, looking for backup and finding none.

“Just give me the cards. I’ll deal,” Wyatt reaches over. Garrett does what any man lacking sense would do and throws the entire deck over his shoulder, scattering the cards all over the floor. Wyatt looks to the ceiling for patience, probably wondering why he bothered coming downstairs, then crawls over to start picking them up.

“Forget it, Wyatt can deal.” I sit back, feeling suddenly out of place.

“No, no,” Garrett insists. “I’m afraid this is now embedded in my brain.” He shifts off the armchair to kneel in front of me, his fist held out. “It’s rock, paper, scissors. Repeat that back to me.”

“I’m not an idiot, Garrett. I was just incredibly sheltered as a child, some of the fundamentals are missing.” I roll my tongue over my teeth. These days, it’s not often my past creeps up to irritate me so easily. Garrett’s dark eyes shimmer with something I’m sure he thinks is understanding.

“Peach, I was neglected to the point of almost dying, but I’ve never heard of paper, scissors, freaking stone.” I push his fist away, tutting the wordasshole.

“Lay off dude. It’s endearing,” Dax pitches in. Axel is leaning his head towards mine, attempting to kiss my cheek. I put him out of his strained misery and meet him halfway, pressing my cheeks against his lips.

“Actually, I prefer it,” Huxley says, leaning over. I give him an appreciative smile, and suddenly, there are four fists in front of me. Hux counts us in, as we play paper, scissors, stone like grown adults. Garrett moans that he’s died a little inside, but somehow wins. When he turns back to the table, we all find that Wyatt has already dealt and is waiting for us with an impatient expression.

“If you guys have quite finished,” he grumbles, grabbing himself a beer. Just like that, the tension is snapped and soon, the living room is filled with laughter and trash talk again. Garrett whines the entire time that he was dealt the wrong cards, and Wyatt surprisingly joins in without issue, his earlier annoyance fading into the background. Axel’s voice rises in playful protest as, on his other side, Huxley tries to read his hand over his shoulder.

“Don’t even think about it!” Axel warns, attempting to shuffle his hand away. Hux huffs in mock defeat, his lips quivering into a smile. The banter around us blends into a comforting backdrop as I steal glances at Axel, hunting for any discomfort. Beneath the blanket, his hand casually rests on my thigh. The warmth of his hand against my skin sends a shiver of anticipation throughme. It’s a simple touch, but it’s warming to know that no matter what has transpired in the past week, he’s still here with me. With us, when it could have been so easy to retreat into his own mind.

The laughter continues as the drinks start to flow, each joke and tease drawing us closer together. The cheesecake is a huge hit as well, lasting through two rounds of a game Garrett calls ‘Skinny Joker.’

“I’m out,” Wyatt tosses his cards aside, but the glimmer in his eyes betrays his feigned disinterest. Huxley chuckles, and I can see the camaraderie blooming around us, a flicker of what could be coming to life before me. I find myself becoming more invested, not in the cards but in the way everyone interacts.

Garrett has his way of pulling the best out of people, and soon even Wyatt is leaning back, laughing more freely. Huxley’s competitive spirit flares up, and he’s gloating every time he wins a round. Dax is laughing, a sound I love, and it only deepens the butterflies in my stomach. I lean into Axel slightly, our shoulders brushing, and I can’t help but savor this feeling. After a week of worrying, of attending to bruised bodies and split knuckles, of facing the rumors flying around about me, this is nice. No, scratch that, this is home.

Replying to Meg’s vague message about her latest lacrosse match, I sigh and toss my phone into my backpack. I suppose I’ll return to tapping my purple highlighter against the notepad balanced across my knees and staring at the paper in front of me. The white page has started to mock me, only a title staring back.Hidden Demons.

Considering how excited I initially was for Mrs. Patrick’s assignment, I’ve been coming up blank with where to start, the words running through my mind without taking shape. I’ve tried listing a few ideas, jotting down snippets, but nothing sticks. Every time I start to settle into a train of thought, I find myself easily distracted by the basketball court once again.

The gym smells like sweat and effort, mingling with the faint scent of Axel’s cologne beside me. It’s all so distracting, in thebest and worst ways. A stack of books from the library sit on the bench between me and Axel, since my study time coincided with the boys’ practice.

Where possible, the six of us have stuck together under the guise of keeping Axel well protected, in case the new ‘Inclusive Practice for Athletes Programme’introduced by Dean O’Sullivan isn’t enough to deter the jocks from harassing him again. Most probably call our dynamic unhealthy, as our closeness hasn’t gone unnoticed by those always sticking their noses in our business.

The steady squeak of sneakers on polished wood sounds, punctuated by the sharp thwacks of balls hitting the floor. Coach’s whistle cuts through the air in timed intervals, commanding the rhythm of the entire gym. Amongst the rest of the team and a large group of subs, the Shadowed Souls run back and forth, dribbling their ball with keen control.

Garrett jogs past, his forehead glistening with sweat under the harsh lights. He’s quick to pull his hoodie off and wipe his head with it. I doubt he’s noticed how damp the material of his T-shirt is, sticking to the ridges of his abdomen. Making a point of not looking too closely, I prefer to watch as he tosses the hoodie onto Axel’s lap, the two exchanging a brief, affectionate look. Coach’s whistle pierces the air again, louder this time, snapping Garrett back to attention. He rushes to rejoin the others, his broad shoulders rippling as he takes off toward the far end of the court.

“I thought you said you’d be able to focus here,” Axel muses, not even looking my way. My chin jerks back from its resting place on my fist and I straighten to match his posture.

“I can. I was just thinking of an impactful first sentence,” I purse my lips. Axel rolls his hazel eyes, a smile playing about his lips. He’s practiced in hiding his pain, although it’s evident in the stiffness of his spine and shoulders if you know whereto look. His ribs have much improved in the last two weeks, allowing him to venture out in small doses. We all insisted he should stay in bed for longer but Axel explained there is only so long anyone can lie in bed before the nightmares they’re running from start to bleed into every waking moment. Since then, we take him everywhere we’re able without doing him any additional damage.

“Where was I?” I mutter to myself, dragging my gaze back to the two words double underlined at the top of the page. Surely it shouldn’t be this difficult. I have enough hidden demons to write an entire book, yet I can’t seem to decide which one I’d like to delve into. In some respects, I could use this exercise to face some home truths I haven’t quite come to terms with. On the other hand, there are things I don’t need preserved on paper.

Maybe I’m being too literal. I could just as easily write about the demons tearing up the court, putting the Subs to shame. There is definitely something hellish about the way they’re distracting from what I should be doing. I chuckle to myself, wondering if I could shock the socks off of Mrs. Patrick when Huxley nears, giving me a flirtatious wink. Thanks to his constant workouts with Garrett, Huxley is in his element today, keeping pace with Dax and Wyatt like it’s second nature. His footwork is quick, cutting across the court with a burst of speed that leaves his defender stumbling.

In the same jersey and shorts as everyone else, the sheer definition of his muscle gives Hux that blond Adonis vibe I love, having snapped straight back into shape. I want nothing more than for him to stride his sweaty body over here and dominate me on the bench for all to witness. I bite my bottom lip, worried I might accidentally drool at the thought. And the best part is that he’s smiling.

Dax is right there with him, his lanky form moving with a fluid grace that perfectly matches his gentle and gracefulpersona. Between him and Garrett, they make a mockery of those who usually occupy this bench during real games. They pass the ball with sharp, intentional movements, their silent communication honed over hours of practice.

And then, despite myself, my gaze wanders. Even before Wyatt is passed the ball, he’s poised and ready, his green eyes entirely focused on the play taking place before him. There’s a swagger in his steps, a confidence that draws my attention. I hate to buy into Wyatt’s God-complex, but it’s obvious that on this court, he is King. The rest of his team set him up to take the victory, and all the gloating that goes along with it.

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