Page 21 of Sweat

Dawn at McKinley Park, the sky is a grey-blue, and the air is hazy with a thin layer of late spring fog. It’s cool enough for long sleeves, but I tell Tommy to take his hoodie off after we finish stretching.

“Suicides again?” he asks, his face doing that puppy dog thing where his eyes get round under a furrowed brow. His hands are on his hips like he’s already exhausted. It’s kind of adorable. That thin veil of indignation before he submits to whatever tickles my fancy.

“Nah, we’re just gonna run,” I say. “Cross-country style. We’ll run the perimeter of the park until eight.”

“Two hours?”

“Stayat my pace. Don’t fall behind. Whatever you do, don’t stop. I don’t want to see your ass on the ground before eight o’clock unless you need an ambulance. Got it?”

His head shakes, worry drawn all over his face, but he soon says, “Okay. Let’s do it.” The acceptance alone makes my balls tingle, but I can’t let Tommy’s readiness blow my head up too big. I didn’t become the captain by being a hard-ass. That’s more McDonough’s style.

“Don’t worry.” I slap my palm behind Tommy’s back, and it makes a deep, blunt sound. “You got this. Just, don’t—”

“Don’t lose you.” Tommy smiles. “I’ll try.”

It’s unclear whether the goosebumps covering my arms and legs are from Tommy or the chill in the air, but either way, it’s nothing a long run can’t right. I program my watch to chart our mileage before giving a three-two-one count off.

For Tommy’s sake, I keep the pace moderate. A little quicker than a jog. Tommy sticks by my side, even when the sidewalk goes narrow. Every time his bicep grazes mine, I feel the heat from his skin like touching a hot stove. I want to wince away, but it’s too intoxicating. I keep forgetting to check my watch.

When I catch him slipping, I throw out some encouragement. “Stay with me.”

“Trying,” he grits.

Next time his arm brushes mine, he’s damp and red-hot. I look sideways and catch his face sweating bullets. His t-shirt is damn near soaked.

“Push,” I say. “Half hour to go.”

Saying the time may be what does Tommy in. He huffs a sigh that comes out a whimper that sounds a hell of a lot like defeat.

“Push, Tommy.”

“I’m gonna die,” he whines.

“You’re not gonna die.”

I shift my gaze between the path ahead and the boy beside me. He does try, I’ll give him that, but he’s unstable now. Staggering, wheezing. He veers off the sidewalk, cursing under his breath, and falls to his knees in the dewy grass.

“Don’t call an ambulance!” he says, crawling a few strides before rolling over onto his back. “Just got a cramp.”

My own body burns with fatigue, but Tommy looks wretched. I slow up and jog in place while I look him over, trying to ease my heart rate down slowly.

“Where are you cramping?”

“My leg,” he groans. Lifting himself up on an elbow, he rubs at his right quad.

“Let me see.” I put my own knees to the grass and straddle his right leg. As soon as Tommy’s hand leaves his thigh, I put my own hands there.

“Fuck,” Tommy hisses when I put pressure on the muscle group.

I feel their stiffness. Hardly any fat between them and Tommy’s heated skin. I knead his leg from the top of the knee to the upper part of his thigh, pushing his shorts up a few inches as I go. Enough I can tell his underwear is light grey. The brown hair on Tommy’s thigh is so light it’s nearly blond. The skin above the tan line is white as cream. I press my fingers in and feel how supple and strong he is.

Another groan fills the calm air between us, but it doesn’t sound so pained anymore. Somewhat strained, but there’s a contentment in Tommy’s tone now. Nearly pleasureful.

He groans again when I glide my fingers higher, barely beneath the bunched leg of his shorts.

“Rowan.” My name from Tommy’s deep voice entrances me. I lose myself in it, and in the feel of him below me.

“That feel good, baby boy?” I murmur, inching my hand higher.

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