The crowd for the lifting competition was large despite the cool, damp day. The big bay doors that Ollie assumed used to let trucks dock to load or unload when the building housing the gym and tattoo shop was still a warehouse were wide open, letting in a crisp breeze as well as spectators of all shapes and sizes.

Ollie had no idea that weightlifting as a sport was so popular, yet the proof was milling around the stage area set up on the side of the gym that was usually reserved for the thick mats used for ground fighting.

“Ollie!” A rich voice called, breaking through his thoughts and he turned to see Rory walking toward him. “How are ya, lad? Enjoying working in the shop?”

Ollie shook the hand that was extended to him. He hadn’t really talked much to Rory since that first week. “I’m good and yeah, everything and everyone has been great.”

“I know that look,” Rory remarked, squinting at him. “You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Ollie stared at him. Am I that transparent?

Rory slung an arm around his shoulders and led him closer to the stage area. “Take it from someone who was once an outsider. There’s no need for the worry.” Just as they reached the edge of the crowd, Rory’s face morphed from jovial to neutral in a heartbeat when a dark-haired man stepped into their path. “Hello, Magnus.”

“Rory,” the man replied. Ollie looked from the man at his side to the newcomer and did a double take. Take away about a foot of height and probably a hundred pounds and it could have been Dagen standing in front of them—a beardless version of Dagen anyway. Magnus was wearing the same neutral expression Rory now had plastered on his face. “Are you going to introduce me?”

Rory had gone tense beside him but cleared his throat and made the introductions. “Magnus, this is Oliver Vos. Ollie, Magnus Rourke.”

Ollie knew from tidbits of conversation that there was another Rourke out there somewhere and he was happy to meet him, but Magnus’s eyes on him, accessing him, with some strange combination of Vidar’s intensity and Dagen’s care was unnerving. It didn’t help that they looked identical to Dagen’s either. Magnus stepped forward and offered his hand, and Ollie swore he felt Rory tense even further, like he wanted to take a step back for every one Magnus took forward.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ollie said, as he shook Magnus’s hand and tried to ignore the tension building between the two men. Before Magnus could even reply, Rory did take a quick step back.

“I’m gonna go check on Dagen. See you later, Ollie.” He fled without a backward glance.

Ollie turned his eyes back to the man in front of him, but Magnus wasn’t looking at Ollie. He was watching Rory hurriedly walk away with an expression frozen between anger and regret before his eyes returned to Ollie’s.

“Sorry about that.” He turned so that he was standing at Ollie’s side, facing the stage, but didn’t elaborate further on whatever the hell had just happened. “So, how are you enjoying your time at the house of Rourke?”

Pulling his arms back in a stretch, Dagen paced in his little corner of the locker room. He could have stayed upstairs in the apartment to get ready, but he liked to have separation between the safety of home and the nerves that always accompanied a lift. It didn’t help that every time he was in the main room of the apartment, all he could remember were Ollie’s hands on him last night.

“Do you have saran wrap?”

“Um, yeah I think so? For what? We demolished that whole pan of pasta.”

“Not for leftovers, for your tattoo.”

Dagen hadn’t understood at first, but Ollie had taken the plastic wrap Dagen had dug out of a drawer in the kitchen then asked where Dagen wanted the tattoo and what he wanted a tattoo of. That was how he’d found himself with hands splayed and braced against the edge of the kitchen island with Ollie kneeling behind his spread legs.

The tattoo Dagen had decided on was a shield covering the back of his thigh and his still tender hamstring. Ollie hadn’t even batted an eye. He’d simply had Dagen assume position, rolled up the leg of Dagen’s basketball shorts, wrapped a layer of plastic wrap around his leg, and used a marker he’d gotten from his room to draw an outline of the shield as described right on the plastic molded to the contours of Dagen’s leg.

Dagen had been hard as steel less than twenty seconds in. Luckily, once Ollie had his drawing he had immediately wanted to trace it on paper giving Dagen a minute to collect and calm himself.

Rory stepped through the locker room door and made his way to where Dagen was pacing, interrupting Dagen’s memories. The tight expression on his face told Dagen that Magnus had arrived before Rory even opened his mouth.

“Your brother is here. I just left Ollie with him.”

A flare of panic lit up Dagen’s already nervous stomach. “You what?”

Shit. Dagen took a step toward the door. Magnus always had best intentions, but Dagen had basically revealed his whole hand on the phone the other day. Who knew what he’d say to Ollie?

Rory caught his arm, bringing him to a stop. “Stop your frettin’.” He lowered his voice and stepped closer so only Dagen would hear him. “Maggie may be a lot of things, but he won't tell Ollie more than he should. You know that.”

Dagen blew out a breath and nodded. He did know that. His competition nerves were clouding everything else in his head. This was his first time competing after his injury and he felt more nervous now than when he’d competed for the first time ever.

“Now,” Rory said, coming to stand directly in front of him and clasping both his shoulders. “Put him from your mind. All that matters is the lift. It’s time.”

The staging area that had been cleared for the lifts was divided into three different sections. One had a floor mat with an almost comically large dumbbell sitting in the middle of it, the second had a mat with a long weight bar with weight plates already attached to both ends, and the third had four giant round stones lined up in front of what looked like a shelf with slots for each stone.

The shelf would be at least chest high on Ollie and he thought surely there was no way the competitors were meant to pick up those stones and place them on the shelf.

The crowd around the area had grown and Magnus, who was still standing beside him, gripped his elbow and moved them so they were standing just at the edge of the staging area.

Vidar walked to the middle between the mats and stopped. The buzz of voices all around died almost instantly.

“Thank you all for coming out to support your local gyms and athletes,” Vidar began, projecting his voice enough for it to carry to the whole of the gym. “We’ve got five events lined up for the lift today. We’ll start inside with the circus dumbbell and deadlift before we move out into the drizzle for hand-over-hand, tire flip, and finish up back indoors with the atlas stones.”

“Did all that mean anything to you? He lost me after deadlift,” Ollie whispered to Magnus who laughed.

“How long have you been living with Dagen? I’m surprised all these strong man events aren’t already permanently etched into your brain.”

Ollie opened his mouth to respond but stopped when the locker room doors opened and a line of men walked out to cheers and applause from the audience. They came to a stop behind Vidar and Ollie’s eyes immediately sought Dagen out.

He stood tall—only one other man in the group was of a similar height—in a black Rourke MMA shirt and dark blue compression shorts. Each man looked like they belonged there. They were of varying heights and size, but they emanated strength, from their posture to the muscled breadth of shoulders and arms to the confidence showing on their faces.

“We’ve got a great line up today,” Vidar continued when the crowd quieted. “Eighteen competitors over three weight classes. The top three in each will qualify to compete at state level in July. Now, allow me to introduce…” Vidar called each competitor’s name and which gym they represented.

Ollie’s eyes moved down the line stopping when Vidar came to the end and said, “And I couldn’t be prouder of this one. Dagen Rourke, representing Rourke MMA.” He found himself clapping harder and a cheer erupted out of him when Dagen’s eyes connected with his. The side of Dagen’s mouth pulled up and he winked.

There was an electric buzz moving through the gym as Rory and several others in various colored shirts sporting their gyms logos moved around the staging area, lining up the competitors in competition order and readying equipment.

Ollie watched transfixed as the first man stepped up to the large dumbbell—circus dumbbell as Vidar had called it—and preceded to lift it over his head with one hand seven times. Each lift was counted by Vidar only after the lifter had brought the dumbbell all the way back down to the floor and then pushed it back up until his arm was at full extension. Finally, after the man was struggling to lift the weight an eighth rep the man timing the event called that time was up.

“Holy shit,” Ollie breathed as he clapped along with everyone else. It was damn impressive.

“Right?” Magnus said. “I can’t lift a hundred pounds over my head with both hands let alone one-hundred and fifty with only one.” Magnus turned his face enough to catch Ollie’s eye. “Just wait until it’s Dagen’s turn.”

Dagen was in the heaviest weight class, super-heavy it was called, and was the last competitor in the rotation. Ollie didn’t know if that was good or bad. Was it better to know what score you had to beat or merely intimidating? Dagen didn’t look intimidated when he stepped onto the mat and took position to lift the dumbbell. His face was set in a hard mask, raw determination etched into every line.

Ollie had never seen him look so serious. Or hot. He seemed a million miles away from the man Ollie often found in black framed reading glasses camped out on their couch with a fantasy novel or asking him about his day while he puttered around the kitchen making dinner.

Vidar took a step back to allow someone from one of the other gyms to score Dagen. While they were switching places, Dagen’s eyes tracked to Ollie’s and his breath caught at the sheer intensity in his gaze.

The man keeping time said, “Athlete, ready?” and Dagen broke their stare to nod at the man. At “Go” Dagen lifted the dumbbell as if it weighed nothing and pressed it fifteen times, blowing past every other participant. When the event staff member yelled, “Time” Dagen dropped the dumbbell to the mat amongst thundering applause and stalked across the open space of the staging area to where Magnus and Ollie stood.

“Good job, little brother!” Magnus said as soon as Dagen was close and offered his fist for a bump.

“Thanks.” Dagen’s chest was heaving as he turned to Ollie. Ollie stuck his fist out and Dagen smiled at him, bumping it the same way he’d done Magnus’s.

“I’m glad you didn’t make me do that in my training.”

Dagen dropped his head back and laughed. “Maybe I’ll throw it in your next rotation.

“You’re like, really strong, huh?” Ollie slurred from his place under Dagen’s arm as they stumbled their way up the steps to their apartment. Rory was somewhere behind them, he thought. After Dagen won his weight class and the overall competition despite his lackluster deadlift, they’d all decided to go out and celebrate.

Actually, Rory had decided and somehow, he and Ollie had been roped into going with him and then doing shots. So many shots. Personally, Dagen thought Rory just really needed to blow off some steam after having been in the same room as Magnus all day.

Pulling his keys from his pocket, Dagen struggled to get the key in the door while Ollie laughed, causing the phone’s flashlight Dagen had asked him to hold to bounce all over place blinding Dagen for a moment. “Hold it still!”

The shaking only got worse as Ollie giggled and nearly dropped the phone all together. “I never drink. Did I tell you that? Never. Nope. Look at your muscles. They’re so big. How’d you do that? Did you have to eat a cow?”

“Lots of cows.” Dagen was laughing now too, but finally got the door open. He took his phone back from Ollie and managed to get an arm around him just as he tripped over the threshold.

“Oh shit!” Ollie cackled, hanging face down and nearly horizontal in Dagen’s grasp.

The cool air had done a lot to sober Dagen up, but he outweighed Ollie by over two hundred pounds and Rory had been hell bent on drinking himself under the table so despite the amount he’d imbibed he wasn’t in nearly the shape they were. He looked over his shoulder to see Rory finally cresting the top of the stairs at a crawl. He felt sorry for the driver of the cab they’d just spilled out of.

“Can you make it?” he asked his friend, while giving up on Ollie regaining his feet and turning him around so that he could get one arm under his knees and the other around his back.

Ollie yelped when Dagen lifted him against his chest, but it quickly dissolved into more laughter. Rory chuckled too and grabbed the handrail to pull himself to his feet.

“Get that one ta bed.” His brogue was a thousand times more prominent when he was intoxicated. “I’ll be fine, lad.” He also only ever called Dagen “lad” when he’d had more than his share.

Dagen used his foot to hold the door while Rory stumbled through. After which, he immediately shuffled to the living room and collapsed on the couch. Dagen kicked the door shut and carried Ollie to his bedroom, he’d check on Rory after he got Ollie tucked in.

“Do you need the bathroom?” he asked after he sat Ollie on the bed and flipped on the bedside lamp. It bathed the room with a golden glow, only bright enough to see the bed and cast the corners into shadow.

“No,” Ollie murmured, as Dagen knelt to remove his shoes.

He’d already made Ollie drink one glass of water at the bar, but as soon as he had his shoes off he went to the fridge and got three bottles and the Tylenol from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He downed one bottle himself and put one on the coffee table with two pills for the already snoring Rory. He pulled the blanket from the back of the couch down over his friend and sighed before walking back into Ollie’s room and stopping short.

Ollie was sprawled back across the bed on top of the covers, but he’d stripped everything off save his boxers. His long limbs were half tangled in his discarded clothes and he was snoring softly.

Dagen swallowed and followed the line of arrow tattoos starting on Ollie’s right thigh all the way down his leg to the bullseye target tattooed on the top of his foot. He’d never seen a tat like that before and it was as stunning as it was different.

There were other little tattoos dotting his left leg, but as his eyes roamed, Ollie shifted, bringing the prominent bulge between his legs into Dagen’s line of sight and he ripped his eyes away, his face on fire.

He immediately set the bottle of water and pill bottle on the nightstand, then, while not looking directly at Ollie, maneuvered him enough that he could pull back the covers on one side and stretch them over him.

“Dagen?” Ollie’s voice was quiet and rough. He reached a hand to touch Dagen’s wrist. Dagen stilled and met his glossy eyes. Were those tears? “Why do you take care of me?”

Dagen’s heart clenched in his chest at the small voice that had replaced the laughter of only a few minutes ago. He sat down on the edge of the bed and used the hand Ollie was still touching to smooth an errant bit of hair back from Ollie’s forehead. “Because I care about you. And everyone needs someone to take care of them sometimes.”

Ollie nodded and burrowed further down under the covers. “I’m glad my someone is you.”