Page 6 of Full Split
"Yep," they say, perfectly synced.
Still, I step into position and hold the phone up. I know by now, after recording many, many of these idiotic challenges, that they want footage of the setup as well as the stunt itself. Weston crouches down, and I watch Niles climb onto his back, clambering up to his shoulders. There's some wobbling and giggling as they maneuver into position, Niles stands on Weston's hands, laid flat over his shoulders. Niles snorts whenWeston has trouble lifting him initially, but they manage to get balanced well enough. Weston counts off, then launches.
Niles hits the air in a full split, then tucks and twists, something that seems impossible without a springboard and a lot more height. There's a slight wobble midair, and I lunge forward instinctively. The phone falls to the mats, but I catch Niles under the arms, Weston catching his waist, just before he can hit the floor.
He's laughing as I set him down. "See? That wasn't so bad. We almost got it!"
"You're both idiots," I mutter, but I'm laughing too. Which means I don't stop them from trying it three more times before they successfully pull off the move. Weston catches Niles in a clean cradle each time, reminding me that he's the only one of the three of us to have any experience with cheerleading. He joined their high school squad in freshman year to get close to his now girlfriend, Aimee.
They move on to the next thing. It's one they've done numerous times but never fails to get laughs and views on their joint social media account. Weston doing pushups while Niles balances on his back in various moves like handstand splits. This time they even attempt to have Niles do a pushup with Weston sitting on his back and he can barely get through one. Considering how large Weston is, it shows just how much strength Niles has in his compact, lithe body that he can pull it off at all. Of course I can't say that. It's my job, as father of the best friend and failure of a chaperone, to heckle them.
"You didn't even bend your elbows," I call out from behind the camera.
"Rude!" Niles huffs. "That was a solid attempt. I'd like to see you do better!"
"Nah," Weston grins. "He's too old. Might break a hip or something."
"Watch it," I say. "I'm not old. I'm only thirty-seven."
"Thirty-eight," Weston coughs out.
“Not for another six months. And to think I gave you life.”
"Come on, then. Show us how it's done," Niles taunts.
I should say no. I should walk away and let them have their fun. Instead, I walk over and drop to the mat. Laughing so hard he makes my arms shake, Weston settles onto my back, sitting with his legs crossed.
"This brings back memories," he says, laughing, as I start.
I do ten slow, controlled pushups before Weston calls me a show-off and tells Niles to climb on too. Closing my eyes and shaking my head, I wait until they settle themselves, muttering curses when they wobble around because of all their laughing. I do a few more, working harder than I'll ever admit to keep any strain from showing
"Okay, okay," Weston relents.
"Ooh, Big Daddy showed you up!" Niles cracks.
"What the hell did you just call me?"
All the laughing and jostling makes me fall, and I collapse to the mats. Weston rolls off me, wheezing with laughter. Niles stays on me, and because I'm stupid, I decide now is a good time to really show off. Pushing back up into position, I pull one handup, automatically moving it towards the center of my back. Of course, all I succeed in doing is accidentally groping Niles. I pull away and almost fall again but manage to right myself and keep my hand at my side. It's all I can do to pretend this is normal. There's a camera still pointed at us, and I have no idea if it's still recording or if Weston is still close by. I settle into doing a few one-handed pushups while Niles moves around on my back. I think he must be doing a handstand or something, because his hands grip the sides of my back and his weight shifts.
"Dude, you're going to fall and my dad's head is going to end up in your ass," Weston laughs.
I almost choke, bringing my hand down to catch myself before I fall again. Niles' fingers dig into my back, gripping me to hold himself up when I jostle him. Turning my head, I see pointed toes a few inches in my periphery.What the…?
My body chooses now to have an especially inappropriate reaction, and I panic, causing Niles to lose his balance. He curses as my chest hits the mat, and Niles crashes down on top of me. Weston is howling with laughter while I'm trying to hide the discomfort of landing on my half-hard dick. Meanwhile, Niles is sprawled out over my back, knees on either side of me. My shirt has ridden up, which means there's skin to skin contact with the inside of Niles' bare thighs. The heat of every point of contact burns through me, and I make an embarrassingly audible sound that is somewhere between a choke and a gasp. It takes everything in me not to push him off and run away, because what the actual fuck is happening to me? I think the only reason I don't do exactly that is because of the worsening situation pressing into the mats.
Since everyone else is laughing, I pretend like I am too, and cover my head with my arms. I'm not fooling Niles though. Hebends forward, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine as he whispers against the back of my neck.
"That was so hot."
Fuck. I want to cry.
I'm alone in the living room with a photo album open in my lap and a bottle of beer abandoned on the coffee table beside me. The house is quiet. Weston didn't come home with me after practice tonight. He's spending the weekend with Aimee before we hit the road for the US Classics competition in Illinois. It's going to be a long trip, and they don't get a ton of time together when he’s training so hard, so I encouraged him to go. He was hovering earlier and I had to feign being sore to get out of mypredicament. I told him I needed a good night's rest, and thankfully, he didn't argue. A night alone might do me some good. I need to get my shit together. I thought maybe a little glimpse at the past might set me right.
I flip another page.
Old pictures of Weston and Niles spill across the glossy paper. Backyard birthday parties, afternoons spent in the pool, years of first day of school pictures. Each picture brings a vivid memory, like I could shut my eyes and go back to when the boys first met. They were inseparable from day one. Brianne had brought Niles to a tumbling class, hoping, as most parents do, to help work out some of that excess energy five-year-olds always seem to have in spades. They were fast friends, especially after figuring out that we were neighbors. They lived one street over, close enough that our backyards connect at one corner, a small wooded areaseparating the property lines where they crossed. When the boys were seven, I built them a treehouse that connected our yards. They still use it as a shortcut whenever they're too lazy to walk the street or don't want to bother with driving.
That was shortly after Niles' father walked out on them. His hair was longer back then, wild and unkempt most of the time. For his seventh birthday, Niles got the short haircut he'd been begging for, and finally started being recognized for the smart, tenacious little boy he was.
