by Leigh Lennon
“Remember what I said, Hanley, stay the fuck out of my way and catch my fucking balls.”
He stops at his locker closet, and I lean into him to whisper, “We all know you can’t handle what I can do to your balls.” With the look on his face, I’m awarded a slight push, and I reply with a cackle as I walk away. I deserved it, but it had been worth the almost guilty whitewash expression he gave me at my words. I still affect him. This is all I need to know.
Everything is different, from the way they start training camp, to how the individual coaches work with us, and the facility itself is its own little world, with a cafeteria including the healthiest of foods anyone can imagine.
Many teams travel for training, but it’ll be nice finding footing in my new surroundings and not in a hotel room.
I’m in position the entire time; I’m on my game. Christopher Colton, not so much! He walks by me several times. “You have one job, asshole. Catch the fucking ball.”
Every single time I’m in position, but his throws are off today. “I’m doing my job, Mr. High and Mighty.” He has ignored my jabs because he knows I’m right.
The coach sees it, too. “Colton, can you kindly remove your head from your ass and get back into the fucking game?” Crush responds with a “sorry, Coach.” “Yeah, I’d appreciate it, along with everyone on the team.” The coach’s sarcasm drips through his lips, and it causes everyone else to laugh and snicker.
“Crush just got his ass handed to him.” Many call, just loud enough for Crush to hear them.
Again, my affection for this man is so high that I don’t relish in his embarrassment of doing something he’s so flawless at.
I approach him near the sideline as he takes a second to collect his thoughts. It’s how Crush has always worked. This is a mental block because it’s certainly not a lack of skill and talent. “Hey, man.” I’m met with a snarl leaving his lips. “What can I do to help you? We’re out of sync. Your game and mine have changed in the many years we’ve not played together.”
“I’m fine, asshole. Leave me alone, and I’ll figure it out.”
I know it’s cheesy, but I say it anyway. “Hey, dude, there’s no I in team. Let’s talk and fix what’s not working.”
His lips twist up into a slight grin, and I think I’ve gotten through to him. “Yeah, dude, it’s cheesy as fuck. As far as what’s not working for me, I’m looking at him.” He shoves past me. We continue the rest of the day with overthrown passes, and not just to me but also to the other wide receivers and running backs.
By the time we call it quits for the first day, and I hit the showers and change, I’m one of the last left in the locker room. But I’m not alone, and I can hear the coach chastising Crush up and down for his lack of focus.
“I’m not dumb. He’s not going anywhere. We need him.” The him I assume is me. “And I understand you’re hurt.” The coach is still loud, but he’s no longer yelling. “I don’t get it. Alison cheated on you, and the only reason for your devastation was simply because you wouldn’t be around your daughter as often. But now, this friend of yours returns, and you’re so off your game. If I was a new coach, I’d think you were not a fucking brilliant quarterback.”
This coach, as I suspected, is a hard ass, but the care for his players is apparent. I don’t want to overhear Crush’s thoughts. They’re private, and he’s yet to share them with me. I know with this asshole, he can’t be pushed. If I want to find a level playing field with him, I have to let him come to me.
For the entire week—the past five days—I’ve not been given a chance to shine since most of the passes are either short or long. By today, the end of the workweek for us, they bring in the second-string quarterback to give me a challenge.
Crush leaves the field in a fit of rage. This saddens me because Crush is still one of the most important people in my life. I had been the one to leave him, and he has every right to be upset with me, but I won’t push.
Before the coach follows Crush to the locker room, he thrusts himself into my face with an ultimatum. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you two, but this lack of focus is solely a complication of both of y’alls’ past. It’s Friday, and you have this weekend to fix it. And when I say fix it, I mean, I want it fucking fixed by Monday.”
Coach leaves without giving me a chance to answer, and practice continues without our lead quarterback.
My heart doesn’t feel right even though I finally shine with the right throws as both the coach and Crush are absent for the rest of the day.
Shortly before six p.m., the offensive coordinator calls it quits. Crush is nowhere to be seen, and his locker closet is all cleaned up. I’m not sure how to fix this without any way to get ahold of him. It’s not like we’ve been buddies enough to swap cell numbers in the five days we’ve been back in contact.
The one bright spot of the week is the camaraderie of the rest of the team. They don’t squirm away from me in the locker room in fear I’m checking out their asses.
“Hanley,” someone calls out behind me. It’s one of the tight ends, Dallas Phillips. “We’re having a barbecue at my house tomorrow afternoon starting at three, want to come?”
I won’t be one of those new guys who willingly say no when the team tries to include me. I thank fuck it’s not today because I can barely move.
“Yeah, sounds great. And thanks. I’ll be honest with you, I wasn’t sure how y’all would receive me.”
He begins to laugh. “Because of your beef with Crush or the fact you’re openly gay?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Both, I guess, if I’m being honest.”
He doesn’t lose his grin, and this man is good looking in a traditional pretty boy fashion. “Listen,” Dallas starts. “We don’t care if you use us as your muse—needing a release, of sorts.” His smile broadens, and he begins a deep belly chuckle. “No, seriously, you’re the person we need on our team, and we want you here. We don’t care who you fuck as long as you catch passes and run with the ball.”
“Thanks, man,” I reply, but Dallas has more to say.
“And as far as Crush goes, he’s an asshole. We all love the asshole, but he’s just straight up as moody as a girl on her period. Just ignore him. He’ll come around.” We exchange our numbers, and I’m left to my own thoughts. I make the short fifteen-minute drive to my house. Tonight, the pool calls out for me. I pull into my drive, but as I do, my heart rate speeds up when I see Crush blocking my way into my garage, leaning against his truck.
As I pull in next to him, he has his arms crossed, but a twelve-pack of beer sits on his hood. We’ve moved up from the simple six-pack from earlier in the week.
“You know, we shouldn’t be drinking the first week of training, especially with the way you’ve thrown.”
His lips turn into a tight smile. He bestows a one-finger salute my way. “One won’t hurt you, and it surely can’t fuck up my game much more,” Crush admits.
He follows me into my house, and I make my way straight to the back porch without even taking off my sunglasses. Grabbing a beer, I sit under the cabana to shade me from the Nashville sun, and Crush follows suit.
“So...” I sigh. “You’re not here to bitch at me, right? I’ve held up my end of the bargain by playing my best because, as you know, I’ve rocked it this week.”
He flips me off again, then takes a long pull of his beer. “Yeah, I’ve been the putz, and if I don’t figure out what it is, I’m going to lose my starting position.” His demeanor isn’t of the arrogant man I’ve always known on and off the field. His features soften, and I’m rewarded with what not many people see, and it’s the real Christopher Colton.
“So, what can we do to get you past this? Obviously, you hold a lot of hate in your heart toward me.”
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Here’s the thing, Ry. I don’t hold hate for you. I never have. It’s more hurt that you’d throw us away over something you did without giving me a chance to talk to yo
u about it. You made up your mind I’d let you go. You were my best friend. Hell, I enjoyed being with you more than the woman I married.”
I give off a small grunt because no one liked being around the person I coin as the bane of my existence.
“You were always right about her, of course. I knew you were at the time, too,” he admits.
He’s still a little reserved with me, and I continue to wait, letting him come to me on his terms. It’s what always has worked best for the man I know as Christopher Colton.
4
Crush
Ryder’s silence isn’t awkward. It’s a sign of how well he still knows me. I’m working out my own shit in my head. “Do you think you’ll run away from me again?” I formulate the words, and it’s blunt as his eyes shift to mine. “You can’t use young and dumb anymore as an excuse. Just dumb, but not young.”
At my words, he lets out a little chortle, and something in it makes my stomach flip. Not in the nauseous kind of way, but it’s pleasure-seeking. “And of course you’ll want this,” I point at my lips, but continue, “but these are off-limits.”
“Yeah, look who’s turned into the cocky one over the past six years, asshole,” Ry chides, draining his beer, then pushing to his feet to get us both another one. “One more, then we’re done for tonight, got it?” he insists.
“So you heard Al and I are no more?” Ry hands the beer to me over my head, and his stare stays on me a beat longer than most men would be comfortable with. “Yeah, I know you never liked her, but I guess now I know why,” I jest, and I wonder how far I can tease before it’s taken too far. I decide to hold my punches for now.
He gives me a little nod. “There’s a truth I can’t deny, asshole. I always cared for you, but understood the feelings could never be returned.” He’s not sad. It’s a simple statement he makes and then moves on. “But I would have liked someone for you who wasn’t the devil in disguise. You were her meal ticket. I could sense it the first time we met. It was always about what you could do for her and not the other way around.”
He’s not wrong. He’s described Alison Miller Colton to a T. “But from the shit show of a marriage came Brooklyn Christine Colton, and she is the most important thing in my life.”
“Yeah, she’s adorable, and you’re not at all wrapped around her finger by the looks of it,” he teases.
“Oh, yeah, I lost that fight years ago.” We continue to sit and shoot the shit. This was how it always was with us, and I hope it’s what we can get back to.
The beer I brought over is gone. I sit near the side of the pool, and Ryder is a couple of feet away from me in the same position. “So, tell me, pretty boy?” I begin, sending another dig his way.
“Hell yeah, I’m pretty. No denying it,” Ryder ribs back.
“Yeah, certainly not in those fucking paisley suits you wear.” From his profile, I watch as his Adam’s apple constricts. I can’t ignore it or the sexiness with it when he swallows. Why am I even staring at it? But I avert my gaze. “Anyway, asshole, are we cool? There’s no awkward shit between us anymore?”
“You forgive me for just ignoring you?” Ry asks.
My gaze swings to him with a tight chuckle on my part. “Fuck, man, I knew where you were. I had the means. I was freaked the fuck out, too. If I really wanted to patch it up, I could have found you. Hell, we played every year, and I could have tried then. I guess, I didn’t know what to say.” I pause, and it’s not the whole truth, but it’s all I can articulate at the moment. “I’ve missed you, man. You think you can forgive me, too?”
“Is it really this simple?” In Ry’s question, his eyes don’t leave mine, and I understand what I’ve been missing this entire time.
“Bro, we can make it as simple as we want to make it. You were my best friend through thick and thin. I’ve missed sharing my life with you. Fuck, I want you to get to know my daughter and for us to have beers together whenever I’m bored as fuck,” I say.
“Yeah, man,” he begins as he swings his gaze away from me with a large ass goofy grin on his face. “I’d like that.”
Ry begins to speak but pushes to his feet first. “Well, since we finished all the beer, you aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I’m hot and hungry as hell, so I’m going to grab us some swim trunks and order us some decent dinner to make up for all the calories of the fucking beer you made me consume.”
I stand to follow him into the house because I’m hot as hell, too. “No one forced it down your throat, bro,” I point out, following him, and I wonder why my eyes stay focused on his ass.
“I’m ordering steak and salads. Are you cool with this?” Ry asks.
“Yeah, but not a ribeye. I always get all the fat. I want a sirloin.”
He turns around, and I run smack dab into his firm chest. “Yeah, man, I remember.” Why does it squeeze at my heart that he remembers this about me? “And you probably want a Caesar salad, too, right?” Ry continues, and this makes me understand how much I’ve genuinely missed him.
“And.” I turn it back on him. “You’ll get a New York Strip with a house salad, hold the onions and double the ranch.”
A small bob of his head gives me his answer, and we fall back into what we’ve always known. Ry and I as a part of each other’s lives. But as he turns his head and my gaze falls to his ass, my thoughts aren’t brotherly at all.
We’re close to about the same size, though I’m two to three inches taller, and we’ve both bulked up since college. With the extra swim trunks he lends me, I’m dressed and ready for a dunk in the pool. He must already be outside when I take the time to check out his home and his private life. Yeah, I’m snooping, and if caught, I’ll claim I’m turned around. This house is modern, a little too modern for my taste with black wood floors and floating steps off the front door, leading to the second floor. The house never looked this big from the outside.
But what catches my attention is the room behind the large den near the steps. I’m staring at the master, his own personal space. His bed is neatly made, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, and as with everything in the house, his comforter is white against a sterling silver bed frame. He has a king bed, and I’ve often wondered why a single person needs a king. After Alison, I wouldn’t get this size mattress for only me, but maybe he shares his bed with someone. Is he seeing anyone? And it’s not been something that has entered my mind until now.
“Crush, where are you?” Ryder cries out from the backyard, and I turn around. The only things adorning the bright white walls are silver industrial art designs of various sizes and shapes. It’s almost too cold. And in all of this, I wonder when I’ve become such a stickler for interior design.
“Yeah, on my way,” I call back, taking one last look into his private life. When I emerge from the house, I stop in my tracks. Water trails down his torso as every muscle is more on display than I’d noticed in the dingy locker room. And yeah, I noticed then, too.
He pulls himself out of the water, making his way back to the diving board, and my stare hasn’t left his body. All of a sudden, I feel my manhood coming to half-mast.
I almost run to the patio furniture under the shade to hide the effect Ry has on me. With a perfect dive and splash into the pool, he swims the entire length, then turns around to find me. “Are you coming in?”
“Yeah, probably after dinner.” The sweat is dripping off my body. He leaves the pool to head back to the diving board, and as he jumps in, I take the quick walk and land a cannonball, rocking the water in the hopes the coolness will hide whatever my cock is doing.
He swims the entire length and whips his head up, turning to the patio. His eyes connect to me in the pool, and he stays in, swimming toward the deep end this time.
He’s holding the side of the pool, as I am, when his eyes become soft. “Hey, tell me what it’s like being a dad?”
This is the one topic I can talk about for hours on end. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. I mean, football is a
big part of me, and I’d be lost without it, but being a dad is a game changer. It’s the best ever. And it’s just not being a dad but being Brooklyn’s dad. She is amazing, and that’s saying a lot since half her DNA comes from Alison.”
This makes Ry laugh. “Yeah, it surely says a lot.”
“I never make these comments in front of her. I try to show a united front with Al in all things about our little girl, but Alison, as you can imagine, doesn’t make it easy. I don’t see Brooklyn much during the beginning of the season, and I work it out once it gets going. Then from March to July, I have her the majority of the time. It’s not ideal, and I never wanted my child raised in a broken home, but Alison made her bed and slept in it—and most of the time, there were many other men sleeping in it, too. I’d tried to make the marriage work for Brooklyn, but some things are not forgivable.”
“Man, I’m sorry about Alison. I mean, I only ever wanted you happy. I hope you know this.”
I hate talking about Al, and I change the subject. “So what about you, man? Anybody special in your life?”
“Nah.” And this one word makes me smile on the inside until he continues. “Not really.”
It’s not a clear answer, and I elaborate to try to dig a bit further. “What does this mean? Either there is or there is not.” I attempt to hide the agitation in my tone.
“I’ve dated someone on and off, but neither one of us is ready for anything more. I guess you could say if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.”
Is this a dig at me? He has to see the guilt wash over my face, and his eyes avert from mine.