Commitment Collection, page 30
part #1 of Commitment Series
He’s avoided all the press attention, and while this is unprecedented, so is the situation so none of the other drivers have complained.
His start was also perfection. He nailed it into the first corner and everyone else was left in his wake. The first pit stop is a dream and I’m left thinking that he really could do this. He could pull it back like the professional he is.
Until Brad takes a bend too wide and bounces off a rumble strip onto the grass at the side. This forces his car to rocket forward at breakneck speed across the race track, narrowly avoiding the guy behind him. The rear axle crunches against the barrier at an angle before spitting him back. redepositing him into the same barrier front on.
There's a pause in the garage where everything is silent. It must only be a fraction of a second, but it lasts a lifetime. The front wheel hangs on a thread amidst the carnage of crushed metal. Brad's head doesn't move, nor does he speak into the radio.
And then he speaks. "I'm OK." His voice is shaky, but it doesn't matter. The car can be fixed as long as Brad is well.
His car is straddled across the center of the circuit so the safety car is deployed to stop racing while the marshals clear away the debris. To protect the drivers from harm, everyone has to drive around in convoy at a restricted speed. As no one is allowed to overtake during this period, anyone who hasn't yet taken a pit stop uses the opportunity to change their tires without losing too much of their track position.
Elliott had only been in one lap before, so he's left trundling round, weaving from one side to the other to keep his tires warm during the slow pace. His lead is eaten away as the cars behind him bunch up.
His main competitor, however, is not so strategically unfortunate and stops to change his tires while the race ambles around the track in formation. As he pulls back to rejoin the race he and Elliott are nose to nose. They face off, leveling with each other. Elliott is restricted by the speed limit of the safety car because he's on the race track so he can't speed up to protect his lead. His speed has a limit which he must maintain or be disqualified, but the pit lane runs on a different, faster limit. Elliott is about to lose the championship as his competition uses this rule to push ahead. El is left watching the title which was just within his grasp be snatched away from him in a cruel twist of fate.
The atmosphere in the pits is tense, and it’s not made any better by me slamming my fist against the side wall in frustration. He did everything he possibly could and his year has been thrown away by a technical glitch.
I want to scream, “You need to do something, get him back out in the lead.” But I don’t. I stand and seethe at the rear of the pits watching the crazy situation before me play out as the team strives to find a means to retrieve his win.
It doesn’t happen and when he crosses that line in second position, I could cry. I slam out the back away from the cameras and prop my foot against the wall. If I smoked this would be the perfect time for a cigarette. But I don’t. So I distract myself from the frustration by observing the other less fortunate teams who are already breaking down their pits. The now familiar hubbub is no comfort. Elliott deserved that win after everything that has gone on this season and this weekend.
The music from the podiums wafts over. My initial instinct is to ignore it. I don't want to witness his desperate humiliation at failing through no fault of his own. But, I don’t have any choice.
I must celebrate his wins and his losses alongside him. And so I force myself to march over there. My steps are heavy and my legs ache with spent adrenaline. There’s a massive uproar from the crowd in the distance and I feel sick that fans are celebrating the winner in such an overt fashion.
It’s only when I draw closer that I note the color of the outfit standing on the top podium step. I see that before I can make out Elliott’s figure.
Without even noticing, my exhausted legs have found energy and are moving faster beneath me, breaking into a jog and then a full blown run.
It’s Elliott.
He’s on the top spot.
What happened? He won?
I push to the front of the crowd and break into the area where the rest of our team are whooping and cheering and raising their fists in the air.
“What's going on?” I ask Ryan.
“We turned it around is what happened.” His grin is enormous, filling the entirety of his face, lighting his eyes and creasing his cheeks.
“How?”
“On a technicality. Elliott maintained his line on the circuit and his speed, so he raced within the rules. However, that chump,” he points to the guy now accepting the second place trophy, “crossed the line separating the race track from the pits. So he was traveling at pit lane speed while on the main track effectively speeding behind the safety car. He had to hand the win back to Elliott.”
My arms fly into the air and I roar along with the rest of the crowd. It’s only when Elliott searches me out during the playing of his anthem that I start to cry. He smiles, nods his head in a way that only I will notice and his eyes fill too.
‘You did it my love. You are the number one.’
Jump Start
Commitment 3
Elliott
“This time tomorrow, this will be your home,” I whisper into Kyle’s hair as he snuggles against me on the sofa.
“This is already my home because it’s where my heart is. Nothing will change tomorrow just because I’ve moved my belongings in.” He looks up at me and his lips brush my neck, creep up to my Adam’s apple, and continue to lick upwards. It’s not the slimy, possessive caress that leaves a slick path, but the merest touch with the tip of his tongue combined with hot breath alerting my every sense that in just a few moments, our lips will meet.
“We’ll be able to have sex whenever we want.” His voice is husky now and as he shifts to sit on my lap, the hardness in his pants brushing up against my leg. “We won’t have to rush, or perform on demand because it’s the only night we have together.” His words breathe across my lips and I part them in readiness for his mouth.
As our mouths meet I murmur, “I can’t wait for this house to become our home rather than a place I stay.”
My head swims as he presses against me, his tongue claiming my mouth in the most tender kiss we’ve ever shared. His tongue wraps around mine, a gentle declaration of his territory. My jaw relaxes, allowing him to take what is his as my hands slide up his back, enjoying the way his hips shift when I touch him. He still tastes of the curry we just ate. Our final meal where he has to leave afterwards, this time to close up his apartment. This kiss bids a welcome goodbye to life as we’ve known it, drawing a line in the sand.
His shoulders are broad and I run my fingertips over their expanse, slipping down his sides before meeting again on his waistband. His jeans gape at the back where he’s sitting on me, legs spread wide and hips jutting forward. My hands drop, enjoying the tautness of the thick material pulled over his toned butt.
I squeeze and buck up into him, letting out a sigh of gratitude as I pull him down, firm against my other, very obvious sign of appreciation.
He slips against me, riding me through our clothes, the burn creating an unnecessary heat which only adds further to my enjoyment.
“I can’t believe you’re mine. You’re so fucking hot.” His words strike like a fire bolt direct into my heart, ripping the air from my lungs. My cock reacts to its own jolt of lightning.
“I’ve been yours since the day we met. I’ve never wanted anyone else since that first time I laid eyes on you.”
Our mouths meet again, but the tenderness has gone. Our lips are hard, aggressive even as we possess the other, giving the other a piece of our hearts. My hands grapple on his back, roughing his t-shirt around those broad shoulders and forcing our eager mouths to break contact long enough to slip it over his head.
The finely sculpted muscles of his chest are exposed, generous and toned, his small nipples tightening as I run my palm across his warm skin, wanting, needing to feel every part of him with an urgency which drives us both to start ripping at the others’ clothes.
Kyle
I can’t believe this time tomorrow we’ll be living together. Elliott is turning his perfect mansion into our home. This is where I’ll return to every day after work. This is where my mom will come to stay at Christmas.
Elliott’s generosity is given without any reservations and my heart swells. He has so much and yet he acts as though it’s nothing. My firm kiss burrows into his mouth, needing him to understand my appreciation. To feel that he’s not making a mistake with me, that I’ll respect and care for him and never take advantage of his generous spirit.
Straddling him naked on our sofa, I’m in the process of coating his cock with lube, rubbing myself against him as I clasp both our throbbing shafts in one of my muscular palms. His thick neck snaps back as his eyes hover between open and closed, his mouth emitting a gasp.
“How could I not want to live with you when you treat me like this?”
His words send shivers to the extremity of my every nerve and skyrocket them back again sending stars to my head, my thumping heart, and my pulsing cock. His warm palm covers mine, slowing my movements against him, slipping my hand aside until it rests only on his as he wraps his delicate fingers round the base of my thick member. His contact is electric. It always is. There’s never a time his touch doesn’t elicit a thunderous charge in me, but today, he’s full of enhanced intensity.
Sex pulses from his grip, an energy between us that vibrates into my cock and down to my balls. The heat from his fingers as they restrain my dick sends my blood pounding. Slowly, he slides them up, wrapping my foreskin over my swollen head and lightly twisting. I do the same to him, mirroring his actions, hoping I’m also able to convey the depth of my emotion in the small movements.
Our eyes lock in a heady gaze.
Our fingers release at the top.
Our palms reconnect with soft skin.
And we slide back down, feeling every bulbous vein flooding our cocks with blood as we work the other into a frenzy of love, desire, and lust.
“Come with me,” I whisper.
Elliott nods, past words, panting, biting his bottom lip, and struggling now to maintain eye contact.
There it goes again, that warm rush of yearning spreading up from my groin, drowning all other emotions, blocking out chores and reality and overtaking the moment.
He sees it. A spark of recognition melts the ice of concentration in his blue eyes.
“I’m going to come.” He squeezes his eyes shut and stops moving as he tries to halt the surge that’s already causing his hips to buck.
The honesty of the gesture pushes me over the edge and I join him, releasing my hold on him, smashing our thrumming cocks together again, allowing them to ride against until the primal need raptures.
My head spins. My eyes see stars and I lose control my body taking its own course, sprinting out of control towards waves of satisfaction.
Elliottt
I wave Kyle off at the door and pad back into my house. It feels so empty without him. Maybe it’s because this is the last night we won’t officially be living together, but it’s cold and I shiver. Wrapping my arms around myself, I huddle back inside and push the unsettling emptiness aside, preferring to run upstairs and begin my side of the chores.
I must make space for him to move in.
Now, where to start? I haven’t given the process much thought, but without thinking, I automatically pad to the bedroom.
It didn’t seem like a big job when we discussed it. But now, well. I don’t know where to start. I’m staring at the color coordinated racks filled with the huge array of items. And I need these. I turn up to a million and one different social engagements, and I need the clothing to fit in. It’s all part of living under public scrutiny. I realize creating space isn’t going to be a simple de-cluttering exercise that can be done in a few hours.
I look around, wondering where to start. I try to fathom the most sensible option and then when I can’t settle on one, move to the spare room next door. Hovering in the doorway I think this could be the solution. If I make this a dressing room for Kyle, he’ll have his own space.
Perfect.
I open the closet nearest the entrance and brush my palms down my sweats, ready to start.
The first to move is my ski gear. I drag it out of the wardrobe, hang it over my arm and lug it into the third bedroom. I don’t need to find a home for it right now; laying it on the bed will be fine.
Music will be a great addition to my efforts, so I pull my phone out of my pocket and connect it to the speakers that run throughout the stone walls. The vibes of my house music playlist rings out and my mood is instantly lifted. This isn’t a job. It’s a step forward. I’m rearranging all of this junk so the man I love can turn this brick and mortar dwelling into a home.
Jogging back for round two with a renewed vigor, I pull a box from its base. Opening it, expecting to find old shoes that can be sold for charity, I’m stabbed through the center of my heart.
Noah.
Our smiling eleven-year-old faces beam up at me from the faded glossy paper. I’m holding a trophy in one hand; my other arm is wrapped over his shoulder.
“What happened to you?” I crumple against the bed, running my thumb over the innocence of our smiles. “Why did you hate me so much?”
Pain I’ve not allowed myself to touch until now rips through my ribcage, splitting it down the center and exposing my heart. My eyes well, fat tears threatening to overflow and ruin the excitement of this moment.
“Why are you still intent on hurting me, Noah?”
I’m about to rip the photo up and toss it I don’t know where, but something stops me. A knowledge that if I throw this piece of my life away, I’ll be disposing with it a huge part of my history and of who I am.
I lay the thick paper back in the box, ignoring the picture below of my mom when she was too young to know how our poor lives would change because of her devotion to me and my happiness. Instead, I plant the lid firmly back on top and deposit it in the bottom of the wardrobe in room number three.
Maybe one day I’ll be ready to look through these again, but that time isn’t now.
It’s pointless cleaning this up until I see what Kyle has to bring with him. We can do it together when we know what space needs to be cleared. I’ll start on the bathroom cupboards instead. Must hide that acne cream.
Kyle
This house never felt like home, anyway. It was only temporary until I got myself sorted when I split with Madeline so I shouldn’t feel sad, but I do.
Something about bringing in boxes and depositing a bunch of functional home making equipment within them means the temperature of an apartment grows cold. I’m moving about, shifting things from one place to another, cleaning inside kitchen cupboards ready for tomorrow morning’s handover with the rental agent. I should be warm. But I’m frozen to my core.
This was the place that I argued with my dad, one of our last conversations and certainly our last argument.
This is where I was living when I opened the contract for my new position which would eventually lead to meeting Elliott. I’ll be leaving a part of my history within these grubby walls. I know moving doesn’t mean you abandon the memories, but I’m still taken aback by how sentimental I feel about a place I never really liked that much. I guess it’s like splitting up with a girlfriend you don’t like. You’re still sad it didn’t work out, but you never had expectations in the first place.
Humans are complicated. It baffles me how we can make sense of others when we very often can’t make sense of ourselves.
The packing is pretty much done with only a few bits and pieces to do. I have time to head up onto the roof. There’s a few minutes to see that one last time before I move my life forward.
Grabbing a few beers from the fridge, I run up to the roof and hold my hands out to the side as I breathe in the freedom of detachment from the beauty of life below. Knocking the cap of the bottle on the ledge of the wall, I suck down on the neck and enjoy the bite of the cold liquid as it bounces off my taste buds.
“You’re Kyle Beaumont aren’t you?”
A sharp jolt sizzles in my chest at the realization I’m not alone. I turn toward the female voice. “Who’s asking?”
“You are. I recognize you from TV.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, Elliott Judd’s boyfriend.” The short blonde nods, takes the other beer from my hand and twists the cap loose without speaking and I’m so shocked I let her.
“Like I said, who’s asking?” I grunt, watching as she glugs the drink down.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, “I’m Jodie. I live downstairs.”
“And how do you know who I am then?”
“You’re in the papers a lot. Don’t you read them?”
I don’t. I’ve never been bothered, and it’s a habit that hasn’t been difficult to pick up from Elliott. “You’re better not knowing what poisonous things the press say about you,” he said. I didn’t need any further convincing so I’ve tried to avoid them ever since. Instead of furnishing her with this insight into my private life, I shake my head.
“You’re quite the celebrity now. The one who snagged the play boy racing driver.”
And then it occurs to me that no matter how things work out between Elliott and me, life will never be the same. This grimy little temporary apartment is also the place where I’ll leave my anonymity.
