Eastshore Tigers 01 - Strong Side (18 page)

I don’t hear the door open until it’s too late.

“Whoa, guess you guys are… busy,” I hear Mills say.

Shit. Did Jason forget to close the door all the way when he came in?

Fuck
. We have way bigger problems than that. I pull away from Jason and my face is flushed as I meet Mills’ gaze. He looks away from me immediately, and starts toward the door again, mumbling an apology.

There’s no way to explain this one. Mills saw us going at it, and now it’s only a matter of time before the whole team knows.

“Uh, Hawk, hit me up when you’re not… busy, okay?”

“Mills, wait.” I stop him before he can leave, and close the door all the way so nobody else can drop in on us.

“It’s cool, man.” Jesus, if I hear that phrase one more time today… “I’m cool with it. None of my business what you guys do anyway.”

“That’ll teach you to knock next time,” Jason says, and his tone is weirdly… teasing.

Mills gives a nervous laugh. “No shit.”

“Hey, you mind keeping this between us for now?”

Mills starts to respond, and I can tell he’s going to agree no problem before Jason speaks up.

“Why? I don’t care if the guys know. Most of them won’t give a shit, and anybody who does can fuck off.”

A part of me is really glad for Jason’s attitude toward all of this. It’s nice to be with a guy who isn’t a complete closet case and doesn’t want to chance being seen together in the presence of strangers, let alone friends or classmates.

But another part of me—a part of me I hate—is freaking out.

Football players aren’t always the most open-minded guys. I know that from experience. When my last team found out about me…

“I’d just rather wait.”

Jason stares at me; through me. “Wait for what?”

“I gotta finish getting my shit together, so… Later.” Mills practically leaves a cloud of dust behind, and I don’t really blame him.

That’s about what I want to do with this conversation, too.

“Wait for what?” Jason asks again.

“Until…”
Until I know if this is for real.
“Until the season’s over. Less chance for drama then.”

“What about my dad? Can he know? Or your parents? Have you told
anybody
about us?”

I don’t like the way he’s looking at me right now. Like I just went back on what I told him. Like I’m kicking him to the curb and he can’t trust anything that comes out of my mouth anymore.

I also don’t like my answer, because while a part of me wants to tell the world, what actually comes out is: “Not yet, but I…”

The words come out. Jason waits, and I can tell he’s getting frustrated, but I just can’t do it.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he says, taking a step closer to me.

I want to tell him. I want to just come out with it right now and put all this behind us. But the rational part of me is chained down. Held back by the ugliness inside; the fear I just can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I try.

What if Jason turns out to be just like Danny?

Even as I think it, I know there’s no way that will ever happen. Jason’s nothing like Danny.

Except for the fact that this might not be as real to him as it is to me. We’ve never talked about the longterm. I’ve been too chickenshit to even bring it up.

And I still can’t manage it now.

“We haven’t—”

I start to tell him we haven’t talked about this yet, but the words get stuck in my throat.

I want this thing between us to last. I want to know he’s lying beside me when I go to sleep at night, and that he’ll be there when I wake up. I want to be the one to make him laugh. I want to tease out that special smile he only gives to me. I want to be his shoulder when he needs it, and help him to back to his feet when he loses sight of what really matters.

I think I might be in love with him.

But if he doesn’t know me well enough to realize what a big deal this is for me, what are the chances he feels the same?

“Tell me the truth: Are you ashamed of me? Ashamed of us?”

“You know I’m not.”

“Then why make such a big deal out of this?”

Something comes over me in that moment. It’s like a wounded animal. Defensive and distrustful and cynical as hell, and up until now, it’s a part of me that’s only managed to take hold when I’m having a really bad week.

But right now, it busts free, and all hell breaks loose.

“Because it
is
a big deal. You weren’t the one paralyzed because someone hates what you are, so fuck off, Jason.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I see the surprise in Jason’s eyes, and then the flash of pain, and it kills me. I want to apologize. Tell him what a fucking idiot I am. But that other version of me still has a strangle hold, and I just stand there, helpless to fight against it.

“Yeah. No problem,” he says, and stuffs his blazer and everything else into his bag, hefting it over his shoulder and walking right past me.

“Jason…”

“Turn in the keys when you leave.”

The door closes behind him and I’m left alone, hating myself more than I ever have in my life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

- Jason -

It’s really fucking hard to avoid someone you’re forced to see for hours every day.

The first few days are the worst, when I keep wanting to call him or text him to invite him over. For the last couple of semesters, my dorm hasn’t been lonely thanks to him. Now every hour I’m alone is something I physically feel as the clock slowly ticks by.

I also never noticed how much my schedule eased up. With Derek, my life wasn’t just football. I started focusing on school and other things that are important to me, like family and friends. I’m even getting A’s in classes I would’ve gotten C’s or D’s in before.

But without him, I go right back to what I know. Pushing myself above and beyond at practice. Hitting the gym for hours on end. Working with my dad on the weekends.

Anything to keep from thinking about Derek.

And the whole time, there’s a part of me that wants to pick up the phone; a part of me that thinks I’m being petty. I totally get the fact that Derek’s not really over what happened to him in high school. I probably wouldn’t be over it, either.

Late Thursday night, I found myself close to caving. I hit the gym instead, and was in the middle of another upper body circuit when my phone buzzed. Expecting just another text, I ignored it until I saw it was a missed call. When the voicemail icon popped up, I couldn’t help myself.

Standing in the middle of the gym, I listened to a slurred message from Derek:

Don’t delete this, okay? I know I fucked up. I just… I can’t… I don’t know how to do this. I’m sorry. I’m damaged goods, man. You deserve somebody better than me. Just don’t hate me, all right? I don’t wanna lose you as a friend, too.

When I lowered the phone from my ear, I realized he’d already given up. On us. On me.

And that hurt even more than what he said.

It’s like he doesn’t trust me at all. He doesn’t trust me to keep him safe, and I get the feeling he thinks whatever I feel for him is just me being bored or something.

Maybe I haven’t sorted out my feelings yet, but I know I’m not bored or confused or anything like that, so fuck him for putting that shit on me.

I know I can’t think about it right now, so I do what my dad taught me to do when my mom died: I ignore the pain and find ways to keep myself busy and exhausted so it doesn’t have a chance to catch up to me.

For those few days, I succeed, mostly thanks to the fact that we’re gearing up for a game that’s going to decide where we end up playing in the post-season. If we win, we’ll be the #1 seed in the SEC, lock down the best record in the school’s history, and have a shot at being chosen as one of the top four teams to compete for the national championship.

We’re still going to end up at a bowl game if we don’t, but I want the title. Even if it’s not officially recognized by the NCAA, it gives me another good mark for the NFL recruiters to look at.

And right now, it gives me a reason to focus and not worry about my personal life.

When game day rolls around, I’m focused. I have to be, because if I let myself think about Derek as anything more than a teammate, I’m going to blow it.

We’re playing Alabama, and from the very first drive, their defense makes my life a living hell.

They put the pressure on hard, and there’s a point where one of their guys vaults over my offensive line to try and get to me. I have to dump the ball quick, and I throw an easy interception that gets run back for a touchdown.

It’s all downhill from there.

I don’t know how it unravels so fast, but it feels like pieces of the ground are crumbling out from under my feet, one by one. A fumble here. A blocked field goal attempt there. Countless third downs that don’t convert.

By the third quarter, we’ve only put up 7 points, and we had to scrape and claw for that touchdown. Meanwhile, Alabama has 21 over us.

But I don’t completely lose my cool until I see Derek start getting some of the heat I’ve been seeing all game. I throw him a deep pass like the one that won us the game against Raleigh Tech, and I see him give it his all, trying to shake the two guys who are right on his ass.

Reynolds tries to block for him, but he’s outpaced, and by the time Derek gets the ball in his hands, he’s completely fucked.

I can hear the hit all the way down the field as helmets and pads connect. It jars through by bones, slicing an ache through my heart that has me practically gasping for air. I have to tear my helmet off just to feel like I can breathe, and I fight for every single breath until I see Derek peel himself off the field and come back to the line of scrimmage uninjured.

“You all right?” I ask as the clock continues to run.

“Yeah. Got the wind knocked out of me.”

He takes his place and I get ready for the snap, but my head isn’t on the play. Instead, I’m worrying about what would happen if Derek ends up in the same situation again. Injured, and this time because of me. Because I threw him a pass he shouldn’t have gone for.

I second-guess myself and hold onto the ball too long. Long enough for a huge linebacker to break through my offensive line and come barreling toward me.

I see him out of the corner of my eye, but by that point it’s too late. I can’t dodge him; can’t hope to run with the ball now. And I’m not ready to take the sack.

When he hits me, he hits hard. I feel something tear, and then the ground rushes up to meet my head. The last thing I see is the blurry sight of cleats before everything fades to black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

- Derek -

When the whistle blows, everything moves in slow motion.

I don’t know what happened to the ball. I was covered for the whole play, and the last thing I saw was Hawk still holding onto it, like he was waiting for me or Matthews to get open.

There’s a crowd of guys back at the line of scrimmage, and all I can think is that he must have taken a sack. My heart leaps into my throat as I jog back. It’s only ten yards, but it’s the longest ten yards of my life.

When I see the medics rushing out, I realize Jason isn’t one of the guys standing around. Time seems to slow to a crawl. Every step is like moving through quicksand.

When I finally shove my way through the crowd, it all stops.

The sounds of the stadium fade away to nothingness. My breath and my heartbeat both seem to seize. I can see the medics moving their lips, but I don’t hear anything from them, either.

Jason is laying on the ground. And he’s not moving. He’s not responding to the paramedics, and for a moment, I can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

“Jason?”

I don’t bother to disguise the panic in my voice. Instead I tug off my helmet and just drop it, pushing and shoving until I can get through to Jason’s side.

“Step back, son. Let them do their job.” I don’t know when Coach Garvey even got here, but he holds his hand out to stop me. As I watch the medics shine a light in Jason’s eyes, I can’t breathe.

I feel so completely helpless. I just want to scream or cry or demand they let me be by his side, as if that’s going to suddenly make him wake up.

When he finally rouses, relief hits me so hard that I almost can’t stay on my feet. The paramedics get him onto a stretcher and the crowd roars with applause, but all I can do is try to get in his line of sight—try to catch his gaze to get some idea of whether or not he’s okay.

Because he has to be okay.

But his head falls back and he loses consciousness before I can reach him, and Mills keeps me from following the paramedics off the field. As the door to the tunnel beneath the stadium closes, I realize I’m going to have to somehow finish the rest of this game without knowing if Jason is all right.