Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center (24 page)

T
HE
HOT
water whirled around Jamal’s neck, and he stretched a leg against the opposite side of the therapy pool. Two tough practices and all his muscles and joints felt it.

He stared out the window. Two days.
Damn
. Monday at practice, he’d gone right to the coach’s office and asked to see him. It was now more than twenty-four hours later. No appointment. Jamal had called Trevor so he wouldn’t worry. No. He’d do all the worrying. Hartford was usually pretty easy to see if you said it was important, which he had.

He glanced over at the pool in the corner of the room. Boogaloo’s favorite. The big man’s head lolled against the edge of the therapy tank. “Hey, Boogie. Don’t fall asleep.” No response. Jesus, had he become invisible? “Boogaloo!”

Nothing.
Okay. Drown, for crap sake
. But as he watched, Boogaloo’s head sank to the side. “Shit!” He jumped out of the pool, stubbed his toe, yelled, and hobbled across the tile floor to where Boogie’s big body sank slowly under the water. “Boogie.” He reached in and grabbed his arm, hauling him up until his head cleared the water. No response. “Help! Somebody help me.” Still holding Boogie’s arm, he squatted behind him, slipped his other hand under Boogaloo’s shoulder, and dragged him bodily from the pool until Jamal fell backward with Boogie’s three hundred and fifty pounds on his legs. Jamal megaphoned his hands. “Somebody help.”

Sliding to the side, he listened to Boogie’s chest. Heartbeat but not much breath. Maybe none. Hard to tell.
Shit
. He hadn’t been in the water more than a second or two. Jamal began CPR. Compress, compress, compress.

One of the linebackers walked into the room.

“Brownie, get help. Boogaloo isn’t breathing, I don’t think.”

“What? Jesus.” He ran out of the room.

Compress, compress, compress.

Boogie moaned. Jamal listened to his chest. Heartbeat and breathing.
Thank God.

Jamal sat back as the trainer ran in with Brownie. “What happened?”

“I think he’s okay now. He fell asleep and slipped into the water, but I got him out in seconds, so I don’t think there’s water in his lungs. But what the fuck do I know?”

The trainer shook Boogie’s shoulder. “Hey, big man, you okay?”

Boogaloo’s eyes opened. “Yeah. What the fuck?” He started to sit up, then fell back, and the trainer kept his head from banging.

“Jamal says you fell asleep in the pool. He dragged you out or you’d be dead, Boogie. You can’t take pain meds and get in the pool. I’ve told you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You told me.” Boogie looked up at Jamal. What was that expression? Anger? Confusion? “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah. Glad you’re still alive.” Jamal grinned, but Boogaloo didn’t smile back.

Brownie nodded like a bobblehead doll. “He pulled you out and gave you CPR. CPR, man. He saved you. You looked dead when I came in. He saved you.”

Boogie glowered at him. “Yeah, I got it, Brownie.” He turned his head to the trainer. “Help me up.” The trainer took hold of his arm, but Boogaloo outweighed the man by almost two hundred pounds, so no way that was happening. Jamal took the other arm and gave Boogie enough leverage to haul his big body from the ground. Boogie turned his scary face to Jamal. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

Jamal nodded but suddenly felt as naked as he was. He grabbed a towel from a stack in the wall cabinet and wrapped it around himself, then walked back to the locker room. Man, that was strange. He knew Boogie took a lot of painkillers. Plenty of guys did. That was another reason he planned never to be one of them.

He showered and dressed. He wanted to talk to Coach before he took Trevor out on a date, but he also didn’t want to wait all week. He’d really enjoyed driving Trevor to school, dropping him off with a fast kiss. It felt right. As soon as he got this done, he planned to ask Trev to move in. That tenement wasn’t a good place for him. Jamal wanted him close and safe—even if he needed to move closer to the campus or teach Trev to drive. Both were possible. Trevor had been so sweet since he nearly got smashed by Boogie. He might just agree.

“Jones.”

Jamal turned to find Izzy Perez behind him. “Hey, Coach.”

“Hartford wants to see you.”

“Oh good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah. I asked to see him Monday but never heard back.”

“Oh.” He put a hand on Jamal’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Uh, thanks.” What was that about? Yeah, he needed luck, but Izzy didn’t know that. He shrugged and walked out of the locker room and down the hall toward the coach’s office.

The coach’s assistant still sat at her desk. She nodded. “Mr. Jones. They’ll see you now. Please go right in.”

They?
“Thank you.” Get it over with. He walked to the door of Hartford’s office, took a deep breath, and opened it. Hartford sat behind his desk and—
shit!
—poised on the leather couch was none other than Arondel.
Okay, that doesn’t change anything
. “Thank you for seeing me, Coach.”

Hartford looked up and frowned. “Seeing you?”

“Yes. I asked your assistant for a meeting.”

“Okay, whatever. But you’re here because Lex and I want to talk to you about some serious accusations. Sit down.”

“Accusations?” He sat in the chair in front of the desk.
Breathe, Ferdinand. You gotta grow up sometime.

Arondel blurted out, “You’re gay!”

Jamal looked at him, then back at Hartford.

The coach nodded. “We’ve been told you’ve been hiding the fact that you’re gay.”

Jamal frowned.
Stay cool
. “Actually, that’s why I asked to see you.”

Arondel sneered. “You just discovered you’re gay.”

“No. I’m bisexual. When I joined the team I thought I’d be fine dating women during my contract. I was going to tell Coach, but the whole thing happened with Ray Shields, and I guess I just chickened out. I love football, and I wanted to play.”

Hartford leaned forward. “In light of what you knew about Ray, your omission seems pretty deceitful, Jamal.”

“I understand that.” He took a breath. “But I understood that officially you had no right to know.”

“Officially?”

“Legally. I also thought it wouldn’t be a problem dating women, but that changed.”

Arondel’s knuckles were white. “Changed so much you brought that
thing
into my house and passed it off as a woman.”

Shit.
Say this isn’t happening
. Jamal forced his hands out of fists. “Cross-dressers are generally called ‘she.’ I never said she was a woman.”

“A freak. You introduced a freak to my wife!”

“Sir, I don’t mean to be impolite, but you’re talking about someone I care for deeply.”

“Then you’re worse than gay. You’re as much a pervert as that human joke you brought in with you.”

His teeth gritted. “Not so much of a joke you wouldn’t make a pass at her.”

Arondel half rose from his chair. “How dare you! Is that what that thing told you? When I just tried to be nice?”

Hartford held up a hand. “This isn’t accomplishing anything. Jones, what are your plans?”

That was one helluva question.
Sometimes the shit just gets too high
. “Plans. Originally I simply planned to tell you I was bisexual and in a relationship with a man. I had no plans to make a declaration, but I wanted to stop hiding it. Now? I’ll leave the team if you want me to, but I’ll tell the press why I’m leaving.”
Shit!
Did he just say that? “Or you can trade me for another center to a team who doesn’t mind having a gay player.” He stared at Hartford. His eyes moved toward Arondel, and he dragged them back. “I’m a damned good center, so I imagine there are teams that will take me.”

Hartford sat back in his chair. “After what we went through to prevent Shields from coming out, you’d go to the press?”

“After thinking about it, sir, I believe it was ill-advised to lose the best center in the league over something so dumb. Shields could have come out, there’d have been a shitstorm, he’d have played great with me to back him up, and everyone would be over it by now.”

Arondel’s voice iced. “That’s the great football wisdom from the twenty-two-year-old guttersnipe?”

He turned straight to the man. “Yes, it is.”

“Manny, leave me with Mr. Jones for a minute.”

Hartford frowned. “Lex, I want this to be constructive.”

“Oh, I assure you, it will be.”

Hartford looked really reluctant, almost scared. Shit, that made two of them. The coach got up and walked out of the office. Jamal’s heart beat so hard he could barely hear.

Arondel sat back, looking comfortable for the first time. “Jamal, you’ve made a very dangerous enemy. I’d happily throw you back into the trash heap from which you come with the imprint of my boot heel on your face, but I’m told by Coach that we need you to play excellent football. The chances of trading this early in the season are slim. Therefore, you will play—excellently—and you will keep your mouth shut about your perverted lifestyle choices because I will not have that said of my team.”

“No, sir. I’m done living a lie. I sincerely apologize for having deceived you. I didn’t understand how deeply it would offend you, but I plan to see the man I care for.”

“Yes, that would be Trevor Landry, I presume?”

Double shit
. Ice flowed up his back. He said nothing.

“You see how much I know, and I’m sure you can imagine how far my influence reaches.” He smiled. “Like eliminating Mr. Landry’s scholarship, on which he depends to attend college.”

Jamal’s heart hammered.
Don’t panic
. Even if he lost his job, there had to be a way to get the money to send Trevor to school. If he’d take it. His short fingernails cut into his palms.

“And of course, I won’t stop there. I know how much your father loves his job here at the stadium.” He paused, and the snake eyes glistened.

Heart stopped
. People always said that. Now he knew what it meant. His dad’s job. All these years.

“I’m sure you can imagine that I wield great influence here at the stadium. If I felt a groundskeeper wasn’t doing his job—” He made a
ffftt
sound. “—he would be gone in less than a day.”

“You’d do that?”

“Without a moment’s hesitation. I already despise that a man who would raise a son without guiding him properly is working in my team’s stadium. He will remain here only as long as you perform well.” He glanced at his manicure. “The same for that thing you brought to my home. If he wants to maintain his education, it all depends on you. And I’m sure I don’t have to say that you will not be appearing in public with him or his other manifestation of the devil.” He smiled, and his tongue should have flicked out with a hiss. “I’m sure, given a few more minutes, I can think of ways to hurt your sister and brothers as well. I’m very creative.” He stood. “Why don’t you think about it for a moment or two while I get some water? I’ll return with your coach, and you can tell him how you plan to stay on the team happily masquerading as a heterosexual for as long as we need you.”

He walked out the door.

Jamal’s hands shook. Hard to believe anyone could be that evil.
Life lessons learned, Ferd.
Crap, Arondel could do anything he wanted to Jamal, but not to Trevor and his dad or the rest of his family.
No, dammit
. Maybe he could find a way to keep Trevor in school, but the man went to SCU. Hell, those were big bucks. Without football, in whatever job he could get when Arondel finished with him, not much chance of paying SCU tuition. And how could he ever find a place for his dad as perfect as this stadium? All those years of his dad loving football, gone. Tears flashed behind his eyes.
Shit on that. Grow up, Ferdinand, and play in the real world.

Behind him, the door opened.

T
REVOR
STOPPED
on the sidewalk and pressed the phone to his ear. This time he’d leave a message. “Uh, hi, Jamal. It’s me. I tried to call a couple times since I haven’t heard from you. I know you may not have been able to talk to them yet, but that’s okay. Would you call me anyway? I just want to know you’re okay.” He ended the call and stared at the phone. Should he? He scrolled through the names in his contact list. Ev. Evangeline Jones. God, he didn’t want to worry her, but maybe she’d heard from Jamal. With a click, he dialed.

She sounded surprised. “Hi. Trevor?”

“Yes. So sorry to bother you.” He scraped one sneaker with the other.

“No, it’s great. I was actually planning to call you so we could get together soon.”

“Uh, I’m calling because I wondered if you’ve seen Jamal?”

“No. Haven’t you?” Her voice sounded concerned.

“No. I mean, not for a couple days. Ordinarily I wouldn’t be worried, but he was planning to talk to his coach. You know, come out and tell the coach he was dating a guy. I haven’t heard from him since. I’ve called and left messages, but no response. I mean, he’s probably just busy and I’m being stupid.”

“Chances are they didn’t dump him in the ocean with cement boots, but I know he was worried about the owner. I’ll ask my dad, okay? If anyone in the family has seen Jamal, it’s him.”

“Thanks so much. Like I said, it’s probably nothing.”

“Meanwhile, I’d love to get together for lunch or something.”

“Sure. That would be great. I’ve got breaks in my classes.” He stared at his messages again, hoping they’d change.

“When are you free?”

He glanced at the clock tower. “I’m not quite sure. I need to get to a class.”

“How about I call and leave you a message with some times?”

“Okay. Great.”

“Get to class.”

“Thanks.” He flipped the phone onto mute and ran half a block to his classroom in time to slip into his chair before the beginning of Oesterberg’s lecture. Not his favorite professor. The man had won some prize or other and seemed to feel he was in competition with his students. He kept this big-ass problem on a whiteboard in the back and said he’d give an auto-A to any student who could solve it.
Game player
.