Frequencies of Us Chapter 52: Runs and a Rip

Mateo POV

It’s afternoon now, practice time, and I’m running laps on the track, my heart pounding loud in my ears. My sneakers slap dirt, quick and hard, and my hands clench, sweaty and tense, because I’m mad, mad at everything piling up. Jocks line the fence, jeering, “Fag’s slow!” and my face burns, hot and raw, because they’re loud, always loud, and I’m done, yeah, done with their crap. I push harder, my legs pumping fast, but my sneaker catches a rock, and I trip, hitting the ground hard, my chest heaving, air stuck.

I yell, “Shut it!” my voice cracking loud, and my hands shake, wild and fast, because it stings, deep down, hearing them laugh. My knees scrape dirt, burning bad, and my throat’s tight, words breaking out, because I want to swing, want to make them stop. My face burns hotter, sweat dripping down, and my gut twists, mad and lost, because it’s too much, crashing in fast. I stand up, legs trembling, and my heart slams, loud and wild, because I’m hurt, yeah, and they’re still yelling, pushing me down.

Caleb shows up, his sneakers scuffing close, and my gut sinks, heavy and fast, because he’s here, always here with more lies. He mutters, “Lena’s got my cash pics!” and my hands shake worse, mad and quick, because he’s still tied to her, still spilling. I shove him hard, my palms slamming his chest, yelling, “You’re trash!” my voice rough, stretched thin, because he’s a liar, selling us out, and my trust’s gone, ripped apart. My breath puffs, fast and angry, and my chest aches, raw and tight, because I’m betrayed, and it cuts deep.

He stumbles back, hands up, and my heart races, wild and loud, because I want to hit him again, want to yell more. The jocks keep jeering, voices sharp, and my gut flips, mad and tense, because it’s piling up, breaking me down. I step closer, my fists clenched, and my face burns, sweat stinging my eyes, because I need him to feel this, need him to know he’s nothing now. My legs shake, ready to swing, and my throat’s sore, breaking out, because I’m stretched, yeah, stretched too thin.

Then Noah jogs over, his sneakers soft in the dirt, and my chest flutters, warm and fast, because he’s here, always here. He wipes my sweat with his sleeve, soft and warm, saying, “You’re enough,” and my gut twists, steamy and alive, because his touch calms me, pulls me back. I grin, “With you,” my voice low, flirty and tight, and my breath mixes with his, hot and quick, because it’s him, yeah, easing my rage. My heart skips, wild and warm, and my hands grab his, rough and warm, because he’s mine, holding me up, making me steady.

We step off the track, my hand locked in his, and my legs wobble, restless and hot, because he’s close, so close, and my throat’s tight, needing him bad. My chest buzzes, steamy and real, and my breath puffs, loud and fast, because he’s looking at me, eyes soft, making me feel alive. I pull him behind the bleachers, my heart thumping wild, and my gut flips, flirty and raw, because I want him now, can’t wait. My hands grab his waist, fast and firm, pulling him against me, and my chest presses his, heartbeat slamming together.

I kiss him, hard and hungry, my lips crashing into his, and he kisses back, just as needy, his hands gripping my shoulders. My skin burns, every touch hot, and I push him against the bleacher wall, my body shaking as I grind into him, feeling him hard against me. My breath’s quick, warm on his lips, and I groan, low and deep, my gut clenching as he moans, soft and desperate, sending heat straight through me. My hands slide up his shirt, fingers digging in, warm and smooth, and he gasps, loud in my ear, making my heart jump, wild and fast.

My lips move to his neck, sucking hard, and he tilts his head, letting me in, his hands tugging my hair. I thrust slow, my hips rocking firm, and he pushes back, steamy and wild, matching me perfect. My mouth finds his again, wet and messy, and I taste him, sharp and sweet, my head spinning fast, lost in him, lost in us. My hands drop lower, grabbing his hips, pulling him closer, and I grind harder, feeling him tremble, hot and needy. His nails rake my back, sharp and real, and I groan louder, my body shaking bad, chasing the heat, chasing him.

We’re locked together, hips slamming hard, the bleachers rattling soft. His tongue slides with mine, deep and fast, and my gut’s on fire, building tight, ready to burst. My breath’s ragged, lost in his moans, and my heart slams, loud and wild, because it’s him, driving me crazy. I press harder, my hips thrusting deep, and he moans louder, pulling me in, making me ache for more, making me feel everything. My body shakes, heat pooling low, and I kiss him deeper, tongues tangled, because it’s us, real, and nothing else matters.

A whistle shrieks, sharp and loud, and my heart jumps, slamming hard in my chest. I pull back, my breath heaving, my face burning red, and Noah’s eyes snap to mine, dark and wild, lips wet from me. It’s Coach, calling practice, and Caleb drops to his knees, muttering, “Ortiz knows,” his voice shaky, scared. My gut twists, tense and fast, because he’s spilling more, and my chest locks, air gone, because it’s big, bigger than us now. Sofia’s text pings, “Gear’s fake,” and my hands stay tight with Noah’s, warm and rough, because it’s us, still us, even with this.

My head spins, mad and confused, and my heart thumps, loud and wild, because Caleb’s words hit hard, Ortiz is on us, and the gear’s a lie. Noah squeezes my hand, his breath fast, and my gut flips, flirty and raw, because he’s here, fighting with me. My phone buzzes again, soft in my pocket, and my hands shake, pulling it out quick, my chest fluttering, steamy and alive. It’s Sofia, short and loud: “He’s at the shed.” My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and I look at Noah, close and sweaty, his eyes wide, needing to know.

I glance past the bleachers, my eyes squinting into the dusk, and my gut twists, hot and fast, because dirt swirls, Coach’s whistle fading close. My face burns hotter, and my hands shake, gripping Noah tight, because it’s big, pulling us deeper, and my throat’s tight, words stuck, needing him to stay, needing us to chase this. A soft thud hits the ground, close and real, and my heart jumps, loud and fast. A track spike rolls by my sneaker, scratched and loose, kicked up from the dirt, and my chest flutters, steamy and wild, leaving me waiting, tense and shaky, with Noah’s breath warm on my cheek.