Fuck me.It’s the glassy eyes that do me in.
Fuck these motherfuckers.
“Miggy, don’t.”
I slam the door shut before he can say anything else and turn around to the group of laughingpendejos. They are the guys who think they’re untouchable because they hide behind numbers and popularity. Anderson’s front and center, smug as hell, standing there like he’s still in charge.
“Hey! Anderson.”
He spins, all attitude and smirk. “What, you gonna?—”
My fist connects with his jaw before he finishes the sentence. The crack echoes across the parking lot. One clean hit and he drops like a little bitch.
Gasps ripple through the group. Someone mutters, “Holy shit.” Another says, “Fuck, dude,” but no one moves to stop me when I step forward.
“Well, well, well,” I smirk, before dropping to a crouch beside him. “Looks like thisqueerjust rocked your shit.”
He groans, rolling halfway onto his side. I pat his cheek, then give it a light slap. “Might not wanna talk so much when you can’t back it up.”
He spits, blood and saliva mixing on the pavement. I grab a fistful of his jersey and haul him up to his knees. “Now you listen to me,hijo de puta. You give my man any more problems, it won’t be your face I break next time. It’ll be your leg… or maybe a hand. Then we’ll see how well you play after that, hmm?”
His eyes go wide, fear swallowing his bravado. “S-s-sorry, I w-won’t say anything again.”
“Glad to hear it.” I lean in close, voice low. “And jealousy’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Calling us queer because maybe you’ve got a thing for him you can’t admit?”
There’s a flicker of fear in his eyes, like he’s afraid I’ll say something too loud. I’m not a piece of shit who outs people. I don’t give a shit if he is into men,do you bro, just notmyman. I clear my throat and continue in a hushed voice. “So let me make this clear.” I growl. “He’s mine. Touch him, and I’ll fucking kill you.”
I let him go and his body hits the ground with a thud. I straighten up and stare down the rest, none of them meeting my eyes.
Cowards.
When I turn and walk back to the truck, the silence follows me. The only sound is the crunch of gravel under my boots.
I throw open the passenger door. Caleb’s staring at me, half in shock, half in disbelief. Before he can say a word, I lean in and kiss him. Hard. Not the gentle kind. The kind that leaves a message written on his skin—one that’s carved into the very marrow of his being.
His breath hitches against my mouth. He doesn’t pull away. He just grips the front of my work hoodie, knuckles white, like he’s holding on for balance.
I pull back, his pupils are blown wide. “You didn’t have to?—”
“I know,” I cut in. My voice is rougher than I want it to be. “But I wanted to.”
He looks down, chest rising and falling too fast. “You hit him, Miggy.”
“Yeah,” I admit, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “And I’d do it again.”
Silence stretches between us. My body’s humming with leftover adrenaline. His lips are still pink from my kiss. Mine tastes like copper and something bitter, rage or guilt, maybe both.
Finally, he sighs. “Let’s just go.”
The drive’s quiet. I can feel him coming down from the high of it all—the game, the fight, the confrontation with his dad. He leans against the window, staring out at the streetlights flicking by like passing thoughts. His reflection looks small in the glass, tired.
I keep my hand on the wheel and my eyes on the road, but I can’t stop glancing at him. His hair’s still damp from sweat, his hoodie pulled tight around him. There’s this heavy sadness sitting on him that makes my chest ache.
Halfway home, I reach over and lay my hand on his thigh. Not to start anything. Just to remind him I’m there.
He doesn’t say anything, but his fingers find mine and squeeze. And somehow that’s enough.
Caleb
