Safety Net (10 page)

Erick held his head in his hands. “Oh,
lord. I
didn’t
. I didn’t get any practicing in until I got back. My arm’s
gonna be weak, everything’s gonna be off. Coach Bowman’s going to kill me.
I’m
going to kill me, I’ve been so goddamned stupid.”

Dale had known something was off
with Erick before the summer, but he’d never expected Erick to give up football
for more than a couple of days. He exchanged a look with Lowell, who looked
just as shocked.

“Well, that’s why we have training
camp,” Dale struggled to find something reassuring to say.

Lowell petted the cat for a while.
The cat, that bastard, purred loudly.

Lowell said quietly, “Erick, why
are you using football to punish yourself? You love football. Why did you run
away from it? And what do you think you need to be punished for, anyway?”

Erick stared wildly at Lowell,
looking a little ill. Dale wondered, not for the first time, why Lowell talked
about himself as if he was a dumb jock when he was the smartest one of them
all.

The color crept back into Erick’s
face and he rubbed his stubbly jaw. “Shit, I wish I knew. Some of it was
Hutchinson, of course. But that’s ancient history now. I don’t know what the
rest of it is. Maybe I’m afraid to fail and I’m preemptively punishing myself
in case I do. There’s so much riding on this. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“You think any of us do?” Dale
said. “Fucking quarterbacks. It’s not all on your shoulders, you arrogant
prick. You have a whole fucking team around you. You have coaches and assistant
coaches and trainers and, hell, even the kid who restocks the Gatorade. None of
us want to let you down, either. You help us, we help you. But you have to let
us help you first.”

Erick slumped back, subdued. Lowell
said, “That means no more walking away from friends, bro. No running off to
Europe.”

Erick winced at him. “At the
seniors’ party. That was cold, and I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t.” Lowell frowned
a little. “I kind of disappeared with Kelly for a while, wasn’t around when I
should’ve been. I thought if you needed anything, you’d let me know.” He smiled
shakily at Erick. “Didn’t know you were such an idiot, you wouldn’t say
anything.”

Erick leaned over and punched him
on the shoulder, smiling. “Now you know. Now I know. We’re good.” He sat back
and squinted at Dale and pointed his finger. “But for you, Lennart. What’s this
about dating some asswipe? What was that about?”

Dale shot Lowell a dark look. “It’s
over now, no worries.”

“Yeah, okay, but just be careful
next time. No more creeps. Find someone nice.”

“Who likes football,” put in
Lowell. “Because trust me, I learned this: football is
key
.”

-----

There was an earthquake near the
end of August, one sunny afternoon when Dale was on the practice field doing
drills with the rest of the receivers. By California standards, it apparently
wasn’t “a big one,” but it was still scary to Dale and the rest of the
non-Californians on the team. The biggest repercussion from it was the closure
of Mendel Family Stadium for inspections. The stadium was new and had been
built with earthquakes in mind, but this was the first “significant event” in
its young life, and the university wanted to be extra careful. So the beginning
of the football season schedule was rearranged, with Crocker heading east to
play Duke and Notre Dame before classes started. The coaches were going to take
the opportunity to scout recruits in the south and midwest.

The Duke game was a humble
beginning for Erick and his team. Away from home, with Erick still pushing
himself to get back to his peak form, they lost, 7-24. The bright spot, such as
it was, was that Dale had scored Crocker’s lone touchdown off an eighteen-yard
pass from Erick. It was the kind of short pass they’d practiced all year. As
soon as Dale saw Erick’s arm go back, he knew where to be to make his route. He
got there by ignoring Duke’s defense -- dodging, pushing, jumping, and rolling
past them -- and running like he was on fire when he got the ball. Lowell,
Wotoa, and Benton rushed him in the end zone for a touchdown bump.

But it wasn’t a game-changer, and
one of Duke’s TDs was off an interception of a badly thrown pass, and
afterwards, in their hotel room, Erick beat himself up over it as if that one
pass had cost them the game. Dale told him to call Candace since they were in
the same timezone now, and that distracted Erick from the loss. Dale sought out
Lowell and found him lounging with Wotoa and Dempsey by the indoor pool. Lowell
was shirtless, wearing baggy shorts and apparently contemplating taking a swim.
Wotoa, who’d packed swimming trunks, was already in the pool. Dempsey had
rolled up his pants legs and was soaking his feet in the water.

“Erick okay?” Wotoa asked.

Dale shrugged. “He hasn’t let go of
that interception yet, but I got him to call his girlfriend, get his mind off
it.” He watched Lowell in the shallow end, wading into the water until it hit
his shorts. “Your first Crocker game, Menacker. You weren’t bad out there.”

Lowell grinned lopsidedly, wading
deeper, and Wotoa said indignantly, “What about me, Lennart? My first game, too.”

Dale had practiced closely with
Wotoa for a year now and knew he was going to be an excellent WR. They had a
good rapport and a healthy competitive streak. Dale flicked his hand at him
dismissively and said, “Who scored our touchdown, again? Oh, right, that was me.”

“Fuck you,” Wotoa said
good-naturedly, rolling over to breast-stroke to the far end and back.

Lowell had committed to the pool by
now and dove under the water, resurfacing at the deep end. “Your first TD, wasn’t
it?” he said to Dale.

Dale grinned, because it was, and
even though they’d lost, he couldn’t shake off the high of his first score for
Crocker. Dempsey said enviously, “Man, you guys, you got out there on the field.”

Dale patted his shoulder. “Be
patient, little redshirt.” Dempsey, as Erick’s roommate, had become the O’s
frosh mascot, much to Dempsey’s dismay, though he rolled with it pretty well.

They lounged and talked about the
game until Giordano, their strong safety, came down to the pool with a bunch of
D guys. The atmosphere got rowdier, in a good way, but when Lowell got out of
the pool, he said to Dale, “Let’s see how Erick’s doing.”

They got in the elevator with an
older couple, and Dale noticed the woman giving Lowell the roving eye. He
glanced over. Lowell was gleaming wet, dripping into his flip-flops, and his
shorts were soaked and hugging his thighs and crotch. Dale bit the inside of
his lip and swallowed his laugh until they reached his floor and got out.

“Oh, homeboy, you gotta get a towel
or something. You just gave the missus an eyeful.”

“What are you talking about?” Lowell
asked, squishing down the hallway.

“That lady in the elevator, she was
totally checking you out,” Dale grinned. He nodded to Lowell’s groin. “And you
are displaying, my son. You are displaying.”

Lowell glanced down at his shorts. “Oh,
shit. I didn’t even think about it.” He pulled on his shorts legs, managing to
look less obscene. He narrowed his eyes at Dale. “You could’ve stood in front
of me, homie. Been my shield.”

Dale opened the door to his hotel
room. “Nah, I was enjoying the show too much.”

Erick was lying across one of the
beds on his back holding up his phone and texting. He was in a tee shirt and
underwear and Dale said, “If you’re sexting your girlfriend right now, I am so
leaving the room and sleeping on Menacker’s floor.”

“So you think,” Lowell told him,
plopping into a chair.

Erick shot Dale a warning look and
finished his text. “I was telling my sister Trisha about the game.” He fell
quiet, introspective, and Dale knew he was reliving that damn intercepted pass
again in slo-mo. To distract him, Dale told him about Lowell flashing the lady
in the elevator with his wet shorts. Lowell groaned and threw one of the
pillows at him, but it was working: Erick laughed and teased Lowell about being
the cover boy for Crocker football.

“I’ve thought for ages you should
be on our posters, Menacker,” Erick said, grinning. “We’d get the girls filling
the stadium if no one else.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up about it
already,” Lowell said, covering his face.

“We put him on the poster in wet
shorts, I think we could get more than the girls,” said Dale.

“Yeah, maybe the cops.”

“I was thinking more like, half of
San Francisco.” Dale gave Erick an evil smile. “This could be the best thing
for Crocker football. ‘Crocker’s Bad Boys Gone Wild.’"

Lowell stood up and rested his
fists on his hips. “You two are fucking comedians. Ha ha. I’m going to bed.” He
stalked out of the room, squishing in his flip-flops.

Erick got under the covers and
kicked half of them aside. He said soberly, “I seriously thought that about the
posters, though,” and Dale snickered.

That night, Dale lay in bed in the
dark, listening to Erick snore -- he’d roomed with Erick before on away games
and was prepared for the snoring -- and couldn’t calm his brain down enough to
fall asleep. He was back on the field, catching that pass in front of
twenty-five thousand people and running with it until he reached the end zone.
Why it was different than scoring in high school, he couldn’t say. It just was.
He couldn’t wait for the next game.

He tried to derail his hyperactive
brain by thinking of something else, and ended up back at the pool, with Lowell
climbing out of the water in his shorts. Dale had seen how the water streaked
down his chest and flat of his stomach, past his hips and where a line of
darker, thicker hair gathered. Had seen it in the way he automatically checked
guys out because he couldn’t help it, before making himself not notice
anything, because these were his teammates.

And Lowell... He wouldn’t have said
Lowell was his type, either, if he did have a type. But where Erick was
odd-looking yet endearing, Lowell was accessibly handsome. The blond hair,
green eyes, pretty lips, strong jaw. He really could be a poster boy if his
personality would let him. If he wouldn’t laugh it off.

And Lowell’s body... He was built,
of course, with power on top but tapering for speed down long, strong legs. His
arms were big yet there was something compact about them; the right amount of
muscle, no more. And he had a nice cock and of course he had a great ass...

Dale rolled over and smashed his
face into a pillow. Was this going to be the after effect of scoring for
Crocker? Rampant horniness? So horny he was seriously, mentally checking out a
teammate. Checking out Lowell.

The night crawled by, and Dale’s
brain kept bouncing, and he was still desperately horny. He got out of bed,
feeling horrible about it, silently apologizing to Lowell in advance, and crept
past Erick’s bed to the bathroom, where he fantasized about Lowell and whacked
off. When he got back to bed, he finally fell asleep.

-----

They split the week in the east
between Durham and Indiana, practicing for three days on Duke’s fields as the
guests of the team who’d just beaten them. The Duke players were cool about it
and were nice enough guys.

When they got to South Bend, they
practiced on a high school field nearly as big as Crocker’s. So close to Notre
Dame, it wasn’t surprising they took their football seriously here. Lowell was
only a few hours away from his family, so his mother and sister drove out the
Friday before the game. Lowell invited Erick, Dale, and Kryzinski out to dinner
to meet them, and introduced them to his family as, “This is Erick, our
quarterback. Dale, wide receiver. And Josh, halfback.”

Mrs. Menacker smiled at Dale and
said, “I saw the video of your touchdown.” To Erick she said, “That was a good
pass.” And the guys, seeing they were with friends, settled into football talk.

Erick sat next to Kaylee, Lowell’s
sister, and said, “Lowell said you play soccer.”

Kaylee flashed a look at her mother
and Lowell. “I did. I tried to get a soccer scholarship to Crocker, but I didn’t
get in.”

The Crocker women’s soccer team was
fantastic, had been PWAC champions for the past four years. Erick said, “Crocker’s
pretty tough, but there’s a bunch of good teams out there.”

Kaylee leaned her cheek on her
fist, picking at her plate with a fork. “I didn’t get a scholarship to Duke,
Boston College, or Northwestern, either. I’m applying to art school now.”

Erick had had multiple scholarships
offered; so had Lowell. He couldn’t imagine what it was like not to get any
offers. He said, “Art school. What do you want to study?”

She looked at him as if he were the
first person to ask her that. “I love graphic design, product design, stuff
like that. I want to find a program with good internships.”

Erick smiled. “I’m majoring in
industrial design. We have to do at least five units of product design.”

Kaylee’s eyes widened. “Lowell
never told me that,” she said, clearly feeling her brother had fallen down on
the job.

They talked a bit about design
after that, and Erick thought Lowell’s sister was just as smart and attractive
as her brother was. The way Lowell talked about her, he’d expected a sullen
brat, but he supposed to a big brother’s eyes, Kaylee was always going to be a
little girl. Like how Janine and Trisha still thought of him as the baby.

Later on, Erick mentioned Kaylee’s
scholarship woes to Lowell, who ranted a bit about how his sister had screwed
up her chances by dating some loser dude who distracted her from soccer until
she discovered he’d been cheating on her and she dumped him. For a moment Erick
was afraid Lowell was going to jump in the first car heading west and go find
this guy and wring his neck, but Lowell was more focused on putting the blame
on his sister. Erick, thinking about his wonderful, wasted summer with Candace,
was more charitable.