Blaze"Ugh, Christ!" I wake up with a little bit of pain shooting through my body, and my head a little light.I blink my eyes open and stare at the ceiling. It’s clean and white—too fancy for any hospital I know of. My chest tightens. Where the fuck am I?Sitting up slowly, I take in my surroundings. The bed’s softer than anything I’ve slept on in years. The room? Big, luxurious, and smells like expensive cologne. Definitely not my shitty apartment or the alley I passed out in.What the fuck happened? Did I die and somehow end up in a penthouse version of hell?I rub my temples, trying to recall something—anything—but my head pounds like someone’s using it as a fucking drum.“How do you feel?”The voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife. I freeze, recognizing that smooth, arrogant tone. I turn my head and, lo and behold, there he is. Carlo.Sitting there all smug, wearing a suit that probably costs more than my monthly rent. His hair slicked back, except for a strand falling ove
Carlo"Son, you barely even come home or call your mother. That’s not very nice," my mother says, her voice soft and composed, as if everything is peaceful.Hell, it’s not. My insides are on the verge of fucking combustion, and I’m sure as hell my father can feel the heat from where he’s sitting. My so-called brother, the prick I just found out about six months ago, is sitting across from me. I’m still trying to figure out how the fuck my mother is completely fine with this bullshit."Sorry, Mother. I've been really busy," I mumble, forcing out the words because I know she won’t let it go otherwise."If I had a daughter, I wouldn’t be so bothered, but the worst part is my only son has refused to bring a woman home."My fork freezes mid-air. “Not this shit again, Mother.”"What do you mean ‘not this shit’? The last time I saw you with a woman was three years ago. What kind of celibacy streak is this?!" She yells, waving her fork around like it’s some kind of weapon.I bite back the urg
Blaze"Damn it!" The boy behind me curses under his breath. "There's less than two hours for the race to begin, I don't even know that track. I wanted to do a little tour on my own before the race."I don’t turn around, but I hear him loud and clear. His voice is grating—one of those entitled brats who think whining solves shit. His friend, sitting in a corner, doesn’t seem to give a damn, scrolling through his phone with his leg crossed like he’s lounging at a spa."You gotta calm down, man. He’ll be done in a minute," his friend says, his tone indifferent.I grit my teeth. I don’t need this bullshit. My fingers are covered in grease, sweat sticking to my neck as I work the tire. The bike’s almost as good as new, but now I’m regretting even agreeing to this shit show."Hey, be quick with it, will you?" the kid snaps, his voice sharp and condescending. "You’re just changing the tires, right? You’re limping, so it’s slowing you down."That’s it. I stop, drop the wrench a little too har
Blaze"God, Blaze, we’ve got some rookies joining the race tonight," Felix says as we step into the arena, his voice dripping with excitement."That dude in the blue tracksuit seems like a good bet," he adds, nodding toward the track. I follow his gaze and spot the familiar face. The brat from earlier. What’s his name again? Max. Rude little shit. I scoff."Your biggest mistake if you try it," I mutter, glancing around for a seat. I need to relax before the game kicks off."Why’d you say that? Do you know him? Then it’s a good bet," Felix says, his curiosity clearly piqued."Know him? Hell no." I shoot him a sharp look. "Just a gut feeling." No way am I bringing up that whole damn interaction from earlier. Felix will just start bugging me to take the kid under my wing or some bullshit.We settle in, and the countdown starts. 3…2…1…The race kicks off, the roar of the bikes filling the arena as the crowd erupts in cheers and curses. People are screaming their heads off, some praying th
Blaze“Hey, limping dog, get the order here ASAP!” one of them yells.I bite down hard on my tongue. Bastards like this are everywhere, especially in places like this gay bar. It’s not the first time I’ve been called names or treated like some freak on display. The urge to smash his fucking nose into his face rises, but I take a deep breath instead. If I lose my shit here, Andrew will have my ass. And with all the VIPs in the house tonight, he’d probably fire me on the spot.I make my way to their table, balancing the tray of drinks. Their faces are plastered with smug grins, eyes roaming over me like they’ve never seen a guy in tight jeans before. I drop the drinks on their table, trying to keep it professional, but just as I’m about to walk away, I feel it.A fucking smack on my ass.I freeze, my hands clenching into fists.“Damn! He’s got a really tiny waist,” one of them snickers, his voice dripping with mockery. “He should be up on that stage dancing if it wasn’t for that one leg
Blaze “Hey, where the heck are you?” Felix’s voice blares through the phone, loud enough to make me groan as I turn over on my bed. “At home, where the fuck else would I be?” I mutter, staring at the ceiling, my eyes still blurry from sleep. “Damn it, Blaze! You promised to get my bike fixed. I got a kid renting it today!” he snaps. I rub my face, trying to wake up. “Jesus, Felix, stop yelling. You’re gonna make my ears bleed.” I sigh, dragging myself up. “Give me 30 minutes, okay? I’ll take care of it.” “You better,” he grumbles before hanging up. I toss my phone onto the bed and stretch, my muscles sore as hell. It’s been a month since Max started training. Kid’s got potential, I’ll give him that, but he’s still got a lot to learn. The next race is coming up, and he’s eager as fuck to make a name for himself. Basics are covered—I just need to show him the tricks that’ll keep him alive out there. Running my fingers through my hair, I remember tonight’s plan: meeting Mr.
Blaze"Your mother is sick?" Max's voice stops me mid-step.I turn slowly, narrowing my eyes at him. "That’s not something to bother about," I reply, walking straight to my seat. Dropping into it, I lean back, trying to relax. Like hell that kid’s going to leave me alone now."Is that why you’re having an affair with a married man?"His words hit me like a fucking truck. My brows furrow, my teeth clenching."Fucking hell!" I snap, cutting him off before he can spew more nonsense. "What the hell is your business? Didn’t I tell you not to bother about my life? Were you deaf when I said it?" My voice rises, and I can feel the twitch in my eye.Max freezes, his big puppy-dog eyes widening. He looks like a damn kid caught stealing cookies. His gaze drops to the floor and then flicks back up at me, all hesitant and shit."I just want to know if you’re doing okay," he says softly. "Fine, you see me as a kid and that’s why you rejected me. But at least let me support the champion I cherish. I
Blaze"Blaze?" I hear a familiar voice call as I step out of the club, the cold night air smacking me in the face.Max? Oh, for fuck’s sake. I shudder unconsciously. “What the hell are you doing here?” I spin around, raising an eyebrow at him. Damn bastard, calling my name like we’re mates or something. Not that I don’t find it cute how he always says it, but still.“Well, I was dragged to a gay club by my friends, only to find you here,” he says, grinning like a fucking golden retriever. Before I can tell him to buzz off, his excitement takes over, and he rushes toward me like a damn hurricane, pulling me into a hug.“Holy shit, how the hell are you even so tall? Now I look like your junior,” I grumble, craning my neck to look up at him. Seriously, this guy is built like a skyscraper.Max beams down at me, his smile so stupidly cute it makes my heart do a weird little backflip in my chest. Goddamn it.But then I feel it. An ominous, heavy-ass gaze burning into my side. My head snaps
Blaze“Dude, that bike looks like it was smashed into a rock, the fall was messy,” Alexi continues to rant as we walk to the shop together, but my feet fucking freeze the moment we get to the front.“Woah, what a fucking handsome rich dude, he looks like the wealthy God from Greek. Damn, I suddenly remember I have a working pussy,” she whispers, eyes wide and stuck to the tall figure casually smoking in front of my shop like he owns the place.“What the hell, Alexi… Thought you were the top and you’re not into ‘dicks’?” I ask, forcing a smile, but the truth is, my stomach is in knots, flipping like it’s on crack.“Yeah, but trying it once with that gorgeous figure is an achievement,” she mutters. I don’t laugh. I can’t even move a fucking muscle.Carlo. That stupidly gorgeous bastard. His shirt is slightly open, tattoos on full display, hair slicked perfectly to the side, fucking polished from head to toe like he belongs in a mafia fantasy. His head’s down, so he hasn’t seen us yet, b
Blaze“You actually suck at this. Move. Let me do it.”Alexi snatches the wrench from my hand like I just committed some kind of sacred sin, and I don’t even fight her on it. I step back, wiping sweat from my neck with the back of my hand, watching her lean over the greasy engine like she owns the damn thing.“You know I’m still recovering from rich-boy trauma, right?” I mutter, lighting a cigarette and squinting at her through the smoke. “Three weeks out and I still flinch every time I see marble floors.”She snorts. “Yeah, well, this ain’t no penthouse, sugar. This is grease, fuel, and freedom. Welcome back to the land of the living.”I smirk a little.Three months. That’s how long it’s been since I walked out of Carlo’s place and didn’t look back. Since I shoved every memory, every fucked-up emotion, and every craving for his touch into a goddamn box and tossed it somewhere far away.This new place? It’s loud, rough, smells like gasoline and old tires, and I fucking love it. I open
Carlo“Whiskey. Double shot. Don’t go light.”The bartender doesn’t ask questions. Just pours and slides it over, it’s been a long time I came here but they still treat me like a regular. The glass hits my lips, and it burns like it’s supposed to. I stare at the bar stand where Blaze used to stand, all cocky and full of heat. It’s dead now. Cold. Like someone ripped the fucking soul out of the place.I down another.The club smells different without him here. It’s got that same stale sweat and desperation vibe, but it’s missing the spice. The fire. The fucking heartbeat. And I hate that I came here thinking maybe I could feel close to him. Maybe I’d see a shadow of him in the corners. Dumb shit like that.“You look like you need more than just a drink, man.”The voice comes from behind me. Smooth. Confident. I turn my head and there’s a guy—dark hair, pierced lip, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s offering. I don’t respond right away. Just stare.He’s not Blaze. But he’s got th
CarloDays pass.Then weeks.Then fucking months.Every morning I wake up hoping he’s on the couch. Hoping I’ll smell his skin again, hear him cussing at the coffee machine. But it’s just silence. Cold, empty fucking silence that echoes louder than a scream.The bed feels too fucking big. I roll to his side every night like a goddamn addict chasing a fix that ain’t there. I breathe into his pillow even though the scent’s faded. I still look for his towel on the bathroom rack. His boots by the door. But all I see is absence.I hire a private investigator. I pay triple to get the best. They come up with nothing. No name, no face, no trace. Like he never fucking existed.I start checking the places we used to hang out—bars, the old underground garage, that beat-up taco truck near Fifth where he always asked for extra hot sauce and never finished the food. I even go back to the last racing ring we chilled at, the one where he nearly punched a mechanic for scratching someone else’s car. I
Carlo“Where the fuck is he?”That’s the first thing I mutter the moment I walk into the penthouse. I drop my bag by the door and look around like he might be hiding behind the damn curtains. But the place is too clean. Too quiet. The air smells like furniture polish and nothing else. No cologne, no cigarette smoke, no burnt toast from his lazy attempts at breakfast. It’s just empty.“Blaze!” I call out louder this time, my voice bouncing off the damn walls.Nothing.I head into the bedroom, push open the door like I expect him to be passed out on the bed or curled up under the sheets with one of my hoodies like he usually does. But it’s made. Neat. Fucking untouched.“Goddammit.”I check the bathroom. Closet. Balcony. Nothing.I pull out my phone and dial him again. It goes straight to voicemail—again. Just like it’s been all fucking week. I thought maybe his phone was acting up, or maybe he lost it. I even joked about it to myself on the plane, thinking I’d get back, find him half-n
Blaze“You still think this shit is love, Blaze?” Felix asks, his voice sharp like a damn knife to my ear. “You really gonna keep choosing Carlo over your fucking sanity?”He’s pacing the penthouse like a caged dog, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes wild. It’s just me and him now that Carlo left for that bullshit business trip. The place feels too big. Too quiet. Too fucking cold.I don’t look at him. I just sink into the couch, legs stretched, a glass of whiskey in hand. My body aches. Or maybe it’s just my soul. I don’t fucking know anymore.I roll my eyes, dropping my phone on the armrest. “You’re still on that shit?”“I never left that shit,” he fires back. “Blaze, I’m your best fucking friend. I’ve watched you drown in this toxic-ass mess for too long. I ain’t gonna pretend like I’m cool with it just ‘cause he buys you pretty things and fucks you right.”I stare at him. That silence between us tightens.“I love him,” I say, flat. Like the words don’t even mean shit anymore.Felix sto
Carlo“You’re still here?” I mutter, walking into the living room and spotting Felix on the couch like he fucking lives here.He glances at me, smug as ever. “Good morning to you too, Carlo.”I hate his voice. Too calm. Too fucking smug. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s trying to get under my skin on purpose. But I do know better—he is.I walk past him without saying another word. I’m not in the mood for his bullshit, not this early. I head straight for the stairs, checking on Blaze first before I deal with anything else. He’s awake, sitting up in bed with his crutches leaning against the nightstand, flipping through some stupid magazine.His room smells faintly of antiseptic and vanilla—him. The curtains are half-drawn, sunlight slicing through the room in streaks. He looks comfortable, like he’s finally getting used to being home again. There’s something peaceful about that. The kind of peace I don’t get often.“Hey,” he says, eyes lighting up when he sees me. “Thought yo
CarloWeeks later.“You still awake?”I look up from my screen, surprised to hear his voice. I didn’t even hear him coming. That’s how focused I’ve been. Blaze is standing by the edge of the living room, leaning on the damn wall like he’s trying to look casual. His steps are slow, but shit—he’s actually walking. No crutches. No help. Just that annoying limp that’s been driving him insane.“You’re climbing stairs now?”He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I see that hint of pride in his eyes. “Yeah, figured I’d surprise you.”I shut the laptop halfway and eye him as he limps closer. There’s this stupid grin on his face like he just won a damn medal.“You should’ve called me.”“For what? I ain’t crippled.”I grunt. Typical Blaze. Always acting like he’s fine when his body’s been through hell and back. I try not to hover too much lately, but fuck, it’s hard.He comes closer and reaches for the laptop on my lap, placing it gently on the table beside the couch. Then he straddles me like it
Carlo“Four fuckin’ hours, doc. You sure that’s normal?”My voice sounds like shit, dry and rough from too much pacing and zero fuckin’ sleep. I’m leaning against the wall outside the OR, arms crossed so tight my muscles are starting to cramp. Felix’s long gone—he couldn’t sit still, said he’d come back later. I don’t blame him. It’s hell just waiting. Every fuckin’ second feels like I’m stuck in a pressure cooker.The nurse doesn’t answer. Just tells me again to wait and walks off like I didn’t just ask that for the third goddamn time.So I wait.I keep checking the double doors like Blaze is gonna walk out himself. Dumb. Fuckin’ dumb. He’s cut open, knocked out, leg sliced up while they try to fix something he should’ve handled years ago.I should’ve forced him.I should’ve noticed the limp sooner, the way he tried to hide how bad it was getting. I should’ve dragged his stubborn ass to the hospital myself. But no—I had my head too far up my own shit.Four fuckin’ hours.I don’t sit.