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Aleks competes in two days. The committee has to know there is no way to put together a passable duet in that timeframe. Their ruling has completely ruined Aleks’ chances—not only to medal, but to walk away from this experience feeling like he had a fair shot.
My eyes go to the list of seven athletes at the bottom of the letter. I scan them, my frown deepening as I go. “These are all Daughters of Parthenope,” I say, looking up at Aleks.
He glares unseeingly over my shoulder, smoke trailing from the corners of his mouth.
“You did not reach out to them? When you were looking for a duet partner?”
He scoffs. “Why the fuck would I? None of them stood up for me. None of them did shit when I came out, Javier. None of them could fucking look me in the eye when I started walking around with my shaved head, when I asked them to call me Aleks. So don’t come at me for not reaching out to them when I needed help. They already had a chance to stand up for me, and none of them fucking did.” He takes another long drag, exhaling smoke from his nose. “I’m done.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking a step closer.
A sharp, bitter laugh falls from Aleks’ lips. He points to the letter. “You can read, right?”
I shake my head at him. “That was unnecessary.”
“What? What do you want me to say? That I’m sure my mother is the one behind this? That my own mother sabotaged my chance to compete as myself?” He throws the cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it under the heel of his shoe. “And yes, Daddy, I’m going to pick up my fucking trash.”
Putting my hands into my pockets, I watch him carefully.
“Honestly, it isn’t even that big of a deal,” he says, now nudging the crushed orange paper with the toe of his sneakers. “It’s not like this sport has ever given me anything in return. This is the confirmation I needed. I’m done. I’m fucking done with all of this. My life at home is fine. I’ll go back to living with Damian.”
I stand, silent and steady, and wait.
He looks down at the cigarette butt, and then back up to me. No matter how hard he tries to hide his feelings, to pretend he is unfazed, his eyes cannot lie. They are so green now, green like his siren song, and every betrayal and disappointment are right there on the surface.
“What if I don’t want to pick up my trash?”
I take a slow breath. “There are consequences. Littering is…thoughtless. Childish.”
Aleks picks anxiously at his thumb, scowling at the ground. “Fine.” Turning, without looking at me, he stomps up the stairs and throws open the door to our bungalow. “If you care so much about trash, you can deal with it!”
When the door slams behind him, I press a hand over my mouth and sigh. My heart aches for him. Even though I knew, I fucking knew this ruling was likely coming, no amount of foresight can take the edge off of this kind of hurt.
Watching the devastation playing out across his face gutted me.
Now, on the other side of the heartbreak, Aleks needs me. He needs me to stand with him as he mourns and moves through the anger and disappointment in a way that feels safe to him.
Kink is a funny thing. Create a dynamic container for our humanity with someone you trust, and then watch all the raw, real bits come rising to the surface.
Right now, taking care of him as his Daddy comes first. And on the other side, as his coach, I will fight for him.
Chapter 12
What it Means to be a Siren
Aleks
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Nothing makes sense except for the kind, patient man who is standing outside with those dark, knowing eyes. It’s easier to think about him than the letter, and my mother, and what a stupid thing it is to hope and hope and hope again, only for it all to come crumbling down around me.
For a second, I wonder if Javier is going to leave. What if I’ve done all this—throwing a tantrum over some trash, for fuck’s sake—and he decides I’m not worth it? What if there’s another man out there who will be easier, who will submit more quietly, who will—
The door clicks open. I freeze where I’m pacing in the kitchen, watching as Javier closes the door carefully behind him. When he turns to face me, his face is firm, serious, unwavering.
He takes off his sandals and sets them by the door, before walking slowly toward me. My skin feels too tight as he approaches, and I resist the urge to fidget with something, anything.
This is uncharted territory. In all of my experiences with Daddy doms, there have always been specifically negotiated scenes. Some of them included discipline. Some of them were just about sex.
