The Red Zone - 7. "Touchdown"

The instant Bruce uttered the words, the room exploded into pandemonium. The brief silence that ensued was shattered like fragile glass as a barrage of camera flashes and frantic voices bombarded him all at once. Reporters surged forward, pushing and jostling, their voices overlapping in a frenzied attempt to ensure their questions were heard.

"Bruce, how long have you known?" one reporter asked.

"Why now?" another swooped in.

"Are you worried about losing sponsorships?" one hollered from the back of the room.

"Does your family know? What about your team?" another ran over.

Bruce felt the relentless barrage of questions crashing into him like a mighty tidal wave. He fought to maintain his physical and emotional balance as his heart raced in his chest and his palms grew sweaty. Despite his efforts to remain composed, he found himself overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. It was as if the entire world had focused solely on him, the spotlight burning with an intensity he had never experienced before. Though his voice remained steady, he struggled to stave off the trembling sensation that threatened to overtake him, answering each question with determination.

"Yes, my brothers know. They've known for a while," he replied, his voice growing more confident as he glanced at Kate, who gave him a slight nod of encouragement. "This isn't something I decided overnight... It's..." Bruce uttered before being cut off.

"Did you ever think about how this might impact your career?" another voice shouted over the din. Bruce swallowed his throat tight.

"Of course. But this is who I am," Bruce said with conviction.

The barrage of relentless and probing questions sliced into him like sharp blades, unraveling the threads of his composure. His hands trembled under the oppressive scrutiny of the cameras and curious eyes, the weight of their gaze almost too much to bear.

"Are you in a relationship?" a reporter surveyed. The question caught him off guard. Bruce hesitated, the world seeming to slow down as he considered how to respond. He glanced at Kate, watching him intently, and then back at the sea of expectant faces.

"No," he said, his voice firm. "I'm not in a relationship, but..." he added.

"But?" The word ricocheted around the room, and the crowd leaned in as one, desperate to hear more.

"But there is someone," Bruce admitted, his gaze dropping to the podium. A murmur spread through the crowd, camera shutters clicking furiously. He took a deep breath, trying to summon the strength to continue. "Someone I...care about...very much," he tried to explain, his words dragged by his thoughts.

"Who is it, Bruce?" the media questioned.

"Is it someone from the sports world?" they probed.

"Were they with you in the house in Bridgetown?" a voice drilled.

Bruce clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to lash out, to tell them to leave him alone. But he knew better. The moment he showed anger, it would be all over the headlines. "Bruce Levinson Loses Temper in Coming Out Conference." He couldn't give them that. Instead, he shook his head slowly, his gaze hardening.

"Privacy is important to me. It's not about hiding. It's about respect. He deserves to choose whether he wants to be part of this or not," Bruce said firmly, his voice like steel.

The questions continued to pour in, each more invasive than the last, pushing at the fragile boundaries Bruce desperately tried to hold. He could feel his control slipping, the edges of his vision blurring as the pressure built.

"Was that person in the house with you?" a sharp voice called out from the back of the room. The question dug deeper, implied too much, and sent a ripple of tension through his team. Bruce's manager stepped forward, cutting off the query with a sharp gesture.

"Bruce won't be answering that," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

The room quieted slightly, but the tension only grew. The reporters smelled blood and sensed something more. Something they were being kept from.

"Are you in love with him?" a voice shouted, cutting through the bluster like a blade.

All movement came to a halt. The once bustling room now stood utterly silent, the tension palpable in the air. Bruce felt a sudden tightness in his chest as his heart pounded fiercely, reverberating in his ears and overpowering all other noise. As he gazed at the multitude of expectant faces, each one hanging on his every word, it seemed as though the entire world was suspended in time, on the brink of an earth-shattering moment.

Bruce's eyes blinked languidly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"Yes," he whispered, the word barely audible but carrying the weight of his profound longing. "Yes, I'm in love with him," he admitted.

The room exploded into chaos again, but Bruce didn't balk this time. He stood there, his shoulders squared, the words lingering in the air around him like a promise.

He had said it. He had admitted it to himself, to the world.

The barrage of questions continued unabated, but Bruce's manager intervened, gesturing with his hands to indicate that the press conference had concluded. Bruce's team swiftly surrounded him, creating a protective shield as they escorted him off the stage. They ushered him through the winding corridors and into the seclusion of a private suite within the hotel, leaving Bruce reeling from the overwhelming intensity of the incident.

At Eden's Edge, the staff lounge was deathly quiet. All eyes were glued to the television screen as the feed switched back to the newsroom. The headlines already rolled in: "Bruce Thompson Comes Out as Gay—Reveals He's in Love." Reporters were dissecting every word, every expression, every pause.

Damien stood in the back of the room, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Every breath felt like a struggle, and his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He had just witnessed Bruce's compelling confession, which had felt unimaginable only a few months ago. Even after Bruce had left the stage, Damien's gaze remained fixed on the vacant podium as if willing Bruce to return.

Ryan and Camilo exchanged glances beside him. But Damien didn't meet their eyes. He turned on his heel, his face a mask of something unreadable, and left the lounge without a word.

As he made his way through the resort, Damien's footsteps echoed loudly against the impeccably polished floors, adding to the solemn atmosphere that seemed to corner him. Despite Bruce publicly declaring his love, Damien couldn't shake the heavy weight of emptiness and sorrow gripped him, tossing a dark pall over what should have been a joyous and liberating moment.

And then it hit him.
Bruce was still gone. And Damien was still alone.

He ventured out, feeling the briny breeze caress his face, and gazed at the boundless expanse. He couldn't deny the reality. Bruce had mustered the bravery to embrace his true self and express his genuine feelings. However, it didn't alter the events or that they were entrenched on opposite ends of what felt like an impassable chasm.

Damien closed his eyes, his heart heavy. He had wanted this for Bruce more than anything. But now that it was real, all he could think about was how far away Bruce seemed.

And how achingly impossible it felt that they could ever find their way back to each other.

 

*

The hotel room was a hive of chaos. Phones were ringing off the hook, every line busy with calls from frantic brand representatives, desperate publicists, and shell-shocked sponsors. Bruce's team was huddled in tight circles, voices raised as they debated strategy. Some were pacing, others furiously typing on their laptops, while a few were glued to their phones, hastily responding to emails pouring in like an unstoppable tide.

"Unbelievable!" Bruce's manager thundered, his face flushed with frustration as he slammed the phone down. "Nike's pulling out, too! That's every major sponsor gone in less than an hour!" he uttered. A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room. The manager rubbed his temples, clearly struggling to keep it together. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?" he growled, looking around the room as if someone might magically hold the answer.

But amidst the pandemonium, Bruce seemed oblivious. He sat apart from the chaos, his gaze fixed on the large window overlooking the glittering cityscape below. The cacophony around him, the arguing voices, the shrill rings, the rapid-fire typing, faded into the background, reduced to a distant hum. The world seemed to have narrowed to that singular point of light outside, and his thoughts drifted, floating weightlessly in a place that felt oddly peaceful.

That place was Damien.

Bruce let out a long breath, feeling the tension unravel in his chest, a sensation so foreign he barely recognized it. Even as the chaos roared around him, a small, genuine smile played on his lips. It didn't matter what his manager or the sponsors thought. He had faced the world and told them who he really was. That was worth everything.

The door to the room burst open, and Kate swept in like a gust of wind. She was calm and composed yet emanated an aura of unshakeable willpower. Heads turned as she strode across the room, a look of calculated determination etched onto her face. The phones kept ringing, but the frantic energy in the room seemed to shift, turning toward her like metal to a magnet.

"Alright, let's settle down," Kate said, her voice cutting through the noise with effortless authority. "The brands pulling out isn't surprising. Bruce has been catering to straight men and women his entire career," she stated, her eyes already twitching as her thoughts jumped ahead. "Maybe it's time to rethink his brand entirely. Align Bruce's image with who he really is," she conveyed. The manager snorted, his jaw tightening.

"And what the fuck do you suggest?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Rainbow flags and pride parades? This isn't a fashion show. This is serious business. We've lost millions in a matter of minutes because of your brilliant idea to drag Bruce into this mess," he fired. Kate turned to face him, her expression unflinching.

"What Bruce did wasn't a mess, Ralph. It was a statement. This is his truth. If brands don't want to support him for who he is, then we don't need them. There are plenty of others who will," she told the room.

"Others?" the manager laughed derisively. "Who, Kate? I don't see any LGBT brands lining up to sponsor a closeted football player," he provoked.

But before Kate could respond, Bruce's voice sliced through the room. Calm and quiet, it carried the weight of authority that demanded instant silence.

"Don't talk to her like that," he sounded.

Everyone turned to look at Bruce. He hadn't moved from his position by the window, but something in the way he held himself, the unyielding steel in his gaze, made the hairs on the back of everyone's neck prickle. It was a look that could make grown men tremble on the field, and now it was directed squarely at his manager.

"Kate's right," Bruce continued, his voice steady. "We need to change the way we've been doing things. My image needs to serve me, not the other way around," he said. Ralph took a step forward, his face darkening.

"Bruce, you have no idea what you're talking about. This..." the manager tried to convey, his words faltering at Bruce's intense emerald gaze looking down at him.

"I'm done listening to you," Bruce interrupted, his tone final, something almost feral glinting in his green eyes. "You're fired. Effective immediately," he added.

The words hit like a bombshell. A stunned silence filled the room, and the manager's mouth dropped open.

"What..." the man muttered.

"Get out," Bruce said, his voice even, calm yet unchallengeable. "Kate will be taking it from here," he announced.

The manager stood there momentarily, his face turning an alarming shade of red. But there was no room for argument. He knew that look in Bruce's eyes. It was the look of a man who had made up his mind. With a sound somewhere between a growl and a huff, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The silence that followed was thick with shock. Slowly, the team members turned to look at Bruce, then at Kate, who had already pulled out her phone, her fingers moving with swift precision as she dialed a number.

"Hey, this is Kate Levinson," she said, her voice smooth and confident. "Get me in touch with Vogue's editorial team. I want to arrange an exclusive spread with Bruce. Yes, that's right. Full feature," she suggested. The team seemed to sigh in relief, some nodding as if the new plan was already taking shape. Bruce watched Kate work, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. Kate glanced up from her phone, her gaze meeting Bruce's with a glimmer of something between pride and admiration. "Are you sure you still want me on your team?" she asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Absolutely," Bruce replied, his voice warm.

Kate's smile widened, and she turned back to her call. Her voice effortlessly flowed as she spoke to the Vogue representative.

Bruce's smile lingered as he turned to the window. The city stretched out below him, vast and teeming with life. But then, Bruce's smile faltered briefly, the longing in his chest sharpening into something almost painful. He hoped Damien had been watching. He hoped Damien understood that everything he did, every word he spoke, had been for him.

And maybe, one day, they could find a way back to each other.

 

*

Meanwhile, back at Eden's Edge, Damien was walking back to the staff lounge when someone came running and informed him he was being summoned to Schofield's office. He nodded and traced through the resort, taking the lift up.

The hallway outside Schofield's office felt like a dark tunnel closing in around Damien. He exhaled slowly, bracing himself for what he assumed would be a brutal, inevitable firing. After everything that had happened, it was just a matter of time.

He squared his shoulders, trying to keep his expression neutral as he pushed open the heavy wooden door. Schofield was seated behind his desk, looking uncharacteristically small and stiff. Karen was standing to the side, her face tight and pale. Her usual venomous expression had given way to a jittery nervousness, her eyes flitting about like she was searching for an escape route.

Damien's eyes moved from Schofield to Karen before settling on the male figure standing near the wide window before him. The man was strikingly tall and possessed broad shoulders, exuding an air of confidence and authority in his impeccably fitted navy suit. His presence seemed to effortlessly dominate the entire room without uttering a word. As Damien's gaze locked onto the man and recognized him, a sudden tightness gripped his chest, causing him to catch his breath.

"James?" he whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief and a sudden rush of emotion.

James Benedict, the owner of Eden's Edge, turned to face Damien, his expression warm and eyes twinkling with a mix of fondness and sternness. Damien's heart leaped in his chest, and without thinking, he crossed the room in quick strides and threw his arms around the older man.

"Hey there, kiddo," James murmured, hugging him tightly. "Heard you've been stirring up some trouble," he whispered into the blonde's curls.

Damien's face broke into a grin as he pulled back, but then he remembered where they were and who was watching. He straightened, regaining some composure, but the joy of seeing James refused to be contained. It was as if all the fear and anxiety he'd felt evaporated in that single moment. James was more than just the owner of the resort. He was the man who had saved Damien from a life on the streets, offering him not just a job but a sense of family and belonging. Schofield cleared his throat, his posture rigid as a rod.

"Mr. Benedict, with all due respect, Damien's conduct has been highly unprofessional. I assure you that we've been trying to maintain standards..." Schofield tried to argue. James raised a hand, silencing him.

"Oh, I know all about the 'standards' being maintained around here, Schofield," he said, his tone deceptively mild. "Why don't you and Karen tell me about it?" he requested. Karen's eyes widened in panic, and she exchanged a nervous glance with Schofield.

"Sir, we've only ever wanted to ensure the best for Eden's Edge," she stammered, her voice shaking. "Damien has been... he's been…well, his relationship with a certain guest clearly affected his work. The press, the scandal... he's dragged the entire resort's name through the mud," Karen stammered, visibly nervous despite an underlying eagerness to continue her mission to undermine Damien.

"Yes, yes," Schofield said eagerly, nodding as if his head were on a spring. "It's a PR disaster. We were just about to… address the issue before you arrived, sir," he informed.

"Address the issue? And what issue might that be?" James's brow quirked up, amusement flickering in his eyes. Schofield hesitated, floundering under James's steady gaze.

"His…feelings for Mr. Levinson," he muttered, his voice losing momentum as he spoke. "It's... it's unprofessional, and the resort's reputation has suffered," Schofield continued. James thoughtfully nodded as if absorbing every word. He glanced at Damien, then back at Schofield and Karen.

"So, you're saying that Damien's personal life is an issue that needs addressing?" James questioned.

"Yes, sir!" Karen blurted, the words rushing out in a desperate tumble. "Exactly, sir. He's been...and it's… it's unacceptable!" she let out, her voice shaky and out of control. James held up a finger, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"And how have you both handled this situation?" James calmly questioned. Schofield and Karen exchanged another uneasy look.

"We...uh, we've been monitoring him closely, ensuring that he's..." Schofield said, his voice faltering to a stop.

Damien watched them with detached amusement. It was almost comical that they squirmed and twisted, grasping at straws to save their skins. He folded his arms, waiting for the axe to fall before James turned to him, his gaze softening.

"Is any of this true, Damien?" James asked.

"Yes," Damien admitted, his voice unwavering. "I've had an affair with a high-profile guest," he stated. "But I never let it interfere with my responsibilities at the resort. My personal life never bled into my professional duties...despite attempts to make it so," he assured as he glanced at Karen. James nodded slowly, a small smile curving his lips.

"That's what I thought," he said, looking back at Schofield and Karen, his smile vanishing. "Here's the thing... Eden's Edge isn't just a resort. It's a family. I expect everyone here to be treated like human beings, not cogs in a machine," James said. The color drained from Schofield's face.

"Mr. Benedict, I...I assure you, I've always treated the staff with..." Schofield tried to slide in.

"Respect?" James interrupted, his tone turning icy. "Is that what you call the claims of inappropriate conduct I have piled on my desk about you, Schofield? The harassment reports? The complaints from staff that you've been belittling and berating them?" James questioned. Schofield's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"Sir, those are...baseless accusations," Schofield tried to argue.

"They're documented," James said sharply. "I've read every single one," he added before pausing, his gaze drilling through the greasy man. "You'll resign, or I'll ensure those reports reach the proper authorities. Your choice," James offered.

The room went eerily quiet. Karen's face drained of color, turning a sickly shade of green as she stared at Schofield, who was visibly trembling. His eyes darted to Damien, silently pleading for support, but Damien remained ominously silent.

"Fine," Schofield muttered, his shoulders slumping. "I'll resign," he accepted.

"Good," James said. "Now, as for your replacement…" he said, turning to Damien, his expression softening again. "I can't think of anyone more deserving than you, kiddo. You've been loyal and dedicated, and above all, you've shown integrity when it mattered most. You should be the one running this place," James announced.

A stunned silence settled over the room. Damien blinked, caught completely off-guard. This was the moment he'd dreamt of. Everything he'd ever wanted. And yet, he hesitated.

"James, I..." he began, his voice faltering. "I need some time to think," Damien added. James smiled, nodding approvingly.

"Take all the time you need. I know you'll make the right decision," James stated. He turned to leave, but Karen's panicked voice cut through the silence.

"Wha...What about me?" she stammered. James didn't even look at her. He glanced at Damien, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

"I'll leave this one up to you," James uttered with a wink before gesturing for Damien to follow.

They made their way out of the office, leaving Schofield and Karen standing there like statues. James led Damien toward the chopper landing area, his expression thoughtful.

"Amelia's been sick," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I need someone I can trust to take charge. Someone who understands what this place means," he added, eyes glistening with emotion. Damien swallowed hard, the weight of the words settling heavily on his shoulders.

"I understand," Damien uttered. James nodded, a proud smile softening his features.

"You've come a long way, kiddo. I'm proud of the man you've become," James whispered. Damien's chest tightened with emotion, but James touched his shoulder before he could speak, squeezing gently. "Just remember, true wealth isn't measured by money or success. It's having someone to love who loves you back," he said, his gaze growing distant, the words carrying a profound, personal weight. "Don't lose sight of that," he conveyed.

The blonde nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting back to Bruce. As James boarded the chopper, Damien stood there, feeling his heart being shattered into two pieces.

One holding his ambition, purpose, and love for the home he had built for himself.

And the other, holding Bruce's love. That blinding, overwhelmingly beautiful light he had stood under and from which he had grazed, holding his spirit hostage.

 

*

(5 months later)

Bruce stood in front of the hotel room mirror, absently wiping at the condensation with his palm. The steam from the shower still lingered, but it did little to dissipate the ponderousness in his chest. The reflection staring back at him was someone he barely recognized. A finely chiseled man, skin flushed from the shower's heat, a face sculpted by relentless discipline and years under the spotlight. But the spark in his eyes had dimmed. His usually vibrant blue gaze was muted as if some essential part of him had dulled.

Kate's commanding voice reverberated through the opulent suite from the neighboring room. She was fully immersed in negotiation mode, her tone cutting and precise, effortlessly piercing through the cacophony of industry heavyweights on the other end of the line. Bruce no longer needed to strain to catch every word she uttered. It was always the same: high-stakes deals, platforms vying for his attention, and brands clamoring for his campaign involvement. Despite being the year's top story, he couldn't shake the feeling of being relegated to a mere footnote in his own life.

With a resigned sigh, Bruce wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to the bedroom. Kate was pacing along the edge of the suite's enormous bed, one hand gripping her phone, the other tapping impatiently against her thigh. She barely registered Bruce's entrance, but he could see the faint creases of annoyance pulling at her brow.

"I don't care what their PR team says, Scott," Kate snapped into the phone. "Bruce won't cater to conservative outlets. If they want him, they pay him double. That's right, double. And I'm not discussing this heteronormative nonsense. And you know damn well he spans across every demographic," she stated. "Everybody wants to fuck him, including you. Have your people call me when you have a proper offer," she finally said as she kept pacing.

Bruce stifled a smile at her sheer fierceness. Kate didn't just defend him. She fought for him as if she were defending her own honor. He eased himself onto the bed, the plush mattress giving way beneath him, and stretched out, staring up at the ceiling. Water droplets still clung to his hair, slowly trickling down to soak into the pillow beneath him. He closed his eyes, listening to the rise and fall of Kate's voice.

She was his fierce advocate, his unyielding protector. His friend.

When Kate ended the call and returned to the bedroom, Bruce felt almost on the verge of dozing off. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on him. Fatigue from the constant scrutiny, the endless cycle of interviews, podcasts, shoots, and, most of all, the lingering ache of loss. Seven months. It had been seven months since he'd last seen Damien, and every day apart had felt like another cut to his soul.

Kate walked over and sat beside him, her body language softening as she took in his forlorn expression. She tucked a stray strand of wet hair behind his ear, her gaze gentle but unwavering.

"You're doing great, Bruce," she said softly as if coaxing a child out of a nightmare. "Better than anyone thought you would," she coached. Bruce exhaled, a faint, hollow sound that barely resembled a laugh.

"Yeah. Then why do I feel like shit?" the hunk muttered, his voice dipped into a bitter drawl. Kate's eyes flickered with understanding.

"I know," she shifted closer, lying beside him on the bed. "You miss Damien," she whispered. Bruce's heart twisted painfully at the mention of his name. He nodded, the movement barely perceptible.

"It...feels like I'm suffocating some days," Bruce whispered back, his usually deep voice faltering. He swallowed hard, the memories flooding his mind like a deluge he couldn't control. He pictured Damien's mischievous smile, the way his eyes lit up when they met Bruce's. Images that now felt like a distant dream. A dream the hunk felt he shattered by leaving. "By the time this storm calms, he'll have forgotten about me," Bruce said quietly, looking at Kate, his eyes searching hers for reassurance and hope. Kate shook her head, a murky smile curving her lips.

"If you really think that kid could ever forget about you, you've seriously underestimated how crazy he is about you," she stated. "I saw it in his eyes," she added. A faint blush crept onto Bruce's cheeks, and he glanced away as if the intensity of his own longing was too much to contend with.

"Doesn't change the fact that I left him there," Bruce uttered.

"And it doesn't change the fact that he's probably thinking about you just as much as you're thinking about him," Kate countered softly. "But if you want to get back to him, you have to get through this. You have to rebuild your life," she reasoned.

Bruce closed his eyes, the heaviness in his chest growing until it felt almost unbearable. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in her words. There was no going back to the man he used to be, a man too afraid to live authentically and hold on to love.

"I'm scared," he admitted, the vulnerability of the confession making his voice tremble. "I'm scared that by the time I'm ready, he'll have moved on," the hunk whispered. Kate let out a soft chuckle and leaned in, kissing his forehead gently.

"I doubt that will happen," she appeased before pulling back, her smile tender. "Now, come on. We've got that interview at five. You've got to look sharp, which means no more moping around on this fucking bed," she ordered, slapping his thick, hairy thigh. Bruce took a long breath and gave her a wan smile, pushing himself into a sitting position.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he hesitated, his throat tightening with emotion. Kate's expression softened, her eyes shining with pride and affection.

"I know," she replied, winking cheekily.

He watched as she stood up, already back in business mode, picked up her phone, and began scrolling through emails.

Kate was his rock, his anchor. She knew him better than anyone.
But was she right, Bruce thought?

 

*

The day had begun like most at Eden's Edge. Despite being the youngest director to ever take office at the resort, Damien had turned the once-floundering retreat into a flourishing, must-visit destination for anyone visiting the Caribbean. But today, his thoughts were elsewhere, anchored to memories he'd tried to suppress for months.

"Did you forget who's coming in today?" Camilo questioned, snapping Damien out of his reverie. They were at the Cove, the exclusive part of the resort that once housed Bruce. Camilo was particularly excited as he waved a guest list in Damien's direction. "Gina Martinez, dude! Think I have a chance with her?" the ebony stud pressed. Ryan, who had been sprawled across a sofa, snorted in amusement.

"Yeah, sure, mijo! Because every world-famous Latin pop star dreams of fucking a guy who can barely operate a coffee machine," he mocked.

"Hey!" Camilo shot back, feigning offense. "I've...gotten better. I even mastered latte art," he countered.

"You still think pouring milk on a coffee and calling it a heart counts as 'art?" Ryan winked, flashing that lopsided smile that had become his trademark.

Damien allowed himself a small chuckle at their banter. Watching them trade jabs like this was oddly comforting. Their camaraderie, built on years of shared experiences and hard work, was one of the few things that kept him grounded. They were Damien's pillars now. Together, they managed the chaos and demands of the resort like a well-oiled machine.

"I'm serious, though," Camilo persisted, his tone taking on an almost boyish plea. "She's got to be tired of all those Hollywood types. Maybe she's looking for something… real. You know?" he teased.

"Real?" Ryan uttered, raising an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Camilo shrugged.

"You never know, man. Miracles happen. I mean…" he said, tilting his head, eyeing Ryan with mock seriousness. "When was the last time you so much as glanced at a woman? Since..." he provoked.

"Don't," Ryan cut him off, though his smile remained. "Don't bring her up," he warned.

"Yeah, you definitely haven't looked at another woman since she strutted out of here, did you?" "Kate," Camilo taunted, leaning back with a smug grin as if savoring a victory. Ryan threw a crumpled napkin at him.

"I'm just focused on my work, hombre. Not all of us are busy imagining sticking our dicks inside a pop star's pussy," Ryan fired back.

"Yeah, right," Camilo retorted, dodging the napkin. "You're just worried she'll come back and catch you flirting. Besides, I swear I saw you blush the other day when..." the ebony stud pressed.

"Enough," Damien's gentle but firm voice interrupted their exchange. He was smiling, though, his eyes warm with fondness as he regarded his two friends. "Let's keep this classy, alright?" he asked. Camilo threw his hands up in mock surrender, the mischief never entirely leaving his expression.

"Fine, fine. But can we at least agree on something?" He gestured around the Cove's elegant interiors, which had been meticulously cleaned and polished in preparation for the pop star's arrival. Ryan shot him a curious look before his eyes widened.

"Oh," he exclaimed.

"Yeah," Camilo glanced around, shrugging his eyebrows at Ryan before they both glanced at Damien.

The blonde's gaze drifted to the far side of the room, past the shimmering pool and manicured gardens. He nodded slowly, his golden eyes turning distant as the memories surged back. The Cove had been theirs. His and Bruce's. It had been a sanctuary where time seemed to stand still, where the outside world had no claim over them.

"It still feels like it's his place," he said softly, his voice yielding to the breeze wafting from the open balcony. A heavy silence settled over the room. Camilo shifted uncomfortably, and even Ryan's ever-present smirk faded into something more solemn.

"Hey," Ryan said quietly, leaning against the counter. "He'll come back," the stud uttered. "Until then, we keep it…warm for him, yeah?" the stud quipped.

Damien's lips curved into a faint yet grateful smile. He appreciated the sentiment, even if he wasn't entirely sure he believed it. At this point, Bruce felt like a distant memory, a pall that hovered at the edges of his life, close enough to reach out to but constantly slipping through his fingers.

"Now, where's that bathroom again? If we don't ensure it's spotless, Señor Latte Artist over here will blame us for ruining his chances with Mrs. Martinez," Ryan added, clapping Damien's shoulder. As he turned and made his way toward the guest bathroom, Camilo shot Damien a sheepish grin.

"I'm not that bad, am I?" the ebony stud questioned.

"Worse," Damien teased, feeling a flicker of lightness break through his usual melancholy.

Meanwhile, Ryan pushed the door to the guest bathroom open. Inside, Karen was on her hands and knees, scrubbing furiously at the grout. She looked up at him, her face splotched with frustration and exhaustion. The stud leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking down at her.

"You missed a spot," he said, pointing lazily to an inconspicuous corner of the room. "Oh, and don't forget the upstairs bathroom. And then, there's the one by the staff lounge," he continued with added pleasure. Karen's jaw clenched, her face contorting with barely suppressed rage.

"I'm not your fucking maid, Ryan," she replied. The stud leaned closer, his voice dropping to a mock conspiratorial whisper.

"Actually, right now, you are. And let's face it, Karen, you'll never get a job at another resort after what happened," he commented, shrugging. "So I'd get comfy," he added.

Her eyes flared with hatred, and she hurled the dirty scrubber at him in a sudden fit of anger. Ryan stepped back, slamming the door shut just before it could hit him. The scrubber splatted harmlessly against the wood, and he burst out laughing, echoing down the hall. Camilo, who had witnessed the whole scene, was already doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed uncontrollably.

"Man, you really know how to get under her skin," he remarked. Ryan grinned.

"Someone's got to keep her on her toes," Ryan clapped back.

Karen's muffled cursing could still be heard through the door, but neither paid it any mind. They continued laughing, the sound a slight reprieve in what had been a long, exhausting day.

As their laughter gradually faded, Damien found himself drawn back to the balcony. He rested against the intricately designed railing, gazing out at the seemingly infinite expanse of the ocean. The gentle breeze tousled his hair, which had grown slightly longer, causing his golden curls to sway and twirl in the sunlight. He lingered there, feeling the familiar ache of yearning to settle in his chest as his eyes once again traced the line of the horizon.

He couldn't help but wonder where Bruce was, what he was doing, and if he ever thought about this place, about him. Even after everything, the Cove felt like it belonged to them alone, a place frozen in time, waiting for the moment when they could return to it together.

 

*

(10 months later)

 

In the dimly lit room, soft amber lighting bathed the plush, modern furniture in a warm glow that cast pale shades across every surface. Clothes were strewn carelessly about - Bruce's tailored shirt, designer jeans, and a simple T-shirt belonging to someone much younger. The scent of sweat mixed with that of sex hung heavily in the air.

Bruce's hips pumped rhythmically as he fucked the younger man from behind, his cock fading and reappearing from the tight heat of his ass. Despite the vigor of his movements, detachment lingered in Bruce's eyes. The hunk was going through the motions while the young man beneath him moaned eagerly, taking every inch of Bruce's throbbing cock as his hole was brutally stretched and teased.

As Bruce's hips pumped harder, his body leaned forward, his muscular buttocks flexing with each thrust as he drove deeper into the younger man. His hands gripped tightly onto the sheets beneath him, knuckles whitening with the force of his grip, while his breath came out in short, sharp gasps. The wails from beneath him only seemed to fuel his lust, pushing him further into the dark abyss of desire. With every thrust, he felt himself getting closer to the edge, but still, he couldn't seem to find satisfaction.

Something was missing. For a long time now.

"Fuck, dude… you're so fucking big," the young man whined as he tried to glance back, his mouth dangling open in awe of Bruce's prowess.

With renewed vigor, Bruce picked up the pace and pounded into him. His cock seemed to find a new lease on life as it slid smoothly in and out of the soft, warm folds, slapping against the sensitive flesh with each powerful stroke. The boy moaned even louder this time, arching his back in pure ecstasy. The movement caused his own muscles to clench around Bruce's length unintentionally, sending shockwaves of pleasure through both their bodies.

"Let me turn around…I wanna see your face," the boy asked, motioning to turn. But Bruce's arm stopped him.

"No," he groaned, his voice sharp and cold. "Stay like that," he ordered, pressing his hand into the young man's back and shoving his chest down on the mattress.

Then the hunk suddenly paused, leaning forward, his right hand gripping the boy's head. Bruce's fingers brushed delicately against his blonde curls, and his eyes glistened with tears before he closed them, fighting off the pain.

His thrusts became more ferocious, his hips snapping forward with a loud smack against the boy's ass as he continued to pound into him. The groans and cries of pleasure echoed through the room, but they only served as background noise to Bruce's internal monologue of recollections. Images of Damien's face flashed before his eyes as he drove himself deeper and deeper inside, feeling the heat envelop him once more. His free hand gripped the younger man's hair tightly, pulling it back harshly, mimicking how he would tug at Damien in their passionate encounters.

The scent of sweat and sex intensified, mixing in a heady aphrodisiac that only fueled Bruce's need. He bit his bottom lip to stifle a moan, trying to focus on the taste of the boy beneath him instead. But there was no comparison. Damien was better. He was unique. One of a kind.

Bruce could feel beads of sweat trickling down his own chest as he leaned forward, nipping at the younger man's earlobe, hearing his moans echo in his head and trying to replace them with Damien's gasps for air. As they reached their crescendo together, the hunk could feel his orgasm building quickly, getting closer and closer to release, but still, something was missing. Something that would make it perfect.

And then he saw it. A flash of Damien's golden eyes stared back at him from beneath his lids, filling him with desire and longing. It was enough to push him over the edge.

"Fuck... yes!" Bruce growled out, pulling out of the boy's ass abruptly and shooting his cum across the young man's back.

Through tightly gripped teeth, he let out a deep, satisfied moan that echoed in the otherwise quiet room. The warmth of the hunk's cum coated the younger man's back, and Bruce felt a momentary satisfaction wash over him before he collapsed onto the bed.

Minutes later, Bruce lay sprawled on the bed, sheets twisted around his hips. His skin glistened with a thin sweat, his chest rising and falling steadily. Next to him, the young man, barely older than twenty, propped himself up on an elbow, his gaze tracing Bruce's chiseled frame with a mixture of awe and self-satisfaction.

"Man, that was…" the young man began, trailing off with a grin that was meant to be sultry but came off as more rehearsed. He shifted closer, searching for some sign of reciprocated emotion in Bruce's eyes. "…fucking incredible. You really know what you're doing," the boy teased.

Bruce's gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his expression blank, as though the words were only background noise. He'd heard them countless times from myriad men, each a hollow echo of the person he wished they were.

"Mhm," he murmured absently, barely glancing at the young man. His mind was already drifting elsewhere, where the bed wasn't just a prop for temporary pleasure, where the person beside him wasn't a stranger seeking validation or a fleeting brush with fame. His jaw tightened, a faint pulse of frustration tensing his muscles.

This isn't what he wanted, Bruce thought. This wasn't real.

"Do you want to hang out? Maybe grab a drink or something?" the young man's voice broke through his thoughts, the suggestion laced with expectation. He shifted, his fingers ghosting over Bruce's bicep. "I mean, I don't have anywhere to be," he suggested.

Bruce finally turned his head, looking at him for the first time since they'd finished. The guy had tousled blonde hair and a square jaw, the kind of features that made him look like he could have been plucked from a college rugby team. His eyes were an unremarkable shade of hazel, and his smile, intended to be charming, fell flat under Bruce's disinterested scrutiny.

The resemblance was superficial at best, but in the murky haze of desire and desperation, Bruce had convinced himself it was close enough. It was always the same type: young, hopeful, hungry. But they were never him. Never the one person who haunted his thoughts day and night.

"No, thanks," Bruce said quietly, his voice firm but not unkind. "Actually, I think it's best if you leave," he invited. The young man blinked, clearly caught off-guard. He hesitated, then shifted off the bed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

"Right. Sure," the boy said as he stood, gathering his clothes hastily. "I get it. Busy guy, huh?" he added, slightly uncomfortable. Bruce sat up slowly, watching with dispassion as the guy tugged on his jeans, his fingers fumbling with the zipper.

"Something like that," Bruce replied absently. He pushed himself off the bed, the sudden absence of warmth against his skin doing nothing to quell his numbness.

"Whatever," the young man said, his voice flat and defensive. There was a bitterness in his tone, a defensiveness that suggested he'd hoped for something more. Maybe a picture, a story to tell his friends. Proof that he'd spent the night with the great Bruce Levinson. But it was clear now he'd get none of that. Bruce's eyes flickered to the door. The young man noticed and scoffed softly, shoving his feet into his shoes. "Yeah, I'm going. Don't worry. But, hey, if you change your mind..." he uttered.

"I won't," Bruce interrupted, his voice still calm, still detached. "Take care," he said.

And with that, the young man muttered something under his breath, something too low for Bruce to catch, or maybe something Bruce didn't care enough to hear, and left. The door closed behind him with a dull thud, and the room fell silent. Bruce stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where the guy had been just minutes earlier. An empty space now. A fitting metaphor, he thought bitterly, for what his life had become. No matter how many people he let in or fleeting moments of pleasure or distraction he indulged in, the emptiness always remained. It lingered, a persistent ache in his chest that no amount of sex or companionship could ever fill.

He exhaled slowly, his breath trembling with a frustration he rarely let surface. He turned and walked into the bathroom, steps heavy as though each required immense effort. The bathroom lights flickered on, illuminating the pristine marble counters and the gleaming shower stall. He caught his own reflection in the mirror. A man who, by all appearances, had everything. Fame, wealth, good looks. But his eyes, dark and clouded, told a different story. They were the eyes of someone who had lost something irreplaceable.

Something, or rather someone.

Bruce's hand trembled as he turned the faucet, the rush of water filling the silence. He stepped into the shower, letting the warm spray cascade over him. It soaked through his long hair and ran down his neck and shoulders but did nothing to wash away the gnawing ache inside.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool tiles, his eyes closing. Images of Damien surfaced unbiddenly: his smile, the feel of his skin, his lips, his warmth. He remembered how Damien looked at him like he was more than just Bruce the star, more than just another man to be conquered or desired.

Damien looked at him like he mattered.

Bruce's throat tightened. He drew in a shuddering breath, the water mingling with the hot, unsolicited tears that welled up. He tried to blink them away and push the memories back into that locked corner of his heart, but it was useless.

He missed Damien. Fuck, he missed him so much it hurt.

The months since they'd been apart had been a blur of appearances, photo shoots, and press junkets, a whirlwind Kate had orchestrated with surgical precision. Bruce had gone along with it, letting her guide him through the motions, smiling on cue, and delivering the right answers. But inside, he was hollow, just a shell of the man he'd once been, drifting through life without purpose or meaning.

The truth of the matter was he was right back where he started.

Bruce's shoulders began to shake, silent sobs wracking his chest. He pressed a fist against the tiles, willing himself to stop, to hold it together. But the tears came anyway, sliding down his cheeks, joining the water that poured over him.

"I love you, Damien," he whispered, his voice breaking.

 

(A week later)

The morning sunlight streamed through the glass walls of the hotel lobby as guests milled about, carrying suitcases and excitedly talking as they awaited check-in. Hotel staff buzzed around, ensuring everything ran smoothly. Amidst this organized chaos, Bruce walked through the hall with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to being the center of attention.

Dressed in a casual blazer and designer jeans, he looked every bit the polished celebrity, his entourage flanking him like a protective shield. Conversations halted as heads turned, people whispering and pointing as they saw him. He moved through it all with a strained smile, answering the occasional comment from his assistant or nodding at Kate's instructions as she rattled off his packed schedule for the day.

"You've got an interview at noon, then the shoot downtown. And don't forget, there's a dinner with that Protein brand at..." she carried on before suddenly being interrupted by a voice that seemed to slice through the bluster.

"Bruce?" the voice called.

The name was said with a familiar warmth, a nostalgia that made the hairs on the back of Bruce's neck stand up. He froze, eyes widening as he turned toward the source of that voice. Beside the hotel's entrance was a man Bruce thought he'd never see again. Tall and lean, with the same shock of unruly golden hair and a broad smile that hadn't changed a bit.

Colt.

For a moment, Bruce was speechless, his lips parting as he tried to process the sight before him. He felt disbelief, joy, and something more profound that made his chest tighten and his eyes sting. It was like seeing a ghost materialize out of thin air, a piece of his past he'd long since buried.

"Colt?" Bruce breathed, his voice thick with stupefaction. He blinked as if making sure this wasn't some cruel trick of his mind. But Colt was still there, looking as real as the last day Bruce had seen him all those years ago.

"Yeah, it's me," Colt grinned, his face lighting up as he jogged over. The moment he reached Bruce, he pulled him into a tight hug.

The world seemed to blur around them. The noise of the lobby, the stares from onlookers, and Kate's attempts to keep their entourage moving all faded into the background. Bruce wrapped his arms around Colt, squeezing him back, the feeling of his old friend's embrace bringing a wave of warmth and familiarity crashing over him. It was the first time in months that Bruce felt something other than numb.

"You're here," Bruce murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. "I can't… I can't believe it's really you," the hunk stated. Colt pulled back, his hands still gripping Bruce's shoulders as if to ground himself in the moment's reality.

"Yeah, man," the blonde replied before pausing, his eyes locked on Bruce's. "You actually did it. You got famous," he chuckled softly, his gaze sweeping over Bruce's face, his expression equal parts pride and affection. "I always knew you would," he added.

Bruce's mouth twitched into a genuine smile that felt almost foreign to him. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he stared, his emerald eyes taking in every detail of Colt's face. The subtle lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before, the way his posture seemed more relaxed, more assured. He looked happy.

"What happened?" Bruce finally managed to ask, shaking his head as if to clear the fog of shock. "Where did you go?" he drilled. Colt's smile faltered slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze.

"It's a long story. But got the fuck out of dodge as soon as I could. Tried to figure things out, you know?" he explained, albeit cryptically.

Bruce nodded slowly, mentioning his family, which brought a bittersweet pang to his chest. But before either could say more, another figure appeared at Colt's side. It was a handsome man with neatly styled hair and a friendly, open smile. He exuded a calm confidence, a man comfortable in his skin. He placed a hand on Colt's arm, looking between them with mild curiosity.

"Hey, babe, who's this?" the man asked, his voice easygoing. Colt glanced at Bruce, a hint of nervousness flashing across his face before he cleared his throat.

"This is Bruce Levinson," he said, his tone unmistakably proud. He turned to Bruce, his smile widening. "This is my husband, Aaron," he introduced with a nervous chuckle.

Bruce felt his stomach drop. Husband. He forced his face to remain neutral, though he could feel the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to muster a polite smile.

"Nice to meet you," Bruce said stiffly, extending a hand. Aaron took it, shaking it firmly. His smile brightened, and his eyes sparkled with surprise as he finally realized who Bruce was.

"Oh my god, I'm so embarrassed...Bruce Levinson," Aaron stuttered. I'm a huge fan. That last season, man, your stats were unreal," he mumbled, still shaking Bruce's hand.

"Thanks," the hunk replied quietly, still reeling from the shock. He glanced at Colt, searching his face for some sign, some explanation. But Colt looked back at him with that same easy smile as if this was normal. As if they hadn't once shared something that went far beyond friendship.

An awkward silence settled between them, and Bruce found himself grasping for words, anything to fill the void. But Kate, ever the professional, swooped in with her usual charm and quick wit.

"Mind if I borrow you for a second? I promise I'll bring him right back," she said, flashing a bright smile at Colt. Aaron blinked, surprised but clearly flattered.

"Uh, sure. I guess…" he stammered. Kate winked at Colt and then smoothly led Aaron away. She launched into a story that had him laughing within seconds. Bruce watched them go, grateful for her uncanny ability to defuse any situation.

"So," Colt said, drawing Bruce's attention back to him. "How've you been?" he asked. Bruce hesitated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"Honestly? I've messed up. I had a chance at something real… and I blew it," he immediately confided, as if years hadn't elated since they were last together.bColt's smile faded, concern replacing it. "I had someone. Someone who…" Bruce said, his throat tightening. "Someone who made me feel alive again. But I let him go. And now, I think it's too late," he admitted.

Colt watched him for a long moment, his gaze soft and understanding before the most tender smile took hold of his lips.

"What?" Bruce questioned, his eyes darting around, confused.

"God...you're still that same kid, Bruce," he said quietly, his tone gentle but firm. "Tough, strong...and scared shitless," Colt stated. Bruce stared at him, the words piercing through him like a lance. It was as if they had suddenly stripped Bruce bare of clothes, skin, or bones. He was standing there, his soul wholly exposed by Colt's words.

"Wha..." he whispered.

"You're Bruce, goddam Levinson," Colt said. "And if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you never give up," he added.

There it was, finally.
The truth.

"Colt..." Bruce stammered. Colt's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

"Don't be afraid...and just run, Bruce. Run for the red zone. Go for the touchdown," he gestured with a shrug, a casualness that belied the seriousness of his words. Before Bruce could respond, Aaron's voice broke from the other side of the foyer.

"Hey, Colt, you coming?" he called. Colt glanced over his shoulder, then back at Bruce. He reached out, clasping Bruce's shoulder firmly before leaning in and kissing the hunk's cheek. And with that, he turned and walked away, joining Aaro near the elevator.

Bruce stood there, rooted to the spot, watching them go. A strange, tentative hope fluttered in his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Maybe it wasn't too late after all.

 

*

It was another typical day at Eden's Edge, and Ryan moved through the resort with his usual swagger, chatting with staff members and guests with a smile that lit up the entire place. He stopped near the spa, where a petite therapist set up a tray of essential oils.

"Hey, Carla, got any treatments for broken hearts?" he teased, leaning casually against the doorway. Carla rolled her eyes playfully but couldn't suppress a grin.

"If I did, I'd charge you double," she replied, glancing at him with a knowing smirk before gathering her things and disappearing into the next room. Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. He was about to move on when a familiar, smooth, and amused voice reached out behind him.

"Hey there, stud," a female voice called.

He turned, his heart beating as his eyes landed on Kate. She stood in the spa's reception area, looking slightly travel-worn but still exuding her signature confidence. Dressed in a tailored blazer and slim trousers, she looked every bit the business powerhouse she'd become, though her hair was tousled from the long journey.

"Kate!" Ryan exclaimed. "I mean...Mrs. Levinson," he corrected, his smile widening as genuine happiness spread across his face.

"Oh, no, no. We're not doing that anymore," Kate corrected, chuckling to herself almost.

"What are you doing here? I mean, not that I'm complaining…" Ryan stammered. Kate laughed softly, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

"Flirting while on duty? I thought you had higher standards?" she taunted. Ryan glanced back toward the now-empty hallway, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Just keeping the morale up, you know. It's been hard to get a certain girl out of my head, though," he replied, shooting Kate a pointed look, his gaze softening. Kate's teasing smile faltered slightly, a glimmer of emotion flickering in her eyes. But she quickly masked it with a lighthearted grin.

"And here I was...thinking you'd moved on," she quipped.

"Not a chance," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat longer before Kate blinked and looked away, clearing her throat.

"Anyway," she said briskly, "I came here for Damien," she reported. Ryan's brows furrowed slightly, curiosity mixing with concern.

"Damien? Uh, yeah, I mean, I can get him for you if..." Ryan stuttered, confused.

"Don't bother. Camilo's already on it," Kate said, raising a hand and shaking her head. "Anyway...I've been on a seventeen-hour flight and could use some steam...do you mind?" she questioned, her head tilting towards the steam room. Ryan grinned, his shoulders relaxing.

"All yours," he gestured grandly, sweeping his arm out. Kate chuckled, stepping past him with an appreciative nod.

For a moment, he stood there, looking lost in thought, his expression softening. Then, with a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped in behind her, his smile transforming into something rare and tender.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the resort, Damien sat hunched over his desk in his office, surrounded by stacks of paperwork. His fingers tapped restlessly against the wood as he scanned the hotel's latest financials and upcoming bookings. Everything was in order, as always. Business was booming. But no matter how many successes he stacked up, it never seemed to fill the hollow ache within him.

He sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls when his phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced down, seeing Camilo's name flash on the screen.

"Yeah?" Damien answered, his tone clipped.

"Hey, we have an emergency at the Cove. You need to come down here. Like, right now," Camilo's voice crackled through the speaker, a hint of urgency in his usually laid-back tone. Damien's heart skipped a beat. The Cove. He hadn't been there in months. He swallowed, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"What kind of emergency?" the blonde questioned.

"Just… trust me, man. You gotta come here. Now," Camilo beckoned.

With a muttered curse, Damien hung up, already rising from his chair. He grabbed his keys and phone, striding out of his office.

Minutes later, he was on the dock, jumping into a speedboat. The engine roared to life, and the boat sliced through the turquoise waters, leaving a foamy wake in its path. As he approached the secluded beach where the Cove stood, his mind raced with possibilities, each one making his stomach churn with a strange mix of dread and anticipation. He leaped onto the wooden dock and jogged up the winding steps leading to the house. Everything looked exactly as he remembered. Pristine, untouched. A wave of nostalgia washed over him almost immediately.

"Camilo?" he called out, echoing through the stillness. He wandered through the familiar living room, glancing around at the empty space. Deep and unsettling silence greeted him. Damien's brows furrowed, irritation flaring. What kind of emergency was this?

He moved through the rooms, each step ushering a gush of recollections. The ache in his chest tightened as he climbed the stairs to the main bedroom. He hesitated at the door, his hand trembling as he reached for the handle. Pushing it open, he stepped inside, his golden gaze immediately drawn to the bathroom.

The room was filled with billowing steam that crept from behind the partially closed door, twisting and curling through the air like a ghostly presence. Damien's heart quickened as a strange sense of déjà vu washed over him, bringing back vivid memories of his first encounter with Bruce. The air had been thick with tension and unspoken words, and now, the same feelings flared to life in his mind. Before he could even process what was happening, the bathroom door swung open.

And there, like a vision from his dreams, stood Bruce.

He was wrapped in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, his skin glistening with droplets of water. His muscles, honed from years on the field, flexed as he moved, steam rising in delicate wisps from his broad shoulders. His still-damp, long hair skated down his forehead in dark, messy waves.

Damien stuttered, his voice barely audible, caught between disbelief and longing. He stepped forward, then stopped, unsure what to do or say. But Bruce moved with purpose. His gaze locked onto Damien, the intensity in his eyes like nothing Damien had ever seen before. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as if gathering the strength to finally plunge into uncharted waters.

"I'm probably the last person you want to see right now," Bruce began, his voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. Damien stood rooted to the spot, his pulse roaring in his ears as Bruce stepped closer, shutting the distance between them until they were just a breath apart. "But I just...I had to come," he said softly. "I thought I could move on. That I could forget. But no matter how many interviews I did or strangers I met… you were always there. In my thoughts, in my dreams," Bruce continued. Damien's breath hitched, his eyes widening as jock's words washed over him. "I tried so hard to push it all away. To ignore what I felt," Bruce resumed, his voice growing more confident. "But I can't anymore. I don't want to. I'm tired of running, Damien. Tired of pretending I don't love you with every fiber of my being," the hunk professed before reaching out, his hand trembling as he cupped Damien's cheek. Damien sucked in a sharp breath. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," Bruce whispered, his eyes shining with a vulnerability Damien had never seen before. A tear slipped down Damien's cheek, but he didn't move. He didn't seem able to. "I love you, kid," Bruce said, his voice breaking with raw honesty. "I love you, and I won't let you go. Not again. Not this time," he pledged, pausing, his gaze searching Damien's, his thumb brushing gently against Damien's skin.

The world seemed to hold its breath for a long, suspended moment. Finally, as if something broke loose inside him, Damien surged forward, his arms wrapping around Bruce in a desperate embrace.

And now, at this moment, I am tempted to delve, to unravel the tapestry of every longing glance, every touch saturated with desire, every whisper that echoed through the room like a hymn of love. The details that, although seemingly minute and insignificant, were the very threads constructing the complex and intricate fabric of their encounter. From the way their eyes locked, two galaxies colliding in a silent explosion of unspoken words and pent-up emotions, to the softest brush of skin against skin that sent shivers of expectation coursing through their veins.

However, considering the trials and tribulations our boys, Damien and Bruce, have faced, the battles they've fought both within and against the world, I deemed it only fair to draw a veil of respect over their most intimate moments. One woven from understanding and a deep-seated respect for their privacy. After all, they've earned a moment of solace amidst the chaos of their lives.

But permit me to say this: what unfolded between Damien and Bruce that day within the four walls of that room was nothing short of artistry. It was an intimate dance of love and longing, desire and devotion that transcended the realms of ordinary affection. It was as if they were painting a masterpiece with their emotions, each stroke a testament to their profound connection.

It was, for lack of better words, poetry in motion.

 

*

(1 year later)

 

The staff lounge at Eden's Edge was buzzing. All the tables had been pushed aside, making room for the makeshift viewing area they'd set up in front of the largest television they could find. Ryan stood at the back of the room, his arms folded and a grin plastered on his face as he watched the staff, a mix of locals and expats, bouncing on their toes. Beside him, Camilo was practically vibrating with nervous energy, his eyes glued to the screen.

"Come on, come on, just one more play!" Camilo muttered under his breath, his fingers twitching like he was the one holding the ball.

The room was a sea of people, chefs still in their aprons, maids with cleaning gloves tucked into their back pockets, front desk clerks and managers, every single one transfixed as the sportscaster narrated the game in a rapid, excited tone.

"And Bruce Levinson lines up again at the thirty-yard line! With just ten seconds left on the clock, it's up to him now. Can he pull this off and bring his team to victory?"

Gasps filled the room, followed by a collective holding of breaths as Bruce positioned himself. The TV zoomed in, the camera focusing on his intense expression, determination radiating from every line of his body. The snap came, and like a bullet, Bruce shot forward, dodging and weaving through the opposing team's defenders as if they were standing still.

"Go, go, go!" someone yelled from the back, and then the entire room erupted in cheers as Bruce shot past the final defender and sprinted toward the end zone.

"And Levinson's clear! He's clear! He's..." the sportscaster's voice rose excitedly, "...TOUCHDOWN! Bruce Levinson scores! He wins the game for his team!"

The room exploded into chaos. People screamed, hugged, and jumped up and down. Ryan felt his heart swell with pride as he watched the staff, who had come to care about Bruce as much as he and Damien did, celebrate like they were in the stadium. Camilo punched the air and then turned to Ryan, grabbing his shoulders tightly.

"Did you fucking see that? He did it!" the ebony stud yelled. Ryan laughed, clapping Camilo on the back.

"Bruce is a fucking machine, dude. What a legend!" Ryan hollered back.

They turned back to the TV just in time to see Bruce celebrating. The camera meticulously tracked his every move as he sprinted toward the center of the field, his chest heaving with the moment's thrill. With a surge of adrenaline, he swiftly removed his helmet and cast it to the ground. The stadium erupted in a deafening roar as he raised his shirt, unveiling the elaborate tattoo etched just inches below his pounding heart.

A single, bold letter "D."

A collective hush fell over the staff lounge as Bruce grinned at the camera, his finger tracing the tattoo before he made a heart shape with his hands around it. A comprehensive, almost giddy smile spread across his face, and for a moment, it felt like he was looking right at them, through the screen and into the heart of Eden's Edge.

Ryan and Camilo exchanged a look, a shared understanding passing between them. Bruce had been conscientious to never mention Damien's name publicly, knowing how much his privacy mattered. Yet, here he was, on live television, sharing his love in the most personal, subtle way he could. Camilo smiled, his face warm with admiration. Ryan nodded, his chest swelling with emotion.

"That big lug really loves him, huh?" he expressed as they both burst into laughter. The room buzzed excitedly, and the celebration continued long after the game ended.

Hours later, at the Cove, the house was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Damien stood in the main living room, dressed only in his black boxer briefs, his tanned skin glowing under the soft rays filtering through the open windows. He wandered aimlessly, his fingers trailing over the polished furniture wood as he tried to settle the giddy feeling bubbling up inside him.

He'd watched the game. Of course, he had.

The familiar ringtone of his phone cut through the silence, and his heart leaped in his chest. He lunged for it, lips curved into a smile as he saw the name flashing on the screen.

"Hey," he answered, his voice light and teasing.

"Did you see the game?" Bruce's breathless voice questioned. Damien could almost picture him inside the locker room, still in his uniform, his hair a mess, his skin damp with sweat and adrenaline as his naked teammates pranced around him with their huge dicks dangling between their legs. Damien leaned against the back of the couch, his smile turning sly.

"Hmm, I don't know. You know I hate sports," the blonde teased. Bruce laughed, the sound deep and genuine.

"You cocky little fucker! Kate saw you online. You watched the entire thing," Bruce said. Damien tried to stifle his own laughter, but it bubbled up anyway.

"Fine. I watched," he admitted. "And if I may say, you got lucky with that last play," Damien added.

"Lucky?" Bruce replied, sounding scandalized. "I pulled off a perfect route! Textbook," he claimed.

"Textbook, my ass. You were one second away from getting sacked. Your O-line was practically asleep," Damien countered. Bruce made a sound of mock indignation, and Damien could imagine him throwing his head back in frustration.

"Oh, so now you're an expert?" the hunk interposed.

"Gotta make sure you're actually working hard and not just slacking off," Damien teased, grinning like a fool. Bruce's voice softened a note of something tender and intimate weaving through his words.

"I love you, you know that?" he whispered. Damien closed his eyes, a shiver running down his spine at the sound of those words. They'd been saying it to each other for a while, but it still made his heart race every time.

"I love you, too," Damien whispered, his voice steady and full of certainty.

There was a brief pause in the line, and then Bruce's voice came through, excited and full of promise.

"Good. Then get ready, baby, 'cause I'm coming home!" Bruce exclaimed from the other side before finally hanging up.

Damien's heart skipped a beat as he stepped out onto the balcony. The sinking sun painted the sky in brilliant shades of pink, gold, and orange, radiating a mesmerizing glow over the endless stretch of turquoise ocean before him. Leaning against the railing, Damien found comfort in the breathtaking view that had become his sanctuary. He lingered there, watching as the last rays of the sun dipped below the water, a sense of peace and contentment settling over him.

For the first time in Damien's life, everything was exactly as it should be.

He was happy.

 

THE END