Page 45 of Disciplined: His Forbidden Crush

The sun glinted off the sea. The scent of the beach was nostalgic, a mixture of seaweed, damp sand, and sunscreen. Distant laughter and waves crashing against the shore pulled at Summer’s heartstrings. It was a perfect day.

As they walked, Summer tried to absorb every sensory detail of the beach—the way the sand shifted beneath his feet, the cool breeze that occasionally kissed his heated skin, even the taste of salt that hung in the air. He wanted to seize these memories, these fleeting moments of happiness, before the darkness of his impending return to Colombia swallowed him whole.

Summer took a deep breath, inhaling the briny air and holding it in his lungs. He wanted to remember this moment, etch it into his soul. The sun’s warmth on his skin, the waves crashing nearby. He wanted to remember this later when the cartel life closed over him like a grave.

“Rafael,” Summer began, turning to face him. “How do you stand the cartel life? How can you live like that?”

Rafael looked out at the ocean, his dark eyes contemplative. “There was never any other life for me,” he replied quietly. “It was either squalid poverty, backbreaking labor with no chance of escape, or the cartel and a violent end.”

Hearing the weariness in Rafael’s voice struck a chord in Summer. Rafael was just as trapped in their world as he was. They were both prisoners in different ways, bound by circumstance and fate.

“Let’s make some memories today, then,” Summer said, determination fueling his words. “Something to hold onto.”

Rafael raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “What do you have in mind?”

“Have you ever seen the Hollywood sign?” Summer asked, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Only in movies,” Rafael responded, dubiously eyeing Summer. “Why?”

“It’s a classic tourist thing to do, right?” Summer suggested, trying to keep the mood light. But after a moment, he shook his head and laughed. “Actually, forget it. You trust me, don’t you?”

Rafael gave him a small smile and replied, “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” Summer agreed, feeling a spark of excitement.

They drove over to the fashion district. Summer took Rafael on a walk past fabric stores and zipper sellers. They finally stopped in front of a contemporary art gallery, its glass façade reflecting the vibrant colors of the city.

“An art gallery?” Rafael asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” Summer insisted as he pulled Rafael inside, the cool air from the gallery’s interior washing over them. Inside, the place was stripped back and industrial, with chic furniture to show that this was a definite choice. Various works of art were on display, bold and contemporary and experimental.

“Look at this one,” Summer said, stopping in front of a large canvas depicting a group of young people lying about a living room. “My friend did this. Pretty cool, huh?” He pointed out himself, Coco, and two other friends, their faces painted with carefree expressions.

Rafael seemed taken aback. “It is,” he admitted, his eyes scanning the painting with genuine interest. “But you’re better looking than this, if you ask me.”

Summer laughed, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you.”

As they moved through the gallery, Summer was surprised to find Rafael thoroughly examining each piece. He’d never seen Rafael so curious and tentative.

They eventually came upon a particularly striking piece—a scene featuring two male figures seated at a table in a cafeteria, bound and gagged. The ropes around their wrists held them captive, the gags kept them silent. They looked at each other fearfully, but no one around them seemed to notice their plight.

“Weird,” Summer said, tilting his head to examine it. “It’s called ‘Lacking Connection’. I wonder what it means.”

Rafael’s expression flinched as he looked at it. “Those men...they can’t speak or reach out,” he said softly, his voice low and rough. “They’re constrained. The bonds. It’s machismo, isn’t it?” He looked at the painting like it hurt him personally, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Summer was taken aback. “Perhaps. Machismo is like that.”

Rafael nodded, his eyes never leaving the painting.

He was quiet for the rest of the tour, and Summer wondered about this version of Rafael, who looked at art and saw things beneath the surface. Was this the same man who had pushed Summer’s body to its limits in bed? The same man who killed in service of the cartel? Summer wanted to know this version better.

Rafael had returned to himself by the time they met Coco and Lila at a sushi restaurant for dinner. Summer felt a pang as he prepared to lie to his friends, but he knew it was for their own good. He couldn’t risk putting them in danger by telling them the truth about his impending departure.

Summer introduced Rafael as a friend from home. “I’m flying back to visit my father tomorrow,” he said, attempting to sound nonchalant. “But I’ll be back soon.” He could feel the weight of his lie pressing down on him, making it hard to smile.

“Don’t stay too long,” Coco said, her eyes flickering to Rafael. She obviously had some thoughts about him but didn’t seem to be going to share them now. Summer was grateful.

Over a giant sushi boat and cups of cool sake, Coco and Lila chatted about their plans for the evening, trying to convince Summer to join them at a club. Summer hesitated, knowing it was a gay club, and glanced nervously over at Rafael. Would he be disgusted? Summer imagined Rafael’s reaction, picturing the disdain in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw. But he couldn’t help wanting one last night of freedom with his friends.

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