Wrestling Team Showers – Chapter 4

Everyone is 18. Warning: this one is a little bit sad today.

Chapter 4: What?

Then came the weekend. Jake invited me over again to work out and watch TV, and see whatever else we would get up to. When I got there though, his brother was in the garage with him. The look on Jake's face told me Pax had invited himself into the workout sesh.

So this time, we actually just worked out most of the time. My body was wickedly sore from pushing myself that whole week, and I was still feeling the aftershocks of our last shower session. It literally hurt to sit down, but weirdly, I enjoyed the pain. It was like a physical reminder of something intense and secret.

I didn’t really know what Jake and I had together. He was this cool senior who liked hanging out with me and using my body a lot—but we also had real fun together. It wasn’t just sex. I was pretty sure I was going to be ripped soon from all the lifting I was doing with him. That was something.

Jake and I definitely had a certain tension going on as we worked out together. There were side glances, moments of held breath, a careful dance of avoiding physical contact. Pax was there, after all. But apparently, Pax noticed.

"What's going on? You guys seem kind of awkward," he said, not one for subtlety.

Jake snorted and looked down. "Nothing."

Pax pointed a thumb at me. "I think this one's horny for you."

Jake's eyes shot open. "Dude!"

"Well, you heard us the other night," I said without thinking, remembering that text Pax had sent Jake—'Go easy on him, I don't think his ass can take any more.'

Jake froze. His mouth dropped. His whole face turned red.

Pax's grin widened like it was his birthday and Christmas at once. "He said you guys just had a movie on! I called B.S. then and I'm calling it now."

Jake’s face turned even redder. "He's just joking," he said quickly, trying to laugh it off, clearly flustered. Apparently, the only person he wasn't perfectly cool around was Pax.

"Sounded real to me," Pax said, his tone way too smug.

The air hung weirdly still for a second after that. Like everyone was deciding how far this conversation was going to go.

Jake shook his head, gave me a sidelong glance, and said, "Let's finish the set."

And so we did.

But Pax wouldn’t let it go. Between sets, he kept ribbing us.

“Y’all gonna kiss now, or what?” he asked, laughing. “You want me to turn around while you do your ‘partner stretching’?”

Jake rolled his eyes, not even dignifying it with a response, while I kept my mouth shut and tried not to blush.

Eventually, Pax wiped the sweat from his forehead, grabbed a water bottle, and said, “Whatever, dudes. Don’t hold back just ‘cause I’m here.”

His tone was still mocking, but something in his voice told me he wasn’t entirely kidding. Then he gave Jake a look—half teasing, half challenging—and walked out of the garage.

The second the door closed, Jake exhaled sharply. "Well. That happened."

I dropped the dumbbell I was holding onto the mat. "Sorry dude, I didn't know you told him it was just a movie."

"Whatever," Jake said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't care if he knows."

"Cool, yeah," I said awkwardly, sensitive to his feelings, still catching my breath. "He didn’t seem mad, though. Just… annoying."

Jake shook his head. "Yeah, that’s Pax. He jokes until he finds the line. Then he pokes at it until someone loses their cool."

"Do you think he’ll tell anyone?"

Jake looked at me for a second, serious for once. "No. He might be a pain, but he’s not a little bitch... usually. Just likes making people squirm."

I nodded. "Well, mission accomplished."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah. But honestly? I’m glad it’s out. Sort of."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He shrugged. "It’s kinda nice not having to pretend around you anymore. I don’t really know what this is yet, but… I like it."

And in that moment, I did too.

Jake got up and locked the door, then turned and looked at me, quiet, thoughtful. We didn’t say anything at first. The tension was back, but this time it wasn’t teasing—it was dense, waiting.

He reached out and touched my shoulder gently, his thumb brushing against the back of my neck. I didn’t move. He leaned in and kissed me, slow and open-mouthed, like it meant something more this time. Like he was trying to apologize without saying it.

We moved to the floor mat, laying side by side. He ran his hand along my chest, down my stomach, letting his fingertips drag across skin like he was memorizing it. My heart was pounding, but not just with nerves—something deeper was blooming there. Trust. Want.

He kissed me again, then pushed himself up, peeled off my gym shorts. I was already pulsing, half from anticipation, half from being so full of everything we hadn’t said. He took his time. Everything about this was slower than before—more curious, more deliberate.

He guided me gently as I lay back, legs drawn up slightly, and positioned himself between them. I felt the pressure of him lining up, and then, with a sachet of lube that I recognized from the school counselor's office, he eased in. Not rushed, not rough. Just steady and warm and full. I gasped, but it wasn’t from pain. It was a feeling of being filled and held all at once.

Jake looked down at me, his arms braced on either side of my chest, and moved slowly, like he didn’t want to miss a second. Every thrust wasn’t just about rhythm—it was about connection. About presence.

I gripped his arm and traced his ribs with my fingertips. He was sweating again, and I licked a drop off his chest without even thinking. He smiled, leaned down, and kissed me again, his hips rolling deeper. My whole body felt tuned to his.

It lasted longer than I expected. He wasn’t in a rush. He kept his forehead pressed against mine, breathing heavy, whispering my name a couple times like it grounded him.

And when he finally came—moaning low, almost into my ear—it felt like some part of him spilled into me beyond the physical. Like we’d crossed some invisible threshold. He reached down and rubbed me for just a minute before I tensed and released my own essence onto myself. Keeping himself inside me, he fingered the white puddle on my chest, and took a drop to his tongue. He swallowed, bringing a piece of me inside him. He then pushed his finger gently into my mouth, and I closed my lips on it, the sensations almost too much to bear as I tasted myself on him. He reached for a towel and wiped me off, then collapsed on top of me.

We stayed tangled like that, neither of us saying a word. I didn’t need him to. I just needed him to stay close to me for a minute.

And he did. For about a minute.

Then, like a switch had flipped, he pulled out of me, and sat up. The warmth in his face drained a bit, replaced with something unreadable.

"You should probably shower at home," he said, not meeting my eyes. "My family's home and I don’t really feel like answering questions."

I blinked, trying to process the shift.

He stood up and stretched like nothing had happened. "I should get a good night’s sleep anyway. Monday practice is always brutal." Even though this was Saturday night.

I pulled my shorts back on in silence, unsure whether to say anything. A part of me wanted to stay, to talk, to figure out what that moment between us had meant. But he was already grabbing his water bottle and opening the garage door.

"I’ll text you later," he said over his shoulder.

I nodded, even though he wasn’t looking.

He didn’t.

–[]–

The next day was Sunday. I texted Jake, but he didn’t answer.

On Monday, back at school, I noticed him keeping his distance. Not mean—just different. Muted. He still didn’t respond to my messages, and I started to worry I’d done something wrong. I don't know what happened after I left on Saturday, but it was like he didn't even remember me anymore.

Throughout the day, he avoided me. In the cafeteria, he sat at a different table than usual. In between classes, he pretended not to see me when we passed in the hall. At one point, I caught him leaning against a locker, laughing way too hard with a couple of girls. One of them touched his arm, and he didn’t pull away. He was flirting—very obviously.

Later, between fifth and sixth period, I saw him kiss one of those girls. A quick, cocky peck that made the guys around them hoot and holler like they were at a football game. My stomach twisted. He didn’t even glance my way.

It wasn’t just distance. It felt deliberate.

At wrestling practice, the coach paired us up to spar, like we had been doing recently. I waited for Jake to move toward me, but he just stood there.

"Coach, can I get someone my size?" he asked, gesturing toward the heavier group.

The coach gave him a side glance. "Easy on him, he's been working his ass off. Show some leadership, Jake."

But he didn’t. Coach sighed and waved him off. "Fine. Go with Trevor. Colt, you’re with Shane today."

Jake didn’t look at me—not once.

After wrestling practice, the team slowly filtered into the locker room. I waited. Jake lingered by the mats, towel slung over his shoulder, pretending to scroll through his phone. I approached him.

“Hey. What’s going on?” I asked, voice low. He looked up like he was surprised it was me talking to him. My face let the vulnerability bleed out. I had basically fallen in love with this guy over the past week, and now he was acting like I barely existed.

He looked me in the eye, and I saw something crack inside him. He was hurting. "What?"

"I thought we were cool, is this about your brother?"

"No," he said, sounding annoyed, "it's not."

"If I did something, could you let me know? It was weird not hearing from you at all."

“I’m not your boyfriend,” he said flatly, coldly.

It hit like a punch to the gut. Tears filled my eyes before I could stop them. And then, as he stood in front of me, I saw them start to fill his.

My throat burned. I knew how I was going to sound, but I said it anyway.

“I didn’t know,” I started, voice breaking, tears spilling, practically shouting through the tears, “you were such a fucking pussy.”

The words hit him like a slap. His face twisted—pain, anger, maybe even guilt.

My face was red and soaked. I hated that he could see how much I cared. But then I saw him wipe at his face, and I realized he was crying too.

Though I was still fuming, I reached out and touched his hip.

Choking on his own feelings, he looked down at my hand, muttered, "Don’t be such a faggot," and pushed me away before walking off.

I just stood there. The rage and heartbreak crushed me like a piano had fallen from five stories up. I turned and walked the other way out of the wrestling room, body heavy like lead.

Whatever we had… it felt over.

And yet, walking alone across the grass of the football field, the sun setting, I imagined—just for a second—that he turned around. That he called my name. That he said sorry. Of course, none of that happened. But I saw it anyway in my head.

–[]–

When I got home, my mom noticed right away that something was off. She asked if everything was okay.

“I’m just… dealing with some relationship stuff,” I said, trying to keep it vague.

She nodded like she’d been waiting for this day. "Girls, huh? They can be complicated. Sometimes you just gotta give each other some space. If it’s real, it’ll work out."

I didn’t correct her. I let her believe I was talking about a girl. I didn’t even know what I was. I knew I liked girls. But I also knew I liked Jake.

Or at least I thought I did.

No girl had ever thumb-blasted my ass, stretched me open and wrecked me like he did, then held my shoulder with that kind of quiet power that made me feel like the center of something. I didn’t know if that meant I was gay, bi, or just completely screwed up. But I knew what I liked. And Jake had unlocked me.

–[]–

Later that night, a text lit up my phone. It was from Pax:

"Yo."

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t want to.

A few minutes later: "You alright?"

I finally replied. "Why are you texting me?"

He responded quick: "Because I know my brother. He pulls this crap when he’s overwhelmed. Shuts down, ghosts everyone, acts like he’s too cool to care. Been doing it since we were kids."

"Yeah, well, it really sucks," I wrote. I had no one else to talk to about this, so I might as well embrace this, at least for a second.

"I know," he sent. Then after a pause: "I pushed too far. I was being a dick. I saw something was up and thought teasing it would make it easier. It didn’t."

"Nope," I typed.

"Just saying... he does care. He’s just a coward when it counts. Always has been."

That last one hit me. I stared at it until the screen blurred from another burst of water in my eyes. And even though it was a tiny thread of hope, it caught me. Pax didn't have to say any of that. It didn’t fix anything, but it reminded me that I wasn’t completely alone in this mess. That someone else saw Jake for what he really was—not just a cool senior, but a scared, complicated person trying to figure things out too.

I started crying again. Into my pillow, like a kid. But this time, it wasn't just heartbreak—it was the ache of realizing that love, even when it's real, hurts. It lives in your chest and your stomach and your bones. My body was sore from a week of workouts, and from Jake himself, but the dull pain had taken on new meaning. It was like my whole being was learning what it meant to feel. Love didn’t just make you float—it weighed you down in places you didn’t even know you had. And I was just beginning to understand that.

I hadn't lost hope. Love just hits different.

When I woke up in the morning, there was a text from Jake.

"Hey"