Eastshore Tigers 01 - Strong Side (7 page)

My teeth grind together and my chest feels tight and heavy. It's anxiety, I know. This feeling of helplessness I always get around him. My dad’s never beat me. He's given me everything I've ever wanted. But this is the same old song and dance we've always done. He wants to push me. Wants me to push myself. I get so close to the breaking point, and when I step back from the ledge to keep from falling, he just pushes me out there again.

It's overwhelming, and right now, someone else is witnessing every bit of it.

"This isn’t a negotiation, Jason."

"And what if I don't? What if I can't handle it, and I need to take three classes this semester instead of five?"

I know he won’t make me quit football. He's never even threatened it, because he knows I wouldn't take it seriously. Football is everything to him.

"You want to test me, boy? Your scholarship ends this year, Jason. In case you haven't noticed, we’re not exactly drowning in money over here. So you want to draw it out, go right ahead. But don't expect me to pay your way, and don't expect NFL recruiters to wait for you."

He crumples up the paper and throws it on my bed. Storming toward my door, he flings it open, and I see his shoulders rise and fall as he takes in a deep breath. He turns, ignoring me completely, and looks at Griff who’s still sitting frozen atop the roll-away.

"Sorry you had to see that. You're welcome to stay as long as you want."

He pulls the door shut behind him, a little harder than necessary, but not with the slam I expected. Letting out a deep breath, I stare at the ceiling and wish I could go back in time. Years in time, before Dad became obsessed with this. Maybe back to when Mom was still alive, because she was always able to talk sense into him. With her around, I usually didn't feel like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown every second.

Right now, though, I just want the chance to rewind time and find some way to get Griff out of here before he sees that.

He hasn't said anything, and I know I'm going to have to be the first one to bring it up. Might as well rip that bandage off now. "Sorry about that. I should've told him before he found out this way."

"It's okay. Is he always so… intense?"

I laugh, but it's the kind of laugh you do to keep from feeling anything else. "Yeah. He means well, I guess. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for him."

Griff doesn't say anything, and I look over at him to get some idea of what he's thinking. His gaze meets mine, and I see the question there. He's asking if I really believe that, and I don't have an answer.

"Football is a big deal to him. To me. He knows if I don't graduate this year, I'm either going to have to quit school before I get a degree, or skip the draft."

"Five classes is a lot to take in a semester when you're doing as much as he has you doing."

I just nod. I already know that. That's why I signed up for three.

"So what was your plan?"

My defenses fire off, and it's on the tip of my tongue to snap back at him. But it isn’t an accusation. I can hear it in his voice. He just genuinely wants to know.

"I don't know. Double up in the summer, maybe. Take night classes or something with a lab to get extra credits. I really don't know."

I let out a long sigh. My whole body is tense, caught between wanting to get the hell out of here, and wanting to just curl up and go back to bed. That's what my life has been like at Eastshore so far. Nobody in the world knows that, and right now my biggest fear is that Derek Griffin is starting to figure it out.

I guess I'd better head him off at the pass.

"I looked at the catalog over the summer. Tried to find classes I thought would be easy. But I just stared at those last two spaces." I remember feeling physical pain as I thought about the pressure of trying to juggle that much football and that many classes. "It was a stupid decision, but I couldn't put two more on there."

I hear Griff let out a sigh of his own, and when I glance down at him, his brows are knit together. He looks at me, then away. "You’re not going to like what I have to say."

"I don't like much of anything about this day right now, so it can’t get any worse."

"I think you need to register for those last two classes. You need to tell your dad that you have enough time in practice to get everything done when it comes to football."

I let out a dry laugh. "Yeah. That'll go over well."

"It's either that or you don't graduate. And what happens if you're injured in the NFL? What happens when your career ends? I know your dad wants your life to be nothing but football, but what do you want?"

Nobody's ever really asked me that. Sure, maybe a high school counselor. Once. But from an early age, my life plan was pretty much laid out before me. I never had a problem with it. I love football. It's the only thing I'm good at, and the only thing I'm ever going to be good at.

But something changed in college. I don't know if life just got harder, or I got weaker. It started to overwhelm me, and now I feel like it could all unravel at any moment.

I'm scared shitless of that happening. And I don't really have an answer to Griff's question.

"I don't know."

I want things to be easy like they were when I was a kid. When getting to train all day with my dad was a dream, and not something that constantly beats me down. But that's never going to happen.

"I'll help you with school. I've kept up a 3.9 GPA for my first two years here, and I don't really have any commitments outside of football. Sign up for those two classes, and we’ll figure it out. Okay?"

"I don't need your sympathy, Griffin. I can figure it out on my own."

"Yeah, no. It sounds like you been trying to figure it out on your own for a long time. And who the fuck doesn't need sympathy?"

When I look over at him, he offers me a small smile. I try to match it, but I only feel my lips move the tiniest bit.

"Come on. We can walk to Denny's from here. I'll buy breakfast."

I can't say no to a big plate of greasy bacon and overcooked eggs. But it's mostly the fact that Griff is willing to put this shit behind us. Only one thing holds me back from immediately accepting his offer.

"Hey… I don't really want this getting out. Nobody else knows."

Griff just shrugs. "No problem. You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours." He smiles again, and those damn dimples come back. This time, a weird little flutter in my stomach accompanies them. "You wanna pinky swear on it?"

I reach up and shove at his arm. He barely moves. "Asshole."

But he's got me smiling for real this time. And laughing, too. It's not that this shit gets me so down that I don't feel like I can be happy, but I'm not used to being able to bounce back so quick after getting hammered by my dad's disappointment. As we get ready to go, I start to feel a little more comfortable with Griff knowing my secrets. He's a good guy. Somehow I already know I can trust him. And it's been a long time since I've had somebody to lean on.

Maybe that's what's been missing from my life.

SEPTEMBER

CHAPTER NINE

- Jason -

After weeks of working with him, I find out Griff isn't going to start in Saturday's game.

I knew it was a long shot going into it. Coach Garvey pretty much confirmed that when I talked to him. But it still pisses me off that I wasn’t able to make enough of a difference. I know Griff worked hard. Hell, he put in more time and effort than almost everybody who actually
is
starting. All the guys who helped him agree.

"I can talk to the coach. Might still be time to change things around."

Griffin and I have gone back to our respective lockers. The guys usually between us are in the showers, so I've got a direct line to talk to him for once.

"We don’t need a
Rudy
moment where you lay your jersey on Coach’s desk, man."

I grin, shaking my head. That's the first thing that popped into my head, too. "Yeah, well. Let me know if you change your mind."

He unhooks his pads and lets them drop on the bench. "It's just one game. There'll be other chances to start."

I look over at him and forget whatever I was going to say. He's got his shirt off now, and his pants too. It looks like they pulled down his boxers a little when he took them off, and now they're hanging off his hips, dipping below the sharp V of his pelvis. I can see a patchy trail of hair running from his navel to the waistband of his boxers, and for some reason my gaze is stuck on it. I follow it down, realize what I'm looking at, and turn my head away quickly.

What the fuck was that? There are tons of naked guys in here, every day, all around me. Half of them have no modesty whatsoever, and walk from the showers to the lockers with their dicks hanging out. But suddenly seeing my friend partially dressed makes my whole body flush, and I don't know if it's from embarrassment or something else.

"We'll keep working at it. I'll make a new schedule to fit around the game."

Griff just grins, shaking his head. "You and your fucking schedules, man."

He closes his locker, and when I glance over at him again, there's a towel wrapped around his hips. It's not hanging as low as his boxers were, thank fuck. But I still have to pull my attention away.

"Gonna hit the showers. Meet you at the Den later?"

"Yeah," I choke out.

As he walks away, I try not to think about the fact that he's going to drop that towel soon.

We win the first game of the season.

We pretty much stomped the shit out of Kentucky, even though that's not exactly hard to do these days. But a win is a win, and all through the next week, everybody's riding high. Including me.

The thrill of the season finally hits me, and it gives me something to really focus on. Something I can grab hold of that isn't as confusing as everything else in my life.

Griff was at the game, warming the bench just in case Matthews had to walk off. I'm pretty sure Matthews was taunting him half the game, but at least he got his job done this time.

I wish it was him running the ball into the goal, or catching it right on the sidelines, but he's been pretty cool about it. Cooler than me, at least.

I worked with him three more times since then, trying to figure out what exactly Coach Garvey wants to see out of him in order let him start. That's not counting all the time we've spent at the gym, at the Den, or at the library.

So far he's kept his promise, and even though I don't really have a lot of homework yet, he's helped me feel like I'm actually retaining something from the hours of lecture I have to sit through every school day.

We were supposed to work together today, but the other guys are flaking out on me. There's a dorm party tonight, and all three of them want to be there to pick up chicks who’d love nothing more than to be seen on a football player's arm.

I should probably go with them, honestly. I spend so much time with Griff these days that people are probably starting to talk. But nobody knows he's gay, and it's not like we’re blowing each other or something. I'm helping him with football shit and he's helping me with classical lit.

What could be more straight than that?

Frat parties have never been my thing, anyway, so I'm not about to change now. Besides, I found some clips I want to show Griff, and I tell him to meet me at Kensington Park.

The sun is just starting to set when I get there. Coach has started running two-a-days now, and between a two-hour practice in the morning, a full day of classes, and a two-hour practice in the afternoon, I'm beat.

But I want to see Griff in a jersey, and there's only one way to make that happen.

I sit on the bench with my laptop, sweating it out in the Florida heat. 7 PM, just about fall, and it's fucking 90° out here. At least, it feels that way. Four and a half years and I'm still not used to it.

I hear Griff walk up and turn my head to face him. He's got his hands in his jean pockets and earbuds in his ears. He must've taken the bus to get here.

"Long time no see," he says.

He looks as tired as I feel, and yet he still manages to smile. I'm pretty sure I've been scowling since three o'clock.

"Take a seat. I’ve got something to show you."

"Is it porn? Because I don't think the two moms over there will appreciate it," he says, nodding toward the playground. "Plus, I never told you what I’m into."

It's a joke. His shit-eating grin gives it away. But for some reason it makes me feel… Strange. Not uncomfortable, I guess. Just a little weirded out by the fact that I’m now wondering what kind of porn he
does
like.

"It’s just football clips. Sorry to disappoint."

He shrugs, then sits down beside me. "Just as good."

That at least makes me laugh, and some of the tension fades away when I roll my shoulders. I still find myself clearing my throat, though, and feeling like the biggest idiot alive.