The Red Zone - 6. "Swinging Gate"

(25 years earlier)

The late afternoon sun hung low over Queen Creek, Arizona, casting long, golden shadows over the vast, open fields. The smell of dry earth and cattle lingered in the air as a group of boys, their faces streaked with dirt and sweat, shouted and laughed, tossing around a weathered football. Among them, Bruce stood tall for his age, with the confidence that made the other boys fall in line. He was only ten, but already, there was something commanding about him. He didn't have to try to lead; he just did.

Colt was by his side, always. A year younger, with sun-bleached blonde hair and golden eyes that shone with endless enthusiasm, Colt was Bruce's best friend, his shadow, his brother in all but blood. Colt had a bright spirit, the kind of joy that lit up even the hottest, longest days. They were inseparable, spending every spare moment together when they weren't working the land or running errands for their families.

On this day, like many others, they were playing football with a bunch of local boys, most of them rough, sun-beaten hillbillies who knew nothing but hard work and harder knocks. Bruce and Colt were the heart of the game, darting across the makeshift field like two halves of a whole. Colt was all speed and agility, nimble on his feet, while Bruce had strength and precision and could power through any defense the others threw at him.

The game started out fun, as it always did until some of the bigger boys began to target Colt. The teasing was light at first—mocking his more petite frame, calling him "golden boy" because of his hair—but soon, it turned mean. They pushed him when he wasn't looking, tripped him up, and when he fell, they laughed, a cruel edge in their voices.

"Cut it out," Bruce barked, his tone sharp, and the boys fell silent for a second. But then one of them, a boy named Jesse—tall, broad, with a mean streak a mile wide—sneered, looking at Colt with a mocking grin.

"What's the matter, Bruce? Your little girlfriend can't handle a bit of rough play?" Jesse mocked. A couple of the others chuckled, but Bruce's eyes darkened. He stepped up to Jesse, his jaw tight, a look in his eyes that made the others stop laughing.

"You leave him alone," Bruce said, his voice low but firm. The other boys respected Bruce and even admired him. He was stronger, faster, and better than any of them, and even at ten years old, he commanded respect like a man twice his age. Jesse hesitated, but his pride was at stake.

"What're you gonna do about it, Bruce?" the bully provoked.

The boys lined up again for the next play, and before the signal was called, Bruce glanced over at Colt and winked. Colt, who had been looking worried, smiled back, understanding. The snap came, and Bruce charged straight at Jesse in an instant. It was like a lightning bolt—Bruce's tackle's sheer power and speed took Jesse off his feet. They hit the ground hard, Jesse gasping as the air was knocked out of him. Bruce pinned him down, his knee pressing into Jesse's chest.

"You touch Colt again, and I'll punch your fucking teeth in. Got it?" Bruce whispered, leaning down close as the other boys gathered around.

Jesse stared up at him, wide-eyed and pale, then nodded quickly. Bruce held his gaze for a moment longer before standing up and offering Jesse his hand. Reluctantly, Jesse took it, and Bruce hauled him to his feet. The game continued, but the boys didn't bother Colt again after that.

When the sun descended below the horizon, the boys started to disperse, each heading home for supper. Bruce and Colt strolled together, their steps unhurried, side by side. Colt glanced up at Bruce, a quiet gratitude in his golden eyes.

"Thanks...for..." he said softly. Bruce shrugged, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"He had it coming," Bruce muttered, his emerald eyes squinting as the sun hit them. Colt grinned, his face lighting up like it always did, as he could never stay down for long.

"You know," he said, "you're gonna be famous one day. I'm sure of it. Everyone in the world is gonna look up to you," the boy predicted. Bruce chuckled, shaking his head.

"Famous? I don't know about that," Bruce muttered.

"You will," Colt insisted, his voice serious now. "You're gonna do awesome things. You're gonna be someone people remember," the boy persisted. Bruce looked at his friend, a flicker of warmth in his chest.

"Well, if that ever happens... you're gonna be right there with me," Bruce vowed.

Colt beamed, a bright, forthcoming smile allowing his gentle soul to push through. Bruce's eyes lingered on his best friend, his tall frame closing in on the other boy. He leaned forward and kissed Colt's cheek. It was fast, clumsy, and utterly adorable, causing Colt to chuckle nervously.

"What was that for?" the boy questioned, his pale cheeks flushing red.

"I don't know," Bruce replied, shrugging his broad shoulders.

Standing at the entrance to Bruce's father's farm, the boys gazed at the imposing outline of the house in the distance, feeling a sudden surge of apprehension. From within, a deep, gravelly voice reverberated through the yard, bellowing Bruce's name. It was his father, his words thick and slurred, infused with the all-too-familiar anger that accompanied his excessive consumption of whiskey. Bruce's heart clenched, a cold knot of fear settling in his stomach. His father's temper was as unpredictable as the desert wind, and Bruce had long learned how to navigate around it.

But he didn't want Colt anywhere near it.

"I'll see you later," Bruce said hurriedly, his voice tight almost as a warning. Colt's smile faded as he noticed the change in Bruce's demeanor, but he nodded.

"Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow?" the boy questioned, his eyes flaring with anticipation.

"Sure. Tomorrow," Bruce promised.

He watched Colt disappear down the road before turning toward the house. His father's voice called out again, rough and impatient, and Bruce ran, bracing himself for whatever storm awaited inside. But as he reached the front porch, he looked back at the road where Colt had just walked away.

One day, he thought. One day, things would be different.

Bruce ran up the dirt road, his boots kicking up small dust clouds as he reached the weather-beaten porch of his father's house. The screen door creaked as he shoved it open, but the sound of laughter drifted from the backyard, immediately pulling him toward the familiar comfort of his siblings. His two brothers, Luke and Sam, were chasing each other with an old garden hose, spraying water everywhere, while his little sister, Daisy, shrieked and giggled, twirling in the mist as if she were caught in a summer rainstorm.

For a moment, everything felt right. Bruce felt alive in the presence of his brothers, the weight of the world pinched by their simple, joyous moment. He forgot about his father's harsh words, the dusty farm, and the endless chores and just lived in the moment with them. The cool spray of water hit his face as Luke aimed the hose toward him, and Bruce laughed, grabbing the hose and joining in the fray, wrestling it away and dousing his brothers.

Out here, in the chaos of the backyard, Bruce felt free—himself. He could joke, wrestle, and roughhouse with his brothers without fear of judgment. He was the protector here, the one they looked up to. But more than that, he was their equal, their teammate in this endless game of make-believe and backyard adventures.

But eventually, the laughter faded, and Bruce found himself wandering back toward the house. He went up the stairs to his room, the familiar creak of the wood underfoot soothing in its predictability. His room was simple. Bare walls, a twin bed pushed against the corner, and a small window that overlooked the fields. It wasn't much, but it was his.

Without a second thought, Bruce climbed out of the window, his hands gripping the edges of the house as he hoisted himself onto the roof. Up here, above it all, he could breathe. He could be alone with his thoughts, staring out across the endless Arizona horizon as the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the landscape in hues of orange and gold.

He sat there, knees pulled up to his chest, watching the sun sink slowly toward the horizon.

One day, you're gonna be famous.
Everyone in the world is gonna look up to you.

Bruce wanted to believe it. He needed to believe it. He imagined himself far away from this dusty farm, away from his father's wrath, living a life where people respected him, where no one could tell him what to do. Maybe one day, he thought. And Colt would be there with him, and they'd leave this place behind for good.

The sun vanished behind the hills, and the sky darkened, filled with the faintest pinpricks of stars. With a heavy sigh, Bruce climbed through the window, his feet softly hitting the floor. The house was quiet now, and he could hear the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

He made his way downstairs, the air immediately shifting as soon as he crossed into the kitchen. The warmth from outside was gone, replaced by the cold tension that always seemed to hang whenever his father was near. His father, John, sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey in front of him, his eyes brutal and unforgiving.

"I don't want you hangin' around that Colt boy anymore," John's voice cut through the silence like a blade. Bruce froze, his stomach twisting at the sudden hostility in his father's tone.

"Why?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Cause I fuckin' said so," his father growled. Bruce's hands clenched into fists at his sides, anger rising like a wave inside him.

"But... he's my friend," Bruce snapped. John's eyes suddenly narrowed, his face darkening with rage. He slammed his hand on the table, reverberating through the kitchen.

"I said I don't want you around him, boy! I won't have people thinking my boy's some kinda fruity, runnin' around with that… kid," John yelled. Bruce's heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the familiar knot of fear twisting inside him, but this time, something else surged up alongside it—defiance. He tried to control it, to tamp it down, but the words spilled out before he could stop them.

"Well, fuck what people think!" Bruce roared. The room grew colder, and Bruce could see the fire ignite in his father's eyes. John stood, towering over Bruce, his face red with fury.

That was the breaking point.

John reached for his belt, yanking it from his waist with a swift, violent motion.

"You little..." John snorted.

But Bruce didn't flinch. Not this time. As his father raised the belt, the boy's reflexes kicked in. His hand shot out, catching the belt in mid-air and gripping it tightly. The two of them locked eyes for a moment. John yanked on the belt, trying to pull it free, but Bruce held firm. His ten-year-old strength, surprising even to him, was enough to stop his father in his tracks. Bruce yanked the belt from his father's hands with a sharp tug. It fell to the floor with a dull thud, and for the first time in his life, Bruce saw something flicker in his father's eyes. Surprise. Maybe even fear.

Bruce turned on his heel and bolted for the door, his heart racing as he ran out of the house, the screen door slamming shut behind him. He didn't stop running until he was far from the house, the cool night air whipping past him, the stars above flickering in the vast, open sky.

The sun was almost gone, the sky fading into deep purples and blues, but Bruce didn't stop. He ran through the fields, past the barn, past the cattle grazing in the distance, and into the cornfield that stretched far beyond their property. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, but he didn't stop until he was deep within the tall stalks of corn, hidden from the world.

Finally, when he couldn't run anymore, Bruce stopped. He stood there, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Then, with a primal force, he let out a long, guttural scream, ripping through the quiet evening air. It was a scream of frustration, anger, pain—of everything he'd been holding in for so long.

When his voice finally gave out, Bruce collapsed onto the ground, the soft earth cradling his body. He stared at the sky, the stars just twinkling above him. The air was calm now, the night settling in around him. And for the first time in hours, Bruce felt something close to peace. He lay there, breathing deeply, scanning the sky.

Someday, he told himself. Someday, he'd be free. Free from his father, free from this town, free to live the life he wanted. And when that day came, he wouldn't look back.

(Present time)

The morning light streamed softly through the cracked window of Camilo's mother's house. Bruce stirred awake, the rough cotton sheets tangled around his waist, the warmth of Damien beside him a comforting anchor in this quiet, stolen moment. He turned his head to the side, a small smile spreading across his lips as he watched Damien sleep, peaceful and unguarded. For just a second, everything felt right. There was no hotel, no expectations, no weight of fame. Just the two of them.

Damien stirred, lazily blinking as he woke, his golden eyes meeting Bruce's. Without a word, the hunk leaned down, their lips meeting in a slow, tender kiss. It was passionate but not rushed, as if they were trying to prolong this moment, savoring every second they had alone together. The world outside seemed distant, irrelevant.

But as Bruce's hand slipped to the back of Damien's neck, deepening the kiss, a strange muffled sound from outside broke the spell. Damien pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. Bruce paused, listening. The sound grew louder—voices, murmurs, shuffling feet—and then the unmistakable click of cameras.

Bruce's heart sank, and his blood ran cold as reality came crashing back. He bolted upright, grabbing a pair of underwear from the floor and pulling them on hastily.

"What the fuck?" he muttered as he crossed the small living room toward the door. The noise outside swelled, and Bruce cracked the door open with a deep breath. Suddenly, a burst of flashes lit up his face, blinding him momentarily. A barrage of shouting voices followed—reporters calling his name, snapping questions, their cameras firing like machine guns.

"Bruce! Is it true you're cheating on Kate?" a reporter yelled.

"Who's inside the house with you?" another questioned.

"Bruce, are you hiding from the press?" a third voice hollered.

The questions came mercilessly from all sides. Bruce slammed the door shut, his chest tightening with panic. He leaned against it, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. His pulse raced, his mind reeling. "How the fuck did they find me?" he continued, pacing nervously. Damien sat up in bed, his face twisted with worry.

"What's going on?" the blonde asked.

"They're here," Bruce mumbled. He began pacing around the room, his fists clenching and unclenching.

"Who?" Damien asked, tentative.

"The press! They're outside. A whole fucking mob of them!" Bruce fired, his anger punching a hole in Damien's chest. The hunk kicked a chair, sending it flying across the room.

Damien rushed to him, trying to calm him down, but Bruce was unreachable, his fury spilling over. He yanked his phone from the nightstand and dialed Kate, putting it on speaker while waiting for her to pick up. The room was thick with tension, Bruce's anger palpable, filling every corner of the tiny house. The line clicked, and Kate's smooth and composed voice came through.

"Bruce? What's going on?" she immediately questioned.

"They found me, Kate. The fucking press! I don't know how, but they're snapping pictures outside the house right now!" Bruce's voice was taut, barely containing the storm of emotions swirling inside him. On the other end, Kate's voice remained eerily calm, almost as if she'd expected this.

"Bruce...take a deep breath. It's not the first time this happened," she calmly stated.

Damien, standing in the middle of the room, his heart pounding, noticed the calmness in her voice. He shot Bruce a confused look but kept silent. Why wasn't she more upset? How could she be so composed?

"You need to stay calm, alright? Don't do anything rash," Kate continued, her tone soothing but firm. Bruce's pacing slowed, though his anger still simmered beneath the surface.

"How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm? This is a fucking nightmare, Kate!" Bruce yelled through gritted teeth, trying to cage his rage. Kate sighed on the other end.

"Someone tipped them off. Damien, is there anyone at the resort who might have a reason to… expose this? Someone you might have a beef with?" Kate questioned, her voice surgical. Damien froze at the mention of his name. His mind raced as he thought of the resort.

"No, I..." he began, but then something clicked. Karen. The thought hit him like a freight train. "Fuck...Karen," he whispered.

"Karen?" Bruce asked, his voice sharp. Damien nodded, his throat dry.

"She works at the resort. She… she could definitely benefit from this. I wouldn't put it past her to try something like this," the blonde admitted. Kate's voice tightened, a hint of steel creeping into her usually smooth tone.

"Okay, listen to me carefully, both of you: lay low. Do not leave the house, do not answer the door, or engage with the press. I'll deal with this from here," she directed. Bruce, still fuming, shook his head.

"Kate, this is..." Bruce muttered.

"Bruce," Kate interrupted, her voice soft but commanding. "I've got this. Trust me. We've been through this before, remember? Just stay inside. I'll call you when I have an update," she directed.

The call ended, and for a moment, the room was silent. Bruce stood there, the phone still in his hand, staring at it as if it could somehow offer a solution. Damien walked up to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"Bruce...It'll be fine," Damien said quietly. But Bruce, still burning with anger, shook him off.

"My whole fucking life is out there, falling apart, Damien..." he said before storming toward the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Damien in the small living room, their situation crashing down around him. He could hear Bruce's muffled curses behind the door, each like a dagger twisting in Damien's chest.

They had been so close to finding something real, something that felt like freedom. And now it all seemed to be slipping away, like water through their fingers.

At the Cove, Kate paced back and forth in the privacy of her spacious suite, her perfectly manicured nails tapping rhythmically against the sleek surface of her phone. The air was tense as she waited for the call to connect. She couldn't afford to lose control now, not when the stakes were so high. Finally, the line clicked.

"Yeah?" a calm voice answered. Kate didn't waste a second.

"We have a problem. I need you guys to start doing some damage control," she stated. The line fell quiet for a beat, then the voice responded, a little more alert now.

"How bad is it?" the voice questioned. Kate's jaw tightened, her gaze flicking to the window overlooking the tranquil waters beyond the resort.

"Bruce was followed. The press has him surrounded," she clarified.

"Has anything been leaked yet?" the voice immediately asked, the questions sharp and professional.

"Not yet. But I'm pretty sure there are photos, too," Kate replied, though her breath hitched slightly. She knew nothing for sure, but she needed to stay composed. "We still have time to turn this around," she said, pulling off her robe to get dressed. A long exhale came through the phone.

"Alright, we'll monitor everything closely. We can start by scrubbing any mentions on social media. If anything surfaces, we'll shut it down before it goes viral. But this could be tricky if those pictures get sold," the voice warned. Kate nodded to herself, though her face remained impassive.

"Do whatever you need to. Keep it quiet for now. We don't want anything spiraling out of control," Kate instructed.

"Understood. Keep us updated if anything changes," the voice replied.

Kate ended the call, staring at the phone for a long moment, her mind spinning. The situation was teetering on the edge of disaster, and she could feel the weight of it pressing down on her chest. But there was still time. She could still fix this. Her expression tightened into something steely as she dialed the next number, which connected her to the resort's main office.

"This is Kate Levinson. I need a speedboat to Eden's Edge immediately," she said calmly but firmly.

"Yes, ma'am. Right away," the receptionist replied.

Kate punched her thumb on the phone, tossing it onto the bed. She moved to the full-length mirror, adjusting her hair and smoothing out the lines of her dress, her mind calculating the next steps with precision. She'd played this game before, keeping the public at bay and crafting the perfect narrative, but there was more at stake this time. Bruce's entire career could collapse under the weight of a scandal like this, and by extension, hers too.

She grabbed her sunglasses from the vanity and slipped them on as she exited the suite. As she made her way through the Cove's penthouse's quiet halls, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors, her face was a mask of unflinching determination.

The sun began setting out on the dock, casting a golden glow across the horizon. The speedboat was already idling in the water, the driver standing by. Kate climbed aboard without a word, settling into the seat as the boat pulled away from the dock. The Cove faded behind her, but her thoughts were already far ahead, focused on the plan she would put into motion the second she reached Eden's Edge.

Time was running out, but if there was anyone who could manipulate the situation to their advantage, it was Kate. And she'd be damned if she let anyone, least of which another woman, ruin what she and Bruce had built.

Not now. Not ever.

With calculated grace, Kate stepped off the speedboat, her sharp eyes scanning Eden's marina as the sun bathed the horizon in fading amber. Camilo stood waiting for her at the dock, shifting his weight nervously as Kate approached, her heels clicking against the wood with a rhythmic certainty. She paused before him, her lips curling into a poised smile.

"You must be Camilo," she said, her voice smooth and practiced. Camilo nodded, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

"Yes, ma'am," the ebony stud responded.

"Good," Kate replied, her smile deepening as if she had just confirmed a crucial piece of her puzzle. "I need your help. You want what's best for Damien, right?" she questioned. Camilo hesitated, sensing there was more behind her words, but nodded again.

"Always," he replied resolutely.

"So...how much do you know about this...Karen, that I can actually use?" Kate questioned. Camilo paused before a mischievous grin took hold of his usually tender features.

"I know enough," he replied.

Kate's smile never faltered as she beckoned him to follow her toward the resort, where she had arranged for one of the exclusive private balconies near the pool to be prepared. Half an hour later, Kate reclined in her seat, her posture relaxed but every movement deliberate. She held a delicate glass of rosé in one hand, her sunglasses shielding her calculating gaze.

Across the way, she spotted Karen, who was clearly looking for an opportunity to ingratiate herself. The woman approached eagerly, her posture slightly bent as though anticipating the chance to impress Kate.

"Mrs. Levinson," Karen started, her tone overly deferential. "Is there anything you need? Is there anything I can do for you?" she annoyingly questioned. Kate glanced over the rim of her sunglasses, allowing a beat of silence to pass as she observed Karen like a hawk before she responded with a faint smile.

"Ah, Karen, right?" she politely said, her gaze skimming Karen's tag. "Actually, I could use a moment of your time," Kate teased. Karen's eyes brightened, and she leaned in, eager to prove her worth. Kate shifted in her seat, set her glass down, and gestured for Karen to sit beside her. "I've been thinking about Damien," Kate began, her tone almost conspiratorial, as if she were letting Karen in on a secret. "He's... difficult, wouldn't you agree? A bit aloof," she continued. Karen hesitated, sensing a trap but too eager to resist.

"Well, yes, he can be. Not the most jovial of the staff, I'd say," Karen replied, visibly unable to hide her disdain for Damien. Kate nodded slowly, leaning back, her smile growing more indulgent as if she and Karen were already on the same page.

"Exactly. I'm sure it's hard to trust someone like that," Kate charmed. Karen nodded enthusiastically, fully hooked. She leaned closer, lowering her voice as though sharing in Kate's disapproval.

"You know, I've heard some things. About Damien, I mean. People say he tends to get...involved with certain guests," Karen whispered, relishing every word, unaware that Kate already knew what she was underlining. Kate tilted her head, pretending to be surprised.

"Is that so?" Kate questioned, almost theatrically. Karen continued, now feeling emboldened, her voice tinged with malice.

"Oh yes, I've seen how he is around certain men. Quite scandalous behavior," Karen gossiped. Kate's lips twitched into a faint smile.

"Well, we all have our preferences, don't we?" she uttered, purposely letting the words hang in the air before smoothly transitioning. "Speaking of preferences, Karen, I've noticed how the women seem to take a shine to some of the male staff here, especially Ryan," Kate lured. Karen blanched slightly, but Kate's tone remained light, almost teasing. "Oh, don't worry. It's quite obvious. Ryan's a sweet boy, isn't he? Hard to resist," she continued. Karen flushed her attempt to hide her feelings, which were suddenly exposed.

"I...I don't know what you mean," Karen stuttered. Kate waved a dismissive hand, her smile widening as though they were sharing some private joke.

"Oh, come now, Karen. There's no need to play coy with me. It's just us girls. I'm sure he's... charming to you," Kate expressed. Karen's discomfort was palpable, but she couldn't deny it. She forced a weak smile, unsure how much she could reveal.

"Well, he is nice, I suppose," Karen mumbled, the words clawing out of her mouth. Kate's eyes glinted behind her sunglasses as she took control of the conversation.

"I'll speak with Schofield about moving you to the Cove," she said, as though it was already decided. "I think you'd thrive there," Kate lied. Karen's eyes lit up, and she could barely contain her excitement.

"Really? You'd do that for me?" Karen stuttered. Kate stood, signaling that the conversation was over.

"Consider it done. Just keep your ears open, Karen. We're all part of the same team, after all," she declared.

Karen glided away, her face radiant with pride as she envisioned her promising future at the Cove. Meanwhile, Kate observed her departure, her once warm smile morphing into a chilling expression as she redirected her focus toward the reception desk. Se approached and leaned in on the counter, her voice carrying a distinct, cutting edge.

"Could you tell me where Ryan is?" she asked. The receptionist checked her log.

"He's by the spa, Mrs. Levinson," the receptionist replied without missing a beat.

"Thank you," Kate replied, already making her way there.

As she moved through the resort, her mind was already two steps ahead, each encounter carefully orchestrated. The pieces were falling into place. All she needed now was for Ryan to play his part.

Kate strode into the spa with her usual effortless elegance, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She immediately spotted Ryan standing near a group of female staffers, flashing his charming smile and enjoying the attention. His easy laughter rang through the air, the young women hanging on his every word. Kate could see the magnetism from a distance, the natural confidence, the boyish energy that seemed to radiate from him like a force field.

Without missing a beat, she approached the group, her presence like a gust of wind that instantly commanded attention. The staffers fell silent, eyes widening as they recognized her. Ryan, however, seemed struck dumb. His smile faltered, and his usual smooth confidence was replaced by a flush that crept up his neck and cheeks. His hands awkwardly fumbled as he tried to maintain composure.

"Mrs...Mrs. Levinson," he stammered, clearly flustered. "I...I didn't see you there," he stammered. Kate smiled, her gaze locking onto his as she interrupted the conversation.

"Ryan, could I steal you away for a moment?" Kate questioned. Her voice was velvet, but there was no mistaking the command that oozed from it.

"Uh...sure, of course. Anything you need, ma'am," the stud faltered, his words coming out in a jumble.

Kate smiled again, this time softer, more personal, watching as Ryan's fluster only deepened. She gently touched his arm, guiding him away from the group and toward the saunas. As they walked, Ryan stumbled over himself, sneaking glances at Kate, utterly out of his depth. She led him to the secluded area of the spa, her heels softly echoing in the hallway.

"Join me in the steam room," she said as they stopped before the door. It wasn't a suggestion. Ryan hesitated, his hand gripping the towel around his neck.

"Uh, I don't know if that's such a good idea…" Ryan stumbled. Kate tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering.

"It'll be fine. I promise I won't bite," Kate teased. After a moment of visible struggle, Ryan sighed and gave in.

"Okay," he muttered, reluctantly nodding.

As Kate stepped into the steam room, the thick mist enveloped her, nearly obscuring her from view. After a few moments, Ryan entered, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist. The steam accentuated the contours of his physique, revealing a body as impressive as Kate had anticipated. His broad, muscular frame exuded a natural, sculpted quality that suggested effortless strength. Beads of sweat glistened on his skin, and his well-defined abs tapered down to his narrow waist.

Amid the tension, Kate could not resist a momentary sense of awe when she looked at him. Ryan's youthful charm, along with his impressive physique, earned her attention. It wasn't just his good looks. An innocence and a lack of worldly experience in him was undeniably appealing. It was no surprise that the female staff were drawn to him, Kate thought. He appeared like a Greek statue, but the easygoing, almost whimsical way he carried himself made him stand out. Ryan looked at Kate through the steam, his dark brown hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes full of nervous energy.

"So, uh… what did you want to talk about?" Ryan asked, his voice trembling slightly at the sight of Kate's flawless body covered only by a small towel. Kate allowed a moment of silence to stretch between them, enjoying the quiet discomfort. She could sense the chemistry there, but Kate was on a mission. So, without further ado, she finally broke the spell.

"I need your help, Ryan," she said, calm but serious. Ryan blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.

"My help? What do you mean?" the stud questioned. Kate leaned forward slightly, keeping her voice low and measured.

"It's about Damien. And Bruce," she cautiously revealed.

"Did they get caught?" Ryan asked.

Kate's eyes squinted, and her mouth dropped slightly in surprise. A soft chuckle then broke through her lips. Kate wasn't used to being surprised. Ryan straightened up slightly, his expression growing more serious.

"Everyone thinks I'm just an airhead," he muttered. "That I don't pay attention. But I'm not as slow as people think," Ryan stated. It was the most endearing thing Kate had ever seen. A pureness she almost forgot existed. She smiled, recognizing something in him that she hadn't before.

"I believe you," she said, her voice softening. "And I see that you're smarter than people give you credit for. Damien is lucky...to have such good friends," Kate added. Ryan seemed to absorb her words, a tiny flicker of pride in his eyes.

"So… what do you need me to do?"

Kate leaned back, studying the stud for a moment. She saw the loyalty in his eyes, the willingness to jump in headfirst. There was something pure about him, a devotion that made her realize why people trusted him, why he was well-liked.

"I'll tell you," she said before pausing, her eyes suddenly delving inside Ryan's. Her usual cold and focused demeanor melted into the steam around them, her smile suddenly genuine and unrehearsed. "But before I do," she added, standing up and dropping her towel, exposing her perfectly shaped body and bleached pussy. "I'm going to need you to fuck me, Ryan," Kate proposed.

"I...I don't...what?" Ryan stammered, watching Kate walk over to the door and lock it, his cock already hardening underneath his towel.

"And when I say fuck me, I mean I'm going to need you to make me come," Kate elaborated, walking over to the stud and pulling his towel to the side, unveiling his perfect, thick 9-inch cock. She saddled the stud, grabbing his cock and slowly sliding it inside her pussy. "Do you think you can do that, Ryan?" she moaned, her hands circling the stud's neck.

"I...I can try...ma'am," Ryan groaned, his lips stretched into the brightest smile Kate had ever seen.

And there, locked inside the steam room, Ryan fucked Kate for over one hour. And he made her come four times.

Later that day, the staff lounge buzzed with music spilling into the surrounding pathways. String lights crisscrossed overhead as the resort staff mingled, danced, and enjoyed the evening. Camilo worked tirelessly behind the bar, serving drinks with his usual easy smile. The room was humming, but in the far corner of the counter, Karen sat alone, glaring at the merriment with her usual sour expression.

She sat slouched in her chair, cradling a drink that had lost its warmth long ago, her lips forming a tight, disapproving line. The lively ambiance around her seemed to amplify her sense of isolation. While others reveled in dance and laughter, Karen simmered with resentment, her profound loneliness almost tangible. She despised it all. The situation, the people. Their carefree demeanor grated on her, highlighting her perpetual outsider status. Her gaze darted to the swirling couples on the dance floor, her grip on the glass tightening. It seemed that no one ever truly saw her except when they had to. And even then, she felt invisible.

Ryan spotted her from across the room and made his move. His approach was casual, almost lazy, but his mind was sharp, focused on the mission at hand. Karen barely glanced up as he sauntered over, her defenses up as usual. She was used to being ignored, except maybe to be used as a means to an end.

"Hey there, Karen," Ryan said with a grin, sliding into the seat beside her. "Why are you sitting alone like this?" the stud questioned, his tone charming and approachable. Karen's eyes narrowed.

"What do you want, Ryan?" she asked, her voice flat, suspicious. Ryan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Can't a guy just talk to a pretty girl anymore?" he joked. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't even try that with me. You're probably here to dig something up on me, aren't you?" she questioned. "Well, save it. That blonde fruitcake will be out of a job soon, anyway..." she muttered, snorting as she chuckled. Ryan kept his smile but shifted gears. He could sense Karen's walls, built high and fortified by years of isolation and bitterness. He needed to chip away slowly.

"Damien's a big boy. He doesn't need me. I just noticed you've been sitting here, night after night, alone. Doesn't seem right, that's all," Ryan drilled, pulling every card in his charm pocket. For a moment, Karen remained silent, her suspicion palpable. But her loneliness began to break through, gnawing at her. It was a feeling she couldn't quite shake, and Ryan's charm, no matter how artificial, was a balm she didn't realize she needed. She sighed, giving in a little.

"Fine," she muttered. "Buy me a drink, then," she hailed. Ryan winked at Camilo, who, watching from behind the bar, raised an eyebrow in amusement. Camilo mixed the drink and slid it over, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He was aware of Ryan's game and played along with him.

Two hours later, Ryan kicked open the door to Karen's small dorm room, his arm wrapped around her waist as she stumbled, completely drunk. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy as she mumbled incoherently, leaning heavily against him. The confident and spiteful Karen was gone, replaced by a broken woman, vulnerable and desperate for affection.

"I just… I just wanna be loved, you know?" she slurred, her voice tinged with the sadness she had tried so hard to keep hidden. "Just like...everyone else," Karen mumbled. Ryan gave a dry, mocking laugh, more of an internal victory than anything else.

"Yeah, Karen," he replied with a hint of sarcasm. "We all do," he agreed before laying her on the bed, gently removing her shoes, and covering her with a blanket. He just looked at her for a second, feeling the briefest twinge of pity.

But it quickly passed. Ryan had a job to do.

As soon as Karen was out cold, he started his search. Her dorm room was small and cluttered, the type of space that reflected her chaotic mind. It took a few minutes, but Ryan's persistence paid off. He found the photos in the back of her closet, tucked high on a shelf. His heart raced as he pulled down the stack, flipping through them. Images of Bruce and Damien kissing in the window were plastered across the glossy paper. Others of Bruce pummelling his 12-inch cock inside Damien's ass, the blonde's legs spread open with close-ups of his stretched hole. Ryan couldn't help but flare his eyes in amazement.

"Damn, Blondie..." he whispered, his eyes glancing at the bed, where Karen snored.

Next came her phone. He rifled through her purse, located the device, and powered it on. Then, he lifted her numbed arm and brushed her thumb over it. After scrolling through her gallery, he found the digital copies. Without a second thought, he permanently deleted them, checking twice to ensure they were gone. Satisfied, Ryan placed the phone back where he found it, sparing one last glance at Karen.

"You really are a fucking cunt," he muttered under his breath. Shaking his head, the stud turned and slipped out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.

Hours later, Karen stirred, her head pounding as she slowly woke. She wobbled out of bed, her thoughts fragmented and sluggish. She stumbled to the bathroom sink, splashing water on her face. As she lifted her head and stared at her reflection, she began to remember last night, the drinks, the laughter, Ryan. A small, delirious smile curled at the corner of her lips, thinking she might have found someone who didn't hate her after all.

But as the moments passed, something nagged at her. Her smile faded. Panic set in. She dashed to her closet, throwing open the door and rifling through the shelves. Her hands scrambled for the photos. But they were gone.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a deep, sickening dread rising inside her. Desperately, she grabbed her phone and swiped to the gallery. She searched frantically, her fingers trembling as she scrolled, but the pictures were nowhere to be found.

"No," she whispered, her voice shaking. "No, no, no…" she repeated.

It was then that the realization hit her like a freight train. She had been played. The photos were gone. Her leverage, victory, everything she had labored for, vanished.

"MOTHER FUCKER!" Karen screamed out. It was a piercing scream, one of pure frustration and misery, the walls of her world closing in around her as she stood there, trapped by her own madness.

Outside her room, heads slowly popped from inside other dorm rooms, giggling among them, mocking the muffled sound of Karen's screams as she finally unraveled.

 

*

As Kate entered the hotel lobby the following day, the usual lively atmosphere seemed to come to a standstill. All eyes turned to her, captivated by her aura of poise and self-assurance. Her attire exuded an air of sophistication, accentuating her impeccable composure. The onlookers couldn't help but admire her commanding presence, some with genuine awe and others with a hint of concealed jealousy.

Camilo and Ryan stood waiting by the entrance. Ryan shifted nervously, clutching the envelope that held the stolen photographs. Despite his usual easygoing demeanor, there was an unmistakable tension in his posture as he gazed at Kate closing. Camilo stood silently beside him, a quiet strength about him, though his eyes occasionally flickered with concern.

As Kate approached, Ryan handed her the envelope. She opened it, glancing at the now innocuous stack of photos that had once held the power to destroy lives. Her perfectly manicured fingers slid through them casually before she slipped them back into the envelope and smiled. A brief kiss on Ryan's cheek, a reward of sorts, was given in acknowledgment of his work.

"Good boy," she murmured with a cheeky wink, her voice smooth and warm. Then, she turned businesslike and called Bruce's PR team.

"Is the press still camped out front?" she asked.

"Yes," the voice replied on the other side. "No signs of them leaving anytime soon," they added. Kate's lips curled into a smile.

"Perfect. Keep them there," she ordered before hanging up and gazing at Camilo.

"You know a way into the house without them noticing?" she questioned. Camilo nodded.

"Yeah, there's a back entrance through the neighbor's house. No one will see us," Camilo revealed.

"Then let's go," Kate said, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

They left the hotel in Camilo's car. Kate's eyes were sharp, her mind racing with plans and contingencies. Camilo was alert, focusing on the road. After nearly an hour of trying to get inside the city, they arrived at the edge of the neighborhood where Bruce and Damien were holed up. Camilo led the way, weaving through narrow alleys and quiet backyards until they found Kate's needed entrance. They slipped in unnoticed, the chaotic buzz of the press only a distant murmur on the other side of the house.

Inside, Bruce looked up as soon as Kate entered, his whole body seeming to release the breath he'd been holding since the chaos erupted. Relief washed over his face, his posture softening in a way only her presence seemed to elicit. He immediately moved toward her, his eyes wide with gratitude, barely glancing in Damien's direction. Kate smiled knowingly and reached out to take his hand.

"You know the drill, Bruce," she said with a wink, pulling him toward the front door.

Damien watched, his heart sinking as Bruce instinctively gravitated toward her, almost forgetting he was in the room. Bruce and Kate's bond felt impenetrable at that moment, and it stung. For all the passion they'd shared, Bruce's reliance on Kate seemed unshakable, and Damien could feel the distance between them growing.

With total control, Kate opened the front door, walking Bruce into the chaotic frenzy of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. But where the press had come for scandal, she gave them charm. With Bruce by her side, she laughed off the questions, spinning a tale that seemed like they had been holed up together the whole time. She was quick, sharp, and disarming, redirecting their attention with wit and skill.

"What does a girl have to do to get some privacy, hum?" she smiled as she posed, the press on their knees rendered to her charm. "Sorry to disappoint, boys, but there's no big story here," she played, squeezing Bruce's hand as he followed her lead.

"Why are you hiding, then?" one reporter surveyed.

"Are you pregnant, Kate?" another followed as Kate shrugged, her smile flawless.

Her charm worked like a spell. The questions slowed, and the crowd's mood shifted from a ravenous hunt for a scandal to bemusement at Kate's cool handling of the situation. Within minutes, she hailed a cab, pulling Bruce into it beside her as they drove away from the scene, leaving the press deflated and confused.

Inside the house, the silence after their departure was overwhelming. Damien stood by the window, watching the remaining press slowly pack up, the fading flashes of cameras puncturing his conflicted face. Camilo lingered nearby, his presence a quiet comfort, though the weight of what had happened hung between them.

After a long moment, Damien finally spoke, his voice soft but resolute.

"It's best if we leave, too," Damien said. He sounded weak and deflated. Camilo turned to him, sensing the layers of unspoken pain and uncertainty in his friend's words.

"Are you sure?" the ebony stud questioned. Damien nodded, his gaze still fixed on the retreating press outside.

"Yeah," the blonde replied before pausing. He closed his eyes, the taste of Bruce's mouth still lingering on his tongue. "It's over," he finally said.

And it sure felt like it was.

 

*

It had been a week since the press descended on Bruce and Damien, and in that time, everything had tattered. Bruce remained holed up in his room at the Cove, the weight of the scandal pulling him deeper into isolation. He refused to leave and face the world that once adored him. The man who commanded rooms and charmed crowds had disappeared behind closed doors, leaving only a shell of who he used to be. Kate was with him, as always, but even her presence had grown quieter. There were no more jokes or strategies, only the slow, painful reality of their crumbling charade.

Damien had been in a fog of emotions on the island's opposite end, drifting through each day like a specter. He hadn't returned to the Cove since the troubling event. Instead, Camilo had assumed control, managing the day-to-day affairs while Damien attempted to reconstruct the fragments of his life. Yet, the ache persisted despite his efforts to create distance between himself and Bruce.

It felt like the death of something that had barely been given a chance to live. And once the morning of the news came, it felt like the final blow.

Schofield's voice was gruff when he called Damien into his office.

"Levinson is leaving today. His chopper leaves in a few hours. I need you to oversee the departure," Schofield instructed.

The words were like stones in Damien's chest. He nodded silently, unable to form any protest. It didn't matter that he wanted to stay as far away from Bruce as possible. It didn't matter that he had spent every waking moment trying to forget him. Deep down, Damien knew he had to say goodbye.

He had to close this chapter.

As the chopper's rotors roared in the background, he stood at the landing platform for hours. The air was heavy with humidity, and the distant waves seemed to blend into the backdrop as Bruce emerged on the path. Kate stood stoically by his side, but her eyes betrayed a sense of emptiness mirrored the one in Bruce's. He was a mere shadow of the man who had first arrived at Eden's Edge months ago, his once dynamic and commanding presence now reduced to something fractured and weary.

Bruce stopped before Damien, their eyes meeting for the first time since that fateful day. For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of everything unsaid pressing between them. Damien's throat tightened as he forced himself to break the silence.

"So, I guess this is it?" he uttered, his voice calm yet concealing a tremor beneath it, something fragile and raw.

Bruce nodded, his gaze hard to meet. "Yeah. I guess it is," the hunk replied, his words plucked by force. Bruce lingered there, towering over Damien. Every inch of him lusted for the boy, craving every inch of Damien's body and presence. "I'm sorry," he muttered, defenseless.

"Me too," Damien whispered back. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

The exchange was brutal. There were no grand gestures, no promises of future reconciliation. It was the end, and they both knew it. Damien wanted to scream, to tell Bruce not to leave, to fight for them, but the words caught in his throat. He knew it wouldn't make a difference. Kate had warned him this moment would come. Sooner or later.

Kate stood to the side, watching the two men with quiet resignation. She said nothing and her gracious nature allowed them to have their moment.

"Damien, I..." Bruce began, but his voice trailed off. He looked at Damien, his eyes filled with something that could only be described as regret. "I hope you find happiness," the hunk conveyed, his emerald eyes shivering. Damien clenched his jaw, fighting back the emotions that threatened to spill over. Then suddenly, he chuckled. It was the strangest laughter. Filled with pain, anger, frustration, and disappointment.

"You too," Damien whispered.

It was all he could say. It was all there was left to say.

With one final glance over his shoulder, Bruce turned and strode purposefully toward the waiting helicopter, his long hair billowing in the wind. Kate followed closely behind, her eyes fixed on the ground as she stepped onto the chopper's platform. The deafening roar of the engine intensified as the helicopter ascended into the sky, carrying them away from Damien, who stood rooted to the spot. As the aircraft disappeared into the distant horizon, the wind from the chopper's blades whipped around him, tugging at his clothes and leaving him with a sense of profound loss, as if a piece of himself had been spirited away with them.

 

*

Months had passed, but for Bruce, time had transformed into a sluggish, agonizing journey. He sat slumped at the edge of the bed in their luxurious hotel suite, his head buried in his hands, his vacant gaze fixed on nothingness. The once charismatic and self-assured man, who had graced the covers of prestigious magazines and commanded stadiums, had now become a mere shadow of his former self, consumed by the persona he had carefully constructed. Kate entered the room, her countenance serene yet fatigued, her steps weighed down by a burden that hadn't been evident before.

She paused momentarily, watching him, her heart aching for the man she had known for so long. She walked over and took a seat beside him. For a moment, there was silence, but it wasn't deafening. It was soft, tender, and comforting.

"You look like shit," she mocked with a smile, her comment an attempt to jolt Bruce out of his stupor. The hunk chuckled before pausing, his eyes meeting Kate's.

There was a brief silence. One loaded with years of a well-oiled partnership. But also of genuine friendship.

"Thank you," Bruce said, his eyes slightly dull and lifeless.

"For what?" Kate asked.

"For always taking care of me. For always having my back," the hunk replied, his green emeralds glistening with emotion.

Kate paused, their gazes meeting again. And it was then that they both knew.

It was over.

"We were a good team, weren't we?" Kate said, smiling at Bruce.

"The best," Bruce stated, the adoration for the woman Kate was built into his words. But inside it, Bruce's truth lingered, wrestling to finally break free. "Kate...I love him," the hunk finally admitted.

"I know," she whispered, brushing her hand gently over Bruce's cheek, leaning in and kissing it softly.

There, inside a random hotel room, a place where they had spent so many hours, months, and years of their lives together, Bruce and Kate finally barred the bonds of their unending friendship, liberating each other from the invisible prison they had built around themselves.

 

*

The next day, the air was electric with anticipation as headlines across every major news outlet hinted at a momentous occasion: Bruce's upcoming announcement. Scheduled for later in the day, the press conference had captured the attention of the entire world. Speculation was rampant, with some predicting the unveiling of a new project while others pondered the possibility of retirement. The air was thick with excitement and uncertainty as the world waited with bated breath for what was to come.

At Eden's Edge, the mood was equally tense. Guests, staff, and management gathered around television screens, waiting for Bruce's words. Even Schofield, who rarely seemed rattled by anything, appeared anxious. Camilo and Damien stood together by the bar, their eyes glued to the screen like everyone else.

The room fell silent as Bruce appeared on camera and sat at the large table, his manager and PR team sitting beside him. He looked calm, though a visible weight was pressing down his shoulders. He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice steady, but an unmistakable tremor of vulnerability was behind it.

"I want to thank everyone for coming," he began, his pace slow and calculated. His eyes darted around the room as he tried to gather his thoughts and words. "I love football. I do. I've loved it since I was a kid," he continued, a slight shift in the room's energy beginning to take shape. "It's the only thing I'm good at, to be honest," he added before his eyes darted over to the back of the room, where Kate sat, her head nodding with support. "But sometimes I wish...I could just play the game...and not have to deal with all the circus around it," he tried to explain, his words layered and vulnerable.

The cameras zoomed in on his face, revealing every line of tension and flicker of emotion.

"What are you doing?" his agent whispered as he leaned into Bruce.

"It's funny, I...I always thought the fame, the success...the money...would give me the freedom I dreamt of," Bruce uttered, drowning the room in his speech, every word a new fragment of his true self being revealed. "But...it didn't. In fact... I've never felt more alone...and less...free," he conveyed. "That is until...I met you," Bruce whispered.

"Met who?" a journalist murmured to a fellow correspondent.

"Who the fuck is he talking about?" another voice questioned behind them.

"Mr. Levinson?" a female journalist called.

"Bruce...say something..." the manager groaned, his teeth gnawing with frustration.

The room at Eden's Edge was so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Damien's heart raced in his chest, and his breath caught in his throat.

Suddenly, everything became quiet, the world numbing. And then, the image of Damien's face flashed before Bruce's eyes. He could suddenly feel the boy's velvety skin, smell his seductive scent, taste his endearing flavor, and gaze at the profoundness of his golden eyes.

It was all there, Bruce thought. Everything he had searched for all his life, everything he needed.

Damien was his love. His game.
He was Bruce's freedom.

The hunk took a deep breath, his chest deeply exhaling before he leaned forward, slowly coasting his lips over the microphone and uttering.

"I'm gay."

(To be concluded...)