Endless Bonds Copyright © 2016-2017 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

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hen I moved back from Paris, not all of my credits got transferred.

That's the thing that sucks about coming home – I need to retake a couple of classes that I've already taken in France.

Modern History is a drag on its own with a great teacher. With Bentley Murray, it's coma-inducing and torturously long. The class is a solid four-hour block. We haven't even been in for two hours. My ass is numb and my bare legs are freezing from the lack of warmth in the auditorium.

The guy beside me stirs before leaning closer. "Hey – do you think I can take a look at your notes quickly? I forgot my glasses and can't see the power point slide from this distance."

I'm a little surprised by his husky voice, so close to my ear. I crane my neck to shoot him a glance, and stop in my tracks.

Oh, hellooo.

He's giving me a crooked grin, that's so cute it's causing a dimple to dent his cheek. He's got brown eyes and brown hair that's so dark it almost looks black. All in all, he looks sweet.

I hand him my copy gingerly.

He takes it and our hands skim. He lowers his eyes and breaks off the touch with a gentlemanly, "Thank you."

He finishes taking down the last paragraph and hands my copy back to me while I try to listen to Dr. Murray and not fall asleep. "Thanks again," he smiles another infectious smile and inches his hand towards mine. "I'm Gabe."

I shake it, smiling back with equal fervour. "Cher. Is that short for Gabriel...or?"

"Gabe. Just Gabe."

I narrow my eyes a little as I peruse him from top to bottom. "I've seen you before. Is this your first semester?"

"God, no." He shakes his head, then coughs a little in his fist. Pink tinges his cheeks. "Actually, ahh, we have, um, Sports and Nutrition together. Section C with Alison Walker."

I don't know why I find that cute, him blushing. "No wonder. I thought you looked familiar. What are you studying?"

At this point, I'm thinking, fuck the lecture. This isn't something new to me. Plus, this guy's cuter and he blushes. I'd rather spend the next two plus hours talking to him.

We're sitting in the back of the room, but still hushing when we talk so no one gets disturbed by our conversation.

"I'm studying Exercise Science. It's my third year. I just needed a few electives and heard this was an easy one. What about you?"

I look back to the front, where our professor has changed slides. Quickly jotting down a couple of words, I answer him, "I'm doing a double major. French and History. Just transferred here from Paris."

He looks taken aback for a second, blinking a couple of times in the dimly lit auditorium, as if seeing me for the first time. "You don't seem to have an accent..."

I grin. "I'm Canadian. Born and raised here. Just went to study abroad for a bit."

We converse until the end of the class, halfway paying attention to the material discussed. I find myself laughing a lot more than I think possible. I learn a lot about Gabe Hart in a short span of time. He's born in America. His family is originally from Vermont before they located to Canada to be closer to his mom's side of the family about fifteen years ago. As far as he's aware, he's got some Greek and English roots. He turned twenty one about a month ago and his favorite colour is grey. If he weren't in University, he'd have enrolled in the Army to follow his grandfather's steps. The cherry on top of the cake? Gabe isn't a douche kind of guy. He's a little bit on the shy side and has a very polite and gentlemanly vibe to him – almost as if he lacks some type of confidence, which is crazy, because there's something extremely appealing and hot about this guy that I can't decipher.

Class ends and we start packing up our things. At this point, we've already exchanged numbers. We're going to start having weekly study dates for Modern History.

"Have you started thinking about your paper?"

"For Sports and Nutrition?" He nods. "I'm honestly really confused. I don't know what direction I'm headed in. You?"

Gabe slings his schoolbag over his shoulder and the motion causes his grey hoodie to ride up, revealing an expanse of those taut stomach muscles. "My thesis is going to revolve around proper nutrition and a balanced diet amongst either university athletes or university students. I'm a personal trainer, and a couple of the guys from the soccer and football team workout with me in our on-campus gym. So that's a bonus, I guess."

"No way! A personal trainer? That's really impressive," I say, a little surprised. Gabe's wearing a loose hoodie, but his jeans and arms hint at the roped muscles he must keep hidden beneath all that fabric. Taking a better look, this guy actually does look ripped. "But I love your idea. I wish I'd thought that."

He laughs sweetly as he leads us outside the auditorium. There's a crowd ahead of us so we patiently follow the horde. "There's plenty you can do. Talk about different sports and practices and the impacts it has on one's body. Concussion is a popular topic to work with as well. Talk about malnutrition in a sport environment and it's consequences. You've got a lot to work with. You just need to sit down and brainstorm properly. I can help you out tomorrow if you're still down to meet up and study."

"Definitely," I tell him. "I was, um, actually thinking of drugs and substance abuse within university athletes and its consequences."

Now Gabe looks impressed. "That's actually a good one. I wish I'd thought of that."

"One of my friends-" Trent "-he actually plays football for the university. I'd thought I'd ask him for help. I'm not sure if I want to use the questionnaire method and gather quantitative data from multiple athletes, or steer towards a more one-on-one approach like an interview. I feel like qualitative data might give me more to work with in this case."

Gabe nods thoughtfully. "Yeah. Yeah, actually that's really good. I prefer the latter." He whistles through his teeth. "Just be careful when you prepare your consent sheet. Drugs and alcohol is a sensitive subject for most players. Nobody wants their dirty laundry out. Especially since they aren't allowed to consume any of that shit during on-season. You might want to be careful with the confidentiality part."

"I'll look into it and work out the kinks. I'll text you tomorrow and keep you updated." I glance up at him when we finally make it outside. "My friends are waiting for me, so I should probably go now but...It was nice meeting you, Gabe."

Gabe gives me another polite smile and shakes his head. "Yeah, let me know how your report goes and if you need help. I'll see you around, Cher."

* * *

I have a lunch date with Jared and Tara and Trent.

We're supposed to go to a nice dinner for lunch since today is the only day where we all end at similar times.

I step out of the east building and into the sidewalk.

Tara and Jared are sitting out in the courtyard, soaking up the sun on a checkered red and white blanket. Tara obviously cracked a joke, because Jared sits on the ground, his head thrown back, guffawing with everything he's got. She's got a cheeky smile as she gestures animatedly with her hands.

My steps slowdown for two seconds and I just stare at them, remembering a time not too long ago when we were all kids and our parents would force us on picnics trips. I used to look forward to those every summer. All the kids, sitting around in a circle on a blanket, either playing cards or Duck Duck Goose. None of us were ever allowed to leave the perimeters of that blanket. If we did, we got punished. Our parents claimed we were all too chaotic together. Me. Tara. Nat. Teagan. Oliver. Jared. Trent...Quentin. I agreed. Simply a nightmare.

The now-distant memory causes a smile to tip my lips.

The moment escapes me, but the nostalgia lingers not too far behind. Things have changed so much. We're no longer five and six year old kids. We're adults now and half of us are missing, either gone too far from reach and never to come back, or living too far away.

Tara's beans when she spots me approaching. She stops toying with the hemline of her yellow sundress to wave me over. "Fvcking finally! Was wondering when you'd show up."

Jared pushes his Ray Bans over his buzzed hair, and warmth enters his eyes. "Hey, Cher."

I plop down on the blanket and twist my body away so my sandals don't graze the clean surface of the material. "Hey, sorry for being late. I got caught up. Made a friend."

"Male or female?" Tara asks, without an ounce of shame.

Jared snort as he scrapes a hand over his stubble peppered jaw. "What difference does it make?"

"If it's a guy, I need to know if he's hot or not. If it's a female, you need to know if she's hot or not. Last I heard from Trent, you're horny as fvck and haven't gotten laid in months. Therefore it makes perfect sense for us to know if it's a female or male," Tara breathes. "For the sake of humanity, please, tell us Cher. Or, for the sake of mine and Jared's sex life at the very least."

"Male," I answer much to Jared's displeasure and Tara's delight. I stare pointedly at the former. "Plus, you're dating Sara, you shouldn't be horny."

"Oh, my God. That's true!"

Jared shifts under my scrutiny. "It's only been a couple of dates...Plus, I haven't slept with her. Its...It's not like that with her. She's a good girl."

"Honestly, Jared, you're either a fvcking moron or blind," Tara flops back against the blanket. "I've seen the girl, she's hot and beautiful. She's got it going on. I seriously envy her Caribbean booty."

Jared glares at her. "I'm not an asshole, Tara. I didn't take her out to fvck her. I have some morals."

She mock-gasps and puts a hand to her chest. "Oh, my! You're serious? Sorry, my bad. It's just after Natalie, you haven't really dated around. You're kind of just a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am kind of guy."

At the mention of his ex and our best friend, Jared's face pales and hardens. His jaw rocks from side-to-side as he looks away. Tara is pushing him. She's trying to get him to talk.

It works.

"How is she?" Jared finally asks. "Has anyone spoken to her?"

Yes, we have. Unlike you, who probably hasn't exchanged one word with her in two years.

Tara fumes. "Oh, yes, I have. She's doing so much better without-"

"She's happy," I interject and direct my gaze towards Jared. He looking at me and ignoring Tara. "I spoke to her before I landed. Said she's doing good. She's happy. Between work and playing the violin, she doesn't have much time for anything."

Tara's expression softens as Jared ducks his chin and glances down. The worry lines etched deeply into his face entail a hint of sadness that wasn't there a moment ago. "As long as she's happy, that's all that matters."

"Do you ...miss her, Jared?"

Jared clears his throat, but his next words are a harsh grate anyways, as he stares far into the distance. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, it's like I can see her right in front of me. She never really left."

My heart breaks a little for him.

Tara puts a hand on his forearm. "Who's fault do you think that is?"

"Mine," he laughs bitterly. "Mine entirely. But we were different people then and it made sense to end it."

"Now?" I prod, holding my breath.

"Now it doesn't matter," he shrugs. "I fvcked up back then, but it doesn't matter. We're different people with different priorities. Nat's changed and so have I. We want different things out of life. Her world...it's in New York City. My world's here."

"This sucks," Tara echoes flatly.

I kick her foot, telling her she's shameless with my glare. "Thanks for being honest, Jared." I guess he was right. Their relationship was great in the beginning, then it all spiralled down because of various circumstances and events that just pushed them away. "For the record, I'm sure she misses you, too, sometimes. Your friendship, you know?"

Jared nods, but I can see his throat working with emotions, as he focuses on the grass beneath the blanket, running his palm over the pricks. "Our friendship was special. I wish her nothing but the best. It's what she deserves – she deserves all that I couldn't give to her."

The mood morphs into something lingering with sadness, and Tara aches to wreck it. So she does, by opening her mouth and trying to diffuse the situation with a bomb. "Between us three, does it ever get awkward sometimes when you're around, Trent. Lowkey we all know you've kissed and been with Natalie. Do you like ever see Trent and wonder, holy shxt, that's my best mate. And, holy shxt, I slept with his sister-"

Said best mate – Trent – is approaching our makeshift picnic. I see him on time. He emerges from the west wing, stepping out of the glass corridor and into the courtyard.

"Tara, shut up," I hiss.

She doesn't get it and continues rambling about Jared and Natalie doing the nasty in Jared's bed.

Oh, God. Trent's getting closer. I have no doubt that if he hears about his best friend fvcking his little sister, he'll introduce his fist to Jared's face. Again. He obviously already knows. Everyone knows about Jared and Natalie's failed relationship. But I doubt he needs to hear a reminder of how intimate they used to be.

"Tara!" I spit through clenched teeth, my gaze darting between the two and a furious looking Trent. "Trent's on his way here, shut the fvck up before he hears!"

Trent stops in his track. He's still far away, but I can read the expression on his face that's akin to horror. I don't understand it. I'm too busy checking him out.

God, he's always been attractive. The worst quality that the bastard probably possesses is knowing he's got good genes. Trent's mom is a true half-English-half-Bulgarian beauty, and his father's good looks, hinting at a mixed Brazilian heritage, always got him easily branded as a DILF. Trent used to get to disgusted when Tara and I would tease him with that comment.

In broad daylight, however, Trent is on a whole new level. He tilts me off my axis and I feel a little bit breathless staring at him.

He's forever wearing that dark grey knitted beanie that's hiding all that shaggy dark brown hair. It suits him, even though all throughout high school he's always worn his hair on the short-cropped side. His t-shirt hugs him deliciously in all the right place, highlighting all the nooks and crannies of that tough and strong body. He's lean and muscular, but not in a body builder kind of way. His figure's been earned through years and years of practice and playing football. The broadness and thickness to his arms and shoulders is endearing, leading to a well-muscled torso and a properly tapered waist. It's hot. Unfortunately, he's always been hot. His ripped jeans and scuffed white sneakers hint at his touch of rebelliousness. He was never like that before. In high school, Trent was never unkempt and always took care of his looks and attire.

I liked this careless side to him more.

Especially as he stood a few feet away. His denim clad legs parted and rooted to the spot. Mouth agape with all that scruff slapped across his jaw. His blue eyes dancing with anger as they regarded something over our heads.

He's not staring at us, I think. That's weird.

I glance over my shoulder to follow his line of vision.

And see Rose standing by the large oak tree, clutching her books and talking flirtatiously with some random guy.

Tara and Jared notice at the same time. She merely narrows her eyes. Jared cusses softly.

Didn't Rose leave for...Australia?

The look of heartbreak on Trent's face is inevitable.

* * *

Lunch is tense and awkward.

I push around my tortellini with my fork, barely eating. Tara's playing with her fries, too. She's got a pissed look on her face. Jared's seems to be the only one who's hungry. He's finished his steak and mashed potatoes and is now twirling both of his thumbs like an idiot.

"So," Jared trails off when no one says a thing.

Trent's hands are clasped and resting under his chin as he balances his elbows on the table top. He's looking outside at the window on his left. He's quite. It's a little unsettling.

Tara sighs and a look passes between her and Jared. Then her eyes flicker between me and Trent. Her shoulders flare as a decision is made. "I have to go to the washroom. Jared, do you mind getting out so I can slip out?"

Jared scoots down the booth and gets out for Tara. "On second thought, I need to piss, too."

They both scurry off somewhere to the back of the restaurant.

I touch Trent's forearm. "Are you okay?"

Of course, he's not okay. He just saw his ex-girlfriend, who broke up with him because she was supposedly leaving the country. She's still here and still messing with his head. Obviously, he's not okay.

Trent's head turns my way and I'm surprised by the intense hurt look swimming in his depth. A muscle in his jaw jumps. "No," he croaks. "I'm not okay."

I don't know what to say. So we just gaze at one another.

"It's going to be okay," I whisper. "She doesn't matter anymore."

His lashes lower and he breathes heavily through his nose. "She really fucking hurt me."

I can tell that admission took a lot out of him. He seems embarrassed ater letting it out. I touch his arm again. "She can't hurt you now. Only if you let her."

He stares at me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah?"

"Give me some of your pasta."

I look at him. "You're funny. Eat your burger. You haven't touched it yet."

"I want your pasta," he grins mischievously, trying to flip the mood around. He's making an effort and that's all that matters. "Yours looks better than mine."

"You're such a child," I mutter, stabbing a few bits of my pasta with my fork. I hold it out to here. "Here."

He doesn't take it. No. Trent leans forward and wraps his mouth around my fork, keeping his eyes on me, before pulling away and thoughtfully chewing. His masculine throat works with a swallow. He makes a satisfied sound from deep within.

My throat runs dry and I'm too speechless to say anything. "G-Great, now I have fvcking cooties on my fork." I'm trying to make a joke out of this but it's not working.

He licks his lips. "Does that bother you?"

I'm too busy staring at his wet mouth to say anything.

He smirks crookedly. "Didn't think so."

"Um, I, er-"

"What are you doing tonight?" Has his voice always been that husky?

"N-Nothing," I squeak out.

"I want to see you tonight. Want to take you somewhere."

For a second, I'm breathless at the way he stares at me. "What do you have in mind?" Why is my voice so breathy?

"Something good, sweetheart. Trust me."

"Yeah?"