Sagittarius-Mr November

SAGITTARIUS: MR. NOVEMBER …Patton stabbed at his steak. “You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me.” “You’re young. You have y...

Author: Espinoza Pepper

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SAGITTARIUS: MR. NOVEMBER

…Patton stabbed at his steak. “You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me.” “You’re young. You have your whole career ahead of you. I don’t. And I don’t know…I don’t know what’s expected of me anymore.” He bit down on the other half of that thought. I don’t know who I am anymore. “What happened in LA?” “I hurt my knee.” “You can still play. Hell, you still have the best arm in the league. You know how to control a game. So how did you end up playing second string on a team that hasn’t seen the playoffs in five years?” “My arm isn’t the only thing that matters.” “Bullshit.” Patton wasn’t even tempted to tell DeShawn the truth. He doubted he would ever utter those words out loud. Unlike his mother, Patton had never felt like confession was good for the soul. “You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true. I’m slower now, and they would have had to rethink the entire offense to account for that.” “So they’re lazy.” “They have a good scheme and they found a quarterback that fit well. It was either take the Phoenix deal or retire.” “Why didn’t you retire? I don’t think this is what you want. You don’t act like you’re very happy here.” “Because I…I can’t think of anything more terrifying that never playing football again…”

ALSO BY P EPPER ESPINOZA …And To Hold Bus Stop A Busted Afternoon The Devil Went Down To Georgia Elected A Farewell To Angels Forward Progress Four O’Clock Fumble Recovery (Just Like) Starting Over The Major And The Minor Making Waves Maybe I’m Amazed My Only Home The Obsolete Man Peanut Butter Kisses The Prince Who Never Smiled Quarterback Sneak The Streets Of Florence Surrender’s Edge To Bend You And Me And The Moon Boys Of The Zodiac Gemini: The Wicked Things Virgo: The Warrior Prince

SAGITTARIUS: MR. NOVEMBER BY PEPPER ESPINOZA

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

SAGITTARIUS : MR. NOVEMBER AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2010 by Pepper Espinoza ISBN 978-1-61124-026-9 Cover Art © 2010 Trace Edward Zaber

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Thank you Caerie and Sarah for your patience and helpful feedback. This book is dedicated to all the football players I’ve loved and admired over the years

Sagittarius: Ardent, sincere and straightforward. A Sagittarius might suffer setbacks in life and love, but they never let anything keep them down for long.


WEEK 1 OAKLAND MUSTANGS VS P HOENIX WILDCATS 0-0-0

“Oh for fuck’s sake! I could have caught that fucking ball! Look at that fucker. Come on, Coach. This is fucking ridiculous. Why don’t we just give them the fucking game if you’re going to let the secondary be so weak!” Nobody paid any attention to DeShawn Jones’s string of profanities. Patton Cooper looked over at the young man, watching him hop from one foot to the other, unbothered by the heat of the afternoon or his pads. He held his helmet in one hand, and Patton snorted at the sight of it. Like Coach Williams would change his mind and put DeShawn in so early in the game. The kid was good, and he’d probably be making his professional debut soon, but it wouldn’t be that Sunday. Not unless something happened to 1


Darnell Devereaux. “Do you believe this bullshit?” DeShawn demanded, gesturing madly with his helmet. Patton didn’t have a chance to respond before DeShawn shouted at the field again, this time encouraging Devereaux to get his “slow motherfucking ass” into gear. “Well, do you?” “No,” Patton said mildly, hoping his tone didn’t invite any further comments. His run-ins with the rookie cornerback had been few and far between in training camp and the pre-season, but Patton knew better than try to engage him. DeShawn had all of the attention of a badly trained puppy, every topic always turning back to his prowess on the field, the number of interceptions he had in college, the number of picks he intended to have by the end of the season. Patton didn’t mind that so much. He wasn’t any worse than any of the other kids. Except, he was a kid. Patton was a little horrified to realize he couldn’t even remember his rookie season. Too many blows to the head, probably. “God. How can you stand this? I want to play.” Patton Cooper was six the first time he took a snap, leading his PeeWee team to a big win that marked the first of Patton’s string of big wins. By the time he reached high school, he forgot if he even liked playing football as the sport became a means to an end. Patton liked winning. Patton liked it when the spectators streamed onto the field and lifted him above their shoulders. He liked holding the trophies and the weight of championship rings on his fingers. Patton Cooper liked to be a winner, and for thirty years, he’d been a champion. But he wasn’t anymore. Patton’s body betrayed him in little, maddening ways. His knee 2


hurt every morning, stiff and screaming at him through the muddled haze of sleep. Patton could still throw. But some of the speed had been lost, and at times he didn’t quite get the distance he wanted. It seemed too early for this to happen to him. He was only thirty-two, his twenties just barely behind him. When Patton stretched his knee and iced his shoulder, he uselessly repeated that to himself. It’s too soon. I’m still too good. Patton became fascinated with the fodder of his own life, turning inward until he had nothing but his own mind to keep him company, evaluating and reevaluating everything he thought he knew about himself. Is this what I want with my life? Is this who I am? Patton vaguely believed he had no business asking those questions. He was a football player. He was a good quarterback. He was Mr. November. What else could he be? He’d sacrificed his physical health, his personal relationships, his education to be the ideal. He’d done so happily because he was so sure it mattered. Now he began to suspect that maybe, possibly, none of this mattered at all. This was not a thought Patton indulged in lightly. Not while he sat in the midst of the massive machine that was the Phoenix Wildcats. He used to attend Mass with his very religious mother, forcing his ever-present doubts to the back of his mind, certain it was a sin to even think that God might not exist, even though he didn’t think it, he knew it, and he felt terrible for continuing the charade of piety even if he did it for his mother’s sake. Football had never felt more like a religion to him. That didn’t stop him from wondering why he was there, what he was doing, how could he fix it. The technical answer to the first question was I signed a contract. The technical answer to the 3


second was mentoring the next hot shot. The technical answer to the third question was the most depressing of all. He couldn’t fix it unless he invented a time machine or figured out a way to strip ten years from his life. Patton studied his hands and pretended he hadn’t heard the question. Four of his ten fingers were crooked, thanks to bad breaks that hadn’t healed properly. His right hand was heavily callused. Patton couldn’t even remember what his fingers looked like without the thick skin. “Sorry, man, that wasn’t cool.” “It’s fine,” Patton said, meaning it. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand where DeShawn was coming from. A shrill whistle sounded, indicating the end of the first quarter, and DeShawn dropped to the bench, watching as the defensive starters hurried to the sideline. Most of them made a beeline for the coolers, pouring water over their heads before taking a drink, but they were in robust spirits, good-naturedly shouting at each other before Coach quieted them down. “I think you should be out there, for what it’s worth.” “Don’t talk like that,” Patton growled. “I’m not and it doesn’t matter what anybody thinks.” “Hey, I was just stating a preference. No need to bite my head off.” “Oz is the leader of this team now. So keep your preferences to yourself from now on.” “You always this fucking bitchy? No wonder you’re always sitting by yourself. Shit, and I thought you’d be cool. I remember when I used to watch you play. I was in fifth grade your rookie year, and I hated you.” Patton’s brow furrowed. “What the hell kind of story is that?” 4


“No, it’s cool. I was a Breakers fan.” “How disappointing for you.” “You have no idea.” “You still wanted to play football after following the Breakers.” “I wanted to play against you,” DeShawn said, his voice a little gruff, his eyes serious. “Don’t you ever listen to my interviews?” “No.” DeShawn grinned. “It’s like I’ve been telling everybody since I got drafted, I always thought we’d meet out on the field some day. I know every move you’ve got.” “You don’t.” “No, I do.” He touched his temple and pointed at Patton. “I know how your brain works, Cooper. I know how you think.” “Do you think you’re the first corner who’s ever said that to me? I’ve heard it all before. Including the season I only had three picks.” DeShawn leaned closer, and though the teams had returned to the field for the beginning of the second quarter, his full attention stayed on Patton. “But I know something that nobody else does. Those three? They were the same play. Sometimes you get a little impatient and you throw off that back foot. It’s fine when you’re throwing to the left, but not the right.” “That’s not a big revelation. The analysts have been saying that for years,” Patton said stiffly. DeShawn’s easy grin never faded. “Yeah, sure they have. I’m going to catch the rest of the game so I can tell Darnell everything he’s done wrong.” “Did it ever occur to you that Darnell doesn’t want or need to hear shit from you?” Did it occur to you that I don’t need it, 5


either? “He might not want it, but he needs it.” “He’s one of the best corners in the league.” “Yeah, that’s the story. But it’ll be changing when they see me play.” Patton looked over his shoulder as DeShawn walked away, his attention naturally drawn to Oz’s imposing frame. Patton wasn’t a small guy, but Oz was almost inhuman, taller than anybody else on the field, unexpectedly graceful, his feet fast and nimble when he avoided the hundreds of pounds of angry linemen barreling toward him. He sat hunched over an open playbook with Chip, the offensive coordinator, chewing absently on his fingernail while he watched Chip gesture at the page. It was impossible to dislike the good-natured, confident Oz. Patton sensed a kindred spirit in him, and he couldn’t begrudge the kid, but he burned with helpless jealousy, too, feeling it twist tighter and tighter inside of his chest. It was like too much whiskey downed too quickly, and sometimes the base of his throat clenched and tingled like he was going to vomit. The defense opened the quarter with a strong stand, hinting at the ways the Mustang offense would fall apart. They were committed to running the ball, but they weren’t making any big progress. Their quarterback, Felton, was young and eager, and Patton knew exactly what bad call he would make. Two plays later, he tried to force a play to the far right, and he underestimated Darnell’s speed. “Stupid, stupid,” Patton murmured just before jumping to his feet and cheering his teammate to the end zone. Felton managed to save the play with a diving tackle, but they were on the twelveyard line and the entire stadium roared with excitement. Oz trotted 6


onto the field to a deafening bellow, the hometown team welcoming their new man and all his potential. “What would you do?” DeShawn asked, at his side once again. “I’d get the ball to the end zone.” “How? What play would you call?” Patton shook his head. “I can’t answer without getting a good look at their defense.” “You’ve been looking at them all week. Studying the tapes when you think nobody notices.” “It’s not the same.” “So you’re telling me you’d trot out onto that field without a single strategy in mind? You have to call something in the huddle.” Patton shook his head again. He had a process, but it was his own, and he didn’t speak about it to anybody except Coach and Chip. He especially wasn’t going to describe his method to this kid. Who knew where he’d end up in the next season? Who knew where either would of them would be? “That’s fine, I wouldn’t tell me either.” “I thought you had me all figured out. You tell me.” DeShawn licked his lips and then accurately outlined the strategy Patton had been mulling from the moment Felton threw the interception. He didn’t need to say anything to confirm that DeShawn was right. The corner knew it, too. “Don’t look so surprised. This is my job. No different from the way you read defenses.” “Maybe it’s a good thing for me we won’t meet on the field.” “Was that a compliment?” “Does it matter? You’ll take it as one, either way.” “Yeah, that’s true.” Patton nodded at the field, indicating he wanted to watch. 7


Momentum was a funny thing, and if they scored first, that momentum might shift to their side of the field. The late summer sun beat on their shoulders, inching closer to its zenith, alone in the blue. Patton’s back itched, and he caught himself idly wishing he could peel his pads off. The ball sailed through the air as he tried to sort out what that could mean—taking off his pads in the middle of a game? Would a soldier strip his armor in the middle of a battle? What was wrong with him that the thought would even cross his mind? Bryce Winter, a wide-receiver just coming into his own in his fourth year, caught the reception for a touchdown. Patton cheered with the rest of the team, patting Bryce on the back when he came back to the sideline. Bryce’s eyes flickered with something as he accepted the congratulations, and some of the sharp tension in Patton’s chest eased. He recognized that look, and it was nice to know that his opinion still mattered to somebody. Patton felt good enough about that to offer Oz a genuine smile when he whipped his helmet off. “Not bad, kid.” Oz smiled broadly, and it occurred to Patton that he really was a kid. A kid who just scored his first touchdown in a professional game, and that deserved more than a few gruff words. Patton goodnaturedly pounded Oz on the back and added, “Do that again, and old Waxman will start to panic. You’ll have his whole defense picked apart.” Oz opened his mouth to respond, but Chip pulled him aside, already running his mouth. Patton felt eyes on him, boring into the back of his skull. He spun around to see DeShawn watching him, an uncommonly thoughtful look on his face. A wave of irritation washed through him, and he barely bit back the order to quit his 8


fucking staring. Maybe DeShawn saw the intention on his face because he shrugged and turned to speak to Bryce. Patton moved to the end of the bench, keeping to himself for the rest of the game, unneeded and brooding. *

*

*

Patton’s home was a welcome reprieve, a piece of paradise he’d painstakingly carved out of Los Angeles. He’d never been a man of flashy or ostentatious taste, but he wasn’t afraid of spending his money. He needed a haven, a place safe from the world and the game—the good and the bad. He never minded road games as a young man, but after he finished remodeling the house to his exact specifications, he began to resent them a little. No matter how wonderful the hotel, it couldn’t compare to his own bed, his own bathroom, his kitchen where everything stayed exactly where it belonged. Patton supposed that meant he was getting old. He had nothing like that in Phoenix. He had his agent’s assistant find him a house to rent there. Far too big for him, but it had a large, heated pool. That had been Patton’s only specification when all of the details were being settled. Swimming was good physical therapy for his knee. He limped into his den, unnecessarily locking the door before dropping to the couch. The three championship rings were in a glass case above his head, and he stared up at them, the games still fresh in his mind. Patton had left most of his other belongings in his home in LA, but he would not live anywhere without his rings. Their win that afternoon had been decisive, twenty-eight to seven. The lone Mustang touchdown had been a defensive play, a 9


fumble recovery deep in Wildcat territory. It had been a tough break, and DeShawn had been full of righteous fury, though everybody had ignored him. Everybody but Patton, who couldn’t stop himself from looking at the other man, absorbing details with each flick of his eyes. Physically, he’d been built to play cornerback. He was long and lean, well-muscled, capable of getting his body in the air to reaching impossible heights. He wore long braids to his shoulder that annoyed Patton—he firmly believed hair should never be visible when wearing a helmet. His dark eyes were intelligent and his high cheekbones made Patton wonder if he had any Polynesian ancestry. That seemed likely, given the burnished tone of his skin. His youth attracted Patton’s thoughts again and again. He didn’t think DeShawn had meant anything when he said he’d been watching Patton since he was a kid, but the comment still burrowed under his skin and clung to him with sharp barbs. Patton’s stomach growled, reminding him that there had once been a routine. Back when he was a winner, and the patterns of his life had almost mystical significance. Every decision had been critical as Patton strived to keep his world perfectly balanced. He was not a superstitious man by nature, but superstition surrounded him, and fears and obsessions from infusing his life. His routines had become very important to him, and now they were gone, Patton wasn’t sure how to adjust to the unbalance. He abandoned the couch, since the food wasn’t going to come to him, no matter how much he might wish otherwise. There used to be invitations to family dinners after every home game, and there still were invitations, to be honest. But he didn’t really know his new teammates, and he didn’t know their families. It had been easier to develop friendships as the team captain, when he was a 10


franchise quarterback, when he played like he belonged there. Now it just seemed like too much work, having the same getting-toknow-you conversations, answering the same questions, telling the same stories. If Chris were there, he’d smack Patton on the back of the head and tell him to stop being such an anti-social drama queen. Patton caught the edge of the counter and gripped it as the all-too-familiar of regret washed through him. Chris had never even seen this house, but Patton could imagine him standing in the kitchen, sweating onions in the wok with a frown of concentration, absently pushing his hair back away from his eyes between comments on Patton’s performance. Patton filled a deep pot with water and set it on the front burner, capable of nothing more than spaghetti, boiled eggs, and sandwiches. It would be easy to hire a cook and a housekeeper. He’d had one of each in Los Angeles, but like most things since Patton’s move to Phoenix, it didn’t seem to matter that much. He salted the water and stared at the bottom of the pan, waiting for the tiny bubbles to form and float to the surface. If asked, Patton wouldn’t describe himself as lonely. He wasn’t. He missed his old life, he missed Chris, he missed his teammates and his friends, but only in an abstract way. He’d been living under a glass bowl for the past six months, capable of seeing the world, but unable to hear it, smell it, or connect with it on any real level. And when he tired of looking, all he had to do was close his eyes and embrace the darkness, blissfully unaware of the world he no longer felt a part of. Patton boiled an entire box of spaghetti, added a jar of Ragu, and served himself on a plate out of habit. He returned to the den with his food and a beer, flipping on the television so he could 11


watch the day’s highlights. The footage switched to the Wildcats game, and he caught a glimpse of his own face on the television. He paused the image, staring at himself with more than a trace of surprise. He didn’t look old. He looked tired. It was only opening week, and he already looked like he’d been through the wringer and was the worse for it. The image disappeared, replaced by Oz’s smiling face. The stats beneath his name spoke for themselves. Twenty-four completions for twenty-seven attempts. Three touchdowns. Over two hundred yards in passing. Forty-eight yards in rushing. He wasn’t flashy, but he was solid. Patton’s stats for the day were much less encouraging. Nothing but a line of zeroes.

12


WEEK 2 PHOENIX WILDCATS VS HOUSTON OILERS 1-0-0

“As for the late games, I have to say I like the Wildcats chances in Houston. They’re a young team, but they’ve got a lot of talent. Jeremy Oswald showed an amazing amount of poise last week, and he’s definitely got the speed necessary to avoid the Oilers’ defensive line. Their running game still needs a bit of work, but the season is young and I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for them, yet.” “So you’re calling the game for Phoenix?” “I am. I think they’ll have a comfortable win. Oswald is going to throw for at least three touchdowns today. He’ll get plenty of good looks down the field if the Wildcats’ secondary can spread out the defense a bit.” 13


“There was a lot of talk in the off-season about who was going to be leading that team. Do you think that’s still a story?” “It’s still difficult to say. I think if Oswald has another game like last week, nobody will be talking about Cooper.” “And if he doesn’t?” “Well, it’ll be interesting either way. I’ll tell you this, though, Oswald wasn’t playing like a rookie out there.” *

*

*

Patton tuned out the television, ignoring the rest of the day’s predictions while he dressed for warm-up. A quick glance around the room confirmed that everybody agreed with the commentator’s assessment. Confidence and spirits were high, with Oz acting as a lightning rod for the cheerful shouts. Patton agreed with the assessment, too. The Wildcats were a young team, Oz was proving himself to be a good leader, and Patton was becoming less relevant. Patton was the first out of the locker room, trotting to the field in surprisingly high spirits. His knee didn’t bother him at all, despite Friday’s flight. His shoulder was loose, and he’d slept well the night before, unaware of any nightmares or stress dreams. The only thing stopping the smile that threatened to break free was the knowledge that it didn’t matter how good he felt that afternoon, he wouldn’t be playing. Patton began his warm-ups, stretching every major group of muscles, spending extra time on his right leg. He snagged a short jump rope from the sidelines, easily falling into a rhythm with the rope. He jumped forward, backward, crossed his arms, circled the small space he’d staked out for himself, and chanted playground 14


songs to himself to keep time. In LA, nobody ever paid any attention to him as he went through his routine. But now he felt somebody’s heavy gaze, and he wasn’t surprised to find DeShawn staring at him when he turned around. “You’re better than my cousins.” “I’ve probably been doing this longer than your cousins,” Patton pointed out. “That doesn’t bother your knee?” DeShawn asked. “No,” Patton said shortly, bringing the rope around to start a new series. He expected DeShawn to take a hint and wander over to where Darnell ran sprints down the field. But he stood there with his arms folded, watching Patton with an unreadable expression. Patton was accustomed to scrutiny, more than capable of performing whether one person watched or ten million. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the way DeShawn stared at him. “Do you want something?” Patton finally snapped. “Nope. Just watching how a professional does it.” Patton flung the rope at DeShawn’s head without warning, vaguely disappointed when DeShawn caught it with his lightning reflexes. “Let’s see what you can do.” DeShawn shrugged and started a fast rhythm, the rope whipping over his head and under his feet so quickly Patton almost couldn’t see it. DeShawn’s easy smile never faded. His gaze didn’t waver either. His braids flew behind him each time he lifted in the air, the beads on the end clicking together when he returned to the ground. “How much should I do?” DeShawn asked, not sounding at all winded. “I don’t know.” “How many did you do?” 15


“One hundred.” “Sounds good. So I was thinking I’d take some passes.” “What?” “While you’re warming up. You can throw them to me.” Patton shrugged. “If that’s what you want.” “What are you doing after the game? You gonna go out?” “No.” And by that he meant why the fuck would I do something like that? “Darnell said the team usually goes out to this pub here in Houston. He says it’s pretty good.” “I wouldn’t know.” “Maybe you should find out.” “I’m not that interested.” “And one hundred.” DeShawn came to an abrupt halt and tossed the rope back to Patton. “I feel good. I feel like running. What about you?” Patton bent and scooped up a ball. “Then run down to the end of the field there and let’s see if you can catch a ball.” DeShawn flashed a gleeful smile, like he was finally getting a special treat he’d been waiting on for a very long time. Patton counted to four, cocked his arm back, and released the ball in a measured, perfect motion. No matter how fucked his knee was, no matter how sore his shoulder, no matter how much his body frayed at the edges, his spiral remained flawless. It flew through the air with a slight arc, bending at the last second to float down into DeShawn’s waiting hands. He caught it on the run and his momentum carried him through the back of the end zone. “Not bad!” DeShawn shouted before he threw it back. It didn’t quite have the same tight spin or distance as Patton’s throw, but he had obvious skill. Had anybody ever tried to put DeShawn into the 16


QB position? Patton didn’t have time to wonder about that because DeShawn was already running another route, waiting for Patton to deliver the pigskin to where he expected to find it. Patton put more force behind the second pass, and instead of floating into place, the ball slammed into DeShawn’s chest like a heat-seeking missile. A less experienced player would have dropped it. Hell, even an experienced player who wasn’t paying attention like he should. But DeShawn protected it, tucking it in his arm as he completed the play to the end zone. Patton felt himself smiling at the sight, a warm feeling in his chest. They did it again and again and again, the patterns changing, each throw slightly different from the one before it. But no matter what Patton did, DeShawn couldn’t be beat. He was nothing but a dark flash darting around other players, sprinting across the field, honing in on the football no matter what. After the seventh or eighth pass, the warm feeling in Patton’s chest moved lower, taking up residence in his abdomen. He chastised himself when he recognized the sharp, familiar excitement, that sense of anticipation that couldn’t be contained. It would spread through him until every muscle tingled and his blood sang and he felt the crowd’s excitement, pulsing through him, beginning with the vibrations of their shouts beneath his feet. “That’s enough,” Patton hollered, waving DeShawn in. “Enough? I was just getting warmed up.” Patton shook his head. He wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t going to pretend this was like any other Sunday in the past eleven years. He wasn’t going to be able to work off any of this energy zapping through his veins like ungrounded electricity. “I’m warmed up.” “You don’t play fair, Cooper.” 17


“What’s Stan going to say if he sees you out here acting like a receiver? You better get over there before he misses you.” “I thought we were having fun.” “We’re not here to have fun.” “You know what the sad thing is?” Patton shook his head. He didn’t know if there was just one sad thing about his life. “You actually believe that.” He left Patton standing alone, forced to admit that while DeShawn might be a little obnoxious, he wasn’t wrong. *

*

*

The three girls intercepted him in the lobby of the hotel, and he smiled a little as they closed in on him. He’d seen enough fans in his lifetime to recognize them when they approached, and he was prepared for the autograph request. Two of the girls were quiet, thrusting T-shirts at him to sign with shy, pleading smiles. But there wasn’t anything shy about the group’s ringleader, or the way she met his eyes and asked if he would join them for a drink. She introduced herself as Vanessa. Vanessa’s two friends were Audrey and Sunny. Patton’s first instinct was to decline, but Vanessa stepped closer, put a friendly hand on his arm, and said, “We know you’ve had a long day. We just want to buy you a beer in the bar.” How could he turn down that offer? Patton wasn’t quite that anti-social yet. He nodded and gestured at the hotel bar, indicating he’d follow. They found an empty table, and Vanessa ordered a pitcher and a plate of nachos “in case anybody’s hungry.” “This is a little weird for us,” Audrey said, brushing an auburn 18


curl away from her forehead. “I mean, we normally don’t just invite strange men to join for us drinks. But you’re not a strange man. We’ve been watching you for the past ten years.” “That doesn’t mean I’m not strange,” Patton pointed out as he filled the chilled mugs. “There are plenty of weirdoes playing professional football.” “I bet there are,” Vanessa said. “Got any stories?” “None that are mine to share.” He took a sip and nodded. “Thanks for the beer. I think it’s what I needed. So what brings you girls to Houston?” “Business,” Vanessa said. Sunny echoed her with a grimace. Audrey didn’t add to the chorus. She was too busy drinking . “What kind of business?” “The maddening kind. We were here to give a presentation. Which, of course, had to be scheduled this afternoon.” “Who works on a Sunday afternoon?” Audrey demanded. “Besides you. People who don’t play football should have the day off to watch football and keep an eye on their fantasy football teams. Thank God for email alerts.” “Maybe if you hadn’t been so worried about your email, you would have been more focused on the meeting,” Sunny said. “That meeting was going to be shit no matter what we did. He’s not interested. This is all just a game to him. He’s never going to sign with us, and we missed all of the late games.” Vanessa smiled apologetically. “We promise we won’t bitch about work all night. We just came downstairs to get a drink and when we saw you…well…” “We thought we were having a shared hallucination. I’m surprised you didn’t hear Audrey screaming.” Patton grinned at her. “That was you?” 19


Her chipmunk cheeks turned a soft shade of red. “Yes, but you startled me. I mean, one second everything’s normal, and the next second I look across the lobby and there you are. Which honestly was the last thing I expected to see. Plus, you’re so tall. I knew you were, but knowing it and seeing it are two different things.” “More beer?” Vanessa asked, holding the pitcher over his mostly empty glass. “What? Oh, sure. Thanks.” Audrey leaned over the table. “Can we ask you a million questions?” “You can ask me anything you want, but I can’t help you with your fantasy league.” “Do you play fantasy football?” “Not this season.” It required too much effort, even though it was his job to know what all the other players were doing and how they played. “Things were hectic this year.” Vanessa’s face fell slightly. “Yeah, I bet they were. It’s a good thing the Wildcats are in another conference. Of course, I’m beginning to suspect that a poo-flinging ape could do a better job with Los Angeles. They lost today. Did you see that? Totally fucked my Pick’ems league.” Patton chuckled a little. “Yeah, I did see that.” “So what’s the real story there?” Audrey asked. “I remember when you were traded, everybody had miles of speculation and no actual information.” “The real story? Well, you know that. You don’t need me to tell you.” The three of them had identical questioning looks. “Winning. LA wanted another championship. That’s what it always comes down to.” “I don’t see why they thought they needed to trade you, then. 20


You were still winning.” He had been winning, but they missed the playoffs two years in a row and tensions were climbing high between the front office, the coaching staff, and himself. Even so, the trade announcement had been a betrayal. “I honestly don’t understand anything that goes on in that man’s head,” Vanessa said. “I’ve been a Marauders fan since I a kid, and I don’t get it. So, do you at least like playing in Phoenix?” “Phoenix is a beautiful city and I’ve got great teammates,” Patton answered automatically. The three girls looked at each other, then at him and started to laugh. “Could that have been more of a canned response? We’re not reporters, you know,” Sunny said. “It’s been difficult to adjust,” Patton admitted. It was the most he’d confessed of his unhappiness, and it felt like a small weight had been lifted from his chest. In the morning, they would all leave Houston for their respective homes, and his impulsive honesty would be forgotten. “Really difficult.” “Moving to a new city can be hard,” Vanessa said with full sympathy. “Especially if everything else is different, too.” “Yeah, maybe it’d be different if I were starting, but…” Patton shrugged and tried to smile, like it wasn’t a big deal. Just because this was the first season of football since he was six that he sat out the first two games didn’t mean he needed to start brooding again. “Well, do you know what I think? I think we should go out tonight and have some real fun.” “More fun than this?” Patton shook his head. “I’d love to, but I’ve got an early flight in the morning. My wake-up call is fivethirty.” “Oh my God, that’s terrible,” Sunny said, her brown eyes 21


positively brimming with emotion. And booze. Patton began to wonder just how much they had to drink before they spotted him. “We don’t have to go out. We’ve got booze up in the room.” They were fun girls, and a nice distraction. He wouldn’t have to drink himself into a hangover with them, and when he got tired of their company it would be an easy thing to slip back to his own room. Besides, what was he going to do with his time if he turned them down? Watch highlights from the day and grow increasing morose until he finally passed out? Patton didn’t think he could do that for another night. “Let’s move the party upstairs, then.” The three of them cheered, quickly finishing the last of their beer and then grabbing him by the arms, pulling him to his feet. They weren’t exactly discreet, but Patton didn’t mind if the entire bar watched them leave together. *

*

*

Vanessa passed out first. Patton gently took the half-full glass from her curled fingers, sloshing most of it over the rim when he hurried to wrap his arm around her, stopping her from falling forward off the couch. “She can’t hold her liquor,” Audrey informed solemnly. “She never could. But she likes to show off.” Sunny giggled at that, watching Patton carefully arrange Vanessa on the couch from her place on the bed. Audrey pulled off her pantyhose and her shirt, leaving her in a black bra and her short black skirt that really did wonderful things for her legs. As soon as Vanessa was settled, Audrey curled up around her, a possessive arm around her waist. 22


“Come lay down.” “I really should be going now. I think it’s weird to stay after half the party has passed out.” “We’re not passed out.” Sunny patted the bed beside her. “We’re both wide awake. It’d be a shame to waste the opportunity.” What opportunity? Patton should have left, but the room was shifting around him and his knee hurt again. The bed looked more than inviting. Sunny smoothed her hand over the thick bedspread, making it look twice as inviting as before. He collapsed to the mattress, laughing when some of Sunny’s drink splashed onto his arm. “I’ll get that,” she announced, pushing her hair away from her face as she dragged her tongue over his skin. “Mmm. I think I’ll have more.” “Wait…” She pushed his T-shirt up to his shoulders, exposing his chest and stomach to her extremely interested gaze. Nobody had ever looked at him with such hunger before, and he felt a moment of strange fear, like she actually intended to eat him. She poured more of the ice-cold liquid on his stomach, ignoring him when he hissed and flinched away. She dragged her unbelievably hot tongue across his skin, her mouth like an inferno waiting to consume him. “You like that?” Sunny swung a leg over his hips, straddling him to rock against his soft cock. “I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.” “Sunny…” Her tongue moved over his flesh again. Patton watched with a dry throat while she traced his nipple, circling it until the skin had hardened to a point. She caught the nub between her teeth, her eyes 23


gleaming with satisfaction as she bit down. Patton yelped and arched his back, the pain much sharper than he’d expected. “Sunny, wait.” “You know what I heard?” Her mouth was at his ear now, her breathing hard and hot against his jaw. “What?” “I heard you were a queer.” Her hand fluttered around his fly, fingertips dragging across his cock, trying to coax a reaction from it. “Did you know they say that about you? I think they’re just jealous. Look at you, of course they’d have to make up something like that. But I don’t believe it.” She pushed her hips down, grinding against him. “You’re all man.” He tasted her cloying perfume in the back of his throat, and his eyes burned from it. He’d fucked women before. Actually a surprising number of women considering his preferences, but he had no desire to fuck this one. Patton felt nothing where she touched him, unless it involved her teeth or nails, then he felt pain. Not the sexy kind, either. Patton took her by the shoulders and rolled her onto her back. She laughed up at him, squirming against his chest, her tits almost breaking free of the lacy bra. “Look, Sunny, you’re a very nice girl—” “Oh, I could be much more than that.” “I’m sure you could. But I’m going to have to regretfully decline.” Her eyes widened in perfect shock. “Excuse me? You’re what? But I thought you wanted—” “No, no, I just…wanted the company.” Sunny pushed him away, rolling from between the cage of his arms and jumping to her feet. “Oh my God. Oh my God, I’m so 24


embarrassed.” “Don’t be.” “I am. I’m not…I’m not usually a huge slut.” “I don’t think you’re a slut.” “Even though I just…I’m usually not…I was just…caught up. Is it just me, or is this getting more awkward by the second?” “It’s not just you.” She peered at him from beneath her thick lashes. “You’re not queer, are you?” “No,” Patton answered automatically. “But I’m…it’s been a long day. I think I should just go back to my room.” Sunny didn’t seem reassured. Her eyes were wide and troubled, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest protectively. “Fine.” “It was really nice meeting you. All three of you. I hope…everything goes well for you.” Sunny snorted. “Yeah, well, you too.” Patton fled. He tried to straighten his clothes and keep his head down, wishing his room wasn’t all the way up on the fifteenth floor. Wishing he could have stayed in that room and fucked the girl like she clearly wanted. Wishing he could just be normal like everybody else who was probably getting laid at the moment. He had the room to himself when he returned, much to his relief. Patton didn’t give a thought to the whereabouts of his roommate, just toed off his shoes and collapsed in bed. He thought of the girl he left in bed, half-naked and frustrated with him. But his thoughts took a turn, as he knew they would, and his mind quite happily settled on DeShawn. Patton imagined DeShawn’s sleek muscles, his powerful legs eating up yards while he rushed to catch the ball. His groin tightened and that jittery, warm feeling settled in his stomach. The 25


same one he felt before, though this time it had nothing to do with anticipation of the game and everything to do with the way DeShawn’s body moved, skin gleaming in the sun, long fingers cradling the ball. He’d seen DeShawn in the locker room, and he didn’t look, he never let himself look, but he’d caught enough of the other man from the corner of his eye to form an impression of youth and grace. He had a certain economy of movement, even when he was laughing and joking around with nothing more than towel around his hips. Patton’s cock stirred, becoming more interested as the heat increased beneath Patton’s skin. He pressed the heel of his hand to the bulge in his pants in a futile attempt to ease the pressure against his jeans. He wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t going to stroke himself to thoughts of DeShawn. Especially since DeShawn probably had no intention of leaving Patton in peace. In fact, the younger man would probably insist on sitting beside him during the flight to Phoenix. If he didn’t, he would be there for practice on Tuesday, and Wednesday, and every day after that. How would he look at the other man after pleasuring himself to thoughts of DeShawn sucking him off? Or, even better, the thought of swallowing DeShawn’s cock, taking his full length until… Patton groaned and rolled onto his side, facing the wall while his fingers sneaked beneath his waistband. He wasn’t going to think of DeShawn, but he had other fantasies. If he didn’t do something, he’d be up all night with a dull ache in his balls, and Patton did want to get some rest that night. When he finally fell into an uneasy sleep, he dreamt of throwing long passes that nobody was there to catch.

26


WEEK 3 PHOENIX WILDCATS VS ORLANDO BREAKERS 2-0-0

“Good morning and welcome back to Football Today. I’m Jon Curtis, and we’ll be sending you out to New York for the matchup between the New York Titans and the Houston Oilers in about five minutes. But first, JD, what do you think of today’s late game? Bitter division rivals, both teams undefeated, and even though we’re in the third week, there are already playoff implications.” “Well, there are always playoff implications when these two teams meet up. I wouldn’t be surprised if the playoff picture is shaped by this win and the tie-breaking implications.” “So who do you like?” “It’s tough, but I’ve got to say the Breakers. They’re playing tough and they’re playing smart. As long as Johnson stays healthy, 27


I think they’re the best team in the conference.” “Ryan, what about you?” “I think it’s less about Cal Johnson and more about Oswald. The kid is good, nobody’s denying that, but is he good enough to keep up with a veteran like Johnson? I think he might be.” “So does that mean you’re picking the Wildcats?” “No, Orlando Breakers by a touchdown.” *

*

*

By halftime, everybody knew they were in trouble. Oz paced on the sidelines with a vaguely befuddled expression, rolling his arm every few minutes, gaze continuously shifting to the scoreboard. No matter how many times he looked, the numbers didn’t change. The rookie didn’t have the experience to understand how things had gone so wrong. Nothing quite like this had ever happened in college. Patton wanted to help him. In fact, helping Oz through this sort of shit was his one unambiguous duty now. But he couldn’t drag Oz out of the weeds. He couldn’t do anything but offer support and encouragement. Oz accepted the full burden of responsibility for being down three touchdowns at the half. The defense was falling apart, and the offense couldn’t find the rhythm. The running game had been all but shut down, and Oz’s arm and instincts were strong as ever, but they were choking the passing game, too. “The second half will be better,” Patton promised, falling into step besides Oz as they passed through the tunnel. “You just need to make a few adjustments.” “It won’t do any good.” “Yes, there are weaknesses in the Breakers’ defense. You know 28


what they are. You watched the tapes.” Oz shook his head, managing to look grim and bemused at the same time. He wouldn’t say what every quarterback thought at least once—his offensive line was letting him down. Patton appreciated Oz’s integrity, but he’d have to say something. Coach would give everybody a speech, but the team needed a leader. Oz needed to step into the role, or he’d lose them for the rest of the season. He was staring down his first real defeat, and it was scary, but it Oz’s job was to push beyond that fear. “You’ve got to tell them what to do,” Patton said, his voice low. “What?” “You’ve got to tell them what you want from them. That’s your job, on and off the field.” Oz looked up, face impassive except a tiny hint of fear in his eyes. “I don’t—” “You do. You know what needs to be done. Look, I know you’re tired. The Breakers have had you on the run all day. They’re tired, too. You gotta give your line something for the second half.” “How did this happen so soon? It’s only the third week.” “It could happen any week. You need to put it behind you starting now and get everybody ready for the next thirty minutes.” Oz already knew this, but he nodded like Patton had imparted the wisdom of the ages and jogged to catch up with Coach. Patton knew all too well about the debilitating cycle of blame, replaying every second of the first half to see exactly when it all went wrong. “Coach should put you in,” DeShawn said, taking Oz’s place at Patton’s side. “No he shouldn’t, and keep your fucking voice down.” 29


“Come on, they’re not doing anything out there that you’ve never seen before. Think about how huge that comeback would be for you.” “No. Stop saying shit like that. Oz needs the whole team behind him.” “I’m behind him. But I want to win. Can you blame me for being frustrated when Coach is keeping all his talent on the bench?” Patton looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “I suppose you think you can turn the whole game around.” “It’d only take one interception return to turn this whole game around. It’d shift the momentum and get us within two scores. Don’t you think that’d be enough?” “Sure, if I had any guarantee you’d actually pick Johnson off.” “I would.” DeShawn said it with perfect confidence, but Patton ignored him. It didn’t matter how great DeShawn considered himself. Coach wouldn’t put him in unless he had to, and despite the fact that everything was falling apart around their ears, Darnell still played strong. He’d only allowed three catches, and they weren’t even big ones. But he was taking a beating, just like everybody else. He didn’t need to see DeShawn salivating for his spot. “There’s no reason to start talking about it yet. So just calm down and try to be a good teammate, okay?” DeShawn’s brow knitted together. “What makes you think you can talk to me like that?” “Like what?” “So condescending.” “I wasn’t trying to be condescending,” Patton said mildly. He’d been a little condescending, but he thought it was the best way to 30


head off DeShawn’s arrogance. He didn’t need to spend the rest of the game listening to DeShawn’s list of reasons why he should be put in the game despite his lack of experience. “What were you trying to do, then?” “My job.” “That’s all I’m trying to do, too. I know what you think. The only thing I care about is myself. I’m being selfish talking like this. But I know I could make a difference out on the field, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” “You could make a difference on the bench, too. You want to help this team? You have to put it first.” “I think that’s pretty rich coming from you.” They’d reached the locker room by that point, and DeShawn followed Patton right to his locker. He stood with his helmet in one hand, gripping the edge of his shoulder pads with the other. Nobody talked much, and in the subdued atmosphere, DeShawn’s voice carried, attracting attention. Patton wanted to tell him to be quiet again, but he saw a strange challenge in DeShawn’s eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You like to talk like you’re a big team player. But I don’t think you care about anything except yourself.” What right did DeShawn have to say anything like that? He didn’t know Patton at all. If he cared about nobody but himself, he wouldn’t be in his currently untenable position. Why should he have to defend himself anyway? DeShawn wasn’t anything to him. He wasn’t even Patton’s friend. Since he didn’t know where to begin, Patton opted not to say anything at all, turning his attention to his locker. “Don’t act like you didn’t hear me.” “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” 31


“We all went out as a team last week. Except a certain quarterback who was too busy getting laid.” “Getting laid?” Patton didn’t bother trying to hide his confusion. “What business—” “All right everybody! Huddle up!” They all took their place in the huddle, and Patton standing across from DeShawn. The other man never once met Patton’s eye, which distracted Patton more than it should have. Patton had sensed something under DeShawn’s words. Hurt, maybe? No, that didn’t make any sense. DeShawn wouldn’t be hurt because Patton had stayed at the hotel rather than gone out with the rest of the team, but clearly he had not approved of Patton’s entirely innocuous behavior. Patton allowed himself to mull over the issue while Coach gave his rallying speech, the coordinators quietly conferring with their staff. Above their heads, a red clock ticked down the half-time period. The men around him were antsy, shifting their weight, talking to each other under their breath, and Patton took that as a good sign. Even Oz seemed to be less muddled, his sharp green eyes focused, his body vibrating with energy. When he noticed Patton looking at him, he smiled a little. Don’t worry, his eyes said, I know what to do now. Patton hoped he was right. *

*

*

DeShawn finally looked at Patton again when Darnell hopped off the field on one foot, two of the trainers supporting his weight late in the fourth. Both teams were battered with starters benched. The Wildcats had started the second half in a frenzy of energy, 32


determined to make up all their lost ground. But the Breakers were determined, too, and blood ran hot as the old rivalry gained momentum. Even the fans seemed to sense a change in the air. Patton itched, just below the skin, so deeply that he knew only one thing would soothe it. He wanted to play. He wanted to play as badly as DeShawn did. They needed a touchdown to win, and Patton couldn’t have been more pleased with the comeback Oz had orchestrated. Watching him control the pace of the game and just settle down was the only saving grace in Patton’s life. It was one thing to be traded and benched, shunted to the side and told he was nothing, but at least the person they set him aside for consistently proved himself worthy. “Fifty-six, you’re up.” That was DeShawn. He grinned widely, manically, and pulled his helmet down over his braids. The PA system boomed with the announcement of the substation while DeShawn loped onto the field. Patton pushed forward a little so he could have a clearer view of the field, standing shoulder to shoulder with the younger quarterback. Oz trembled a little, but Patton understood it wasn’t from nerves. “If we don’t get a turnover, I might not get another chance out there.” “Trust your defense,” Patton murmured. They had one time-out and the two-minute warning, but if the Breakers got a fresh set of downs after the warning, that would be it. “What happened to Darnell?” Oz shrugged. “Fell on his ankle funny. I think somebody stepped on him.” Patton grimaced. “I wouldn’t put it past anybody out there to 33


do that.” “What do you think of Jones?” “He’s got good hands. And a good eye.” “I saw you talking to him earlier.” It was Patton’s turn to shrug. “We do sometimes. He’s…gregarious.” “To say the least. We played each other a few times in college. He picked me off once.” “Wow, maybe he’s as good as thinks he is.” Oz snorted. “Are you kidding? DeShawn is a legend in his own mind. I think in order to be half as good as he thinks he is, he’d have to get an interception off you.” “Right now, I’d be happy if he would pick off Johnson. There’s still plenty of time in this game.” “Are you always this calm?” Patton looked across the field. “No. But it’s not all on my shoulders, kid.” That earned him a small laugh. Johnson snapped the ball and both teams became a blur of motion. Johnson had time—too much time—but DeShawn didn’t let his receiver get an inch of separation. Patton watched him race down the field. It was different from before because this really mattered, but it was the same, too. Despite the close coverage, Johnson flicked the ball down the field, clearly choosing the option that would put the game to bed. Oz stilled beside him. Patton was similarly frozen, silently begging DeShawn to catch the ball, to not fuck this up, to prove himself like he so badly wanted to. “Did he catch that?” Oz asked hollowly as the receiver fell out of bounds. “I think both of his feet were inbounds.” 34


“There’s no way he caught that. No way.” Most of the Wildcats apparently agreed with his assessment, because they were all gesturing wildly at the ref to signal an incomplete pass. “Shit.” “First down Breakers on the Wildcats twenty-yard line.” “Fuck,” Oz spat. “Fuck. What the fuck was that?” Patton blinked and shook his head. “Luck, maybe.” “There’s no such thing as luck,” Oz growled before stalking away. Patton disagreed. Bad luck existed, so there had to be a measure of good luck in the world, too. Unfortunately, it seemed the Breakers got all of it that afternoon. With the ball so deep in Wildcat territory, they played conservatively but didn’t stop pressing forward. Johnson took it on a quarterback sneak with thirty seconds left in the game. Every person in the stadium roared as one, and the Breakers could barely contain themselves from spilling onto the field before the point after kick. Patton thought he should keep an eye on Oz, but he couldn’t stop from looking for DeShawn. He looked the same as always, even pausing to joke with Darnell about getting a seeing-eye dog for the ref. Patton didn’t consciously move toward him, but he still found himself at DeShawn’s side. “You’re not upset,” Patton observed. “You’re not either.” “I have less reason to be.” “I don’t have reason to be upset. All I did was my best. I’ll just have to make sure that my best is better.” “It was a close call.” “You don’t have to try to make me feel better.” “I’m not. It was a close call. Everybody’s going to be talking about it for the rest of the week.” 35


“No doubt.” “What do you think?” “Oh, he was definitely in. Don’t tell anybody I said that. I don’t even know how the fuck he did it. It must have been magic or something, but he did it.” DeShawn nodded at Oz’s back. “He’s the one you ought to be talking to.” Even with his pads on, the tension in Oz’s shoulders was obvious. He had his fists clenched, and when he turned his head to bark at one of the water boys, Patton noticed his face was deep red, almost purple. “He’s going to give himself a stroke,” DeShawn added. “I guess he doesn’t like to lose.” “He never has. He had a real reputation in college. He could keep it together in front of the cameras, but just barely.” “He takes it personally.” “You don’t?” Patton shrugged. “It’s rough, but it’s part of the game. Like you said, you just have to make sure your best is better next time.” “So will you eat dinner with me tonight?” “Why?” DeShawn grinned. “Look at how disappointed I am. I can’t be left alone tonight in a strange city. Also because we’re teammates and I’d like to be friends.” Patton didn’t quite know what to make of DeShawn’s persistence or his interest. Maybe he just wanted to talk football. It wasn’t unusual for people, even his older teammates, to want to talk to him about his games, especially the championship wins. He didn’t know if he up for a trip down memory lane, but he couldn’t say being alone was preferable to DeShawn’s company. “Do you mind eating at the hotel?” 36


“Nope. I’ll take what I can get.” “Okay.” DeShawn hit him on the shoulder and made a beeline for the trainer. Patton watched curiously as DeShawn pulled his pads off to reveal a purple bruise across his ribs. There were scrapes on his arms and legs, dried blood on the back of his calf. Mike asked him something Patton didn’t catch and DeShawn laughed, a deep, beautiful sound. Patton felt torn by jealousy, his own body unblemished and free of pain. He missed the honest ache of a freshly inflicted bruise. It used to give him a rush, a small aftershock after the full adrenaline of a game. *

*

*

The dinner was decidedly more romantic than Patton would have liked. Instead of the hotel, he should have suggested a sports bar. Something loud with twenty televisions tuned to ESPN and rowdy fans bitching about the day’s games. Not that he necessarily needed to be surrounded by drinking Breakers fans. But they would have filled the silence. It was hard to sit and say nothing when only soft jazz played in the background. Impossible even. It didn’t help that Patton had requested something in the corner, thinking only that it would help them avoid recognition, not realizing it effectively isolated him with DeShawn. Patton wasn’t good on dates, but he was even worse with absolutely-not-dates. It didn’t help that DeShawn looked really great in the low light. Patton struggled to keep himself from staring, eyes desperate to follow the lines of his muscles clearly outlined beneath his tight black T-shirt. He unconsciously slipped behind an impassive mask that offered no hints of his thoughts or feelings. DeShawn carried 37


the conversation. He had to if he didn’t want a tense silence to fall over the table like a fog. Patton responded appropriately, tried to focus on the menu, then on his hands, then finally, thankfully, on his food. “You always this open and friendly?” DeShawn asked between bites of his pasta. “Is there something in particular you want to know?” “Do you want me to leave you alone? Because I can do that. I’m not trying to bug you.” “You’re not bugging me.” “Really? This is how you treat somebody you like?” “I never said I’d be good company.” “True, but I think you could be. If you felt like it.” “I guess I’m just used to being by myself.” Patton looked around for something to talk about that wasn’t himself. “How’s your food?” “Not bad. Not great, either. It’s about what I’d expect from a place like this.” “I guess we could have gone to the steakhouse. There was a group going.” “No, I wouldn’t want to go there.” “Why not?” “I don’t eat red meat. And everybody would have noticed if I ordered something besides a ribeye. It’s easier to just avoid the subject altogether.” “I know what you mean,” Patton muttered. “You’re a vegetarian, too?” “No, I…” Patton swallowed his response and shifted the topic again. “Why are you a vegetarian? Is it a moral thing or do you just not like the taste?” 38


“More of the former. I try to support local farmers who invest in sustainable methods. But most people don’t want to hear about the state of the beef industry and how the cattle are treated before they’re slaughtered, and I can’t say I blame them.” “How long?” “Since I was sixteen. Mom said I’d give up after a month, but it’s not really that bad. I don’t miss red meat or anything.” “I couldn’t do it. I’d miss cheeseburgers too much.” “Where do you buy your meat?” “At the store like everybody else.” “I don’t know if you’d be interested, but I could give you the address of my food co-op. The quality is better and you’d be supporting local farmers.” “That’d be great. Thanks.” “Do you live in Phoenix full time?” Patton shook his head. “It just seemed easier to stay here until the end of the season. There no reason for me to fly back to LA every week.” “Really? No family or friends?” “Nobody who’ll miss me.” DeShawn leaned back in his chair and looked at Patton thoughtfully. “I’m surprised to hear that, though I guess I shouldn’t be.” Patton frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You keep your distance from the whole team. And I guess that’s not a big deal, though I’ve never seen anybody hold himself so much apart. Don’t you worry about that?” “Why should I worry about it?” “What happens if you have to take over the team? None of the guys even know you.” 39


“Oz—” “Is the leader, I know. You’re committed to being a good teammate to him. But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, you know what I mean? He could get hurt and then you’ve got to step up and—” “What do you know about it?” Patton snapped. DeShawn blinked at Patton’s harsh tone. “I just thought—” “When I want your opinion on how I play, I’ll ask for it.” “I’m not talking about how you play.” “You’re implying that I’m not doing what I should.” “You’re not. Just because you’re the backup doesn’t mean you cede all responsibility. You still have obligations to the team.” “Why do you think it’s any of your business?” “Fuck, at this point, I honestly don’t know. I thought you’d be different.” “I am. I just…” Patton stabbed at his steak. “You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me.” “You’re young. You have your whole career ahead of you. I don’t. And I don’t know…I don’t know what’s expected of me anymore.” He bit down on the other half of that thought. I don’t know who I am anymore. “What happened in LA?” “I hurt my knee.” “You can still play. Hell, you still have the best arm in the league. You know how to control a game. So how did you end up playing second string on a team that hasn’t seen the playoffs in five years?” “My arm isn’t the only thing that matters.” “Bullshit.” 40


Patton wasn’t even tempted to tell DeShawn the truth. He doubted he would ever utter those words out loud. Unlike his mother, Patton had never felt like confession was good for the soul. “You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true. I’m slower now, and they would have had to rethink the entire offense to account for that.” “So they’re lazy.” “They have a good scheme and they found a quarterback that fit well. It was either take the Phoenix deal or retire.” “Why didn’t you retire? I don’t think this is what you want. You don’t act like you’re very happy here.” “Because I…I can’t think of anything more terrifying that never playing football again.” “Yeah.” DeShawn exhaled slowly. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m not so young that I don’t understand anything.” “I know that. You probably understand more than most.” “So what would you have done this afternoon?” “Come on, you know better than to ask that question.” DeShawn’s grin returned. The sight of it alone lifted Patton’s spirits. It was boyish and knowing at once, teasing and sincere. “Yeah, but I thought it might be worth a shot. You up for dessert or do you want to make your escape as soon as possible?” “That depends on what’s on the dessert menu.” “Do you have a sweet tooth?” “A bit of one.” “I never met anybody with just a bit of a sweet tooth.” “I’d eat ice cream with every meal if I could,” Patton confessed. “I did that. The cafeteria in my dorm had one of those soft serve machines. I was living the dream for a few weeks my 41


freshman year.” “What happened?” “I got fat and sick.” DeShawn’s smile turned a little wistful. “It was worth it, though.” “What’s your favorite flavor?” “I like vanilla. You?” “Chocolate.” DeShawn chuckled and gestured for the waiter. Patton felt his face relax into a smile, letting his shield slip for the rest of their meal.

42


WEEK 4 LOS ANGELES MARAUDERS VS PHOENIX WILDCATS 2-1-0

“Despite last week’s loss to the Breakers, today’s match-up with the Los Angeles Marauders ought to be an easy one for the Wildcats on Monday night. The Marauders already have two losses, and the win they had the first week wasn’t very pretty.” “No, it wasn’t Jon, but it was still a win. The Marauders aren’t a bad football team, and I don’t think we should count them out of the game just yet.” “Of course one of the stories this week has been the matchup between Patton Cooper and his former team. Word was that the split between Patton and LA was acrimonious, but with neither side talking, there’s been nothing but speculation.” “But Patton has been trying to put all that talk behind him. 43


When I spoke to him this week, he was heavily focused on putting all of that behind him. He’s focused on helping the Wildcats win. You know, he’s always been a very focused guy. Single-minded when it comes to winning.” “Cooper’s replacement, Alex Meriwether, hasn’t been quite so tight-lipped. What do you make of his comments earlier this week?” “I think he should prove he can walk the walk after talking the talk. Look, everybody knows trading Cooper was controversial. There weren’t many who thought it was a good idea to get rid of a player with that much experience and talent. Meriwether stepped into that job knowing he’d have to prove himself. I think he’ll make a nice case for himself if the Marauders win today. But if they drop to one and three, they might have to seriously reconsider what they’re doing.” *

*

*

Patton muted the television and decided it could have been worse. The narrative had already changed since the summer, when every single analyst on every sports channel had nothing better to do than discuss the circumstances around his trade, and every single one of them repeated the common wisdom that something ugly had happened. Patton’s contract was up, and the official unofficial answer had been a money dispute. By the end of the season, nobody would be talking about it, and by next year it’d be ancient history. A small consolation. Patton stood as a beer commercial started and wandered out to the patio and his grill. It was strange only cooking a steak and a few sausages, but Patton thought some traditions were worth 44


holding on to. He didn’t have the energy to entertain, couldn’t imagine the thought of filling his house with people, but being home on Sunday afternoon in the autumn meant grilling. He’d briefly considered inviting DeShawn over, but things were muddled in his head. Lines that should not have been crossed were starting to blur altogether. From anybody else, Patton would have interpreted DeShawn’s actions as actual interest. DeShawn was dangerous. Besides, he didn’t know what to feed a vegetarian at a barbecue. He had checked out the food co-op DeShawn had suggested, though most of the food was far too fresh for his needs and completely out of his range when it came to preparation. He could boil things and he could grill things. The steaks he found were amazing, prompting a twinge of sympathy for DeShawn. He didn’t know what he was missing. Patton had a twelve-pack of beer on ice, and he reached for them absently as he watched the early games. By kickoff of the late game, he had a pleasant buzz going. Would it be so bad to call DeShawn? The other man would probably die from shock, but that’s what friends did. Even if he didn’t have anything on the grill for DeShawn, they could order pizza in. He owed DeShawn a gesture now, if for no other reason than to show he appreciated the younger man’s effort. When the doorbell rang, Patton first assumed DeShawn had decided not to wait for an invitation to invade Patton’s home. The thought didn’t really annoy him. But it wasn’t DeShawn. Patton’s smile twisted and fell away, his instincts shouting at him to shut the fucking door. Pretend he wasn’t home. Call the police if he had to. He certainly wasn’t above calling the cops to have a nuisance removed from his 45


property. “Hey,” Chris said quickly, putting his hand out to stop Patton from closing the door. “I got your address from Ben. I hope you don’t mind.” He didn’t mind, but he would kill his brother at the first opportunity. “What do you want?” “To talk.” “I don’t have anything to say to you.” “Patton, listen—” “I think you said everything you needed to say before I left.” “Five minutes.” “No.” “I’ll just wait out here until you let me inside.” “You’ll have a long wait.” Chris took a step forward, as though he planned to bully his way in. Chris was a big guy, well over six feet tall with broad shoulders, still young enough that most people mistook him for a player when they saw him with a crowd. But Patton responded by closing the door an inch. “Do we have to do this, Patton? Can’t we just be adults?” “You’re not invited here. I never gave you reason to think you’d ever be invited here.” “Did you really think I wouldn’t even stop by to say hi?” “Honestly? I thought you’d be smart enough to pretend you never even knew me.” “I don’t want that. I don’t want to pretend I never knew you. What happened—” “I know what happened,” Patton said slowly. “I don’t need to rehash it. I lost my job because of you. I lost everything. So don’t think you can just show up on my doorstep like we’re old friends.” 46


“I know. I know what you lost, Patton. You don’t need to tell me. That’s why I’m here.” Chris smiled pleadingly, knowing it would push Patton’s buttons. “To say you’re sorry? An apology from you is too little, too late.” “Five minutes,” Chris repeated. “That’s all I’m talking about.” Patton sighed and stepped back, letting Chris barrel inside with a satisfied smile. Patton caught the familiar scent of Chris’s cologne with a small pang—Patton never wore it and the house had smelled wrong without it. “This is a really nice place. Kim pick it out?” “Yes.” Chris nodded. “Yeah, I thought it was a bit bigger than you would have picked for yourself. I half-expected to find out you were living in an apartment.” “It’s quieter here.” Patton leaned against the wall, not making an effort to invite Chris to invade more of the space than he already had. He could have his five minutes, but Patton wasn’t going to make them comfortable. “I know what you said is true. I know that an apology won’t be enough. But Patton, I am sorry. I’ve missed you.” “What are you doing here? Are you really just here out of guilt? Because I’m not going to help you feel better. I’m not going to tell you it’s all water under the bridge, understand?” Chris sighed and looked down, shoving his hands in his pockets. Patton recognized the gesture. He once found it endearing that a man so intimidating could look so vulnerable and young. But now he knew it for the trick it was. Chris had a bag of tricks. “I know. I know. But Christ, how could I be in town and ignore you? How could I not come here?” 47


“What? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Oh poor Chris. Poor, lonely Chris. My heart breaks for you.” His jaw hardened, lips too compressed to be a proper smile. “You know, I’m sorry your career wasn’t my top priority.” “It wasn’t about…fuck, I don’t need this shit. Just get the fuck out.” “It was about your career. And I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry we don’t live in a perfect world. I did what I could with a bad situation and—” “You sold me out to save your own ass. Don’t sugarcoat it. You came here to apologize? Fine, apologize. Say the words. You can’t, can you?” “Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing to me.” “I wouldn’t have.” Chris didn’t have anything witty to fling back at that, his eyes wide with shock. This part, at least, was new. Patton had never gone so far before, never revealed just how deeply Chris’s decision had hurt him. “What?” “I wouldn’t have,” Patton continued. “You didn’t even give me the fucking chance. You…you told them to get rid of me. Don’t you think…didn’t it ever occur to you that I would have walked away if you spoke to me first?” “You said you didn’t want to retire.” “Maybe you should have asked me the important question and you would have gotten a different answer,” Patton said, exhausted, caught in the quagmire again. He moved away from the door, giving up the pretense that he’d kick Chris out, and went to the kitchen to get another beer. Chris followed right on his heels, standing too close, smelling wonderful, smelling like home. 48


“Maybe I didn’t want that answer.” “So what? You’ve had some time to think about this, and you’ve decided to spin it like you were looking out for me?” “I’m not.” “You are.” “I’m not and can you honestly tell me you haven’t missed me? That you don’t think about me?” “What difference does that make?” Patton asked, cracking open his beer. “We can’t change anything. We can’t just undo everything. And you shouldn’t have come here.” Chris advanced on him, eyes shining with determination. Patton unconsciously licked his dry lips, already thinking about how Chris’s shortly trimmed beard would feel against his mouth and chin. Chris no longer tried to disguise his intentions. Patton studied him, taking in the coiled tension of his shoulders and the slight bulge already showing between his legs. “Has it been lonely without me?” Patton asked. “There hasn’t been anybody but you.” “Too scared? Keeping your head down until the front office stops watching you?” “I know you are, too. It’s perfect, if you think about it. Nobody would think I’d come here after everything, and you don’t have to worry about anybody else finding out your secret.” Patton narrowed his eyes. “You’re such a coward.” “I’m lonely. I know you are, too.” Chris stood toe to toe with him, forcing Patton to look up to meet Chris’s gaze. “We don’t have to be alone this afternoon.” “That’s not going to make anything better.” Chris cupped the back of Patton’s head, holding him in place with his large palm. If he shoved Chris away, that’d be the end of 49


it. And he didn’t want Chris. Not anymore. But he’d always be attracted to him. It wasn’t really loneliness that made him wrap his arms around Chris, or silenced the warning bells at the thought of surrender. It was exhaustion. He laid down his mask and shield at Chris’s feet, wanting nothing more than to give up the pretense. But Patton wouldn’t take Chris to his bed. There needed to be one place in Patton’s life that Chris hadn’t touched, didn’t know about. There had to be some corner that was still safe, because God knew he couldn’t keep anything else from Chris’s grasp. *

*

*

“I love night games. Nice break from the sun, isn’t it?” DeShawn looked younger than his twenty-two years with his head back, face turned upward to the invisible stars. There were too many city lights to see them, but the moon still glowed strongly, just visible above the stadium’s wall. “Yeah, it’s great.” “I’m not hearing any real enthusiasm.” Patton’s gaze held steady, staring across the field to the man who’d left his house early that morning with grin that bordered on a smirk. Chris wore dark shades even though the sun disappeared right around half time. It only occurred to him gradually that DeShawn wanted an answer from him. “What?” “It must be rough, playing across from an old team. You seeing anybody while they’re in town.” Patton tensed, nearly snapped at DeShawn to mind his own business. “I caught up with a few people. It was nice.” 50


“I just ask because you seem awfully distracted tonight. Without looking up at the board, what’s the score?” Patton snorted at the question, but when he opened his mouth he didn’t have an answer. He sneaked a glance from the corner of his eye, hoping DeShawn wouldn’t notice, but somehow knowing he would. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. We’re winning, by the way. I thought you’d at least be aware of that. I’ve never seen you like this.” “It’s just weird, that’s all.” “I never thought you were the type to get weirded out. You seem pretty Zen about everything.” “I’m not.” “I know I’m wasting my time here, but you know how depressing you look on TV?” That drew Patton’s attention. “What are you talking about?” “You’re depressing the hell out of people. I saw a clip of you sitting by yourself at the end of the bench, looking all morose. The television audience would rather see you smiling.” “I promise you, nobody watching on TV cares about how morose I look.” “You might be surprised. You’re more depressing than usual tonight. That’s my point. So I’m just going to stick around here so you don’t look like such a sad bastard.” “That’s thoughtful of you.” “I know.” Chris had moved to the right about ten yards. Now Patton had to turn his head to get a good look at him. Nothing was clear in his brain, everything they did before a strange jumble. It might have had something to do with the beer—Patton just kept drinking—but 51


beer had never affected his memory like that. When a particularly vivid image settled in the front of his mind, he tried to shove away, tried to suppress it since he couldn’t tell himself it didn’t happen at all. They’d always been good together, but it had never been particularly easy with Chris, and now it was so much worse. He ignored his misgivings while Chris moved against him, while they licked and bit at each other like angry animals, but the full weight of what they’d done settled on him before Chris even left. “What’s going on? Who are you looking at?” “Why do you ask so many questions?” “Because you might tell me if I ask. Otherwise you’ll just stare until you creep everybody out.” “I can’t…now isn’t the time.” “So you’ll tell me later?” “I don’t know.” “At least you’re honest.” “I’ve never lied to you.” DeShawn nodded. “You never open your mouth long enough to tell a lie.” “It’s easy to stay out of trouble that way.” “What trouble do you think you’re going to find?” Patton looked back to Chris. “I don’t know.” “I want to play.” “You always want to play.” DeShawn rubbed his hands down his thighs briskly. “Yeah, but now I really want to play. It’s not the same before. It’s different than college. It’s not like anything.” “You’ve been playing in the professional league for all of a month now. You’ll get your chance. You need to be patient.” “I don’t want to lose some of my best years on the bench.” 52


“This is not your best year,” Patton pointed out. “At least you better hope you don’t hit your peak this early.” “You’re saying I need stamina?” “No, patience.” “But we all start with an expiration date. Every minute brings me closer to my last game.” “You’re not looking at it the right way,” Patton said, turning his full attention to DeShawn. “It’s about quality. Not quantity. It’s better to play a handful of great seasons than it is a dozen mediocre ones.” “It sounds nice when you say it, but you don’t believe it for a second.” “You can’t say that.” “No, I can. You’re just like me. You want to play so bad right now it’s killing you. And you think you should be, but you’ve had your handful of great seasons. You’ve got three championship rings. You could stop right now and still have accomplished more than most players ever dreamed of.” “Fine. You’re right. We’re just alike and I know exactly how you feel. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re not starting this year. Feel better?” DeShawn studied him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I do.” “But I still think you should just relax this year and pay attention. You’re good, DeShawn. You’ve got good hands and you’re sharp as a tack. Any coach in this league will be glad to start you one day.” “You know, sometimes I think you might like me.” Patton smiled. “I don’t know what would have given you that impression. I can barely stand you.” 53


“Is that so?” “Yeah. Though…I did think about calling you yesterday.” “You should have. I wasn’t doing anything that I couldn’t reschedule. Actually, I’m a little sorry you didn’t.” “So am I,” Patton said with perfect sincerity. *

*

*

The win was a perfect excuse for celebration, which in turn was a perfect excuse to accept DeShawn’s invitation to go out and have a few beers. It felt strange to blithely accept the invitation without considering a second, third, and fourth time. But when DeShawn offered, Patton hadn’t even thought twice. He had every reason to want to drink with DeShawn and no reason to go back to his empty house that probably still had echoes of Chris. Chris Jensen had played ball for just a year before a neck injury knocked him out of the game permanently. A year later, he became a member of the coaching staff as one of the assistants to the quarterback coach, and Patton met him five days after he signed his first professional contract. At first, he hadn’t known what to make of the other man, who showed a strong interest in Patton but didn’t narrow his focus to Patton’s skills as a player. Patton’s interest in him had nothing to do with Chris’s abilities as a quarterback coach. Their stars rose together, Chris fighting his way up to assistant offensive coordinator, with his eyes on the main prize. Now Patton stared at the end of his career as he knew it while Chris prepared to coach his own team. In hindsight, things couldn’t have ended differently, but Patton had still been stunned by the way everything exploded in his face. Patton longed to unburden himself of the whole story, which 54


wasn’t so unusual, but he didn’t just want to tell somebody randomly. He wanted to tell DeShawn. He imagined himself spilling the details in a rush of words and sweat and maybe even tears. He wanted DeShawn to understand everything so he would stop asking questions. He wanted to pretend that DeShawn was actually his friend. The desire to speak terrified him more than the secret itself. Patton was certain he could survive the scrutiny if he came out, voluntarily or not. He had plenty of money and no particular need for people, so he wouldn’t suffer too much when he became a pariah in the world of professional football. In theory, he’d cope. But he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would take for his mouth to cooperate with the desire to speak. And why DeShawn of all people? No matter how smart he was, and Patton believed him to be very intelligent, he had no perspective on the world. Maybe in ten years. Not that he would care about Patton or his tragedies in ten years. “This win has to feel good,” DeShawn said, filling Patton’s glass from the pitcher of beer. “The best one yet this season.” “It doesn’t suck.” “Nope. The Breakers lost today, so at least we’re even with them now. As long as we stay on target and beat them next time, last week won’t even matter for the playoff picture.” Patton lifted his glass. “I can drink to that.” “Cheers. You know, last week I thought I was starting to get a handle on you. We were eating, having a nice time, you even told some good stories. Now this week, you do agree to go out with me, which is big, I know, but you’re being all moody again.” “I’m a moody guy.” “I think there’s more to it than that.” 55


“When you’re old, you’ll be moody, too. Then some arrogant kid who knows everything will start getting in your face and asking questions.” “Oh.” “That didn’t sound…that’s not what I meant.” “What did you mean?” “It was supposed to be a joke.” DeShawn drained his beer in three swallows and slammed his glass back to the table. “But the truth came flying out.” “No, it didn’t. That’s really not how I think of you.” DeShawn refilled his glass, absently tossing some of the braids away from his face. The gesture already seemed familiar to him. So did his curiosity. He wanted to wrap his fingers in them and test the texture. He wanted to feel the beaded ends glide over his thighs—Patton nearly choked on the thought and forced himself to look away. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought that,” Patton added softly. “I think we’re friends.” DeShawn smiled slowly. “I’m honored. Especially since I seem to be in a class by myself. So…since we’re friends, will you tell me why you were staring at Chris Jensen like he killed your dog?” Patton took a deep breath, sorting through the pieces he could reveal and the bits he needed to keep to himself. “Chris Jensen is the reason I was traded. Getting rid of me wasn’t officially part of the contract he signed, but it was a part of the negotiations.” “That is fucked up.” “Yeah. It is.” “But he’s not even the offensive coordinator yet. How could he have finagled that?” He told them the truth about me. “It’s been a decade since I 56


won my first championship. We didn’t even make it to the playoffs last year.” “You would have if Cleveland had lost.” “You never want your entire season to come down to another football team’s loss. Anyway, I’ve only got a few good years left, but Chris…he’s young with a lot of potential. He’s got a better career ahead of him now than when he played football.” “Why would he want you out, though? Haven’t you two been working together since you’re rookie year? I mean, you must have been tight.” “We were friends,” Patton admitted. “As for why…I don’t know.” “I guess that explains why you’re not the most cheerful person around. I don’t think I’d be too fond of people, either, in your situation.” “It’s not the first time this has happened to somebody.” “Doesn’t make it any less shitty. Here, have another drink. You know what you should do?” “What?” “Go win yourself another ring. That’d show that asshole.” “Easier said than done.” “Anything’s possible as long as you don’t give up.” “You sound like one of those videos we make for the United Way.” DeShawn grinned. “That’s where I stole it from, but it’s true, right? As long as you’re playing football, you’ve got a shot. That might be all you need.” It might be. If Patton were a little younger, he would even believe it. But DeShawn believed it, and for the moment, that was enough. 57


WEEK 5 PHOENIX WILDCATS VS NEW YORK TITANS 3-1-0

“The Phoenix Wildcats are in New York this Sunday. With more on that match-up, we join Rex Adams live from Titan Stadium.” “Thanks, Jon. I’ve been spending the past week talking to these two teams, and I can tell you they are both ready for this game. If asked, both sides will insist it’s not a rivalry, but Phoenix is looking for some redemption after last year’s loss.” “Yeah, the Titans really smashed them last year. The Wildcats defense allowed over four hundred offensive yards, including a seventy yards on the ground for quarterback Burnell Roberts and a rushing touchdown.” “The Wildcats know they have to stop him if they want to win 58


this game. The secondary has been strong this year, but the Titans have a strong running game, too. Remember most of those fourhundred offensive yards came from Scott Lemon, who was just a rookie last year.” “What have you heard about Jeremy Oswald? He was listed as probable earlier this week.” “Oswald is definitely starting. He has a sprained thumb that is apparently causing him a good deal of pain, but I spoke to him about an hour ago, and he said he’s got it under control and he’s ready to play.” “Good news for Oswald and Wildcats fans.” *

*

*

If DeShawn had asked first, Patton would have told him no on no uncertain terms. It was hard enough keeping his head on straight when he spent nearly every day of the week with DeShawn, not to mention watching football tapes with him, and chatting with him during downtime at practice. His days were full of DeShawn, but his nights were still his own, and he needed all the extra time he could get to keep himself focused and under control. It never occurred to him that he would have to defend himself against DeShawn in the privacy of his own room. Patton didn’t even want to know how DeShawn had managed it, what sort of favors he traded or promises he made. “Surprise,” DeShawn said, using his key to open Patton’s hotel room. “Surprise,” Patton echoed weakly. “What is this?” “We’re roomies now.” “Why?” 59


“Because I thought you would like it,” DeShawn, dropping his bag on the bed closest to the door. The side Patton always claimed for himself. “Why?” DeShawn’s face changed a little at that, as if he could now sense the general panic and chaos growing inside of Patton. “Because I thought we were friends now.” “That doesn’t mean we need to have sleepovers.” “This isn’t a sleepover. Besides, now if we go out to see the town, you won’t have to worry about waking poor Bob. That guy weighs like four hundred pounds. He probably needs his rest after he spends the day supporting himself.” “You can’t…just rearrange everything.” “What’s wrong? Is it because I didn’t ask you? I thought you’d like the surprise.” “I hate surprises.” “Nobody really hates surprises.” Patton deposited his traveling bag on the other bed, admitting defeat. He could spend the rest of the night arguing with DeShawn, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. Everybody had been given their room assignments and their curfew. Especially since he didn’t have a specific reason for protesting the situation, beyond the fact that he couldn’t stand the thought of sharing a room with DeShawn. “Look, if it’s the worse experience of your life, everything will be back to normal by the time we go to San Francisco. Though I’m really not a bad roommate. I don’t snore. I won’t go through your things. I don’t think I sleepwalk.” “It’s not that I expect you to be a bad roommate. It’s just—” “You need a break from me sometimes? I’m not going to get in 60


your face. You won’t even see me tonight.” That was meant to be reassuring, but it was very, very far from that. “Where are you going?” “I have a date.” Oh. Patton tried to ignore the disappointment spiraling through him, wishing he could just suffocate it. DeShawn was a young, good-looking guy who had every right to a social life. Just because Patton preferred an endless series of quiet nights in didn’t mean DeShawn wanted the same thing for himself. “With who?” “Someone I knew in school. We haven’t seen each other since the graduation party to end all parties.” “So it’ll be nice to catch up,” Patton said with force pleasantness. “It will be. But don’t worry, I won’t be home too late.” “I won’t wait up for you.” DeShawn looked at him a little curiously, like he couldn’t figure out what would possess Patton to say such a thing. “We have tomorrow afternoon off. I was going to do some sight-seeing. I’ve never been to New York before.” “Really? Never?” “Nope. This is my first trip to the Big Apple.” “Is your friend going to take you out and show you around?” DeShawn grinned. “No, we don’t go out too much when we’re together.” If you know what I mean. Patton knew all too well. Which meant he could look forward to an entire night of imagining DeShawn with some young, beautiful woman. This was shaping up to be one of the worst east coast trips ever. “I’m gonna go get ready.” Patton nodded and waited until the door shut behind DeShawn 61


before he flung himself onto the firm mattress. He could have been comfortable there if he wasn’t already tormenting himself with thoughts of DeShawn’s naked, wet body. When DeShawn emerged from the steamy bathroom, he took Patton’s breath. It was a stupid thing to think—it was a stupid thing to feel—but think it he did. He’d seen DeShawn in various outfits and stages of undress, but he had never seen the other man looking like this. His clothes were tailored to fit his exceptional body, the rich shades of the material bringing out the golden accents in his eyes. He’d gathered his braids into a ponytail that hung low on his shoulders, and a sharp, almost citrusy scent followed him. Patton wanted to run his hands over the soft silk, gather it into his fingers, and pull it over DeShawn’s head. He wouldn’t stop with DeShawn’s shirt, either. He couldn’t room with a man if he wanted to worship that man’s body with his mouth. That was basic stuff he’d learned before he left high school. Finding a new roommate would hurt DeShawn’s feelings, but he needed to fix this. For good. “Uh oh, you have that look on your face again.” “What look?” Patton asked, irritated. “I don’t know exactly what it means, but you usually get it right before you turn mean.” “I’m not turning mean,” Patton muttered, despite the fact that he had been contemplating doing exactly that. “You look good.” DeShawn smiled, pleased. “Thanks. I don’t look like I’m trying too hard?” “You always look like that.” DeShawn shrugged good-naturedly and started reaching for the phone, wallet, and miscellaneous change that he’d left on the nightstand. “You plan on just staying in all night?” “Yes. I’ve got some important television to watch.” 62


“You’re going to be watching last year’s playoff game, aren’t you?” “Among other things.” “Haven’t you already seen it like ten times?” “It’s my habit to watch games like that eleven times.” That pulled another smile from DeShawn. “Do you want me to bring anything back? I don’t mind stopping somewhere and picking up a pizza.” “I’ve got it covered.” DeShawn’s phone chimed. He took it out of his pocket again and studied the screen, his smile widening. “I’ve got to go. They’re waiting for me downstairs. You sure you don’t want me to pick up anything?” “I’m sure. Thanks.” Patton didn’t breathe easily until DeShawn left. He slowly stripped, dressed in his favorite sweats and his old college jersey, and settled in to watch the playoff game on his laptop. He hadn’t seen it live—he’d been busy fighting with Chris that Sunday. And every Sunday that January. In hindsight, Patton couldn’t say exactly what prompted the fights. At the time, it had seemed like they reached an impasse in their relationship, but now Patton wondered if it had more to do with frustration from not reaching the playoffs themselves. Patton couldn’t remember why it mattered. Any of it. He gave up and put his laptop away before the end of the game. Who was DeShawn meeting? An old college girlfriend? Well, she wouldn’t be old since it’d only been months since DeShawn graduated. So a recent college girlfriend who chose to go to New York while DeShawn traveled to the southwest. Maybe they stayed in touch with Facebook, and she’d cleared her schedule so she 63


could meet him. Unfortunately—or fortunately—Patton couldn’t conjure up a clear image of who this girl would be. He’d heard DeShawn pontificate about, well, just about everything. But he knew nothing of DeShawn’s tastes. The more Patton considered that, the stranger it became. It seemed he knew far too much about everybody else’s tastes. He even knew that Oz had the tendency to pick up curvy brunettes. It was impossible to ignore when it happened all around him all the time. If any of them had to put as much effort into disguising their sexual appetites as Patton, the locker room would be dead silent, everybody at a loss for what to say. With the now obvious exception of DeShawn. On the wrong side of midnight, it seemed entirely damning. Patton might have been clutching at straws, but he liked the feel of them. Chris was good at “picking out the queers,” as he liked to say. He’d provide names while they lazed in bed, but Patton obviously lacked the means to confirm his accuracy rate. Perhaps he would have learned how to pick up the signals Chris saw if he’d ever been interested in dating, but he worked through his baser needs on the field. He never felt a twinge of real interest until Chris had all but groped him one night while they were reviewing film. Since that night, he’d only ever been with Chris. He shouldn’t have slept with Chris again. He knew it wouldn’t change anything. Chris wouldn’t come to his senses and announce he’d made a great mistake and beg for Patton’s forgiveness. But Chris remained the central figure in all of Patton’s best memories, the cornerstone of his happiness. Even in the middle of his greatest victories, he’d been focused on Chris and the fact that the two of them had done it together. It was rare to have the sort of happiness Patton had once 64


enjoyed, and Patton had never harbored delusions of how fleeting that happiness would be. But he’d never truly believed it would happen, that he’d be left bereft, with nothing but cold chunks of metal to keep him company. A sharp rap on the door startled him out of his thoughts. The unexpected visitor knocked twice more before Patton opened the door, revealing DeShawn hanging off a slightly taller man. His features were razor sharp, thin mouth quirked in apology, eyes dark and inscrutable. Patton blinked at him, unsure of what to say to such a severely beautiful man. “Patton? I’m sorry if I woke you, but I couldn’t reach his key.” “You didn’t. Here.” Patton pushed the door open wider and put DeShawn’s limp arm around his shoulder, taking most of the weight from his companion. “What happened?” “Tequila shots. He never could hold his alcohol.” “You let him drink tequila?” Patton asked, already thinking about ways to hide DeShawn’s hangover from Coach the next morning. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea. But if I’d known he’d do this, I would have stopped him.” Patton dumped DeShawn on the bed. His eyes fluttered open, sliding over Patton to study the stranger. “Aadi, you’re still here.” “I’m heading out. I think you’ve had too much fun for one night.” “Oh, don’t go. You can stay.” DeShawn reached out, and Aadi wasn’t out of his grasp. Their fingers caught, tangled, and DeShawn pulled him closer to the bed. “Stay.” “No, trust me, DeShawn. I’ve got to go.” DeShawn sighed. “Okay, but at least kiss me goodbye first.” “DeShawn.” The word was rich with significance, but 65


DeShawn either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Patton felt like he should say something, but he didn’t know what. Should he turn away? He probably shouldn’t keep staring like a fool, but DeShawn looked so…and he was…he was reaching for Aadi with both hands now. “You didn’t last time.” Patton had never heard DeShawn sound so reproachful or unsure. Aadi’s eyes softened slightly and he bent, his lips only touching DeShawn’s for a moment, but it was a moment that froze in Patton’s brain. When he straightened again, DeShawn seemed to be sleeping. Aadi looked up to meet Patton’s eyes. “He’s had a great deal to drink.” “I understand.” “He might…if he asks tell him that I wish him luck.” “I will.” Aadi nodded and Patton walked to the door, closing it softly behind him. He sank into a nearby chair, feeling numb in his legs and fingers. DeShawn slept peacefully, mouth shaped in a small half-smile. He’d hoped but he hadn’t really dared to think DeShawn might actually be gay. Had he noticed Patton’s interest? Had he meant to indicate his own by arranging for the two of them to share a room? Patton didn’t hold Aadi against him. He understood. With his own self-disgust still lurking in the back of his mind like miasma, he couldn’t very well be critical of DeShawn going out. Should they talk about this in the morning? If he handled it incorrectly, would he be fucking over his chances of things ever escalating between them? Did he even want things to escalate? Really want it, or was he just lonely and horny? But his own defects were only half the equation. It didn’t matter what he 66


wanted with DeShawn if DeShawn didn’t feel the same way about him. But the possibility of something good finally happening existed. As soon as the thought occurred to him, Patton knew it was wrong. Good things didn’t just happen to him, like he was the passive receptacle of happiness. He made things happen. He was the fucking quarterback. That was his whole point. Patton leaned forward to consider DeShawn’s lax form, the feeling returning to his extremities. He’d been letting things happen to him since the day Chris told him he was going to be part of a deal with Phoenix. Perhaps DeShawn’s attitude had been the right one all along. *

*

*

Saturday practices were always light. Patton suspected Coach only wanted to inspect the troops for ill-advised hangovers. Patton made it his job to keep DeShawn away from the all-too-watchful eyes of the coaching staff. The other man barely even noticed Patton’s efforts he was so caught up in his own misery. Patton was predisposed to feel sympathy for him, but he did laugh to himself as DeShawn turned into an ashen oaf with absolutely no grace at all. “You better keep your head up,” Patton warned. “I can’t keep my head up. I’m going to puke.” “If you puke, Coach will have you running laps for the rest of the day.” “Oh God, don’t talk like that.” “It’s true. You know it is. So keep your head up. Only thirty minutes until we hit the showers.” “I’m going back to the hotel and sleeping until breakfast 67


tomorrow.” Patton had expected as much, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed. “You’re probably going to need it.” “We didn’t…I didn’t wake you up last night, did I?” “No, I was awake.” “Good. I didn’t think I’d be out so late. But…” “Tequila was involved. Yeah, I heard.” “Oh. Right. If you wanted to go back to your old roomie…” “Look, it happens. There are at least three other guys with hangovers here this morning. Jackie has already beaten you to puking.” DeShawn shuddered. “Better him than me.” “You should be more careful. You’re lucky your friend knew where you were staying.” DeShawn was too miserable to hide his surprise when Patton mentioned Aadi. He’d probably been hoping Patton would just forget he ever saw anything. But Patton supposed DeShawn’s reaction would reveal a good deal about his mindset. “I think I managed to remember the room number on the cab ride back. I don’t know. Everything’s pretty foggy.” “He told me to tell you that he wishes you luck.” DeShawn’s face might have turned wistful for a moment. “That was nice of him. Anyway, I really am sorry if we disturbed you or anything.” “You didn’t. It was fine. Everything was fine.” Patton didn’t dare say it anymore plainly than that. He hoped DeShawn understood, though it didn’t quite seem like DeShawn even remembered what happened. That might have been for the best. When you had an important secret to keep, any chance of infraction could lead to the destruction of bridges. Patton knew that 68


from the smoldering ruins in his past. DeShawn flashed a grin so reassuring, Patton almost forgot that he wasn’t the subject of this conversation. They lapsed into silence as they finished their drill, Patton’s mind caught up in the tangles and knots that DeShawn meant for his life. They sat together on the bus back to the hotel, but DeShawn focused on his phone to the exclusion of everything else. Patton pretended to study the playbook, waiting for DeShawn’s questions to start. He always had something he wanted to discuss, was always eager to draw Patton in. But the questions never came, and as the silence continued, he realized that DeShawn had no intention of breaking it. His earlier resolution to be more pro-active returned, but his confidence flagged. He’d only felt like that a handful of times in his life, his stomach turning into a mass of burning nerve endings. Patton frowned, concentrating hard on potential conversation starters, trying to remember the topics DeShawn had thrown at him in random rapid fire. Nothing came to mind except questions about Aadi. How long have you known him? How did you meet him? Was he your boyfriend? Why didn’t he kiss you goodbye before? Do you miss him? Are you going to see him again? But he’d never even pried into Chris’s life like that. Besides, this was DeShawn. If he wanted Patton to hear about it, he’d bring it up. They walked side by side up to their room, Patton pulling his key out to unlock the door first, a small thrill going through him at the thought of being alone with DeShawn. He would have characterized it as dread before, but now it just felt like excitement. DeShawn made good on his promise to go back to bed, throwing himself onto the mattress with a small groan. “Do you have any pills?” 69


“Got some after practice. I’ll be okay in a few hours.” “I could go out if you want some peace and quiet.” DeShawn chuckled. “Right, because you don’t do anything but flap your lips. Stay. I’ll be fine.” “Will the TV bother you?” Can I stretch out on the bed with you? Can we talk about last night? Can you tell me what to do because I don’t have a playbook for this game? “No. Trust me, I’m going to be out in a few seconds.” “Okay. There are a couple of games on this afternoon I wanted to watch.” DeShawn grunted and then fell silent. Patton kept his attention fixed on the television, trying not to think about whether DeShawn was awake or asleep, facing him or the opposite wall, on his stomach or his back. He was so caught up in thinking about all the ways he wasn’t thinking about DeShawn that he almost didn’t hear him. “About last night…” Patton tensed, but only glanced over briefly. “I already told you. Everything’s fine.” “I know what you said. But…” “If you’re worried I’m going to tell anybody about Aadi, don’t be. I’d never do that.” “I’m usually more careful.” “You’d have to be.” “I don’t really remember what happened.” That would explain the careful silence. “You asked him for a kiss goodbye.” “Did I get it?” Patton took a deep breath. “Yeah.” “Thanks, man. For being so cool about this.” 70


“You’re my friend.” As if it were that simple, but then, there couldn’t be anything more simple. DeShawn was his friend, and Patton made it a rule not to be a dick to his friends. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep for real now.” “Okay.” All in all, Patton had to admit that sharing a room with DeShawn wasn’t so bad. He even offered to pay for dinner, but only after insisting Patton give the vegetarian menu a chance. He protested that he was hungry and a salad wouldn’t even begin to make a difference, but giving in and ordering one of the pasta dishes seemed to please DeShawn. Patton stayed awake for a long time after lights out, listening to DeShawn snuffle and snore and shuffle restlessly across the sheets.

71


WEEK 6 BYE WEEK 4-1-0

“After a commanding win against the Titans last week, the Wildcats are going into the bye-week with quarterback Jeremy Oswald still nursing his sprained thumb. Phoenix adjusted to the sprain by keeping the ball on the ground, literally rolling over the defense.” “They did roll over the defense, Jon, but the Titans are third in the league when it comes to giving up rushing yards. Phoenix has a good record, but they have a punishing schedule after their offweek. Starting with Seattle, who have only given up three rushing touchdowns all year. Oswald better take the opportunity to rest up and get healthy.” 72


*

*

*

On the surface, nothing changed between them after the New York game. DeShawn accepted Patton’s promise that he wouldn’t tell a soul about Aadi or the kiss, but things felt off between them. Patton couldn’t quite figure out why, though he spent a good deal of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday considering the dilemma. DeShawn was more subdued, and he seemed to be actively avoiding Patton on Thursday. Patton was good at assessing a situation, finding the source of the problem, and creating a plan of attack to fix it. But he couldn’t get a good perspective on this situation, and he himself seemed to be the source of the problem. What else could it be? DeShawn already knew he had nothing to fear from Patton. But maybe that wasn’t the point. Or maybe he feared something else when it came to Patton. Or maybe he was just busy, and Patton was reading too much into the previously welcomed silence. Just two weeks earlier, he wouldn’t have even thought about complaining if DeShawn didn’t pester him for a day. But now Patton was intensely aware of how quiet his life had become. There was a meeting on Thursday afternoon where he mostly listened while Oz contributed, and then that was it. He had no other reason to say another word for the rest of the day. Patton left the sports complex earlier than usual, but it already dark by the time he pulled into his driveway. He sat in the silence for several long minutes, rolling down the window and listening to the steady click click click of his cooling engine. The house loomed too big, too dark, too empty. When he left LA, he didn’t think anything of leaving behind at least ninety-percent of his possessions, figuring he never really paid attention to his things 73


and it was all just stuff anyway. Most of which would remind him of Chris. But living with those old reminders now seemed preferable to rattling around an empty house. Patton had his wallet, his phone, his keys, a full tank of gas, and nobody to ask him where he was going or why he left. He also had the weekend off. He started the engine again, backed out of his driveway, and headed for Interstate 10. There wasn’t enough room in his truck to bring everything back, but it’d be a good start. Besides, spending a few days without DeShawn wouldn’t be so awful if they were in different cities. A weekend apart would probably be good for him. He could get his head on straight. Then the unnamable awkwardness between them would fade and things could go back to the way they were before. The long stretch of the interstate through Phoenix was busy even late on a Thursday night, and Patton was forced to remain awake and alert. But after he hit the desert, he got caught in more lulls, when no cars surrounded him. Heaviness settled in his chest then, pulling at his heart. It tasted like salt on the back of his tongue, and for once in his life, he couldn’t conceptualize the feeling in terms of football. It wasn’t like losing. It wasn’t like rolling on the grass and clutching his knee, too shocked and hurt to even cry as the medical crew swarmed around him. It wasn’t even like the feeling he had when he learned of his imminent trade to Phoenix. It wasn’t loneliness. He’d been lonely, but it never felt like this. By the time he crossed into California, he felt numb and tired, like all the blackness outside his truck had seeped into his skin. If he fell asleep behind the wheel and flew off the pavement, who would know? Who would care? Had he really worked so hard so he could reach the age of thirty-two and ask himself that question? 74


What the fuck had he done with his life? What the fuck was any of it even for? What if he did it? What if he drove off the freeway, broke through the barrier, and swerved into eastbound traffic? Patton’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he swallowed hard. He wouldn’t be afraid. It would only take the slightest jerk of his wrist on the wheel. Nothing showy or overdramatic. Then nothing would matter anymore. Not DeShawn or Chris. Not the all-too-distant memories of a life he had once loved, a world he’d conquered. His death would hit the news by morning, and for a little while he’d be the main headline again. Why not, a little voice asked. Why not do it? You’d go out a legend. You’d never have to get old and retire. Chris and DeShawn would both know that their secret was buried with you. What are you missing out on? What are you really missing out on? Pain every morning. The embarrassment of riding the bench all season. The rise of athletes younger and faster and better than him. Patton’s grip tightened on the wheel until his knuckles hurt, and he felt the strain all the way up to his neck. Now that he’d actually given in to the temptation of thinking about it, his mind swirled with activity, creating an airtight case. His heart hammered and his breath came in sharper and sharper gasps, fear-fueled adrenaline dumping into his system. He could do it. It would be simpler, wouldn’t it? Probably less pathetic than trying to fit your tiny little life into two houses. Where are all your friends, Patton? Where did they all go? You might have moved part-time to Phoenix, but who left who? Patton couldn’t even see the shine of Los Angeles on the horizon. Stars studded the purple sky, shining all the brighter for the lack of moon. There was no place to pull over, no lights to lead 75


him out of the desert. As far as his senses could tell, he’d be trapped on that dark road indefinitely. Unless he chose to leave it once and for all. The world wavered around him, fraying at the edges until nothing seemed real except his hands pressed to the wheel. He wasn’t really considering this, he couldn’t be because he wasn’t a quitter, right? He couldn’t just give up because his life wasn’t going the way he wanted it and he’d lost more than he gained, and the only person he’d ever really loved had chosen a scorched earth approach. And he didn’t even have the self-respect to not come running every time the bastard gestured for him. Do you really want to go back to Phoenix, to a house that isn’t really yours? And your only friend is some kid who, quite frankly, would be horrified if he knew what you really thought about him? Even if he does like guys, even if he didn’t mind admitting as much, do you think he’d want some washed-up has-been? Don’t confuse politeness with interest. Patton hadn’t quite been guilty of that. He didn’t think DeShawn had any sort of sexual interest in him. But he wanted him to. If he could wave a magic wand and suddenly make DeShawn interested, he would. Could he look forward to this sort of thing for the rest of his life or would it be easier for him when he retired from playing? Why retire? You don’t want to retire. You want to play for the rest of your life. If you cut it all short now, you’d die a quarterback. You’re young enough that people will actually think it’s a shame. They’ll say you still had so much life ahead of you, but what life? Why are you even still thinking about it like you have a choice? Patton’s gasp was closer to a sob, and he finally pried his 76


fingers from around the wheel to bite the back of his hand. His sharp teeth sent a jolt of crystallizing pain through him, and he focused on the light throbbing beneath his skin, counting each thrum of his pulse and ignoring the enemy lurking inside his own head. The fear returned, washing through him in cold waves, frigid currents whipping him back and forth. This was bad. The worst it had ever been. He wanted to make it out of the desert alive. That was all. He just wanted to get to the other end with his life intact. Why? It would be better if he had some answer. But he had nothing except the road stretching between a city he lost and a city he didn’t want to be in. Patton debated himself as the miles ticked by, feeling like his life hung from a thread that just pulled tighter and tighter. He bit his hand when the thread started unraveling too much, jolting his increasingly distracted brain back to attention. Finally, a sign for the Desert Center exit loomed out of the darkness, informing him that he would find food, gas, and a hotel there. He stepped down hard on the throttle, swerving into the exit lane as soon as he could, unmindful of suggested speed limits and his own safety. Patton took a hard right off the exit, tires squealing as he raced for the only well-lit building within a hundred miles, the Gasolinera Vieja Cerrada. He shoved the door open as soon as he put the gear in neutral, half-falling out of the truck as he heaved like his stomach wanted to escape through his throat. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, so there was nothing but watery bile, but it still helped settle his upset stomach. With that done, he tried to step down out of the truck, but his legs refused to support his weight, and he didn’t want to take a face plant in the middle of a deserted lot in a deserted town. 77


He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, but his fingers were shaking so badly he couldn’t dial DeShawn’s number. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose and repeated play calls to himself until the trembling subsided enough for him to try again. The reception bars on his phone were low, but not completely gone, and he just hoped there’d be enough coverage to get through the conversation. DeShawn picked up on the fifth ring, just before the call got forward to voice mail. “Patton? Hey.” “Hi. I…” “What?” “I just…” “Where are you? I can barely hear you.” “I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” “I was driving to LA and I…I think I’m in a place called Desert Center or something. DeShawn I…I don’t know what’s going on but I’m…I’m really cracking up here. I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.” “All right. Is there anywhere nearby you can stop for the night? A hotel or a restaurant?” Patton scanned the area, taking in the town—if you could call it that—for the first time. There were dull neon lights at the end of the street, and he could just make out the vacancy sign. “Yeah. An old motel.” “Okay, get a room. Sit tight. I’ll be right there.” “You don’t have to. It’s like two hundred miles. I just…I didn’t know…I don’t know what I’m doing.” “Get a room,” DeShawn repeated. “I’m leaving right now. Just sit tight, okay?” 78


“Okay. Thank you. I…” The phone beeped twice in his ear, indicating the call was dropped. Patton held the phone in the palm of his hand for a long time, staring at it, waiting for it to ring again. When he finally moved to put the truck in gear again, Patton felt like he’d regained a small degree of control. Enough to get him down the road and checked in to a tiny room with dark stains on the threadbare carpet. *

*

*

It never occurred to DeShawn not to run to Patton. He pushed his Prius as hard as he could, his speedometer inching up over onehundred miles per hour once he was safely beyond the city limits. He’d risk the ticket and explain to the cop that it was a matter of life and death. He hadn’t known Patton for long, but he’d never heard the other man sound so scared, his voice shaking and low beneath ragged gasps. Why was he breathing so hard? He didn’t even breathe like that after Coach had them running sprints in the punishing Arizona sun. It should have taken him three hours to get to Desert Center, but DeShawn made it in a little under two. It wasn’t difficult to find the hotel Patton referred to, or Patton’s truck. DeShawn said a quick prayer of gratitude for that—his phone completely lost signal and he didn’t want to make Patton wait for a single unnecessary second. The door flew open as soon as DeShawn knocked, as if Patton had been waiting with his hand on the knob. He looked sick, all of his color gone, sweat dotting his face and sticking his hair to his scalp. The only mark of color was a deep, vibrant red—blood smeared across his lips. DeShawn quickly looked him over until he 79


found the source on the back of Patton’s hand. It looked like a bite mark. A deep one. “What happened?” DeShawn asked, pushing his way inside and locking the door behind him. That whole place gave him the creeps, like Norman Bates might jump out from the curtain at any moment. He and Patton might as well have been the only people for miles and miles. “Your hand.” Patton looked down at the bloody mark with surprise. “Oh. I better clean that up.” “I’ll get a towel.” DeShawn took Patton by the shoulder and led him over to the bed. Patton sat obediently, practically collapsing on the cardboard thin mattress. “I don’t know what happened,” Patton said, addressing his hand. “I was fine and then…I wasn’t.” “Why are you driving to LA?” “I thought…I’d get some things. For the house. It’s empty, and I’m so tired of living in an empty house.” The towel DeShawn found in the bathroom was more like a rag. He ran it under warm water before hurrying back to perch on the edge of the bed beside Patton. Patton jumped when DeShawn reached for his hand, but didn’t pull away from his grip. “And something happened while you were driving?” “Yes. I… DeShawn, I can’t do it anymore.” “Can’t do what?” DeShawn asked, gently wiping away the blood. It disturbed him to see it on Patton’s mouth, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk putting his hand that close to Patton’s face right now. “All of it. Anything. I wanted to just…just drive off the road. Just pull right in front of a semi. I wanted to.” DeShawn swallowed at the fear clawing inside his throat like a 80


caged animal. He’d noticed Patton had been a bit more reserved than usual, taken to studying DeShawn from a distance like he was some sort of exotic bird. He’d assumed the situation with Aadi freaked Patton out. If he’d known there was something wrong, he would have insisted on the two of them spending the evening together. DeShawn wasn’t exactly sure when he appointed himself Patton’s shining knight, but he spent more time in the past month worrying about him than anything else. “But you didn’t, thank God.” Patton sucked his breath in sharply. “Shit, that stings.” “Sorry. Almost done. Why did you want to…drive into a semi?” “I didn’t know what else to do.” DeShawn’s voice scraped across his raw throat. “Patton, please tell me what’s going on. If you just want me to sit here, I will. But I drove all the way out here because I care about you and honestly you’re freaking me the fuck out.” Patton’s laugh strangled, closer to a sob than anything. “It just all became too much, you know? I don’t even know where to start.” “Does it have something to do with the trade?” “Something. Chris Jensen…he and I…we…we were together. Together.” DeShawn blinked. “For how long?” “I don’t know. The whole time I played there. We didn’t have sex until my third year, but he was already my best friend. I already loved him. He…I never loved anybody but him.” DeShawn stopped rubbing the towel over Patton’s hand, but he didn’t let go. His grip tightened and he slid closer, trying to push himself into Patton’s body, trying to convey without words that he 81


was here and he wasn’t going anywhere. The sadness he’d always sensed in Patton had never been so close to the surface, and it would be easy to run away from that. Maybe even Patton expected him to run away, but DeShawn wasn’t going anywhere. “We were a team. All of the wins, the championships, everything. It was the two of us and I didn’t think anything could ever touch us. They always gossiped about us, but nothing ever serious. And I knew it’d be bad if people ever found out, but we were careful and what did they care as long as we kept winning, right?” “Right,” DeShawn agreed softly because Patton expected him to. “But we started fighting after the end of last season. Frustration from not making it into the playoffs. I don’t know. I let him down. I only had one job and it reflected badly on him and the whole coaching staff, and if I couldn’t keep up with everybody else, I should just retire. Stop embarrassing myself.” “He said this to you?” “Yeah. Every time we had a fight. He went to the coaching staff, but the front office didn’t want to trade me away. Jenkins still has good memories of those championships, and he thought the main problem was the defense anyway. I felt stuck. I guess Chris did, too, because he…he told them about me. He said that I…that he had proof that I…and by the time I found out, the ink was already dry on the contracts and I was an official Wildcat.” “Jesus fucking Christ. No wonder you turned green every time you looked at Chris.” “That’s not even the worse part.” How could it get any worse than that? He couldn’t even imagine how humiliated and confused Patton must have been. 82


Especially after he’d been blindsided. “What is?” “He came to my house the Sunday before the game. He thought we should fuck for old time’s sake, like nothing had happened. And I was so lonely and I missed him so much that I thought I could…just forget everything and focus on the sex. But I don’t think I’ve ever regretted a decision so much in my life, because he walked out again and I…I don’t know. It wasn’t just that. I don’t think I’d do anything so drastic because of Chris.” It sounded like more than enough to DeShawn. Looking at Patton and his undeniable misery hurt. He always held himself together so tightly, carefully masking any emotion, setting himself apart as much as he could that the raw emotion on his face was almost too much to stomach. DeShawn never thought Patton was happy, but it had been much easier to pretend that Patton could be happy when he wore his shield of indifference. “Did you talk about this to anybody?” DeShawn asked. “No. Nobody knows what happened. Any of it.” “Did anybody know that you were and Chris were together? Friends? Family?” “No. I didn’t really…it was too difficult to compartmentalize like that. So I just focused on Chris and football and that was enough. Now I don’t have either of those things anymore, and I’m…I’m really scared. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dump all of this on you.” “You’re not dumping it on me. Did it ever occur to you that things wouldn’t have gotten so bad if you’d talked to anybody about this?” “I didn’t have anybody to talk to.” “You do now. You have me. I would never…Patton look at 83


me.” Patton lifted swimming eyes, his lashes beaded with soft, unshed tears. “I would never violate your trust or…or treat you like that dickhead. Okay?” “Okay,” Patton breathed. “What happened to your hand?” Patton looked down at it with surprise. “I…the pain helped me think. Focused me so I wouldn’t go off the deep end.” “I have a First Aid kit in my car. And some jerky, if you’re hungry.” “It’s fine.” “If it gets infected, you’ll have even more problems to deal with. Don’t move.” Patton nodded, tracking DeShawn with his eyes as he stood and crossed the room. He wasted no time in getting back, oddly relieved when he saw Patton hadn’t moved an inch. He remained perfectly still while DeShawn properly cleaned his wound and carefully wrapped it. If it hurt, DeShawn couldn’t sense that particular pain over the rest. “What did I pull you away from?” Patton asked once DeShawn straightened. “I was just about to start dinner.” “You got here fast.” “I drove fast.” “You came running, eh?” Patton asked with a small smile. DeShawn’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure now was the right time to say so, but he would always come running when Patton called him. “It was the least I could do. Now, you look like you’re going to pass out. You should try to get some sleep.” 84


“I can’t sleep.” “Come here.” It wasn’t easy, but DeShawn managed to arrange both of them on the bed, his chest pressed to Patton’s back. At first, Patton held himself stiffly, every one of his muscles hard as a rock. DeShawn didn’t let him pull away, though. He held the older man close, cradling him and murmuring about stupid, inconsequential things until the tension eased from his frame. That close to Patton, his body had very firm ideas about what he should be doing, but he suppressed that desire. Patton might want him. He might even want to fuck him at that moment. But DeShawn didn’t think that would actually make the situation better. Patton did eventually sleep. When DeShawn was sure he wouldn’t startle awake, he tilted his head and kissed the patch of skin just beneath Patton’s ear. *

*

*

When Patton woke, he felt like an axe had split his skull open, his hand throbbed like it was missing a chunk of flesh, and something wonderfully warm and perfect pressed against his side. He didn’t move, partially because he thought his head might fall off, partially because he didn’t want to lose that heat. “Is it just me or is this the ugliest room ever?” DeShawn asked, chest rumbling. Patton closed his eyes against the hideous room and decided to just be still for a bit longer. “I know you’re awake.” Patton turned his face into the scratchy pillow and made a don’t bother me sound. He didn’t expect it to work, but DeShawn shifted against him, resting his chin on Patton’s shoulder. The curtains were too thin to block the sun, and the morning light hit him right 85


in the face. He couldn’t guess at the time, but it felt late. Being the little spoon wasn’t very dignified, but Patton wasn’t an automaton. He needed contact as much as anybody, and it’d been so long. He didn’t even have the brittle satisfaction of being knocked around on the field and the accompanying pain. “It’s hideous,” Patton finally agreed. “How much did you pay for this dump?” “You don’t want to know. They get away with highway robbery out here.” “I’m a little afraid somebody’s going to try some regular breaking and entering robbery. They have a corner on the market out here. They can get away with robbing their guests.” “I think we’re probably safe.” “How are you feeling?” “I don’t know,” Patton said honestly. He felt like he’d been saying that a lot, but the list of things he didn’t know really was quite long these days. “Are you feeling good? Bad? Hungry? Awkward?” “I’m feeling okay, a bit hungry, and not awkward.” It was all relative. He’d certainly felt worse, and things weren’t as awkward as he would have expected from the situation. Perhaps they were past the point of awkwardness and humiliation. “Good.” “You?” “About the same. But this place really is creeping me out.” “Come to LA with me,” Patton blurted before he could change his mind. “We’ll stay somewhere nice.” “I thought you had a house there.” “I don’t want to go back there. I should have sold it when I left. I guess I thought this whole business would be temporary. But it’s 86


not temporary.” Instead of answering, DeShawn pulled away from him and stood. Patton rolled onto his back, watching DeShawn shuffle over to the sink and splash his face. He’d said something wrong. He could tell by the line of DeShawn’s shoulders, the rigid tension in his spine and jaw. “I’m sorry. I thought…well, I guess I thought wrong.” “Patton…” “What?” DeShawn turned around and walked with purpose back to the bed. Patton tensed slightly, but didn’t move, didn’t shy away when DeShawn knelt on the mattress and leaned in close enough Patton could smell faded shampoo and sour sleep. Water clung to his skin, rolling down his cheeks and off the bridge of his nose and lips. DeShawn put his hand on Patton’s chest, long fingers resting against his throat, heavy on his pulse. Patton was drowning in DeShawn’s breath and his skin. Patton lifted his hand, not knowing what he would feel until he touched DeShawn’s wet face. The tiny strands of moisture were cool against his flushed skin. DeShawn was going to kiss him, and he couldn’t do anything about it, like when the pocket collapsed and Patton knew he going to be driven hard into the ground. Except in this case, Patton had no intention of scrambling to avoid the collision. He parted his lips automatically when DeShawn touched them, welcoming the brief touch of DeShawn’s tongue. Patton closed his eyes, not fighting the warmth suffusing him or the tendrils of desire unfurling through him. They were thin and narrow at first, golden trails of heat beneath his skin. DeShawn deepened the kiss, his tongue inquisitive, appreciative. The trails ran together into, grew thick as syrup and met in his stomach. He moaned in 87


encouragement, his other arm sneaking around DeShawn to pull him closer. DeShawn allowed himself to be pulled down, halfstretching over Patton, their legs sliding together. DeShawn’s braids fell forward, tickling the side of Patton’s face, but that wasn’t enough to distract him from his slow, hungry mouth. Patton smoothed his hands up and down DeShawn’s back, fingers gliding over the T-shirt, pulling the thin material tight. His muscles tensed and bunched beneath the touch, his hips shifting down to grind against Patton’s in a mindless, yearning rhythm. Their clothes were a cruel barrier, but Patton couldn’t begin to think of ways to do away with that barrier. He focused entirely on DeShawn’s mouth, completely losing his ability to multitask. He couldn’t even think along more than one track. There was only one person, one task, one goal, and nothing else mattered. The kiss fluctuated, the two of them falling into an easy push and pull, alternately tasting and tasted. DeShawn traced tiny circles on his neck, infinite geometric patterns sinking through his flesh. The contact was light, barely a caress at all, but Patton’s throat pulled tighter and tighter, clenching in sympathy with the constriction in his groin. He hooked his leg around DeShawn’s legs, holding him in place, trying to destroy the illusion of space between them. They wouldn’t be close enough until one of them was inside the other and Patton didn’t care who topped. Not as long as they were naked and locked together. The caress broke down gradually until they weren’t so much kissing as resting their mouths together. Their breathing matched, a steady inhale and exhale in perfect time. Rhythm. If DeShawn were one of his wide receivers, the commentators would say they had rhythm. They would say that the two of them were in sync with each other, and it was true, even though neither of them were 88


moving. Patton had learned his lesson about mixing his career with his personal life, but that lesson was forgotten and his instincts were to grab hold of everything he could and not let go. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” DeShawn murmured. Patton hummed in agreement and traced DeShawn’s bottom lip with his tongue. Ticklish, DeShawn squirmed a little, the line of his erection resting along Patton’s thigh. They should take their pants off. How could Patton convince him to strip? “Does that mean you’ll come with me?” Patton asked. “Yeah. I guess I have to since I’m not going to get naked in this disgusting bed.” “Do you think this is a bad idea? I mean…not just going to a different hotel.” “I know what you mean, and yeah, I do.” “Oh.” “That doesn’t mean I’m changing my mind. Are you?” “No.” DeShawn released an uneven breath, and Patton pulled him into another kiss, forgetting that they were in the middle of a conversation. Patton felt like they were alone on the planet, the last survivors of a nuclear explosion that turned the earth to desert, wiped out every living person except the two of them. DeShawn turned his attention to Patton’s neck, and he angled his chin to give DeShawn more room, shuddering with every lap of his tongue and studying the endless gold and brown through the gauze of the curtain. Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes but it wasn’t dark, and the blood rushed from his head, making him dizzy. “Jesus Christ, Patton. What you do to me.” As far as Patton couldn’t tell, he wasn’t doing anything to DeShawn. He was just trapped beneath the weight of his body, 89


absorbing his kisses and his moans, shivering every time his breath fanned over Patton’s slick skin. It wasn’t difficult to imagine begging this man, and he found that thought far more exhilarating than frightening. He would have to be out of control, the chains unlocked and stripped from his wrists and ankles and chest. He’d have to be past the point of caring, wholly illogical and focused on pleasure to the exclusion to all else. Patton wanted that, and it was a relief to admit it to himself. “We have to stop. Really, Patton.” DeShawn punctuated his point by pushing himself to his knees again. “It will be better with clean sheets.” “I’m not sure how it can be better than this.” “It will be. It’s just…” DeShawn bent again, putting himself back into the circle of Patton’s arms and licking at the corner of his mouth. “You feel so good. And you taste good. Which is crazy because we both have killer breath.” “I know.” Just like he knew he needed to roll from beneath DeShawn’s body. “Did you think about this before?” “I told you I wanted to kiss you.” “But I mean, when you announced you were my new roomie?” “Well…I thought about it. But I didn’t know you were gay, and it was more of a fantasy, not a seduction. I didn’t…I didn’t have plans to assault you while you were in the shower.” “I wouldn’t mind if you did.” DeShawn groaned, and this time when he attempted to get up, he actually made it off the bed. “Let’s go. I want to get LA right now.” “Yes, sir.” Would DeShawn be willing to leave his car here overnight and drive with Patton? They could grope each other, steal kisses, and 90


generally work each other up to a fever pitch until they found a suitable hotel. He glanced out to where the brand new Prius gleamed in the morning sun and decided that even the promise of groping probably wouldn’t convince DeShawn to leave his car behind. But it was only another two or three hours to the city. He’d gone six weeks without touching DeShawn, he could handle the length of this journey. He just didn’t want to. DeShawn waited while Patton turned in his key and signed his receipt. The blonde woman behind the counter gave him a long, measured look before saying, “It’s a shame the way you were treated in LA.” “Oh. Thanks.” “And don’t worry, I won’t mention anything about…” She nodded at DeShawn, who was leaning against his car and frowning at his phone. “I think it’s a shame you have to come all the way out here. It’s nobody’s damned business what people do, that’s what I think.” “Um, yeah, thanks.” “Here you go, dear. Have a good day.” Patton took his receipt and exited the office with a deep frown. DeShawn noticed the difference in his mood right away, and he straightened as Patton approached, eyes searching Patton’s face. “What’s wrong?” “I…nothing. It’s just…the lady thought we came out here specifically to, you know…” “Fuck?” “Yeah.” “Well, that’s reasonable. I can’t imagine anybody has any better reason to be out here. Plus, we did spend all night together in a room with one bed. Did she have a problem with it?” 91


“No. Actually, I think she’s a fan of mine.” “Then why do you look upset? Who is she going to tell out here?” “No, I know. It’s just…it’s…you know.” “Come on. We can go somewhere with A/C and talk about it more there.” Patton agreed, resisted the temptation to kiss DeShawn goodbye, and unlocked his truck. DeShawn followed him, holding the door open while Patton climbed in. “Do you want to stop somewhere for lunch?” DeShawn nodded. “Once we reach civilization again.” “Then I’ll see you at the edge of the desert.” “I’ll be there,” DeShawn promised before pushing the door closed. Patton’s engine roared with life, and he happily put the truck into gear to leave Desert Center behind. But he couldn’t quite stop himself from searching his rearview mirror, looking up every few minutes to make sure DeShawn still following him.

92


WEEK 7 PHOENIX WILDCATS VS SEATTLE HAWKS 4-1-0

“Rex Adams, talk to me. What is the deal with Wildcats’ quarterback Jeremy Oswald?” “He’s still listed as injured, though probable for the game. He didn’t really want to talk about his thumb when we met with him last night, but he was wearing some sort of brace. This might be something more serious than a sprain.” “If it is, will he sit out?” “I don’t know. He’s not even admitting there’s something wrong right now, despite the brace, and despite the fact that he had fewer attempts against the Titans and fewer yards per reception. But we did see more of Patton Cooper during team practice. He spent a lot of time working with Oswald.” 93


“Okay, so, if you were playing fantasy football, would you pick Cooper up?” “Not just yet. Oswald is a young guy, very determined, and very capable of playing through the pain he must be in. I think the real test will be the first half of this football game. If they stick to the ground and a lot of short routes, then we might have our answer about his injury. But I can tell you that right now, Coach Hendricks and his Hawks are prepared for anything.” *

*

*

“That fucking hurts,” Oz snarled at the trainer, Jay. “Fuck. What the fuck are you doing to me?” Jay ignored him and continued wrapping the sticky gauze around Oz’s thumb and wrist. Patton sat across from him with the playbook open in his lap, watching Oz cycle through anger and pain in turn. Nobody quite knew how Oz managed to hurt himself. Even after they’d gone through the tape of the Marauder’s game, they didn’t know when Oz landed wrong, or was hit wrong. Hell, he might not have even been injured during the game. It could have happened during practice. Either way, his thumb was swollen and a sickly purple color. “You ever have anything like this happen to you?” Oz asked. “I’ve had a few broken fingers.” “You still play?” “Yeah.” Patton absently rubbed the back of his hand. It itched all the time where the skin was healing. When he’d finally looked at it once they reached LA, he couldn’t believe he’d inflicted so much damage on himself. He honestly didn’t remember biting until the 94


skin broke, much less pushing his teeth to make shallow puncture wounds in the flesh. He’d gone to Jay surreptitiously to have it treated, remembering DeShawn’s observation that he was lucky it was his left hand. The memory of that night sent white-hot prickles of shame through him. Patton still didn’t understand why everything had become so broken and jagged all at once. DeShawn had suggested that he might benefit from talking with a professional—in his typical blunt and tactless way—and Patton couldn’t disagree. But he couldn’t do that during the season. Maybe next spring he’d get a referral. “You’re sure it’s not broken?” Patton asked. Jay looked up from the newly wrapped hand. “And where did you get your degree, Dr. Cooper?” “It was just a question.” “There’s no sign of a fracture or break.” “Not even a hairline fracture? Those can be hard to spot.” Patton knew. He’d had two since the age of ten, and they’d been extremely painful until treated. Jay looked back to Oz like Patton wasn’t even in the room. Patton didn’t take offense. The old trainer was gruff, but he’d also patched up Patton’s hand without asking questions or running to the coach. “Keep icing it when you’re on the bench. I’ll unwrap it and check it at halftime.” “Shit. This is so fucking ridiculous.” “It could be worse.” Oz rolled his eyes. “How? The bone could be sticking through the skin?” “That’s one possibility.” “They’re going to be making a special effort to hit my hand all 95


day.” “Most of them won’t.” “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Patton shrugged. Oz sounded angry, but Patton sensed trepidation beneath it all. By the end of the game, he’d probably want to cut off his hand just to stop the pain, which would have dulled to a tedious throb by then, burrowed so deep into his bone that he’d feel it all the way to his teeth. Painkillers wouldn’t touch it, heat would only soften the edges, and in the back of his mind, he would know the agony would just be ebbing by the time he suited up for practice on Tuesday. Oz flexed his hand into a fist, grimaced, and relaxed again. “I won’t be able to grip for shit.” “Yeah you will. You won’t even feel it when you’re playing.” “Probably. Catch you in a bit. I’ve got to go talk to Chip.” Patton nodded, fingers drawn to the bandage on his hand again. As much as he regretted the wound now, he knew it would be about a thousand times worse if he ended up playing. Not that he would even care if he got to take a snap. He’d be happy with a single snap. Playing an entire set of downs now seemed like the pinnacle of achievement. As restless as his mind had become in the past few months, he didn’t need the physical strain of inactivity on top of it. Fingers brushed across his neck and he jumped, jerking around to see DeShawn smiling at him. “I said you’re name twice. Where were you?” “Oz’s hand is worse.” The smile faded slightly. “Is he still starting? They were still talking this morning like nobody knew.” “He’s starting, but he’s frustrated.” 96


“Maybe you’ll get to play.” “Not if Oz has anything to say about it.” They lapsed into a silence Patton didn’t like, walking shoulder to shoulder down the corridor that led to the locker room. LA hadn’t gone like either one of them had planned—or hoped—and Patton wasn’t sure why. It was like they both lost their nerve at the same time, both given a chance to think a little too much about it on the drive. They’d still spent the weekend together, but Patton had been so keenly aware of what they weren’t doing that everything they did together seemed directionless. Like a game where nobody understood the rules and didn’t know how to keep the score. Patton didn’t want him any less. Just being near DeShawn made him yearn for long, deep kisses. Patton was almost ready to drag DeShawn back to that shitty motel covered in grit. The rough sheets would be worth it. The night before, Patton had seriously considered making a move to at least get them back to kissing, but their hotel room was surrounded by their teammates. He and Chris hadn’t roomed together on trips, and they usually abstained on weekends anyway. “I was going to go out tonight with some of the guys,” DeShawn said. Patton didn’t understand the purpose of the announcement. A warning? An invitation? Just letting him know that he shouldn’t expect DeShawn to go back to the hotel with him? “Okay.” DeShawn looked at him expectantly, so maybe he had intended the words as something more than a statement of fact. “Have fun.” “You should work on your knee a bit during warm-up. I have a feeling you’ll be glad you did.” 97


“Why? Because of Oz’s hand?” DeShawn shrugged. “Things just feel…different today. Like something is going to happen.” Patton didn’t feel any different from any other Sunday, but the odds were good that Oz would sit out a few plays to rest his thumb. If Oz did, Patton knew he’d be ready. *

*

*

Patton was watching the field when Gonzalez flew in from the right, leading with his helmet, but it happened so fast he didn’t process it until Oz was already flat on his back. The roar of the crowd faded to no more than a gasp, and the nearest players in white jerseys rushed to their unmoving quarterback. The bench lit up with questions as his teammates crowded close to the sideline. The first few minutes were restless but quiet while they waited for the trainers to give their signal. The ref called a time-out, sending the game to commercial break, and Oz still hadn’t moved. “Cooper.” Chip grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the congregating group. “We gotta go over the plays.” “But Oz—” “Obviously isn’t taking the next snap, is he? It’s only second down. Now focus.” Patton gazed down at the playbook suddenly thrust into his hand. It was his playbook. He’d just been looking at it that morning before the game. But now all the patterns were moving, coming to life like an old cartoon and dancing in cheeky circles. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, blocking Chip’s voice, the stadium announcers, the prayers. It felt like an eternity since he last took a snap, and in terms of football, it had been. He’d played 98


during the exhibition games, and he still took plenty of snaps in practice, but it wasn’t the same. It prepared his body, but couldn’t begin to replicate the mindset, the adrenaline rush, the dizzying nerves. When he opened his eyes again, the lines and circles weren’t dancing. Chip’s mouth was still moving, and Patton concentrated until he heard his coach and nothing else. Behind him, they were placing Oz’s prone body on a stretcher, his neck already secure in a brace, though they hadn’t attempted to remove his helmet. Patton bounced while he listened, moving in perfect rhythm with an imaginary rope. The excitement and energy were solidifying in his chest, surrounding his heart in a hard shell. He was worried, scared sick for Oz, but stressing over Oz wouldn’t help him win the game. And he knew the younger quarterback would want Patton to focus on that first and worry about him later. “We gotta get back in this game. Now, this might throw off the defensive rhythm…” What good was that if their own rhythm had disappeared? They were down by two touchdowns, but they still had a quarter and a half to play. Plenty of time. An eternity. They still had all their timeouts. If he could control the clock, he could win this game. In the end, that’s what it would come down to. The crowd applauded Oz as they lifted him onto the cart, showing their good will and well wishes with loud cheers. Patton sought the bench, instinctively finding DeShawn. He’d been right, and Patton was sure they both wished he hadn’t been. Oz was young, too young to be unconscious on the back of the cart. Patton’s stomach started to twist in on itself, dread weighing it down until he thought it would reach his knees. Patton wanted the job, but not like this. Never like this. He would sooner take a blow 99


to his own head than watch Oz being carried off the field. “You’re up, Cooper.” Patton looked to DeShawn one more time, who responded with a small, encouraging smile. You can do it, the smile seemed to say. Show them you still can. He would. The huddle was a strangely silent affair, everybody shaken by the fact that Oz hadn’t been awake by the time he left the field. Every single one of them had seen enough head injuries to know how serious that was, but Patton couldn’t let them concentrate on that. He called a running play to give them a chance to settle down. It felt good to be in that tight circle again, to feel the shoulders pushing into his, even to smell the sour bad breath smell of too many heads ducked too close together. He felt small and big at the same time as he crossed the field, snapping his chin strap into place before reaching the scrimmage line. Second and sixteen, deep in their own territory, down by two scores, and he hadn’t taken a real snap in nearly a year. It could have been worse, but it could have been better, too. But the heavy feeling in his chest had quieted, and the memory of DeShawn’s smile soothed his nerves further. His knee felt good, his hand wasn’t bothering him, and he knew he could do this. Patton started the count and almost immediately caught movement from the corner of his eye. The expected whistle sounded right away, a yellow flag flying into his field of vision. He growled with frustration and straightened while the referee announced, “False start. Five yards. Still second down.” They backed up to the new scrimmage line and settled into their stances once again. This time, he actually made it to the end of the count, and the center snapped the ball into his waiting hands. It felt good. Perfect. He really only belonged in one place, and 100


the weight of the ball against his palm felt a bit like coming home. He hurried back, turned to protect his chest from the rushing safety, and planted the ball in Gates’s waiting arms. He barely released it before he hit the ground, and he knew Gates wouldn’t have enough room to make up twenty-one yards. Only a handful of seconds later, Gates rolled to the grass, ball still protected against his chest. By the time everybody found their feet again, the scoreboard announced third down with eighteen yards to go. Through the speaker in his helmet, Coach called another running play. Patton ignored it, wishing he could call a bootleg pass. But that would require speed, and Patton wasn’t sure he could outrun the entire defensive line. Not quite yet. As soon as he lined up with four receivers, Coach’s voice rumbled through the speaker next to his ear, low and distinctly furious. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? This is not the play I called.” Patton shook his head slightly and took his place behind the center. The defense adjusted across from him, shifting to cover what they were reading as a long pass. Patton snapped the ball and the line surged, the rest of the defense dropping back to cover the ball. Patton took several steps back, arm cocked, eyes scanning the field. Bryce could get the separation he needed, if Patton could just give him a little time, could just wait… One. Two. Three. Patton released the ball and watched it soar through the air, feeling like he flying with it. Fingers grappled at him, closing around his jersey just as he threw the pass, but he managed to sidestep away from the lineman. At the far end of the field, two 101


bodies went into the air at the same time, in perfect sync with each other. It looked almost like dancing as they both reached higher and higher to snag the ball first. Time slowed, freezing everybody in the stadium as they watched, but Patton didn’t need to look. He knew what would happen. He saw it with perfect clarity, and he might have been the only one who wasn’t shocked when the defender deftly nabbed the football out of the air. The field shifted into a different sort of motion as the defense became blockers and the offense moved to chase down the intercepting player. Patton followed the line of bodies, rushing to get a blow in if it came down to it, but Bryce managed to catch the corner’s jersey and drag him to the grass before he made it more than a handful of yards. “Fuck.” No penalties on the play, no whistles, and Patton had no choice but to trot off the field. Coach waited for him, his fat, lined face glowing cherry red. He grabbed Patton by the facemask, brought his face in close, and shouted, “Who told you that you could change the plays?” “I didn’t like the look of a run. We had eighteen yards! You were just setting us up for a punt.” “I’m the fucking coach, and I’ll decide what plays we run. Do you fucking understand me?” There was nothing to do but say, “Yes, Coach.” The angry man released him as soon as he did, muttering that the “fucking defense needed a goddamned breather.” Patton bit his tongue, silently vowing that on the next drive they would have as much of a breather as they needed. DeShawn was waiting for him at the bench, a towel in one hand, a cup of water in the other. Patton accepted both offerings 102


with a wry smile. “This might have been more appropriate if I took more than two snaps.” “Don’t be upset. That was a good pass.” “It was an intercepted pass. Do you realize my stats for the year are one attempt and one pick?” “Yeah, but it won’t be that way for long. Look, you just overthrew him a little bit. That wasn’t your fault. You’re used to throwing at me.” “What are you talking about?” “I’m faster than Bryce. You’ve got to make a few adjustments for him. Then he’ll be able to get under those long passes.” Patton blinked, considering what he knew of both men from practice. He could always put more heat on it when he threw to DeShawn. Always. Bryce was one of the fastest, nimblest wide receivers in the game. But DeShawn always beat him because he was just a hairsbreadth faster. “Too bad you’re not a wide receiver.” “Just remember what I said. You could fucking tear apart this defense. You know you could. Connect with Bryce once, and everything else will fall into place.” “They’ll just put more coverage on Bryce.” Patton tilted his head. “But that would open up the run a little bit.” “Then maybe Coach will stop bellowing about time of possession.” “I’m going to talk to Bryce.” “Don’t tell him I said I faster.” “I wouldn’t dream of it.” In the end, it worked. Patton returned to Bryce again and again, and no matter how much the Hawks adjusted to stop them, they couldn’t be stifled. The ball just wanted to be with Bryce. Patton’s 103


passes were perfect, hard and fast, always just above or just to the side of the coverage. He even felt cocky enough to throw into traffic twice, taking the risk for the huge payoff. The first time, it put them deep in Hawks territory, and they stayed in the red zone for four downs before Bryce caught a short, rolling pass for a touchdown. The second time, he fell into the end zone. At the two minute warning, they were tied and Patton only had one timeout left. “Listen to me. I want to end this, win it right now for Oz and take him the game ball. We need to dig deep here. Nelson…” He pointed to the fullback. “I’m going to fake a handoff to you and I need you to sell this like it’s a used car, understand? Bryce, that’ll only buy you a few seconds. I need you to get down to the end zone and get your ass open. I’m rolling to the right. Got it?” Patton knew they could do it. He’d seen them practicing the same play with Oz over and over, sometimes running nothing else for an entire morning. It was designed for exactly these sorts of situations, and Chip had insisted they run it past the point of exhaustion. When there was nothing left to give, when they were all bled dry and empty, this play was supposed to be deep in their flesh. Patton hadn’t practiced it as much as Oz, but he hadn’t needed to. He had over twenty years of muscle memory keeping him on his feet. He’d been built for this. Nobody else could do this like him. Nobody else could want it as much. Patton snapped the ball and turned to fake to Nelson. He let the ball touch the fullback’s chest, then ducked over and used his body to block sight of it as Nelson took off to the left, running full tilt with his arm tucked up to his chest, the other hand out to push away the descending Hawks. By the time Patton reached the right side of the field, Bryce was already down to the twenty. In the 104


back of his head, a little voice whispered that this was stupid, that he still had plenty of time left, that he shouldn’t be so flashy. But the entire field had shifted to the left, following Nelson and Patton had a good look. There wasn’t a black jersey within five yards of him when he finally threw that ball. His shoulder flared with pain, but the spiral was perfect. Perfect and Patton knew, knew in his gut, that Bryce would catch it. He watched with hands clenched and heart in his throat, lips moving in silent prayers and encouragement. Bryce reached up, his body twisted slightly, his entire form elongated. He was already a tall man, but he somehow found another three inches to reach over the corner’s head. Hands cradled the ball just as one foot came down on the right side of the white line. The other toe dragged for just a second and then he crashing to the sidelines. Please be complete. Please be inbounds. Please be complete. Please please please. The referee’s arms went up over his head in parallel lines and the side judge mimicked him, both signaling the touchdown. Patton whooped and punched the air, jogging down the sideline to join the rest of his celebrating team in the end zone. Inside, Patton screamed and cheered and clapped, but outside, there was a perfect hush. The home crowd wasn’t quite so excited to see Patton’s touchdown completion, although they should have been because it was fucking awesome. Probably one of the best things any of them would personally witness that football season. Bryce met him halfway, arms going around him in a quick, exuberant hug. “We fucking did it! Fuck! Did you see that fucking catch?” Patton laughed and dragged his receiver off the field. “I saw. Nelson was perfect. I think he probably even had the announcers 105


fooled.” “He did. I heard them say it was a handoff. I think we got this one in the bag.” Not quite. The PAT was good, but there was still a little over a minute and a half after the Hawks downed the kick. Patton paced the sidelines like a caged lion, biting his tongue to keep from shouting at the field, eyes anxiously darting to the scoreboard every few seconds, even though nothing had changed. The defense, perhaps energized by watching the totally amazing touchdown, dug deep into the last of their reserves and hung on. The Hawks did manage to get a first down on third and three, but they couldn’t get the ball out of bounds. The clock ticked on relentlessly, coldly indifferent to the eleven men working against it. Patton watched for what felt like an eternity, somehow certain that the clock had never moved so fast even as the seconds dragged on and on. With twenty-five seconds, they turned the ball over on downs, failing to make up the six yards they needed to get the first. That’s when everything erupted. *

*

*

When Patton was just the backup quarterback, nobody noticed or cared if he and DeShawn sat together in the back of the bus, talking or listening to their iPods. But the hero of the hour wasn’t going to be left alone that evening. DeShawn could forget about getting close enough to congratulate him, though the expected revelry was somewhat muted as they waited for news about Oz. DeShawn hung back, watching a team that never really felt like Patton’s envelop him, wishing he could be closer, furiously jealous at anybody who touched the quarterback, or even worse, prompted 106


a smile from him. In two months, DeShawn had never seen Patton smile so much, though the joy never quite reached his eyes. Patton did meet DeShawn’s eyes once, and his smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful, though not unpleasant, frown. DeShawn stopped breathing for a moment, feeling trapped and eager at once, knowing Patton could hold him there for as long as he wanted. Somebody said Patton’s name, breaking the connection. DeShawn wanted to push his way through all of them, take Patton by the hand, and drag him somewhere private. Somewhere nobody could follow and the two of them could just be the two of them. He knew he couldn’t reveal his jealousy—especially since Patton had been sending him mixed signals for the past week, pushing DeShawn away with one hand while he pulled him closer with the other. Patton insisted on taking the entire team out to dinner. DeShawn went because people might notice if he didn’t, but once again, the rest of the team elbowed him out of the way. They had a definite hierarchy, and at that moment, Patton sat at the very top. DeShawn lingered at the very bottom. He felt bruised and unsure—two things DeShawn never was. DeShawn returned to the room first, regretting the stupid challenge he’d tossed at Patton’s feet earlier. Patton hadn’t recognized it as a challenge—of course—and so DeShawn regretted it all the more. Would he come back that night? Or would he stay out, celebrating and enjoying his victory? Well, celebrating as he much as he could given the circumstances. DeShawn knew that Patton would rather not play at all than play due to somebody else’s injury. Especially a severe head injury. That fucking defensive tackle led with his helmet when he hit Oz. DeShawn hoped the league fined the hell out of him. Patton wouldn’t be happy that Oz hurt, but surely he’d be happy they won. 107


He heard Patton fumbling with the door at a little after midnight. DeShawn set aside his book and braced himself for the party to spill into their room. But when the door swung open, there was only one long shadow across the floor. Patton stepped in by himself, shut the door, and met DeShawn’s gaze. His cheeks were a bit red and his eyes a little bright, but otherwise he didn’t look like he’d been drinking. The earlier wide smile disappeared, replaced by a strange quirk that wasn’t quite a frown, but wasn’t quite anything else. “I thought you were going out tonight.” “Didn’t feel like it.” “Why didn’t you stick around for dinner?” “I didn’t think you’d notice.” “I’ve been counting the seconds.” DeShawn licked his lips. “Then what are you waiting for?” Patton undressed as he crossed the room, ripping his shirt over head and unzipping his pants by the time he reached the bed. DeShawn tucked his legs under him and sat up on his knees, grabbing for Patton as soon as he was in touching distance. Their mouths crashed together, nothing graceful or gentle about it. Patton’s teeth scraped across his lips, and his tongue invaded DeShawn’s mouth without hesitation. DeShawn gripped his upper arms, holding as tight as he could as Patton plundered his mouth. They were both moaning, the sounds becoming indistinguishable, growing louder with every minute they clung to each other. Patton pushed DeShawn to the mattress without lifting his head, moving to kneel over him. DeShawn trailed his finger down Patton’s bare chest and dipped them into his open pants, groaning as he finally palmed Patton’s hot erection, spreading the slick that already dripped down his length in thick drops. Patton shuddered 108


and jerked his hips, pumping himself against DeShawn’s hand while his own were busy removing DeShawn’s pants and pushing his shirt up. He felt a rush of the chilled air across his bare skin before Patton tore his mouth from DeShawn’s and ducked his head to tongue the lines of his muscles. He left hot, open-mouthed kisses up and down his chest, moaning with each one as though grateful for the opportunity to be there. DeShawn wiggled beneath him and arched his spine into each kiss, his hand working up and down Patton’s cock with thoughtless speed. Patton moved down DeShawn’s body with determination, not even hesitating when his lips finally reached the base of DeShawn’s cock. He paused with his face buried against the kinky hair, DeShawn’s thick shaft resting against his cheek. DeShawn reached down to palm the back of Patton’s head, whimpering, speechless as the sight of Patton and the look on his face, which was nothing short of bliss. He propped himself on his other elbow, watching with single-minded fascination as Patton finally drew his tongue along the bottom of DeShawn’s cock. When he reached the tip, he closed his lips around the head and moaned like he’d never put anything so wonderful in his mouth. At first, DeShawn couldn’t decide which was better—watching Patton’s cheeks hollow as he swallowed more of his shaft, or feeling the exquisite pressure of his mouth close around inch after inch of his cock. He’d fantasized about this a million times, but he’d somehow failed to imagine how beautiful Patton would look with his lips stretched pink and tight and his blue eyes trained on DeShawn’s face. He’d dreamed of this a million times, but never anticipated how utterly perfect it would feel. Patton’s tongue was soft and curious, rolling around him, seeking to taste every inch of him. The top of his cock slid along the roof of Patton’s mouth until 109


the tip reached the soft pallet, and then there was nothing left to do except push forward and finish the journey down Patton’s throat. DeShawn held Patton down with one hand, and used the other to rub his shoulder, neck, and finally his throat. He wanted to feel Patton’s throat bulging with his cock, wanted to feel the hard flesh throbbing just on the side of thin, delicate skin. They were probably only locked like that for a handful of seconds before Patton broke away to gasp for breath, but it felt like an eternity. A perfect moment that stretched until it was big enough to wrap around both of them. When Patton pulled off him, he surged up DeShawn’s body, pinning his shoulders to the mattress and claiming his mouth in another hard kiss. Their cocks pushed together, Patton’s head like velvet along DeShawn’s length. Patton’s erection jerked every time they touched, the light sensation more maddening than anything. DeShawn finally reached between them and wrapped one large around both shafts, squeezing them together until Patton’s arm buckled a little and he broke the kiss to gasp. “Oh my God. God…DeShawn.” “I was so hard watching you today. It wasn’t very comfortable.” Patton made a sound between a groan and a laugh. “I’m sorry for causing you discomfort.” “I didn’t mind too much. I just wanted you to fuck me right there.” “Right there on the fifty-yard line?” “Yes. That’d be great.” “I would. I’d…” Patton cupped DeShawn’s balls, squeezing slightly before letting his finger slide lower. The tip of his middle finger dragged over DeShawn’s hole, soft and curious and 110


intoxicating. DeShawn pushed down, naturally wanting more, silently encouraging Patton to push inside. “I’d take you right there on the field. On your hands and knees, press your face down to the grass.” Patton slid his thin finger into DeShawn’s ass, all the way up to the knuckle. DeShawn clenched down around him, everything from his knees to his abdomen feeling too tight and wonderful. “Oh…fuck. Fuck, yes, Patton.” “You want that?” “Yes. You…you don’t know what you do to me. That last pass…” DeShawn sucked his breath in sharply and rolled his hips, stroking their cocks together as the pleasure grew sharper. “I have condoms in my bag.” “So we’re on the same page.” DeShawn felt Patton’s smile in the quick kiss before he disappeared, leaving DeShawn aching with frustration and emptiness. He finished shucking his clothes while Patton dug through his bag, finally pulling the box of condoms and small bottle of lube from the side pocket. He toed off his shoes and pushed his pants to the floor, exposing the perfection of his body to DeShawn’s hungry gaze. He’d caught glimpses before, but this was different. Now he could stare as much as he wanted, and he could touch, and kiss, and be greedy about it all. There were a few faint bruises from the game, and the sight of them went directly to DeShawn’s cock. More pre-come gathered at the tip, and he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing the palm over the crown, spreading it and stroking himself as Patton unrolled the condom down his own length. “I’ve been on that page for a long time, too,” Patton said, kneeling between his legs. “How do you want to do it?” 111


“Like this. I need to see you.” Patton poured the lube over his cock and spread it over the condom, before using two of his slick fingers to push into DeShawn’s waiting body. DeShawn bit down hard to keep from crying out, his channel stretching to accommodate the thicker width of two fingers. His stomach fluttered with excitement that had nothing to do with the deep throb of arousal radiating from his groin. He gripped the bed with one hand, using the other to trace over the bruises on Patton’s ribs until his thumb slid over Patton’s nipple. He flexed in response, the flesh instantly hardening. DeShawn did it again with more pressure, and was rewarded with a low moan that vibrated through Patton’s chest. DeShawn echoed him, digging his heels into the bed so he could rock his hips harder, fucking himself on Patton’s fingers. “Ready?” Patton gasped. “Fuck yes. Fuck me, Cooper. I need to feel your cock pounding into me.” Patton eased his fingers free and DeShawn sat up enough to get a good view of Patton’s cock sliding into him. The crown nudged against his pucker, and neither made a sound as Patton worked the fat head past that tight ring. DeShawn bit on his lip as Patton slid forward, gaining less than an inch between each pause. Finally, DeShawn had no choice but to grip his hip and pull him forward, desperate to feel him fully sheathed despite the burn of muscle and skin stretching to accommodate his shaft. “Oh God, this is better.” “Better than what?” DeShawn asked, trying to get his breathing under control. “Winning.” DeShawn’s eyes flew open, but there wasn’t anything less than 112


perfect sincerity in his eyes. Fuck. He looped his arm around Patton’s neck and fell back, pulling the other man into a kiss that said more about DeShawn’s reaction than any words ever could. Patton moved his hips in slow, shallow thrusts. DeShawn was ready to be split open, but he wasn’t quite prepared for the suffocating pleasure, the overwhelming heat suffusing his flesh and weighing him down to the mattress. “Do you like this? Do you like it when I fuck you like this?” DeShawn whispered that he did, whispered that he fucking loved it¸ that he never wanted Patton to stop. He slid his palms down to Patton’s ass, his fingers splaying across both cheeks, urging him deeper—as if he could bury himself any farther. Patton wrapped his hand around DeShawn’s braids, winding his wrist so he was caught. His scalp tingled, and he opened his mouth but Patton didn’t give him the chance to speak, taking advantage of his parted lips with his tongue. “Turn over,” DeShawn encouraged when Patton gave him the chance to breathe again. “Want to ride you. Want to fuck myself on your cock.” Patton obediently rolled onto his back, allowing DeShawn to sink back on his shaft. For a moment, that was all DeShawn could do because he finally had Patton Cooper under him, his body perfect in every way, tense and eager, ready to pound into DeShawn as soon as he asked for it. DeShawn couldn’t stop his fingers from traveling over Patton’s chest, fascinated with every flex of his hard muscles, wanting to learn every ridge, taste every inch of him. DeShawn bent to run his tongue over Patton’s pink nipple, body going rigid when rough, crooked fingers wrapped around his shaft. “Come on, DeShawn. Ride me, fuck me.” Patton jerked hard 113


and twisted his wrist, letting his palm scrape across the sensitive crown. DeShawn swore under his breath and rose up on his knees, slamming back down as hard as he dared. Patton tilted his head back, a harsh moan tearing from his throat. “Fuck. Again.” DeShawn did it again and again, setting a punishing rhythm. Color blossomed across Patton’s chest and traveled up his neck, turning his skin a dark pink that drove DeShawn crazy. He gripped his arms and his shoulders and braced himself on Patton’s chest, leaving long pink marks all over his flesh. The only thing louder their mutual moans of satisfaction was the sound of skin slapping skin. “I’m so close.” Patton gasped, fingers sliding over DeShawn’s hips and thighs, spreading the slick of their mingled sweat. “DeShawn…” “Want you to come in my mouth.” “What? No, no, don’t stop.” His grip on DeShawn’s cock tightened, squeezing hard enough for pain to bleed through the pleasure. “I’m so…I’m so…” DeShawn managed to break away from Patton’s hold, lifting himself off his pulsing cock with a small sigh of regret. He definitely wanted more. May not ever have enough of Patton. But first, he wanted to get a good taste. He yanked the condom off and turned to straddle Patton’s chest. He was quick, each motion fluid, and Patton barely had time to protest before DeShawn closed his lips around the base of his cock and sucked. Hard. Patton roared, thrusting until his cock hit the back of DeShawn’s throat, buried so deep that when he did erupt, DeShawn barely tasted him. It flowed down his throat, each thick string splashing against the back of his tongue before disappearing. DeShawn closed his eyes and concentrated on milking every 114


second of pleasure from Patton that he could, wanting him to feel this orgasm all the way to his toes. He only distantly registered Patton gripping his hips and yanking him back, but he did not miss the red-hot bolt of pleasure that shot up his spine as Patton swallowed DeShawn’s length. “Oh…oh Christ…oh that’s it…that’s it…” DeShawn panted, tonguing Patton’s sensitive cock between each word because he just couldn’t quite let him go. Not yet. “That’s it. Let me fuck that mouth…let me…” Patton buried three fingers in DeShawn’s well-fucked hole, taking advantage of his stretched muscle and thrusting in deep. DeShawn shouted and his back arched like a bow, his frame bending and twisting as the pleasure finally overwhelmed him. His cock jerked against Patton’s tongue, shooting all the way down his throat, and Patton never stopped sucking. “I can’t…oh fuck you gotta stop.” Patton pulled his fingers free, allowing DeShawn to collapse forward and roll off him. He was messy and sticky, exhausted in the deeply satisfying way that could only result from sex. Playing didn’t make him feel this good and wasted and comfortable. Sleepy, too. “I can’t even move,” Patton muttered. “So don’t. Nowhere you have to be.” “Can you move?” “Give me a few seconds.” Despite his words, he pulled himself into a seated position and moved to stretch along Patton’s side. A million questions rose to the surface of DeShawn’s mind, only some of which he’d ever consider asking. He wondered how he compared to Chris, wondered if Patton was already ready to regret this. DeShawn 115


wouldn’t take it personally if he did regret it. This was a huge step, and after all the endorphins wore off, it might seem like a huge step in the wrong direction. DeShawn didn’t want this to be casual. And he definitely didn’t want Patton to regret this. “What do you think?” Patton asked, as if he could sense DeShawn’s racing mind. “I think that was a good start.” “A great start. How’s your stamina?” “I’m twenty-two and in peak physical condition. Stamina is the last thing I have to worry about. You think you can keep up with me?” Patton took DeShawn’s hand and guided it to his cock, wet with come but already starting to harden again. “What do you think?” “I think I want you to fuck me again.” Patton flashed that disarming half-smile that always made DeShawn’s stomach roll over. “Then come here.”

116


WEEK 8 ST. LOUIS BIGHORNS AT PHOENIX WILDCATS 5-1-0

“And now we’ll send it over to Rex Adams with this week’s injury report. Rex?” “Lots of news from around the league, but the biggest story right now is the Wildcats starting quarterback, Jeremy Oswald. He was knocked unconscious in last week’s game against the Seattle Hawks, and the official report is that he suffered from a severe concussion. Last night Coach Williams said that Oswald is awake now, he’s home from the hospital, and he’s doing well. But he’s going to be out for at least another four weeks.” “The Wildcats have veteran quarterback Patton Cooper, and he’ll be starting this week. What do you think that does for their chances against the division rival Bighorns?” 117


“It definitely is going to change the way they play this game. Under Oswald, the Wildcats have an explosive, high-octane offense, but Cooper is much more laid back and definitely likes to control the rhythm of the game. This is a critical game for the Wildcats, Jon. The Bighorns are undefeated this year and they’re the Wildcats’ biggest competition in a strong division.” “This is a huge game for them. What do you think Ryan? Can the Wildcats keep it together and win this football game?” “I think you definitely shouldn’t count the Wildcats out. Oswald is an exciting player to watch, but Cooper knows what he’s doing. He’s already got three championships under his belt, and if you have to go without your starter, Cooper is the one you want to take his place. I think the Wildcats will play smart football, control the ground game, and win this contest by a touchdown.” *

*

*

Patton was in the weeds and he couldn’t find his way out. The more he struggled and resisted his fate, the more lost he became, until he felt like he was running in circles, occasionally pausing enough to beat his head against a rock. The Bighorns had an answer for everything he tried, and their defense was light and fast. They shut down the run quickly and effectively, removing a whole dimension of their offense. Patton did what he could to breathe life into the corpse of their offensive game plan, but the secondary was fast, too. Fast enough to pick Patton off in the flat, just getting their bodies between the ball and Patton’s intended receiver. Nobody spoke to him. Not even DeShawn. They all knew to keep their distance and let Patton try to work it out on his own. When the defense was on the field, Patton huddled with the 118


playbook and tried to find a strategy, tried to make something work. The crowd was dead, their shouts and encouraging cheers fading as the discrepancy in the score grew wider and wider. By halftime, the Bighorns were up by four touchdowns. Two of which had been defensive scores—one on a fumble recovery and one on an interception. One of the remaining two had been scored on a kickoff return (a late drive that resulted in a field goal) so Patton could comfort himself with the knowledge that the entire team was falling apart and it wasn’t just his fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Patton knew that. They were being outplayed, but sometimes games just went that way and your best just wasn’t quite good enough. Every person who ever played the game understood this on an intellectual level, but knowing it and feeling it were two different things. Patton knew it was just the momentum of one game being carried away from them, but he felt like he was absolutely losing control. They managed to stop the hemorrhaging in the third quarter, with the defense making two very impressive goal-line stances, and Patton holding onto the ball and not turning it over. Patton wasn’t exactly optimistic by the fourth quarter, but at least they’d cut the deficit by a touchdown, and if he could just make something happen, they might be able to pull through bruised, bloody, but ultimately victorious. He wasn’t going to give up on the team, and they weren’t going to give up on him. Late in the fourth quarter long shadows rolled across the field and a small breeze disrupted the afternoon heat. It wasn’t enough to sooth his flushed skin or lighten the sweat beading the back of his neck or soaking through his pads, but he did take a moment to catch his breath before taking his position behind the center. The entire field stretched ahead of him, vibrantly green and endless. He 119


had to make something happen. He called an aggressive, unexpected play. One that’d catch the defense off-guard. If they fooled them for a few seconds, it would be enough to make a play down the field. A touchdown at this point would put them back in the game, and Patton was born for just that task. He had no other desires, no other thoughts distracting him, no other purpose. Adrenaline and endorphins pumped into his blood at an elevated rate, obscuring the pain in his shoulder and the deep, throbbing ache in his knee. His exhaustion only sharpened the world around him until it felt like his senses were buzzing and everything was electric. Patton evaluated the playing field as soon as the rough texture of the ball scraped across his fingers. Everything seemed so slow when he wasn’t playing football, the world measured out in minutes and hours instead of fractions of seconds. His instincts were sharp, well honed over the past thirty years since he first picked up a football, and his reflexes hadn’t slowed despite his age, the time off, or his injuries. It was a simple play. One he’d completed thousands of times before to many different receivers. No matter who was on the other end, the play always worked. It was his call, his strategy, and it always worked. J. J. Samson was the target. A big tight end who towered over most of the team, including the offensive lineman. He’d played basketball in college and had even been drafted into the NBA, but he chose to play as a walk-on in the NFL. He vaguely resembled a stork or crane—some bird that was all long legs and epic wingspan. He had speed and flexibility, and he was perfectly built for the flea flicker. He could get where he needed to be and he could outplay any defender. The play went as planned at the beginning. Patton handed it to 120


the fullback, who ran to one side of the field while Patton hurried to the opposite sideline. He threw a perfect lateral, getting the ball back to Patton’s waiting hands while the defense struggled to reset itself. Patton cocked his arm back and let fly, purposefully throwing a little too high and a little too long so J. J. could get under the ball. But he wasn’t alone at the end of the field, as Patton had hoped he would be. Drake, the Bighorn free safety who’d been a thorn in Patton’s side since the first snap of the first drive, flashed across the field like lightning. He snatched the ball from the air, practically from J.J.’s outstretched fingers, and hit the ground running. Drake ran right up the sidelines with enough speed to beat J.J. in a foot race. Most of the other players were still congregated on the other side of the field, everything happening before they had a chance to spread out. The two receivers chased him, and then the linemen. But they barely got within grabbing distance, most of them hardly touching Drake’s jersey in their diving tackles. Everything slowed as he approached, and Patton had no thought in his head besides stopping him. The only problem was that Drake could see the entire field, and he knew Patton’s intention before Patton even set himself in the proper stance to make a tackle. He was also ten years younger than Patton and, Patton would later learn, just about one of the fastest men playing the game. In a league of giants and supermen, Troy Drake towered among the elite. There was a good chance nobody on that field had the ability to catch and stop him, but Patton was the last one standing between Drake and the end zone. He threw his entire body at the other man, committing wholeheartedly to the tackle, but he wasn’t quick enough. Drake dodged just enough to the side to throw Patton off, and he hit the ground with a grunt, the 121


air pushed out of his lungs. By the time he picked himself up, they were celebrating in the end zone. With five minutes left on the clock and twenty-eight points separating them, Patton knew the game was all but over. He limped to the bench, trying to pretend he didn’t realize how pathetic he looked. He collapsed on the far end, knowing he would need every second of the point-after, the kick-off, and the changeof-possession time-out to gather his thoughts. “I’m cheering for you.” Patton didn’t look up from his hands. The crowd collectively deflated with the point after score, and he felt himself slipping deeper into his spiral. “What are you talking about?” Patton asked hoarsely. “You’ve been in tighter situations,” DeShawn said. “Remember that game against the Minutemen in ’03?” “Don’t do that.” “What?” “Talk about those games like they mean anything now. That was a lifetime ago, a different team. I was different. So just fucking stop it.” “Jesus, Patton, I’m just trying to help you out here.” “Don’t. Don’t talk to me right now. I’m trying to concentrate.” “Fuck, you know at this rate there’s not going to be anything left for Oz to come back to.” Patton couldn’t put a name to the voice, but the owner stood only a few feet away, and his voice carried loud and clear. “He’s not the reason we’re losing right now. That has something to do with all the touchdowns.” “He’s choked twice and cost us two scores. The defense can’t do its job when they’re scoring points against the offense, right?” 122


DeShawn stiffened beside him and Patton put his hand out, briefly taking his elbow in an unyielding grip. “Don’t.” “But…” “Just don’t. Coach hears you picked a fight, and you’ll be the one in hot water. It doesn’t matter why.” “They don’t need to be assholes.” Patton didn’t care about that. The whole team could stand around and bitch about what an untalented dick he was. They wouldn’t say anything more cutting than the words already swirling around his mind. He didn’t blame them for being angry. He was angry, too. Only one loss on the season, and even that had been pretty close. This was their first blowout. And everybody knew that the only difference between last week and this one was the starting QB. He left DeShawn glaring and silent on the bench, pushing the entire exchange out of his mind so he could focus on the new drive. They had good field position, five minutes, two time-outs and the two-minute warning. That still plenty of time, and he did have a few tricks up his sleeve. He might not have the speed he once had, but speed didn’t count for everything. There was something to be said for experience. He took the field with more cheer than he felt and rallied everybody in the huddle. They played with all they had. Patton couldn’t have asked for more from any of them, but some Sunday afternoons even all you had wasn’t enough to give. Patton escaped to the tunnel before one of the sidelines reporters couldn’t corner him and shove a microphone into his face. They’d only drain him of what energy he had left, and he needed every bit of his reserves to get himself back home. He didn’t wait for DeShawn. In hindsight, Patton regretted that 123


decision more than any other he made that day. But he hadn’t been thinking about DeShawn, and even if he had been, it was impossible to say that Patton would have realized that his emotions were running high, too. “Why don’t you keep your fucking opinions to yourself, Howie?” Patton spun around to see DeShawn glaring at one of the defensive ends, a giant who went by Howard and never, ever Howie. “Get the fuck out of my face.” Patton could do nothing but watch as DeShawn did the exact opposite of that, stepping forward to invade more of Howard’s space. “I’ve been listening to you talk shit for the past twenty minutes, and I’m fucking sick of it.” “I’m fucking sick of you.” Howard pushed at DeShawn’s shoulder. “Now I said, get the fuck out of my face.” “Did you just fucking touch me?” “Yeah, I did.” Howard hit his pad again. “What are you going to do about it, you little shit?” “I’m going to give you the chance to apologize before I rearrange your face.” Howard laughed. “You? You are going to rearrange my face? Get the fuck out of here before you get hurt.” DeShawn lunged forward, but Patton was close enough by then to grab his jersey and haul him back before he could actually take a swing. He wanted to, though. Patton could see it in every line of his body and the hard glint in his eyes. “What the fuck is going on here?” “This pup thinks he’s big enough to start nipping at my heels. You’re his buddy, aren’t you? Keep him away from me.” 124


DeShawn tried to twist away from Patton’s hold, but Patton’s grip was too firm. He half-walked, half-dragged DeShawn past the locker room to one of the coordinator’s offices and slammed the door shut behind them. “Jesus Christ!” “What the fuck are you doing dragging me in here like I’m some kid in detention?” “What the fuck are you doing picking fights?” “You should have heard the shit he was saying about you.” “I don’t give a fuck what he said about me.” “You’d care if he started turning the whole team against you.” Patton ground his teeth together. “You don’t have to jump in and defend my honor every time somebody’s an asshole. It’s not necessary or wanted.” “I was being a good friend and a good teammate.” “No, you weren’t. You’re being a child.” Patton wished he could take the words back before he was finished saying them, and he could tell by the way DeShawn’s mouth turned that an apology would not be enough. “DeShawn, look, I didn’t mean…but you could have seriously fucked things up just now. Even if Howard didn’t pound you into the ground, do you really think Coach is going to be impressed with this behavior?” “Some things are more important than what he thinks.” “Nothing’s more important,” Patton corrected. “Not if you want to have a future in this organization. I don’t want you get put on his shitlist because somebody was talking about me.” “He said that you can’t play for shit because you’re a fag.” Patton’s mouth dropped and the air burst from his lungs. Howard knew? No, he couldn’t know. It wasn’t easy to stop 125


rumors and reputations in the league, but his lawyer had included a general gag clause in his contract that meant nobody could talk about the circumstances around the trade. “People talk like that. You have to ignore it.” “People talk like that because you ignore it.” “And if you fly off the handle any time somebody calls me a fag, what are they going to think?” “That I don’t like people to be assholes where I can hear them.” “No, they’ll think that I am one.” “You are!” “I don’t want them to know it!” Patton shouted back. “I understand, Patton,” DeShawn said after a beat, his voice low again. “Do you think I don’t understand? But this isn’t just about you and your secrets.” “So you’re telling me you would have picked a fight no matter who Howard was talking about?” “Yes. Shit, Patton, wouldn’t you be angry if somebody called me a nigger?” “That’s not the same.” “It is to me,” DeShawn said softly. “I’m not…I’m not angry. I’m worried. What do you think will happen to you if you get a reputation for going off half-cocked?” “Nothing happened. You stepped in before anything could.” Patton sighed. “Just don’t let it happen again.” He thought DeShawn might try to stop him before he opened the door, but he let Patton go without another word. Patton marched directly to the locker room, slipping in while Coach wrapping up his speech about team work, and pulling it together, and doing better next week. Patton kept one eye trained on the door while he soaked his knee, bandaged his shoulder, and 126


showered. But Patton must have missed him somehow, and his car missing from the lot when Patton finally emerged from the stadium. DeShawn needed a chance to clear his head. They both needed their space and time to cool down and it would be better to wait until tomorrow to call him. They could go an entire night without seeing each other. But Patton didn’t want to be alone. As much as he hated to admit he needed anybody, he knew he needed DeShawn and, more importantly, he wanted to be close to the other man. Especially after a loss like this, when most of his insides had been scooped and tossed aside, leaving him as hollow as a scraped out pumpkin. He’d never been to DeShawn’s apartment, but Patton knew where he lived. He debated the wisdom of this choice for the entire drive, knowing DeShawn might be annoyed or irritated, but he would never turn Patton away. He couldn’t say exactly how he knew that, but it felt like one of the few kernels of truth Patton could clench in his fist and hold on to. Patton knocked sharply on the apartment door and waited. And waited. He knocked again and leaned closer to the wood paneling, listening for voices. He did hear something, but it was so muffled that it might have been the television. The Prius in the parking lot had been evidence enough that DeShawn was home, but it didn’t indicate if DeShawn was there alone. Shit, what if he wasn’t alone? Patton would have no choice but to take it in stride. It wasn’t as though DeShawn had made him any promises. The door swung open after the third attempt. DeShawn had a towel tied around his hips and his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Patton had seen him half-naked and gleaming before, but it was different now. Maybe the look of surprise on DeShawn’s 127


face had something to do with the way Patton’s stomach clenched. Or maybe it was the softness of the blue towel tucked around his finely carved hips, secure but easy to whisk away. “Patton, I…I didn’t expect to see you.” “I know. I wanted to see you tonight but you snuck out before I could say anything, and I guess that could have been a hint.” “You came all the way over here?” “Yeah.” Patton shrugged. “I just thought that you’d probably be home and I thought it’d be a nice surprise. I hope it is. If it’s not, I’ll go.” “Patton…” DeShawn fisted Patton’s shirt and tugged him inside the apartment, slamming the door shut with his other hand. “God, you always make me wonder if I’m not making myself clear.” “I’m not good at picking up signals.” DeShawn pushed him against the door and claimed his mouth, the kiss heating up from zero to scorching in no time at all. Patton yanked the towel from DeShawn’s hips, replacing it with his hands and pulling him closer. DeShawn fit snugly against him, his tongue pushing deeper into Patton’s mouth, drawing a hungry moan in response. He still felt raw and exposed by the loss of the game, exhausted from what felt like pointless effort, embarrassed by his inadequate performance—he hadn’t been terrible but he hadn’t been good enough to win. But DeShawn still kissed him like there was nobody else in the world he wanted more. He kissed Patton like he mattered. “Why’d you run away so fast?” Patton asked, licking at the corner of DeShawn’s mouth before moving to sample his freshly shaved jaw. “I didn’t want to fight anymore. I thought you’d want the night 128


to yourself. And I…fuck Patton, you have no idea how hard it is. Being that close to you all the time and acting like I don’t want this…you.” DeShawn yanked at Patton’s shirt, pulling it over his head before skimming his mouth across Patton’s chest. The contact wasn’t quite a kiss, but it wasn’t quite less than a kiss, either. “Let me take care of you.” “Take care of me?” “Yeah. Anybody ever do that after a hard loss? Or are you usually too busy punishing yourself?” “There’s usually punishment,” Patton admitted. “That’s what I thought. Come on.” DeShawn took his hand, giving him a brief tug. At first, Patton didn’t move. He was too busy staring at the point where their hands touched. Considering that DeShawn stood in front of him completely naked, the gesture shouldn’t have even registered. But it did, and Patton liked it. “Where are we going?” “To bed. I’m going to give you a good rubdown. Get you nice and relaxed. Work out all the sore spots. Did I ever mention that I used to date a physical therapist? He had the best hands, and he showed me how to use mine.” “That sounds…promising.” “It’s very promising.” “DeShawn, about today…” “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” “If it’s about today, I don’t want to hear it. It’s time to focus on you, and then after that, we’ll focus on next week.” Patton nodded, silently agreeing not to mention the fight again. The dispute had overwhelmed the football chatter in the locker room, most of the players more interested in the annoying kid who 129


got in Howard’s face than on the parts each of them played in the loss. He knew reports of it had made it back to the coaching staff, and DeShawn hadn’t been present to even offer his side of the story. Patton suspected if it came up again, DeShawn would get a bit of a slap on the wrist and told to calm down. Which wouldn’t be bad for him. It might even do him a bit of good. By the time they reached DeShawn’s bedroom, Patton convinced himself that everything would be fine.

130


WEEK 9 HOUSTON OILERS VS P HOENIX WILDCATS 5-2-0

“Welcome to week nine of play in the American Football Association. There’s a certain chill in the air in this first week of November, and we’ll be taking you around the league for our full game day coverage, but we’ll be starting in Phoenix. There’s been a good amount of drama in this past week.” “There has been, Jon, from all over the place! First, we have the announcement that Jeremy Oswald won’t be cleared to play for at least another three weeks. This is extremely serious and could have a major impact on the immediate future of the franchise. Then the Arizona Daily actually called for Patton Cooper to be benched in favor of Chase Bryant, who quite frankly isn’t ready to play. I don’t care how you feel about Cooper.” 131


“But it didn’t stop there, Ryan. There haven’t been any official announcements yet, but it sounds like the Wildcats are considering a late season trade with the Orlando Breakers. What do you think of that move?” “I think if the Breakers take the deal, they’re the ones who are going to lose on it. DeShawn Jones is a rookie with a lot of potential, but that’s all he is. Orlando is considering giving up a good fullback. And honestly, I think we’re all wondering why now? But this is just distraction from the important thing, which is the game today.” “Right. These two teams last met in the second week, and we said then that the game had potential playoff implications. Now the playoffs are just around the corner, and the Wildcats suffered a truly devastating loss against the Bighorns. If they lose this game, they’ll drop to third place in their division, which is remarkable considering their record.” “In any other division, five and three would be a comfortable record. But they’re not in any other division, and if they’re not careful, they’re going to fall three games behind the leader. All three losses, by the way, would be divisional.” *

*

*

DeShawn told himself he didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to distract Patton from the game that could turn his season around. The entire team had been tense throughout the week, trying to keep their heads down and work despite their concern for Oz, the escalating animosity on the defensive side of the ball, and the stress of learning the rhythm of a new quarterback. DeShawn learned of his fate late Thursday night, after a long, exhausting 132


practice. Coach intercepted him on his way to the showers and pulled him into his office. DeShawn tried not to let on, but Coach Williams made him really fucking nervous. The man was a legend in the AFA, with a combined total of six championships as a player and coach. He still held most of the records quarterbacks cared about—most completions in a single year, most yards in a year, most all-time passing yards, and three MVP awards. But that’s not why he made DeShawn nervous. DeShawn didn’t get starstruck, even by the biggest stars in the galaxy—none of them outshone Patton in his personal galaxy anyway. But there was no light in the man’s eyes. He never looked happy or sad, disappointed or angry. His gaze was always flat, unassuming, unrevealing. When DeShawn stepped into his office, he knew what must have been coming, but Coach’s face didn’t reveal a damned thing. The fight with Howard had been ill-advised, but insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nobody had been hurt, and getting in the bigger man’s face might have done the trick, because DeShawn didn’t hear anything more about fags or queers. DeShawn had been prepared for some punishment, expecting to be ordered to more laps or pushups or something along those lines. But nobody said a word, and by Wednesday, DeShawn had started to hope it was all over. That hope crashed to the ground when Coach Williams delivered the news in his flat, slow accent. DeShawn Jones was no longer a member of the Phoenix Wildcats, effective the following Monday. He would be finishing his season in Orlando, and if they liked him, they’d sign him on for a second year. If not, he’d be cut adrift in the league, one of the many players who disappeared early in their career and maybe, if they were lucky, had a comeback 133


years later. DeShawn let the words roll over him, unable to do much more than process the immediate realization that he’d be leaving Patton. Getting to play for a team like the Breakers meant nothing to him if Patton stayed on the opposite end of the country, out of reach. He realized on one level that he wasn’t reacting appropriately. There were other considerations, or at least, there were supposed to be. He could tell by the way Coach stared at him that he expected questions or protests, but DeShawn couldn’t think of anything except Patton’s face. The Breakers expected him by Monday afternoon. DeShawn muttered something about how it had been an honor to play for him and shook his hand, his mind still on the man he’d be leaving behind. That night, Patton had asked him if everything was all right. DeShawn hadn’t exactly lied, but he hadn’t exactly answered, either. Instead, he distracted Patton from the fact he’d ever asked the question and tackled him to the bed. Patton had laughed—a sound DeShawn would never be tired of—and kissed him. When they were alone and the weight of the world wasn’t on Patton’s shoulders, he was playful and affectionate, easily responding to kisses and caresses until DeShawn felt addicted to the attention. He didn’t mention it on Friday because Patton had spent the entire day reviewing tapes, watching the last ten Oilers games and making careful notes about their defense. DeShawn had never seen anybody prepare with such single-mindedness, and he knew that Patton wasn’t making any special effort beyond his usual routine, the way he prepared from week to week. DeShawn cooked dinner for him and stayed long after Patton had fallen asleep in front of the television. 134


Saturday DeShawn woke up in his own bed with a heavy weight crushing his chest. He stared at the ceiling and forced himself to breathe in slow, even breaths until he felt normal again. The longer he put it off, the worse it would be. Especially if Patton found out from Coach Williams, or another player, or even the news. Fortunately, Patton didn’t watch ESPN or the AFA channel while he prepared for a game, but that didn’t mean he lived in a bubble. If the news leaked, it would reach Patton’s ears sooner rather than later. But DeShawn’s luck held, and there was no talk of it on Saturday. All of the secrecy paid off because Patton played like a man at the peak of his game. The interceptions against the Bighorns were long forgotten mistakes, and their ghosts didn’t hover in Patton’s way. He picked the defense apart piece by piece, dismantling them with perfect passes that inevitably found their target. He spread the ball out, happily calling plays for both wide receivers and tight ends, liberally sprinkling the game with rolling bootlegs to the fullback when he tricked the defense to go to zone coverage. DeShawn had watched, transfixed and aroused and so fucking in love that it broke his heart. The news broke during regulation play, Orlando announcing that they’d acquired rookie cornerback DeShawn Jones in a trade with the Wildcats, releasing fullback Kyle Tate. DeShawn knew when it happened because when he checked his phone at half-time, he’d received about five hundred messages from friends, family, and the press. DeShawn spent the rest of the game on the sidelines, tied in sick knots, trying to reassure himself Patton wouldn’t take it badly. The final score was thirty-one to fourteen. Patton ran off the field with a smile after taking the final knee to kill the clock. 135


DeShawn had never seen him so happy. A cut on his cheek still dripped blood, but he didn’t even notice it. The team swarmed around him, shouting and slapping his back. DeShawn hung back on the edges, feeling that heavy weight on his chest again. He’d quit. If Patton said walk away from the game and stay with me, DeShawn knew he would do it. The thought terrified him, sapped the strength from him. How could he let one person have so much control over him? How could he possibly love anything or anybody more than he loved football? But then, Patton Cooper had always been the personification of football to him. He couldn’t think of the sport without thinking of Patton, and those feelings had been particularly muddled and confusing when he was fourteen and just discovering that he liked boys. If he had to love anybody more than the game, it made sense to love Patton and his odd mix of talent and insecurity and passion, all tempered by a darkness that Patton kept well hidden. A darkness that might take him over if DeShawn abandoned him. No, DeShawn wouldn’t be abandoning him. Florida wasn’t on the other side of the planet, and it wasn’t a permanent exile. He’d return to Phoenix after the end of the season, and if Patton wanted, he would even move to Los Angeles. DeShawn stripped his pads, showered, and dressed with heavy limbs, sensing that he was on a collision course. He caught Patton’s eye before he left, casually nodding toward the exit. Patton nodded his response, and DeShawn waited for him in the parking lot, mentally prepared for a fight. But the first words out of Patton’s mouth were, “Congratulations.” DeShawn swallowed. “What? You’re…do you mean that?” “Of course I mean it. Why wouldn’t I mean it?” “I thought…” DeShawn stopped, too confused to completely 136


articulate what he thought. Patton was happy? Did that mean he wanted DeShawn to be gone? No, no, not that. Patton wasn’t the most expressive man on the planet, but he made his appreciation for DeShawn clear enough. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I didn’t want to distract you. It was so sudden. It just happened on Thursday and I knew you were focused on the game.” “You should have told me.” “I know. You’re…happy about it?” “You’re going to be starting. I’m extremely happy about it.” DeShawn blinked. “What?” “You didn’t know you were starting? How did you not know that?” “I was…I don’t know. I’m starting?” “Orlando made the trade because Simmons is injured and he’s already their backup. They need a corner and you’re it.” “I’m it,” DeShawn repeated. “So what do you think? Do you think we should celebrate? Hey?” Patton stepped closer, too close. He pushed DeShawn back against his car, caging him there with his arm. If anybody saw them standing together, they’d probably get precisely the right idea. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I am. I am.” “If you’re worried about me…or us…” DeShawn put a hand on Patton’s chest and gently pushed him back. “We should talk about that somewhere less public.” “You’re right. Should we…” Patton backed off, his smile fading a little, and he looked more like the man DeShawn had met the last summer—uncomfortable in his own skin. “Go back to your place?” 137


DeShawn shook his head. “I’ll just ride with you.” Patton flashed the smile that DeShawn rarely saw, but already knew well. It meant Patton was surprised and pleased and would probably be willing to do anything to show his appreciation. “You’re not worried about your car?” “Nah, nobody will bother it here.” They crossed the lot together, keeping an appropriate distance even though Patton positively thrummed with energy and DeShawn wanted to run his fingers over the back of Patton’s hand to sooth the tremors away. He used to have the dirtiest fantasies about Patton—a sharp contrast to his present obsession with the thought of simply touching him in public. It was a natural instinct, to make a public claim on what already belonged to you. What else was marriage? Not that DeShawn wanted to marry Patton, but touching his wrist, or folding their fingers together while they walked would have been nice. “I guess you were right about that fight,” DeShawn said, once he was buckled in. “It might not have had anything to do with it. They could have been talking about making this trade for awhile.” “It might have cemented me as somebody they didn’t want on the team.” “Yeah, it could have. It’s hard to say. I don’t think you should spend too much time thinking about it.” “You seem happier than I am about it.” “I already told you I’m happy. The Breakers are a great team, and you’ll fit better in their defensive scheme than you do here.” “I know. And honestly, if things were different, I would have probably been celebrating for the past three days.” “If what things were different?” Patton asked, shooting him a 138


quick frown. “Nothing.” “You mean…things between us?” “Yes.” DeShawn had no reason not to answer honestly, but the single syllable conveyed a great deal more information than he intended. Patton must have realized it, too, because his frown only deepened and he didn’t speak again. DeShawn recognized all the signs of a brooding Patton, and while he wasn’t quite there yet, he would be if DeShawn left him alone with his thoughts long enough. Patton marched directly to the kitchen when they reached the house, snagging two beers from the fridge and popping them open before speaking. “You shouldn’t do that.” “What?” “Worry about me.” “What should I be doing?” DeShawn asked, bringing the cold rim to his lips. The chill worked through him, chasing the angry flush from his skin. “Shit, forgive me for caring, Patton.” “No.” “What is with you? Why are you trying to turn this into a fight?” “I’m not trying to turn it into a fight.” The cupboard doors banged open and closed as Patton tore through the kitchen, flinging random bags of chips and crackers on the counter like food would make them both feel better. “Then why are you so angry?” “I’m not angry.” “Patton, stop it. Are you angry I’m leaving? What’s going on here?” Patton leaned with both hands against the counter, his head 139


tilted down as if trying to block DeShawn’s view of the red creeping up his cheeks. Just looking at him made DeShawn’s chest hurt with a familiar twinge. The urge to touch him returned stronger than ever, but now it wasn’t the possibility of a witness that stilled him. “I think…I think you might be getting too serious. About us.” DeShawn blinked. “What?” “If we were just…casual…you wouldn’t worry about leaving for another team.” “No, that’s not true. I’d still worry about your feelings if we were casual. Hell, I’d worry about them even if we weren’t fucking. You’re my friend, Patton.” “I’m a distraction. Something keeping you from paying attention to what matters.” “A distraction?” DeShawn took a deep swallow from his beer to try to drown some of the emotions pushing into his throat. He didn’t quite succeed, though, and they still tinged his voice when he asked, “Is that how you see me? A distraction?” “No! God, no, DeShawn, that is not what I’m saying at all. You don’t distract me. Last week, knowing you were there helped me get up every time they knocked me down. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. You’re too…you’re too young.” “Wow. Wow, I can’t believe you went there. I wasn’t too young for you last night. I wasn’t too young for you a week ago. I wasn’t too young for you three weeks ago when you called me crying.” Patton’s lips thinned at the final comment. DeShawn winced, wanting to call the words back, though he knew he was right. There were a lot of differences between them, and if DeShawn was being honest, a lot of legitimate concerns. But age had never been 140


one of them. “I didn’t mean you were too young for me in particular. I mean, I was your age when I got myself tangled up with somebody else on the team. From then on, my entire career was about the two of us. It was never just about me, and now I barely have a career. Winning today was great, but it’s not going to give me back all those years I lost.” “So this is jealousy because I…” Patton moved lightning fast, knocking the mostly full beer bottle with enough force to send it flying to the wall. It exploded in booze and glass. DeShawn thought he could hear every shattered piece hit the floor. “It’s not jealousy. I’m not bitter because you’re just starting and I’m wrapping things up. I’ve…well, I’m coming to terms with that. This is about you not making the same mistakes I did.” “Three championships. That sounds like a hell of a mistake to me.” “No, those were great. But it’s dangerous to be tied to another person, especially…I don’t ever want to be the thing that gets in between you and the greatness I know you’re destined for.” “You think loving Chris was a mistake,” DeShawn said slowly. “And you think I’d be making the same mistake if I loved you?” “Yes.” Too late. “What do you want me to do, Patton?” “I don’t think we should stay in contact after you go to Florida.” DeShawn had known Patton was building to something like this, but he didn’t quite expect the other man to go that far. Not when he was the one who needed DeShawn the most. His chest tightened as he considered counter arguments, but the set of 141


Patton’s jaw told DeShawn none of them would be enough. “You can’t just dump me. The season’s only another few months, then I’ll be back in Phoenix.” “You can’t afford the emotional entanglement.” “You’re not an emotional entanglement. You’re…Patton we’re good together. We’re good for each other.” “DeShawn, next week you’ll be starting your first professional game. The trade is going to be the big story, which means everybody is going to be paying attention to you. Your mind needs to be in the game, not on me, or anybody else. You can’t be spending the week talking to me or missing me.” “You think I won’t miss you? It doesn’t matter how you treat me, Patton, I’m going to miss you. I miss you when I have to sleep in my own apartment.” “Maybe you’ll stop if all the ties between us are cut.” “You don’t mean that.” “I’ve never meant anything more in my life.” “Fuck, if you were going to dump me why the fuck did you let me ride with you? This would be a lot less awkward if I had my own car.” Patton dropped his gaze and bunched his shoulders. A small gesture, but DeShawn didn’t miss it. He hated this as much as DeShawn did, so why was he being so goddamned stubborn? Why did he persist with this even though he was hurting himself? All DeShawn wanted to do was take the pain away. He didn’t even care about his own feelings. He hated the sight of Patton’s heart breaking. It turned his blue eyes a stormy gray. “I didn’t know. I didn’t plan this. But what you said in the car. I…I once said something very similar to Chris. And I realized…I can’t be that person, DeShawn. If we were just friends, you would 142


have told me sooner. You wouldn’t be so hesitant to leave me and I wouldn’t be…” “What?” DeShawn prompted, heart now permanently lodged in his throat. “Dying at the thought of you leaving.” “Don’t push me away.” “I have to.” “Then stop acting like it’s for my benefit. You’re doing it because you’re hurt.” Patton shook his head. “I’m doing it because it’s my turn to help you. You came when I needed you, and now I’m going to pay you back by doing the right thing.” “This isn’t the right thing. You might have yourself convinced of that, but you won’t convince me.” “Where are you going?” Patton asked, following DeShawn back to the front door. “I’m going to go get my car. I have to fly to Orlando in the morning, I better get my shit together.” “I’ll drive you.” “No. You want to cut the ties between us, Patton? Fine. Consider them cut. Good luck with the rest of your season.” Slamming the door in Patton’s face wasn’t half as satisfying as DeShawn thought it’d be. *

*

*

Patton filled his Jacuzzi bath with water just a degree or two above what he could stand and sank into the bubbling depths, hoping it would at least ease some of the pressure in his knee and reduce the bruising on his thighs and arms. The game had been 143


brutal, and he’d probably need to take all of Monday easy if he wanted to be in top form for practice on Tuesday. The hot water upset his stomach a little, but it was difficult to sort that discomfort out of the general ache spreading between his sternum and his throat. That had nothing to do with taking a pounding in the game or letting the water get too hot. Pushing DeShawn away had been, without a doubt, the hardest thing Patton had ever done. It wasn’t like losing Chris. The pain had been somewhat dulled by the knowledge that things were already over, and then completely eclipsed by his rage at being traded, which burned itself out and settled into gray, depressed ashes. But this sting was sharper, infecting Patton with some sort of burning venom that threatened to consume him from the inside out. To say he regretted it wouldn’t be doing the situation justice. He regretted eating garlic, and he regretted throwing when he was off-balanced, and he regretted it when he forgot to buy toilet paper. This was so much bigger than what Patton usually regretted that he didn’t even have a word for it. But what choice did he have? DeShawn hadn’t even realized he was starting the following Sunday, and he’d all but admitted he’d been too concerned about Patton to worry about it. He should have been preparing the past four days. He should have instantly recognized this as the opportunity it was. The realization of what was going on in DeShawn’s head left him sick and anxious and sorry. He wanted to apologize for being a distraction instead of the support DeShawn needed. A distraction that would only grow in scope once they were separated by the width of the country. But that wasn’t Patton’s first concern. In three weeks, the Wildcats would be facing the Breakers again. The game would probably decide who won their division 144


and who would get home-field advantage in the playoffs. Based on what the neurologist had said about Oz, Patton would probably be starting that game. It would be his most important start of the season, and probably the biggest game he played in the past three. If DeShawn made a name for himself in Orlando, it’d be in that game. There was going to be a showdown between them, and if DeShawn won, he’d be a hero. DeShawn would play well against him regardless of the state of their personal affairs. But he would have additional motivation now to play perfectly. Before he might have hesitated, a part of him pulling back from doing something that would hurt Patton. Patton didn’t think he was being unfair with that—DeShawn had demonstrated again and again that he would give Patton anything. But there would be no danger of that at all if DeShawn hated him. He’d be driven to play his best, maybe even to humiliate Patton and make him sorry. Patton would never give less than one hundred percent on the field, or at all jeopardize his team’s chances for success. But in his heart, he was rooting for DeShawn, and could only hope that that his sacrifice would be enough to give DeShawn the winning edge.

145


WEEK 10 PHOENIX WILDCATS VS KANSAS CITY ARROWHEADS 6-2-0

“The playoff race is heating up as we enter week ten. By the end of this week, we might start to get an idea of how things are going to work out in several divisions, except the AFC South. The teams there are still much too close with the Breakers at seven and one, the Wildcats at six and two, and the Bighorns at five and three.” “The Breakers defense might be close to unstoppable now, Jon. They’re already stopping the ball on the ground, but with the addition of DeShawn Jones, they could be a serious threat to the pass.” “I thought you said last week that this wouldn’t be a good pick up for Orlando, Ryan.” 146


“I did, but you know, I can admit when I’m wrong.” “Rex, what do you think? Is it too early to say if DeShawn Jones was a good pick up for the Breakers?” “Maybe it’s a little premature. But I’ve been watching him in practice all week and talking to his teammates, and it’s clear that this is a very special young man. He brings a certain energy to the field and the locker room that may have been lacking before. He’s already got great chemistry with his teammates, especially free safety Dion Simpson and corner Terrell Wilson.” “Rex isn’t the only one saying that, Jon. Nobody has anything negative to say about DeShawn Jones, and that’s a great sign for this week.” “Okay, we’re just about out of time here. We’ll be sending you to the Orlando game in just a moment, but first Ryan, who you picking?” “If the Breakers defense control the game, they’re going to win.” “And in the Wildcats/Arrowheads matchup?” “Patton Cooper is on fire. If he keeps up the energy he brought to the game last week, then the Wildcats should win by a couple of touchdowns.” *

*

*

Patton stared up at the Kansas City sky and it stared back, gray and forlorn. They’d been forecasting snow for the past three days, and the clouds seemed prepared to deliver on that promise, brooding above the open stadium like a great, black dragon. But so far, the dragon was all smoke and no fire. The clouds just grew thicker and darker, the cold and humidity weighing down on 147


Patton’s bones. Patton hated Kansas City. He always had. A gloved hand filled Patton’s vision, and he took it with a grunt of thanks, allowing one of the defenders to pull him to his feet. Probably the same one that had sent him flying only seconds earlier. The pass had been caught in bounds, advancing the line of scrimmage fifteen yards. The entire game had gone that way. Patton kept getting knocked down, but every time he was pulled to his feet, the chains had moved. It would be a perfect game but for the sky pushing down, threatening to swallow them. “You okay?” Bryce asked as they moved into the huddle. “You’re taking a hell of a beating.” “Fine.” “What about your knee?” “It’s fine.” Patton checked his wristband and quickly chose the play. The Arrowheads’ pass rush had been strong all day, but they weren’t stopping the big passes or the runs. The big calls were paying off, too. “Slide option.” An almost unfamiliar confidence buoyed Patton has the huddle broke up. It’d been three or four years since he walked with that easy lightness in his step. They were on the thirty yard line, and Coach might have preferred a more conservative call, but Patton liked the feel of it. Samson was big, but he was also fast, and he’d been beating his coverage all day. The air felt even thicker by the time he lined up behind the center. He licked his lips, tasting a bit of salt, a bit of blood, and the green, bitter tang of the approaching rain. His hair was already plastered against his head, and sweat that couldn’t evaporate from his skin lingered and itched, irritating him like flies constantly buzzing around his head. His confidence only increased as the ball 148


hit his fingers, and he could have been twenty-five years old again, guiding his team down the field. The team he’d helped build over the previous four years. The team that trusted him, that never questioned his ability or place as leader. The team that he had brought to the championship, mighty and young and fast, the clear favorites. Patton ran to the right, throwing without stopping. He didn’t look to see where Samson was before he released the ball. He threw to the spot Samson would be, his faith in the tight end never wavering. Samson cut down the center of the field, sprinted toward the left, made a quick correction that his defender didn’t quite notice in time, and turned back up to run along the back edge of the end zone. The ball hit him like he had a target painted on his chest, and he clutched it, holding on while he dragged both feet through the turf before falling out of bounds. The signal was swift, leaving no room for question or skepticism. Touchdown. “Fuck yes!” He ran down the field, meeting Samson halfway for an excited hug that was more of a crush of bodies has the rest of the offense joined the celebration. Patton looked up as his teammates began to peel away from him and clear the field to double check the score, surprised when the digital numbers began to dance. He blinked, but the shapes were still hazy, blurring together until Patton couldn’t make anything else out. But on the big screen, as bright and clear as the Phoenix sun, was a replay of the other game being played right now. The one that was actually important—the Breakers in St. Louis. The replay on the screen didn’t need any explanation. Number fifty-four, DeShawn Jones, just returned an interception for a score, putting 149


the Breakers ahead 21-17. Patton’s stomach clenched as he watched DeShawn sprint into the end zone, then keep running toward the crowd, flipping the ball up into the grasping, excited fingers. It would be better for the Wildcats if the Breakers lost, but Patton didn’t care. Somehow, that touchdown meant far more to him than the one he’d just scored. “You opened the heavens with that play,” Chip said, slapping him on the pads between the shoulders. Patton tilted his head back to look at the sky, surprised by the bucket of water that splashed into his face. Patton couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a storm like this, and within seconds, the water fell in an endless wall. “We’re all going to drown in here,” somebody groused. “Do you think they’ll suspend it?” somebody else asked. “No. Not unless the field actually starts to flood.” “It happened once before.” “Fuck, I hope they don’t call it. I just want to put this to bed and go home. Never thought I’d miss the desert so much.” Patton didn’t join in the conversation, though he agreed with the general sentiment. He was having fun. He felt good, felt young, felt like he could have the entire world at his feet, and he just wanted the game to be over. Even when he was getting a beating, he rarely looked forward to the end of the game. When the game ended, he had to put on his street clothes and function in a world that couldn’t be measured in points or regulated in yards. That world had even less to offer him now that his loneliness took on a dimension Patton had never experienced. But he was tired. Really fucking tired. The water boys produced the slickers, helping the players shrug them on over their pads. Patton pushed his helmet up and gulped 150


Gatorade, watching the field with a fraction of his usual interest. They were going to win this game. Patton wouldn’t dare state that out loud, superstitious enough to be wary of jinxing himself or the team. But they were going to win. Sometimes, he could just feel it. Like he was the center of the stadium and the entire game rotated around him like an extension of his body. He’d tried to talk about it with Chris once, but Chris either hadn’t understood or hadn’t cared. Did DeShawn ever feel that way? Was he feeling that way now? The week without DeShawn had dragged. Taking his own words to heart, he resolved not to let anything, even DeShawn’s absence, distract him from preparing for the game. He never forgot that each snap could be his last, but this week was the first time he’d truly internalized that fact. This was the end of the line for him. Maybe not this particular game, but this season. He felt that as deeply as his conviction that they were going to win this game. “I can’t believe DeShawn returned that interception,” Bryce said. “You saw the replay, right?” “Yeah, I did.” “That kid is good.” “That’s what he was trying to tell us all season. Too bad Coach never listened to him.” “Yeah, that is too bad. I think we all really lost something when he left.” Patton nodded. “But I think Orlando will be a good fit for him. Well, it looks like it already is.” “It’ll be a hell of a thing for him to go to the championship his rookie year.” “You think the Breakers will go all the way?” Bryce shrugged. “I think their chances are damned good. 151


Nobody is playing like them in the conference.” “They won’t if we stop them.” Patton looked at Bryce curiously. “You do think we can stop them, right?” “I don’t know, honestly. But I think if anybody can do it, it’s us.” Patton didn’t necessarily disagree with that assessment. On the next drive, things broke down. Patton wasn’t sure how or why it happened, only that the center of the field wide open and all his receivers were covered. With nobody open and nothing left to do, Patton reacted on instinct. He forgot that he was too old for this sort of thing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, DeShawn was sprinting down the sidelines like his life depended on it, ball tucked close to his chest, hair bouncing from beneath his helmet. Patton wasn’t sure why it had to be that image and that moment, but it spurred him forward. He ran with his arm outstretched to fend off the nearest defender, a shockwave of pain going up his forearm and into his shoulder at the contact, but he absorbed it and shoved the other man away, his legs still pumping. The ground was already slick and muddy, but Patton didn’t lose his footing. The mud squelched under his shoes, sucking at his heels and splashing up to cover his pants. More defenders dived at him, but they mistimed their lunges, and the rain slowed their attempts. By all rights, Patton should be flat on the ground, brought down by the elements and the younger, faster defenders. But he just kept moving, muscles tight, heart pumping wildly in his ears. Patton became aware of distant shouts, nearly drowned by the curtains of rain and his thundering heart. Go, go, take it all the way. Go! Run you motherfucker! Run it in! The white outlines of his own teammates appeared on his periphery, throwing blocks and keeping the lane open. He could smell the score, and he wanted it. 152


More than he’d ever wanted any other touchdown. He had something to prove, there was no doubt of that. But it wasn’t just about proving himself to his team or the rest of the league. The free safety had the only legitimate chance of stopping him. Their paths collided inside the five-yard line, Patton narrowly sidestepping the fingers stretching to grab his calf. The move was good enough to avoid a tackle, but his left foot slipped out from under him. He reacted without thinking, sensing J.J. to his right. He shouted the man’s name, and threw the lateral, knowing full well that it was a stupid move, instantly processing all the ways it could have failed. He should have slid and protected himself from the tackle. He should have fallen with the ball under his chest and curled to protect it. He should have done anything else—especially in that weather—but he’d always had good instincts. And his instincts were telling him that they could score right there. The ball was thrown a little bit behind its intended receiver, but J.J. didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the ball from the air, lowered his shoulder, and rolled into the end zone. The whistle blew. The signal went up. “Touchdown Wildcats!” Patton collapsed in the mud, winded, letting the rain wash over him. *

*

*

“That was a hell of a run.” DeShawn didn’t look away from the enormous television showing highlights of the day. He’d already seen Patton’s scramble for a touchdown about a dozen times, but he wasn’t tired of it yet. Watching it made his throat scratchy. He didn’t know exactly what 153


that meant, but he knew the beer couldn’t touch it. No matter how much he gulped down. They’d all gone to the sports bar after the game to celebrate their victory over the division rivals, but DeShawn was more interested in the victory he’d had no part of. “Yeah. I can’t believe he dodged Feeney like that.” “Huh?” DeShawn gestured at the television where they were showing the play again, this time in slow motion. “I don’t think I’ve seen him run like that in the last three years.” “Well, that was a hell of a run, too. But I meant yours.” DeShawn finally turned to acknowledge the owner of the voice. He’d only briefly met the man before the game, but everybody knew Sammy Braxton. When the talking heads discussed the Breakers high-powered offense, they were mainly referring to Braxton’s ability to get clear down the field and catch every fucking ball that came his way. If the pass was a little high, he’d grow wings and snag above the heads of the defenders. If the pass was too low, he’d dive for it even if it left him vulnerable to big hits. “Thanks. But I had some big blocks.” “Don’t be so modest. You read that quarterback like a book. I was going to buy you a beer.” DeShawn finished the last of his glass and set it down. “That’s appreciated.” “I bet everybody in the Wildcats organization feels pretty stupid right now.” “No, they’re all celebrating their big win against Kansas City. They probably don’t even miss me.” “If Williams isn’t kicking himself right now, then he’s a bigger fool than I thought. Though I guess he’s not a complete idiot. He 154


did pick up Cooper. Honestly, I thought their season was over when Oz got knocked out, but I’m glad it’s not.” “Me, too.” “Though I didn’t know Cooper still had that in him.” “Apparently the Arrowhead D didn’t either.” The bartender set two fresh pints of beer on the counter. DeShawn knew he should stop for the night. He was getting to the point where he made stupid decisions, his instincts and common sense dampened by the alcohol. He didn’t know what sort of trouble he could find in St. Louis, but he didn’t exactly want to find out, either. “So how are you settling in Orlando?” “Good. Staying in a hotel until I can find something more permanent.” “I hate hotel living.” “Road games must be killer for you.” “Yeah, but I make do. Everything else good?” “Everything’s great. Are you the one I should go to if I have any complaints?” Sammy grinned. “I like to keep this team running like a welloiled machine. That means making sure everybody’s happy.” DeShawn summoned a matching smile and took a deep drink. “You don’t have to worry about that. I couldn’t be happier here.” “You play darts?” “I haven’t in a couple of years.” “Why don’t we play a few rounds? Winner buys the loser a drink. Word of advice, though, don’t let Tony trick you into playing.” DeShawn didn’t want to play darts, even if the quarterback was already at the dart board. Sammy was a perfectly fine person, but 155


DeShawn didn’t think he could spend one more minute in his smiling, upbeat presence. His phone chimed from his pocket, a rather distinctive chirp that Patton hated. He said it was like nails on a chalkboard, so naturally DeShawn had assigned it to Patton’s number. “I just need to take this. I’ll be over in a minute.” “Sure thing.” DeShawn’s pulse pounded at the base of his throat and his fingers felt too fat to hold the tiny phone. Congrats on your TD. I knew you could do it. It couldn’t have been more impersonal, but DeShawn knew Patton well enough to understand that in this case, it truly was the thought that counted. Deep down, it thrilled him to know Patton was thinking about him at all. Thanks. Your run was amazing. I wish I’d been there. Patton’s message came a few minutes later. I was thinking about you. DeShawn stared at the words, the wind stolen from his lungs. Of all the things Patton could have said, he’d found the exact combination that felt like a hard punch to his solar plexus. I was thinking about you too. Goodnight DeShawn . DeShawn considered and deleted several responses including I love you before settling on a simple goodnight. “Excuse me?” DeShawn leaned over the bar. “How far is it to Kansas City?” “About three hundred miles.” DeShawn sighed. “Thanks.” Orlando was about twenty-one hundred miles from Phoenix, but somehow DeShawn had never felt the distance like he felt 156


these three hundred miles. Patton would already be in his hotel room. The urge to call him just to hear the low rumble of Patton’s voice nearly overwhelmed him, but he pushed the phone back in his pocket and turned to the dart board. Calling wouldn’t do any good now. Nothing could be undone.

157


WEEK 11 PHOENIX WILDCATS VS DENVER S TALLIONS 7-2-0

“Everybody is talking about the AFC South this week. Both the Orlando Breakers and the Phoenix Wildcats won last week, beating their competition by huge margins. These two powerhouses are going to meet for the second time on Thanksgiving night, and that game is already one of the biggest stories in the league.” “Well, it’s an important game, Jon. There are still four games after that and anything can happen in this league, but whoever wins that game will probably be going to the playoffs with a byeweek.” “With the Bighorns loss, the Wildcats will probably secure a wildcard spot.” 158


“Yes, unless they completely fall apart in December. Which is always a possibility, but Coach Williams keeps a tight rein on his team, and I doubt he’d tolerate any sloppy play now. They just have to stay disciplined and focused.” “The Wildcats announced yesterday that Jeremy Oswald won’t be back until week thirteen at the earliest. What do you think? Does he have a team to come back to or is it Cooper’s now?” “This is always a difficult situation. There’s no doubt that Cooper is starting to gel with the Wildcats offense, and it’s starting to reflect his slower paced, more thoughtful approach. Oswald is still the future of the franchise, I think, but I really have to wonder if Coach Williams will be inclined to bench him after the sort of games he’s been having. His stats speak for themselves. And who doesn’t love that lateral to J.J. Samson? That was an amazing play.” “It was a lot of fun to watch. Though some have criticized it for not being very smart.” “Cooper might have caught some heat in the locker room, but at the end of the day, all that matters is the score. Plus, he’s just clearly having a lot of fun out there. It’s nice to see this more relaxed sort of game play from a guy like Cooper.” *

*

*

“Get around the heater, fellas. Make sure you keep warm.” Bryce snorted. “Right. Like those shitty things will help. You can’t even feel them through the fucking snow.” “They practice in this shit,” J.J. added, teeth clicking together. “They probably don’t even realize it’s snowing.” “People live here. Why would anybody do that? Fuck, one day 159


of this and I’d be loading up the car and packing up the kids, you know? I can’t feel my toes.” “None of us can. Patton, how you doing?” Patton grunted, lacking the energy for anything more. He stomped his feet and blew on his cupped hands, mainly because he felt like he ought to try something. The temperature had been comfortable that morning during warm-up, starting in the high forties. Patton had looked forward to a good, crisp day. A perfect football day for November. But then the clouds had gathered, and it wasn’t like in Kansas City. The air didn’t get thick and wet, it got dry and sharp. The snow started before kickoff and it gave no sign of letting up. “Are you going to use gloves?” Bryce asked. Patton shook his head. “I don’t like them.” “You’re fingers will fall off without them.” “I won’t be able to grip the ball right with them.” “How can you grip the ball if you’re missing your fingers?” “Bryce, calm down. This isn’t my first game in Denver. I know what I need to do.” Bryce looked over to where Oz sat, huddled under a coat and two blankets, looking small and pale without his pads on. “You think he’s relieved he couldn’t suit up today?” “No. I think he’d trade places with either one of us in a second.” “He told me today that he thinks he’s at one hundred percent.” Oz had mentioned the same thing to Patton. “Doesn’t matter what he thinks. It matters what Coach thinks.” “You still going to be saying that when Coach thinks he’s ready to play?” Patton held Bryce’s gaze for a beat. “Of course. Fuck, I’m 160


cold.” Bryce stomped his feet. “Me, too. Shit is it just me, or has the defense been out there for way too long?” “They’ve been out there too long.” “What do you think is worse? The snow or the altitude?” “The cold.” It sliced into Patton’s chest like finely honed razor blades. It was all he could think about. Almost all he could think about. In the back of his mind, he was constructing the perfect scenario for getting warm again, despite his vow not to think about DeShawn and to especially not think about DeShawn during a game. Of course, DeShawn had never been far from his thoughts. His effort not to think about the other man failed spectacularly on several levels. “I’m freezing my balls off out here,” J.J. muttered. “Come on, ladies.” Patton shrugged his coat off. “Time to stop bitching and start playing.” By halftime they were down by a touchdown, half-frozen, and exhausted. The snow had turned the field into mush, and it took more effort to push through the goop with their stiff limbs. Mud and blood smeared across their white uniforms, and all the starters, to the man, looked like they would give up their kingdoms for a cup of coffee and a thick blanket. The news that the Breakers had a twenty-one point lead against the Titans didn’t raise anybody’s spirits. “Guys.” Everybody looked up as soon as Patton spoke, curiosity wiping away some of the exhaustion from their faces. “It’s rough out there. It’s cold as fuck, the Stallions are comfortable in this weather, and they’ve got a hell of an advantage. But you know none of that matters because we’re a better football team. We’re faster, we’re smarter, and right now, we’re letting the 161


cold and the home field advantage do all their work. They aren’t beating us right now. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I didn’t come out here to roll around in the snow and mud all day and have nothing to show for it. Now we’re going to get out there and make them all wish they’d stayed home today. We’re almost there. We just need to step it up and show them what we’re made of. They expected an easy win today. Are we going to let them walk away with it?” They answered as a team. “No.” “What? Come on. Say it loud enough so I can hear you. Are we going to let them away with this win?” “No.” “Let’s turn that snow red, gentlemen. Wildcats on three. One, two, three.” “Wildcats!” Patton led them out of the tunnel at a jog. The snow clung to his fresh jersey, swirling around him with the angry wind. *

*

*

The second interception had been a fluke. A happy accident that DeShawn had no conscious memory of. Sometimes that happened, when his body took over completely, all of his actions instinctual and swift. He hadn’t even intended to get his body between the quarterback and his receiver, but when he looked over his shoulder the ball was right there and he naturally dived for it. He didn’t return this one for a score, though. It skimmed past his fingertips to settle in his cupped palms, and then he was sliding across the sidelines and crashing into cameramen. Fortunately, it was his own sideline, and it felt like the whole damned team 162


rushed to pull him to his feet and brush him off, slapping his helmet and his back enthusiastically. “That was a good play, Jones,” Coach Forbush said. “Damned good. One for the highlight reels.” “Thanks, Coach.” “Go get yourself some water and rest up.” DeShawn’s ego swelled a little at the obvious approval and even fondness in the words. Coach Williams had always been such a distant, unapproachable person that DeShawn had forgotten that it didn’t have to be that way. Forbush was a warm man with a surprisingly easy smile, quietly encouraging his team to always reach higher and push themselves harder. The thought of disappointing Williams had never weighed on DeShawn, but he already wanted to be the best person he could be for his new coach. And his new team. “That was a pretty catch,” Terrell commented as DeShawn joined him on the bench. “Thanks.” “I don’t even think I could have caught that.” DeShawn laughed a little. “No, man, you would have been all over it. He only threw to the left because you’ve been cutting off the whole right side of the field today.” “You know what that means? We make a great team.” DeShawn smiled. “Any word on the Wildcats game?” “Last I heard it was pretty brutal, but the Wildcats had a three point lead. Aren’t you glad you’re not in Denver?” “Fuck yes,” DeShawn said without any real feeling. If he were in Denver in that moment, he wouldn’t even feel the cold. All week long, Patton had been the headlining story. Everybody wanted to talk about his triumphant comeback and speculate about 163


what it meant for the future of his career. DeShawn had been glued to the television, watching the same people say the same things over and over, just in different ways. It was a little ironic, how much Patton’s plan to not distract him only created more distraction. Meanwhile, Patton played like a man who’d found his place in the world. The big run had been the topic of conversation, but DeShawn had watched the film of that game, and Patton had been in top form from the first snap to the final score. In the end, that’s what kept DeShawn from trying to text him again. Maybe Patton had been sincere in his desire to help DeShawn’s career, but it looked like he was the one benefiting from the lack of distraction. Some nights DeShawn wished he’d never gotten himself tangled up in Patton Cooper’s life. Mostly though, he relived the moments they had together, both the good and the bad. At night he thought about the way Patton drove into DeShawn’s ass, body flexing with each hard thrust, breath hot on the back of his neck. Somebody in the locker room used the same soap as Patton, which had triggered one very unfortunately timed boner. He’d hidden in the toilet until it finally went away, thankful that nobody had noticed before he shuffled away. He was smart enough to avoid further entanglement, opting to work out when he felt the urge to find a not-so-nice boy to bring back to his hotel. The turnover shifted the momentum of the game, and the home crowd went wild as the offense marched down the field. Then they did it again. And again. DeShawn spent less and less time on the field as the Breakers offense dominated the clock, adding more yards to their already impressive stats. He kept one eye on the scoreboard, waiting for the final score in the Denver game, fully 164


aware that every tick of the clock brought him closer to the end of this game and his inevitable reunion with Patton. Was Patton thinking about that, too? DeShawn had been thinking about little else. “Hey, you don’t have any family in the area, do you?” Terrell asked as they changed into their street clothes. “Nope.” “What are you doing tonight? You’re more than welcome to join my family for dinner.” DeShawn wanted to turn him down, but he didn’t have anything better to do than think about Patton. Patton was in his past now. Terrell, along with the rest of the team, was his future. Which meant he couldn’t isolate himself even if he wasn’t feeling very social. “I’d really like that, man, thanks.” “Hey, no problem. My kids are dying to meet you anyway.” “No shit?” “No, man, they love you. I tell them that I do the same thing you do, but they’re not really impressed.” DeShawn laughed. “I’ll be sure to talk you up.” Terrell answered him with a wide grin. “I’d appreciate that. Why don’t you just follow me? Dinner’s always at seven, but I think we deserve some cold beers by the pool after this game. What about you?” “Sounds great,” DeShawn said with perfect sincerity. What could be better? He tried to ignore the voice that supplied the ready answer. *

* 165

*


Patton made use of the suite’s Jacuzzi first thing, wincing gingerly as his numb toes sank into the heat. Soon the pins and needles in his feet spread through his defrosting body, painful but a good reminder that he wasn’t quite dead. When his phone chimed, it didn’t surprise him. He’d set a dangerous precedent the week before when he’d texted DeShawn, but once the high of the game wore off, he longed for even the most tenuous connection. He wanted DeShawn to be there with him so they could celebrate properly. He’d even calculated just how long it would take to drive to St. Louis before he came to his senses. Big win today. Looked cold. Freezing. Two picks today. Nice work. Six words that didn’t even begin to express Patton’s fierce pride at DeShawn’s performance. Patton didn’t think it unreasonable to say DeShawn’s introduction to the league had been legendary. And he would only get better. That was the amazing thing. All those times DeShawn protested he should be starting, he’d been right. It hadn’t been bragging or arrogance, it had just been the God’s honest truth. He was perfect. Too bad nobody recognized that perfection while he still in Phoenix. Thanks. Nervous about next week? Patton stared at the question until his vision blurred. Finally… No. That sure you can beat me? No. Excited to see you play in person. Let me see you before the game. No. DeShawn’s silence was overwhelming.

166


WEEK 12 ORLANDO BREAKERS VS PHOENIX WILDCATS 8-2-0

“Hello, and welcome to the second in our Turkey Day doubleheader. It’s a warm night in Phoenix Arizona, and the fans have been celebrating Thanksgiving in the parking lot all day. They’re excited about this matchup and ready to cheer the home team to victory. The biggest story of the night is DeShawn Jones, the rookie who never even got the chance to start in Phoenix, and then was traded without warning to Orlando where he’s already had three picks, one of which he returned for a touchdown. There’s been one question bouncing around football this week. Who is this kid and where did he come from? Rex Adams brings us this special Thanksgiving report.” “When you ask DeShawn Jones’s teammates to describe the 167


newest Breaker, you’ll notice a certain theme. They speak of his vitality, of the energy he brings the team, of his undeniable spark. He’s befriended his new team quickly, paving the way for his welcome with an impressive debut. He was drafted in the twelfth round from UCLA, where he attended on a full merit scholarship. There he studied biology, maintained a perfect GPA, and played football and baseball. By sophomore year, he was starting for both teams and had a well-earned reputation for speed. He might have his parents to thank for that. His mother, Becky Freeman-Jones was on the ’80 and ’84 Olympic track team, and his father was basketball great, Leonard Jones. When asked about her son, Becky couldn’t hide her pride.” “DeShawn has always been the most determined person I have ever known. When he was a little boy, I’d ask him every day, ‘Now, DeShawn, what are your plans for the day?’ and he’d say, ‘Mama, I’m going to practice so I can play football.’ I’d say, ‘You better do your homework first.’ Then he’d give me the biggest grin and say, ‘Mama, it’s already done.’ “When DeShawn was six, he decided he wanted to be a quarterback. His father hung a tire from a tree in the backyard so he could practice, and he did for hours every day. The practice eventually paid off during his stint as a pitcher, but he only played one game as a quarterback in junior high before his coach recognized his potential on the other side of the ball. “He was not happy with that. I’d never seen him more upset. By then he was thirteen, and he had an amazing arm for his age. He thought the coach underestimating him. I think it definitely stung his pride a little. But he changed his tune after only a couple of weeks. He never looked back after that. “DeShawn flourished in high school, turning down athletic 168


scholarships in favor of attending UCLA. It’s where his hero, Patton Cooper, played.” “I used to take him to a few UCLA games every season, and he used to be just in awe of Cooper. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s when he decided he wanted to be a quarterback. He even waited after a game for an autograph. We still have that card on our mantle. DeShawn was a Breakers fan like me, but Patton Cooper was the one he watched.” “It’s a bit ironic that DeShawn and Patton Cooper ended up on the same team this season. They never had the chance to play in the same game, but by all reports, they were fast friends. It wasn’t until they were separated that they each elevated to the national spotlight. For Cooper, it was only a return to the glory he’d once known. For Jones, it was a completely new experience, unrivaled by any successes he had before this. Now they’re going head-tohead in a matchup that may be remembered for years to come. When I asked DeShawn if he was nervous about that, he grew serious.” “Patton Cooper is one of the greatest who ever played the game. It’s no accident that he’s won three Championships. No matter which record you check, he’s in the top three. I’m honored just to have the chance to know him. Playing against him is…well…it’s a dream come true.” “Cooper is famously taciturn, avoiding cameras, interviews, and even press conferences. But he did agree to speak with me this week, and when he talks about DeShawn, it’s only to sing his praises. He told me, quote, DeShawn is an amazing person, a great team player, and he’ll probably be the best one day. It doesn’t sound like much, but that might be the longest response anybody’s ever gotten from Cooper.” 169


*

*

*

“Heads.” “Phoenix calls heads.” The heavy coin rotated three times before falling back to the earth. “Tails. Orlando wins the toss.” “We’ll kick off.” “Orlando elects to kick.” The referee blew his whistle and sent the team captains back to their respective sidelines. Patton pulled his helmet down and secured the strap, his mouth guard dangling below his chin. He hadn’t caught a glimpse of DeShawn earlier, but he saw the other man now, helmet at his side, his full mouth set in a determined frown. Watching him inspired a swell of emotions without names or precedent. It wasn’t painful like seeing Chris had been, but it felt worse, more hopeful and despairing all at once. The kick was downed at the twenty-eight yard line. Coach always carefully scripted the first drive of the game, hoping to take advantage of the home field and set the rhythm early. The first six plays were rushing plays. Patton itched to ignore them. He wanted to start this game off with a bang. And why the fuck shouldn’t he? He already knew Oz would be playing in December. This was probably his last game of the season, and thus, the last game he’d ever play. Why not start fast? When Patton named his play, Bryce’s eyes widened. “That’s not what Coach told us this morning.” “I’m changing things.” “Are you crazy? He’ll kill us.” “He’ll kill me. I’m the one who’ll catch shit for this. You do what I tell you to do.” “With a secondary like theirs, we should run it,” Bryce protested. 170


“Are you afraid they’ll beat you?” Patton didn’t say DeShawn’s name, but he didn’t need to. “Change the play,” Morgan said. “Go to the left instead of the right. I can beat Wilson.” “Okay, good. Everybody clear on the plan? Break.” Patton’s attention naturally drifted to where DeShawn stood, foot forward, lean body bent and ready to run. There were shouts back and forth across the line, angry words and the standard trash talk that always happened in these sorts of games. Patton tuned it all out. As soon as Coach realized they were not lining up correctly for the play he called, he started grumbling in Patton’s ear, warning him that he’d better change the call right then and get the offense lined up properly. Patton ignored that, too. The Breakers no doubt expected them to start conservatively. Coach Williams wasn’t exactly known for his gutsy decision making. “Hut!” Bryce and Morgan took off down the field, racing to beat the coverage. Patton never looked away from them, waiting…waiting…waiting for that split second of advantage. Bodies crashed around him, jostling his arm and legs. He felt gloved hands grabbing blindly at his feet and jersey, but he still held onto the ball until there was some sunlight between Morgan and Wilson. He settled with his foot back and cocked his arm, releasing the ball just before the safety reached him. Patton rolled to the grass, pushing himself back up to his feet as soon as he disentangled himself from the defender. He was in time to see the ball float into Morgan’s outstretched hands just as pretty as you please. According to the announcer, it was a thirty-two yard completion. Coach might not like the call, but he couldn’t quibble 171


with results. On the next play, Patton called another passing play in the huddle, but changed it on the line, resetting the offense and snapping the ball before the defense could quite adjust to the new call. It took precision timing to avoid a penalty, but Patton knew what to do. He shoveled the ball to Nelson who feinted to the right before running downhill through a hole in the line just wide enough to admit him. Once he made it to the other side of his blockers, he had ten clear yards, and may have been able to break out to the end zone, but DeShawn was there to stop him. That put them on the Breakers’ thirty. Patton stuck to the playbook on first and second down, handing off to the running back, Keishon Dempers, on both plays. But DeShawn was there to break things up, fast enough to catch Dempers before he made it very far from the line. On third down with four yards to go, Patton called a pass, intended for Bryce. As soon as he snapped the ball, he knew he’d made the wrong call, and he scanned the field for J.J. first, but he was well-covered. His attention shifted to Bryce, but he found DeShawn, fifteen yards down. They made eye contact, Patton understanding in a flash that if he threw that football, DeShawn would catch it. He ran to the right, pumped once like he intended to throw, but nobody was fooled. Simpson loomed in the corner of his eye, and Patton had no choice but to throw the ball away before the safety tackled him around the feet, saving himself from a sack. The clock stopped, and Coach growled at him to get the fuck off the field so they could get the field goal unit out there. Bryce jogged to catch up with him, ripping his helmet off with a sigh. “I was open.” “No, you weren’t. DeShawn was all over you.” “I’m telling you that…” 172


Patton grabbed Bryce by the collar and pulled him close. “It doesn’t matter what you think. DeShawn had you covered. You want the ball? You figure out a way to beat him. He was all over the place out there.” “You’re just frustrated.” “Goddamned right I’m frustrated. We need to make some adjustments.” The crowd cheered the good field goal, and the scoreboard lit up with the first three points of the game. It was far from the triumphant touchdown Patton had envisioned, but at least he’d got the team down to field goal range. The Breakers returned the kick-off for fifteen yards, making it to their own thirty before downing the ball. Patton ignored the game, listening to the announcer with only half his attention as he scanned through the playbook. Coach would insist they stick with the script for their next possession, but when he saw that it simply wouldn’t work against the combined force of DeShawn, Wilson, and Simpson, he’d let Patton make some changes. Patton turned through the binder’s pages, mentally marking some as a possibility and dismissing the rest. He’d already done this twice before in preparing for the game, but he found it difficult to predict DeShawn’s style, even after watching film of the previous two weeks. He understood better now. The defense held the Breakers’ quarterback, Tony Castillo, forcing them to punt after only one first down. They spotted the ball on the Wildcats’ thirty-five. Patton felt a surprising rush of anticipation as soon as he stepped on the field, almost giddy with his eagerness to take a snap. He wanted to believe that was only because he felt so comfortable with his teammates, but he knew what it was. Fuck, he couldn’t even really deny it. He was giddy 173


over DeShawn, excited to be on the field with him even if they weren’t touching each other or speaking. The first play was a short pass to J.J., who stiff-armed his way past the first two defenders and managed to pick up seven yards. A subsequent run gave them the first down and put them near midfield. Another run after that, and Patton started to feel like he had control of this game. Each play brought them a modest but respectable number of yards, and he wasn’t letting DeShawn get too close to the ball. His confidence, however, might have been a bit premature. On second and four, one of the huge defensive ends broke through Patton’s blockers and very narrowly missed dragging Patton to the ground. He hurried to dodge the tackle, and saw a lane open ahead of him. He ran without thinking, losing track of DeShawn for the first time. He made it to the thirty-five yard line before DeShawn wrapped his arms around him and pulled him to the grass, landing on top of Patton with their facemasks nearly touching. “You should be careful, Patton. Don’t want to get injured, do you?” “You wouldn’t hurt me.” “Not on purpose. But I’m not going to take it easy on you, either.” “I’d never expect you to.” One of DeShawn’s teammates chose that moment to help lift him off Patton, and then Bryce was there to pull Patton to his feet. “How goes the big reunion?” “What?” Patton asked sharply. “You two were friends, right?” “Yeah, we were friendly. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to hit as hard as he can, though.” 174


“He’s kind of scary out there. “ He was kind of scary, Patton agreed. Scary enough that Patton decided it best to avoid him as much as possible. That limited what he could do with the ball to rushing or short passes, but that was still enough to advance up to the twenty yard line. Patton tried not to remember that the Breakers were first in the league when it came to red zone defense. The first down went fine, with a short rush for a gain of four yards. But Nelson’s second carry went nowhere, bringing up third and six. He tried a short pass to the sidelines, and Bryce caught it, but Patton overthrew just enough that Bryce had to extend himself to reach it, and his foot touched the white line. Incomplete pass, fourth down with six yards to go. They had no choice but to send out the field goal unit again. Fuck, fuck, fuck . He was glad the second drive ended in another score instead of a turnover or a punt, but field goals were not ideal. They were leaving points on the field, and Patton knew that would bite them in the ass. A team like the Breakers couldn’t be beat with field goals. They needed to play this game like they were already in the playoffs. That meant a certain boldness, an aggressiveness that Coach Williams would probably try to resist, but they would need some aggression if they intended to win. The Breakers scored their first touchdown on a thirty-five yard run. Once the rusher got through a hole wide enough to drive a truck through, there was no stopping him. Darnell was the last one with any shot at catching him, and his fingertips just touched the other man’s laces before he kicked away and leapt into the end zone. They scored their second touchdown just after the beginning of the second quarter on a play-action pass. The defense should have seen it coming. Patton saw it coming from the sidelines, and 175


judging by the way Coach clutched at his gray hair, he saw it, too. But the defense had been caught asleep, and it only took a few seconds of confusion for the Breakers to capitalize and turn the game around, shifting the momentum away from the home team. The second touchdown even knocked the wind out of the fans’ sails. They still cheered, but it wasn’t enough to rattle the stadium. Patton slipped in his eagerness to get the Wildcat offense back in the game. He forgot about his determination to keep the ball away from DeShawn, which included a radius of about three yards in every direction. But Bryce had gotten some separation, and Patton was too excited about the prospect of making a big play to remember to ask where’s DeShawn? He threw the ball in a straight line, putting some serious strength behind it. The ball was meant to hit Bryce right between the numbers, but either Bryce didn’t realize Patton was looking for him, or Patton hadn’t waited long enough.. Bryce failed to turn around and DeShawn read the play immaculately. He darted forward and caught the ball, slipped a little, and then sprinted down the sideline. The Wildcats shifted, abandoning their previous jobs to chase down their former teammate. Patton angled himself and pumped his legs, closing the gap between them with every long stride. If he had miscalculated the approach at all, he’d miss DeShawn by inches. But they connected exactly where he thought they would, and he pushed DeShawn out of bounds, their combined momentum driving them to the ground. “Nice catch,” Patton said breathlessly. “Yeah, you too. What was that, Patton? You know better than to throw it at me.” “Bryce was supposed to turn around.” “He’s not as smart as you give him credit for.” 176


Patton managed to get to his feet first, and he put a hand down to help DeShawn. As soon as they clasped fingers, Patton didn’t want to release him. He even tugged him closer, forgetting everything except the physical absence of DeShawn’s body. “Enjoy it, DeShawn. It’s not going to happen again.” DeShawn looked him up and down before grinning. “You know nobody’s ever intercepted you more than once in a game.” “I do. And that’s how it’s going to stay.” “We’ll see.” Patton expected Coach to chastise him when he returned to the Wildcat bench, but he only said mildly, “That kid’s fast. I’m surprised you caught him.” To be honest, Patton was a little surprised, too. *

*

*

The second half began with the score at twenty-one to six, and the Breakers set to receive. Patton had spent the full halftime period in conference with Chip, debating where they needed to make adjustments. Though they both agreed that Patton needed to recommit himself to the strategy of avoiding DeShawn. “It’s not that he’s fast, though he is,” Chip said. “It’s that he can read you. I’ve been watching him Patton, and I swear, his attention never leaves you. He knows when and where you’re throwing that ball, and he wants it.” Chip sounded more than a little surprised by this revelation, but it wasn’t anything Patton didn’t know. How else would DeShawn play? Watching Patton was DeShawn’s entire job, and maybe even his purpose in life, judging by the fluff piece they’d done for the preshow. Perhaps he should have been more stressed by 177


DeShawn’s attention, but it didn’t get under his skin. They still had thirty minutes to play, and a lot could happen in thirty minutes. The defense, recharged and ready to get their pride back after giving up three touchdowns in one quarter, made a strong stand against the opening drive of the second half. They managed to contain them to thirty total yards before forcing a punt on their own thirty-five, which put the Wildcats in good field position near the fifty yard line. Patton pushed the first half out of his mind. It didn’t matter what happened before that point or what the score was. He needed to get them to the end zone three times, and the defense could focus on their job of stopping more Orlando touchdowns. The last thing they could afford to do was abandon the run, so Patton started with handing off the ball, alternating between Nelson and Morgan, grateful they had two fast running backs and a solid line protecting the rush. DeShawn got himself involved in each of the plays, though, consistently putting himself wherever the ball was. By the time they made it down inside the ten, Patton felt himself torn between pride and irritation, thrilled by DeShawn’s performance and wishing somebody would just pull their heads out of their asses and start blocking already. Patton was sure that any minute now, DeShawn would declare himself a safety and start rushing him. They scored on a seven-yard pass to the back of the end zone, J.J. stepping up to make the play. Patton wanted to try for the twopoint conversion, but it was too early in the half to take that sort of risk. The point after was good, bringing the Wildcats to within eight. All of Patton’s hard work was ruined when the Breakers kick returner ran for nearly eighty yards, only stepping out at the five 178


when the kicker finally caught up with him and dived for his feet. The kicker deserved congratulations and a few pats on the back, but the save was temporary. The Breakers practically walked it in, widening the margin by another seven points. Fifteen points wasn’t exactly an insurmountable lead, but Patton still had to bite back the urge to shout and swear. He was under enough stress without his own team making his job that much more difficult. The next drive ended with a field goal. Ceding the field to the kicking unit left a bad taste in his mouth, but any momentum they might have had from their touchdown was stifled now. The Breakers were controlling both sides of the ball. Twelve points separated them and Patton absolutely would not settle for another field goal. In fact, he didn’t want to see Hendricks take the field again, not even for the point after. Two touchdowns with two twopoint conversions would win the game nicely. Patton didn’t have the chance to put his big plan into motion in the third quarter. The Breakers ate up the rest of the clock by keeping the ball on the ground, eking out yards and just barely managing to get set after set of new downs. “You know what they’re doing?” Bryce asked while Patton watched yet another run for five yards. “Besides completely controlling the clock and the rhythm of the game.” “They’re giving their defense a chance to rest.” “Fine with me. Just means we’ve had a chance to rest, too.” “What have you got in mind?” “You mean if we ever get on the field again? Rushing plays.” “Come on, Patton. That’s not your kind of ball.” “No, but as long as we keep the football on the ground, DeShawn won’t intercept it.” 179


“You’re really that scared of him?” “Yeah, I am. He’s been beating you to the post all day. I couldn’t even throw it to you if I wanted to half the time.” “I’m not talking about me. You’ve got good chemistry with J.J.” “Bryce, I appreciate the pointers, but I think I’ll consult the playbook first.” “Fine man, whatever. I just think you’re giving DeShawn a little too much credit.” “He’s already picked me off once today,” Patton snapped. “When the ball was meant for you. So what else have you got to add?” “You know, I once got into a long conversation with DeShawn about you. We were coming home from Houston, and he said that it’d be easy for some corner or safety to get stuck in your head. He said you tend to dwell on things.” Patton pursed his lips at the evidence that DeShawn had always known him a little too well. “He said that’s always been your weakness. Now, don’t you think they’re counting on that? DeShawn knows you’re not even going to bother throwing his direction, so he doesn’t he have to cover me anymore. He’s all over the field and you still won’t throw over there.” “Get yourself open and I’ll pass you the ball. It’s as simple as that.” “I’ll do that.” On third and long, the Breakers were nearly in field goal range. If they could get six or seven yards, that wouldn’t give them the first, but it would be enough to bring their kicker out and widen their lead. Patton held his breath, arms folded across his chest, 180


fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm while he watched the snap. The defense adjusted and while the quarterback clearly read blitz, he didn’t have time to call a new play. They rushed him as soon as he snapped the ball, pushing him back a good twelve yards before sacking him. The drive ended with a punt. Patton came out swinging, firing three quick passes down the field, connecting with J.J. twice and Bryce once. DeShawn shot him a quick glare while they were lining up after the third ten-yard gain. Patton couldn’t pretend he didn’t see it, but he didn’t quite know what to make of it, either. That didn’t stop Patton from calling the exact same play as before, and he threaded the ball right to the spot where Bryce’s hands should have been. Yellow flags went flying before the two men crashed to the ground. The call for pass interference was swift, the chains immediately moved to the spot of the foul—the ten yard line. Patton’s blood rushed to his head, his face flushing hot while adrenaline flooded his veins. He heard DeShawn shouting from across the field, arguing his case while players from both teams began to congregate around the scene. “Hey! Get in the fucking huddle,” Patton yelled, pushing his way through the crowd and shoving his guys back. “Right fucking now.” They cleared away, momentarily giving him a direct view of DeShawn’s face, twisted with anger. His eyes narrowed as he saw Patton, and his heart clenched in response. Right then, he didn’t want to do anything except drag DeShawn off the field and kiss that look off his face. This wasn’t right. The two of them standing so far apart, on the wrong teams, angry for the wrong reasons. The moment passed quickly, no more than a second or two, and they both turned away at the same time. Patton flexed his hand, 181


looking down at his cracked and callused fingers. DeShawn had kissed each one of his fingers before tracing the rough skin with his tongue, letting the pink flesh linger on the pads before sucking each one into his mouth. This was not the time to get caught up in fantasies of DeShawn, but there was still a strange humming in his ears and he felt buzzed. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see DeShawn still watching him, and Patton wanted nothing more than to acknowledge him in some way. But he looked down again, jogging over to the huddle. Patton didn’t try to challenge DeShawn again on that drive, calling a running play and then scoring with a bootleg pass to J.J. from the five. With nine minutes left in the quarter, the score stood at twenty-three to twenty-eight. Castillo didn’t take that score lightly. He started on his own ten, walking out to the scrimmage line with a new swagger in his step. This was only his fourth year in the league, but he played like a much older veteran. Quick, smart, and clean. The Breakers were one of the least penalized teams in the conference precisely because he ran a tight ship. He didn’t get too excited, didn’t get stressed, didn’t turn over the ball. He was rock solid. Which was why Patton couldn’t quite believe his eyes when the ball went flying out of Castillo’s hand a split second before his knees hit the ground. Howard recovered it, and no sooner did the referee indicate a change of possession than a red flag hit the ground on the opposite sideline. “The Breakers are challenging the ruling on the field of a fumble.” “Yeah, you’re right that wasn’t no fucking fumble. It was a fucking strip. I stole that fucking ball right out of your hands,” Howard shouted at Castillo’s back. “You didn’t even see it 182


coming, did you, you little pussy?” There was more, but Patton couldn’t hear anything distinct. Castillo seemed intent on ignoring him, which was for the best, but a smaller body pushed through the sidelines. He shoved his way past two of his teammates and got right in Howard’s face, close enough to bump his chest. Patton rushed across the field while the referee staff conferred over the call, not going unnoticed. The umpire shouted something and approached from the opposite side, rushing to intercept Patton. Patton tried to wave him off, reaching Howard’s side just as he bellowed, “You better get the fuck out of my face before I beat your ass like you deserve.” “Hey, whoa, don’t start shouting threats,” Patton warned. “Come on.” “Get the fuck away from me. This little shit has been begging for it for weeks.” “What? Are you going to throw a punch right here in front of the ump and the entire country? On Thanksgiving? Is it worth being suspended for the rest of the season? Because you fucking will be.” “What is it with you and saving this punk’s ass?” Howard demanded. “Unless you own his ass.” “I’m not saving him, I’m saving you. I need you to win this game, Howard. I can’t have you getting your ass ejected from the fucking game.” He looked sideways at the umpire’s hand, which now clutched the yellow flag. “Now come on before they throw a flag. You want to cost us twenty-five yards? Why don’t you just give them back the ball and clear a path to the end zone while you’re at it?” Howard grumbled something, but backed down. The rest of the Breakers’ bench attracted by the ruckus, and they formed a solid 183


wall behind Castillo, who in turn stood behind DeShawn with his arms folded and his support clear. If Howard did start something, he would be vastly outnumbered by the team that already had DeShawn’s back. It’d only been two weeks, and he already a valuable member of the team, not just the obnoxious kid nearly everybody ignored. “The ruling on the field stands. The quarterback was not down by contact when the ball came loose. First down.” Patton and DeShawn glanced at each other, their gazes locking, and Patton realized this was it. There was a little over four minutes left in the game, and this was it. His last drive, his last chance to prove himself, his last chance to score. And nobody in the stadium even really cared. Oh, they cared about winning, but nobody was marking this as the last opportunity they would ever have to see Patton Cooper in action. Not even DeShawn had reason to expect this was Patton’s last stand. Patton also understood it had to be against DeShawn. Not because he wanted to beat DeShawn or prove anything to him, but because if he won, he wanted to beat the best. And if he didn’t, he wanted the loss to mean something. He would never betray his team or insult DeShawn by simply handing the game over, but he couldn’t deny that he liked the idea of DeShawn being the hero. “What do you say we go play some ball?” DeShawn nodded, smiling a little. “Good luck.” Maybe that’s what it would come down to, in the end. What else would make the difference between two evenly matched players? “You, too.” The most important thing in this situation, besides getting the TD, was controlling the clock. Patton didn’t want to score too 184


quickly and give the Breakers a chance to march back down the field and nullify that. To that end, he kept the ball on the ground as much as possible, passing to the middle of the field when his backs needed a breather. They ate up the field in increments of five and six yards, steadily making up any ground they might have lost on a tackle or the false start penalty that should have been called on the defense instead. Just after the two-minute timeout, Nelson broke right with a surprising swivel of the hips, dodging one tackle, feinting away from the second, and after that nobody could even get within touching distance. The scoreboard flashed as the numbers changed, the jumbo screen showing Nelson’s run from several different angles. Twenty-nine to twenty-eight, with a minute fifty left in regulation. “We gotta go for two,” Patton muttered, just as the speaker in his ear echoed his thoughts. He signaled for the rest of the offense to join him in the huddle. The crowd’s chants and cheers were loud enough to make the ground tremble. Patton barely trusted himself to speak, feeling himself vibrate from the inside out. He wasn’t nervous. He didn’t know what he was, except ready to end it here. “Bryce…” “I can beat him.” “You better. We’re running a corner fade. Morgan, I want you in a quick corner route. They’re probably going to be expecting this. Bryce, I’m going to put that ball where it needs to be, right?” Bryce nodded. “Right. I told you, I can beat him.” “J.J., run the slide option to the left. If Bryce can’t shake DeShawn, then I’m dialing your number.” There had been more important plays in Patton’s life. Two185


minute drills in playoff games. The big dramatic finish of his first national bowl when he’d thrown a touchdown in the closing seconds. Hell, his first professional win had been a bigger play than this two-point conversion that wouldn’t even guarantee a playoff spot. Strangely, it felt like he had the most riding on this pass, though he had nothing left to lose. Getting these two points wouldn’t make Chris see the error of his ways, it wouldn’t bring DeShawn back to him or give DeShawn a reason to want him back. It was just two points at the end of a game, not the turning point in his life. It meant nothing and so it meant everything. They lined up in shotgun formation, and he kicked his foot on a silent count to snap the ball. His eyes immediately found DeShawn, who stuck with Bryce until he made his turn to the corner of the end zone. DeShawn turned to look over his shoulder then, but he watched for too long. Like they were just playing catch during practice, and Patton would naturally send the ball right to him. That was the moment he knew DeShawn wouldn’t catch the ball, and he’d puzzle over the unusual mistake later. He threw the ball low, from the hip, sending it like a bullet past DeShawn. For a beat, he worried he’d put too much of a twist on it, that it would hit Bryce’s fingers too hard. Everybody exhaled as one as he juggled it with the tips of his fingers. Then he hauled it in, tucking over it protectively and letting the momentum of his body haul him to the painted grass. *

*

*

DeShawn left the stadium without seeking Patton out or saying goodbye. For the first time in his life, Patton regretted winning. 186


WEEK 13 ORLANDO BREAKERS VS LOS ANGELES MARAUDERS 9-2-0

“A strange story has been unfolding in Phoenix this week. On Monday, Coach Williams announced that Jeremy Oswald would be starting this week against the Houston Oilers. On Tuesday, several newspapers criticized the decision, citing Patton Cooper’s heroic win against the rival Orlando Breakers, as well as his stats over the past four weeks. By Wednesday, ESPN was reporting that sources claimed Cooper would be starting on Sunday. Then on Thursday, Cooper was placed on the Injured Reserved list, making him ineligible to play at all against the Oilers. There were no previous reports of injuries, and Couch Williams refused to answer questions about it on Friday during his weekly press conference. The private Cooper couldn’t be reached for comment, and he 187


doesn’t even appear to be on the sidelines with his team. Rex Adams, what is going on here?” “Jon, honestly, we just don’t know. But I’ve been watching Patton Cooper play for over a decade now, and it’s not difficult to tell that he is an unselfish teammate. This may simply be a way to end the controversy before it gets out of hand.” “So you think this was his decision?” “I don’t think any coach in his right mind would consider benching a player like Patton Cooper if he didn’t have to, regardless of any controversy.” “There is a chance that he is injured, though.” “Yes. He had problems with his knee since his days with LA. These past four weeks may have aggravated an old injury. Knee injuries can be very tricky. But I hope the team doesn’t let this distract them. This is another big divisional game, and that first playoff berth is within grabbing distance.” *

*

*

“What’s wrong?” DeShawn demanded as soon as Patton answered. “Is it your knee? Did you get hurt during the game? How bad is it?” “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m perfectly fine.” “Perfectly fine players don’t end up in the IR list,” DeShawn countered. “I know that we…that you don’t really owe me any sort of explanation. But if you’re hurt, I’d like to know.” “I’m not hurt, DeShawn. I promise.” “Then why are you IR?” “I actually planned to talk to you about that. After the game. You should be doing warm-ups.” 188


DeShawn switched the phone to his other ear, checking the time as he did. “I can’t concentrate if I’m worried about you. Fuck, Patton, what did you think I’d do when I found out you’re not even going to dress for the game? I thought you’d broken your leg or something. Why didn’t you call me?” “I was going to call you. I promise, I planned to tell you everything tonight.” “So there’s something to tell me?” “Nothing except I am perfectly fine. No broken bones, no broken head, no other problems. I…look, I didn’t want to play this week.” “You didn’t want to play,” DeShawn said slowly. “You didn’t want to play football? What are you hiding from me?” “When did you get so suspicious?” “When you started lying,” DeShawn rejoined. Patton laughed. “I’m not lying. I’m not. There was something else I needed to do. And since Phoenix has become a circus, I decided now would be a good time to do it.” “What?” “I’ll tell you later.” “No, tell me now.” “I’m selling my house.” “The one in Phoenix?” “No, the one in LA.” “And you had to do that today.” “I had to do it sometime. Might as well get the ball rolling today.” “Patton…I’ve got to get going. They’re shouting for me.” “I know. Kickoff is in thirty minutes. We’ll talk after the game. Good luck out there. Oh, and DeShawn, about last week…” 189


“You don’t need to say anything about last week.” “I think maybe I do. You left so fast and you never even sent me a text.” DeShawn swallowed, still regretting his dash from the stadium. He’d ran partly out of his own interest, afraid that if he did see Patton he would reveal too much too quickly and too publicly. While the rest of his new team had been brought down by the loss, dazed by how the game had turned around how it’d ended, DeShawn had been ecstatic. True, the game hadn’t quite gone to plan. In all of his fantasies about playing against Patton, he intercepted the ball and returned it one hundred yards for a touchdown. Of course he did. That’s what fantasies are for. But the reality of being on the field while Patton was truly at his best had surpassed all of DeShawn’s self-aggrandizing tendencies. Yeah, he’d been beaten, but Patton beat him fair and square. It was a beautifully executed play that any fan of football would appreciate. “I thought that’s what you wanted.” “I know. Is it what you want?” “No,” DeShawn said bluntly. “Not even close to what I want.” “We’ll talk after the game,” Patton repeated. “Do me a favor, will you?” “Name it.” “Kick their fucking asses. I want the entire LA offense to be completely humiliated.” DeShawn grinned. “I planned to have a low key game, but I think I can step it up a notch for you.” “I’d really appreciate it.” It wasn’t until DeShawn put the phone away that he realized what Patton was saying. He was selling his house in LA, which meant he was in LA at that moment. Was he at the game? 190


Excitement clutched his chest, and he wanted to race out to the field and start surveying the stands for Patton’s familiar face before he remembered that if Patton really was attending, he wouldn’t be in the seats with the fans. And given the animosity between him and his former team, he probably wouldn’t be on the sidelines either. Shit, given the animosity, he probably wasn’t at the game at all. He was probably watching from the comforts of his own home. Why was he putting the house on the market? Did he plan to stay in Phoenix now? Maybe Oz would finish out the season and Patton would have the job next year. It wouldn’t be the first time a back-up was promoted after a good performance. DeShawn had spent most of the past week watching the film, focusing on all the little things he couldn’t see while in the thick of it. Like the fact that Patton played without favoring his knee. He’d been sharp and quick, each pass precisely on target. He never seemed hurried or flustered or out of control. From a more objective perspective, DeShawn could see that even when the Wildcats were down, Patton never lost control of the game. Most of all, he’d noticed that Patton watched DeShawn as much as DeShawn had studied Patton. Had anybody else noticed that the two of them played like there was nobody else on the field? And now Patton was in LA, not in Phoenix like he should have been, and he planned to see DeShawn after the game. Was it too much to hope for that he change his mind? Should DeShawn even dare allow himself to think about that? After the loss, DeShawn had waited for somebody to come down on him. But Tony mostly blamed himself due to the fumble, and the entire defensive line kept talking about all the yards they’d let Nelson get. The meeting on Monday hadn’t been about DeShawn’s spectacular failure of coverage in the final play—that 191


might have been the winning moment but it wasn’t the way the Breakers lost. If anything, they seemed to be a bit sympathetic to DeShawn. “It was a tough job,” Sammy had told him. “You’re good but he’s got the experience. And you know, nine times out of ten, experience is going to beat talent. A few more years under your belt, and you would have broken up the play.” And that was the end of it. But when it came to Patton, it never ended. Just because nobody blamed him for the loss didn’t mean he didn’t relive the moment, both by memory and by film. Mainly because he missed Patton all the more for it. It was a perfect football day—overcast but not too hot or humid. The stadium was full to capacity, and even though all of the cheering wasn’t meant for him, the energy the fans created settled in his bloodstream, giving him a buzz like nothing else ever could. As soon as he walked onto the field, he found Alex Meriwether with his eyes. He didn’t look like anything special, and judging from the Marauders six and six record, he wasn’t anything special. Did anybody in the front office feel sorry for trading Patton? The thing about football was it all came down to wins or losses. You were a winner or you weren’t. Patton had always been a winner, and regardless of what he did in his personal life, he always would be a winner. It didn’t matter what the coaches or front office believed about Patton’s private life, in the end, they wanted championships. DeShawn hoped the decision to shuttle Patton to Arizona haunted all of them for a very long time. DeShawn was good at shoving Patton out of his thoughts when it came time to play, but that was an impossible task in Los 192


Angeles. For too many years, Patton was the face of the franchise, the super star synonymous with Marauder glory and victory. The championship banners he’d won were flapping in the wind, a constant reminder of everything Patton had given the organization over the years. There were six other banners proudly proclaiming Division Champion and Conference Champion. They hung in a neat row at the top of dome. They still had Patton’s jersey for sale in the concessions, still had merchandise that bore his name. There were probably a couple of thousand LA fans who still wore those jerseys. Patton had felt so isolated and lost, and the entire time there was this monument, like a conquered temple where the pagan god’s name hadn’t quite been erased. “You know, I know it’s just a game and nothing personal, but I really hate these fuckers,” DeShawn said mildly. Terrell grinned at him. “I feel the same way. What do you want to do about it?” “Take out last week’s frustration on them.” Terrell pulled his helmet in place, snapping the chinstrap in place. “I like the way you think.” Perhaps every member of the team had the same thought, even if they didn’t voice it, because they played hard, smash mouth football. DeShawn put as much force as he could behind each tackle so they’d still be feeling it the next day. Dion was ruthless, using Meriwether’s inexperience against him, taking advantage of the smallest mistakes, going after him all day. DeShawn was only sorry they had no reason to tackle the offensive coordinator. Once Dion had him run down and exhausted, he started making mistakes. DeShawn got a pick per quarter until the fourth when the coach finally benched Meriwether. The game turned into a real slaughter, the Breakers only 193


gaining more momentum through the second half. By the time the clock ticked down to zero, the scoreboard told the story of an uneven match between a powerhouse and a team that had their best years behind them—forty-two to three. The victory felt good, DeShawn couldn’t deny that, but it would have been more meaningful if he’d been playing for his partner. “DeShawn?” “Yeah?” One of the towel boys stepped forward to hand him a slip of paper. “Patton Cooper wanted me to give you this message.” “He did? Is he here?” “He was up in the booth.” “The whole game?” The kid shrugged. “I guess so.” “Did he say anything else?” “No, he just said to give you the note.” DeShawn wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but it wasn’t a simple address with no further explanation. It had to be the address for Patton’s house. Patton was accustomed to keeping a low profile, he might have thought it would attract too much attention if they left with each other. Though he was a little surprised that Patton would choose to have DeShawn meet him there. When they’d spent the bye weekend in LA, he refused to even drive by and let DeShawn get a look at it. Every corner of the city seemed to cause Patton a certain amount of pain, the memories too fresh for him to withstand. It felt like a lifetime ago. Like they were two completely different people, but it’d just been over a month, and DeShawn really wasn’t that much different at all. Except everybody loved him now, all of his dreams were coming true, and instead of enjoying the professional success, he was completely 194


wrapped up in Patton Cooper. Story of his life. He had somebody order a car service for him—his days of taking a cab were over—and reached the mansion while the last of the sunshine colored the sky orange. Patton lived in the hills, his house secluded by towering trees and a gate that should have had a giant dollar symbol on the front. It swung open slowly, allowing the car to pull right up to the door. DeShawn shouldn’t have expected anything else, but he was still more than a little surprised. Patton had a rather modest home in Phoenix, and seemed perfectly comfortable there without all the trappings of success. From the outside, this house was beautiful but…ostentatious. “Should I wait?” The driver asked. “No, that’s fine.” DeShawn was reasonably sure Patton hadn’t summoned him to the house just to dump him again. He recalled their earlier conversation, searching for any hints of a darker mood, but Patton had been in good spirits. God, if Patton was just calling him there to break his heart again, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. He was a tough guy. His parents taught him how to be resilient, and realizing he was gay forced him to build his defenses as thick and high as he could to protect himself. But everybody had their limits, and Patton was more than capable of pushing DeShawn to his. The door opened as the car pulled away, revealing Patton in his standard jeans and T-shirt. DeShawn waited out the first rush of desire he always felt when he saw Patton, but the desire was sharpened by their time apart, bolstered by his curiosity and hope. “You were at the game,” DeShawn greeted. “I was.” “Enjoy it?” “More than I could say.” 195


“What are you doing here?” “I wanted to show you the house.” “Really?” Patton sighed. “No. I wanted to talk to you, and I was just going to fly to Orlando, but I couldn’t get out of Phoenix until Friday night, and by then I thought it would be best to just go the opposite direction and meet you here. Cheaper to drive, plus we could just stay here and avoid any press.” “What makes you think I want to stay with you?” “I…well, that’s a good point. Maybe you will after you hear what I have to say.” “Maybe.” “Come on in. I’ll get you a drink.” “Patton…I’ve had a really long day and I just want to know what the fuck is going on. If you don’t mind.” “Okay, fair enough. I…well, I thought I was doing the right thing for both of us. The whole thing with Chris really fucked with my head, and I never wanted to do that to you. But then I had to live without you, and it was only for a few weeks, but it was the worst. I missed Chris because I missed…this house and the companionship, you know? I couldn’t think of one specific thing that I really needed from him, besides the fact that he was already there. But with you…DeShawn, I miss every goddamned thing about you. I didn’t want to tell you on the phone or try to get you alone at the hotel.” DeShawn moved closer, trying to make out Patton’s eyes in the dying light. He didn’t doubt Patton meant every single word, but he still couldn’t quite believe he heard any of it. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I put you through. Last week. It must have been horrible and I didn’t even…I didn’t even 196


realize it. Not until it was over and you left. I was going to tell you last week. All of this, I was going to tell you after the game. Of course, I didn’t think about the fact that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me but…” Patton took a deep breath. “I knew that was my final game. I’m on the IR list because I don’t want to play another game, and that was the only way to get everybody off my back.” “You’re going to retire? But you told me you didn’t want to quit.” “I didn’t want to quit when I thought there wasn’t anything in my life except football. But you taught me there is.” “But after last week you could probably get a starting position in at least twelve different franchises. You’re still good, Patton. I don’t even think I realized how good you are until…but you were amazing.” “Yeah, I probably could find a job somewhere. But I don’t want to. DeShawn, I don’t ever, ever want to play a game against you again. I don’t want to be the guy who has to beat you. I want to be the guy who helps you win. And if you don’t want me anymore at all then…well…I’d feel pretty awful, actually.” “Are you saying you quit because of me?” “Yes.” “But…you…because of me?” “Because of you. Because I love you, DeShawn.” “Patton…” DeShawn licked his numb lips and didn’t know what else to say. He’d fantasized about Patton admitting his feelings, maybe in the quiet after they’d fucked until they were breathless. But he’d never been bold enough to think Patton might actually return his feelings, much less say the word love. “I…God I…” 197


“Like I said, I’ll understand if you’re just fed up with me.” “No, no, I’m not fed up with you. I love you so much and I’m scared I’m dreaming,” DeShawn said in a rush. “Maybe I hit my head on the field and this is all just some concussion-induced delusion or something.” “Not a dream.” Patton closed the distance between them and drew DeShawn forward, into the house. “You didn’t hit your head. I watched the whole game, and you were amazing as always.” “I’m not mad at you about last week. You…you didn’t need to apologize. I left because I wanted to see you and I didn’t want you to send me away again.” “I should apologize for that.” “No. Did you really quit for me?” Patton shut the door and pushed DeShawn against it, muscles flexing as he shifted his weight to pin DeShawn in place. He couldn’t stop staring at Patton’s mouth. After a few moments, he realized what the difference was. There were no frown lines around his downturned lips. His eyes were smiling, too. He looked younger, more carefree, and he smelled better than DeShawn remembered. “It was time to let it go.” Patton dragged his hand up DeShawn’s ribs while skimming his lips over DeShawn’s jaw. “Besides, playing football never makes me feel the way you do. Winning last week didn’t feel as good as you do, right here.” DeShawn turned his head, catching Patton’s mouth desperately. He was raised to be a man of action, and so he forgot all about the words he tried to catch and poured all of his emotions into the caress. He grasped the back of Patton’s head, holding him closer while he invaded Patton’s mouth with his tongue, breathed in his air, let his chin scrape against the late-day stubble growing under 198


Patton’s lip. Patton responded with as much emotion, forgetting his strength as he pressed himself to DeShawn’s body, surrendering and dominating at the same time. DeShawn’s body came alive, sparking in new ways, flaring at each sweep of Patton’s tongue and scrape of his teeth. His muscles pulled tight from his groin to his abdomen, everything clenching beneath the skin, until his cock straightened and throbbed against his zipper. Patton moaned at the first hint of his erection, plunging his tongue into DeShawn’s mouth while he rotated his hips, grinding into the swollen flesh. His ass clenched and unclenched in anticipation. It had been too long. It had been far too long since Patton stretched his flesh and his body around him, forcing DeShawn to accommodate him, claiming him. “Bed?” DeShawn gasped, unable to form a more complete thought. “Yeah…yeah…” Patton agreed eagerly, but he barely had the words out before he kissed DeShawn like he planned to devour him. DeShawn groaned in defeat and turned himself over to Patton’s hot, searching mouth. He would try again in a few minutes, but in the meantime, he just wanted to sink into the long kisses until the previous three weeks were completely wiped from his memory. “DeShawn…I have to be inside of you…I have to fuck you.” “Bed.” “In a second.” “No, now.” DeShawn caught Patton’s face and forced him to look up. “I want that, too. So bed.” “Yeah, you’re right. Come on.” He took DeShawn by the hand and dragged him from the door, through the spacious living room and down a cool corridor. The large bedroom had been decorated 199


in cream and red, masculine but understated. The California kingsized bed dominated the room, and DeShawn wondered how long it had sat untouched. Unbidden, the image of Patton and Chris lying in it together flashed in his mind, and he unconsciously winced away. “DeShawn, this is my room. Not…Chris and I…the house is big enough for us to have our own rooms plus the one we shared. We never…in here.” It shouldn’t matter either way, but he knew his relief was plain on his face, so he didn’t bother protesting that he didn’t care. They each stripped quickly, foregoing the much needed contact for several precious seconds. As soon as the clothes were in piles at their feet, Patton pulled him to the bed, sinking to the mattress and letting DeShawn cover him as their mouths connected again like they’d never been apart. The kiss was just a continuation of the one at the door, tongue sliding over each other, moans escaping from both their throats. Patton’s slick cock slid against DeShawn’s stomach, warm strings of pre-come sticking to his skin. His was just as damp, the thin liquid rolling down his shaft. He cradled Patton’s head and then slid his hands down, over his neck and along the ridge of his shoulders, every inch of his skin familiar and perfect, like the finest silk sliding between his fingers. Patton’s hands were just as busy, tracing down his spine, fingertips dipping into the valleys between each knot. The touch wasn’t light enough to tickle him, not quite, but it did make DeShawn squirm. He rested one hand against Patton’s throat, his pulse thrumming beneath DeShawn’s thumb. He’d never felt Patton’s heart beat so hard, and he knew his own must be racing just as fast. His breath was already coming in short, hard gasps, like he’d been 200


running sprints. The room was cool, but the heat from Patton’s flesh suffused through him, and his skin was flushed and tender. Everything felt tender. Every whisper of contact sent jolts of pleasure through him, but he was still hungry for more. He rolled his hips, grinding his cock against Patton’s thigh, trying to feel every inch of Patton’s chest, trying to touch more of his exposed skin. He could only whimper thankfully when Patton reached between them and wrapped his hand around their cocks, holding them together while he slowly stroked his palm from the tips down. “I was so wound up last week after the game. I didn’t care about the score I just…watching you, Patton…I wanted you to fuck me so bad. I wanted…” DeShawn caught himself, silencing the words with another hard kiss. It wasn’t that he was worried about telling Patton too much. He’d already confessed his love, there were no greater secrets than that. But he didn’t know what to make of the desires he’d had, or the fantasies they led to. “There’s stuff in the nightstand. I wanted to be prepared. In case.” “Why didn’t you leave them on the bed?” “In case you left. I didn’t want to see it.” DeShawn grinned before leaning over to yank open the drawer to find the condom and lube. He sat back, resting on Patton’s thighs, and tore it open. His hands shook a little as he unrolled the condom down Patton’s shaft. This was what they needed. Later, when DeShawn could control himself a little, he’d show Patton everything he’d missed and dreamt about and longed for. He’d relearn Patton’s body, explore its shapes and tastes until it felt like it belonged to DeShawn, too. He’d conquer and map it with his mouth, worship it with his hands, and finally claim him. But before 201


any of that could happen, he needed to get every inch of Patton’s perfect cock buried in his ass. He sank down slowly, unmindful of the pain as his muscles stretched and eager to make it last for as long as he could. Patton grunted and lifted his hips to claim the final inch, then gripped DeShawn’s ass with both hands to hold him in place. “Keep your eyes open,” Patton whispered thickly. “Don’t look away. I want to watch you.” DeShawn nodded, braced himself on Patton’s shoulders, and began to move. Neither of them spoke again for a very long time. Not until long after DeShawn collapsed in Patton’s arms, completely spent, sweat rolling down his neck and ribs. And then there was only a whisper of love you and its soft echo.

202


EPILOGUE WEEK 1 ORLANDO BREAKERS VS PHOENIX WILDCATS 0-0-0

“The second game in Monday night’s double-header is the long awaited rematch between American Football Association Champion Orlando Breakers and the Phoenix Wildcats. They split their games during the regular season, but when they met again in the playoffs, the Breakers rolled over the Wildcats in the conference championship. Two weeks later, they capped their nearly perfect season with a victory against the New York Titans. With little changes over the off-season and only a few injuries, they’re the heavy favorite to win. Some analysts are even talking about a second championship. Ryan, what do you think?” 203


“Well, Jon, I think it’s a little too early to be talking about that. But there are very few teams in the league right now who can dominate on both sides of the ball the way they can. The Wildcats stumbled last year without Cooper at the helm, but Oswald is at one hundred percent, and they’ve built up the secondary in the offseason.” “What do you think of the matchup between Oswald and DeShawn Jones?” “I think Oswald might want to focus on the running game and try to spread the ball around as much as he can. If not, this game might be like last year’s playoff game and come down to turnovers. If Jones has a big return like he did in that game, they may not be able to recover.” “Do you think history will repeat itself?” “When it comes to these two rivals, history doesn’t matter. But the Breakers are the stronger team, and I think they’ll get a win on the road.”

204

P EPPER ESPINOZA Pepper Espinoza lives in southern California with her husband and her cats. She has spent the last year working as a full time author, and intends to start graduate school in the fall. You can learn more about Pepper by visiting her website: http://www.pepperverse.net *

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Don’t miss Gemini: The Wicked Things by Pepper Espinoza, available at AmberAllure.com! Travis Olsen doesn’t believe in fairy tales. When his mother warns him to be careful of the black dog that haunts the Quantock Hills, he brushes her off. Even after he meets the black dog, he’s convinced the animal is just a stray and not a ghost of any kind. But when the legendary black dog turns into a man, Travis has no choice but to admit it’s possible that all the old stories about the woodland are true. In order to save his mother’s life from a powerful witch, Travis plunges into a world of curses and magic, pukas and fairies, and one figure stands at the center of it all. John Walford, a cursed soul who will sacrifice anything if only Travis could return his love…

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