Medley

by Layla Reyne

  “It’s settled now,” he told Josh. “Alex is back on the team, and Dane’s, well, Dane.” Jacob had sensed there was more beneath Dane’s camera-ready smile and had made the effort to remain friendly when others had shunned him. He was glad not to have misjudged the Tar Heel.

  “So the guys are being good to you?” Josh asked. “Even with all that shit going on?”

  Jacob nodded. “They’ve taken me under their wing.”

  Alex regularly checking in with him. Dane helping him last week when the pressure had all seemed too heavy and the imposter syndrome too real, swimming as he was with giants. Bas shielding him on Media Day, staying with him after. Heat hit his cheeks, remembering that night in the tattoo parlor. They grew even warmer, no doubt redder, with Josh’s next question.

  “Any of ’em hot?”

  “They’re my teammates,” Jacob said. “That’s it.”

  Yes, he’d jerked off in front of Bas, but after that night a week ago, things had returned to normal. If he ignored how Bas’s gaze lingered more often, how he and Bas gravitated toward each other, how he’d fallen asleep next to Bas last night, only to wake with his morning wood pressed against Bas’s hard thigh. He’d stumbled over to his own bed before Bas awoke, and thank God it’d been to the excitement of Alex’s reinstatement, because Jacob could barely look his mentor in the eyes after his fumbling scurry of shame.

  Still failing to ignore, clearly.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna have to call bullshit,” Josh said. “That ain’t a sunburn, cuz, and the teammate thing’s not stopping the other two.”

  Jacob glared at his cousin. “Joshua.”

  Josh raised his hands, placating even as he smirked. “I know the bi thing’s new to you—”

  “Bisexuality. And not that new.”

  Jacob couldn’t remember a time he’d thought girls were cuter than boys or vice versa. When puberty and hormones hit, he’d been sexually attracted to men and women. He’d had his first raging crush on a guy four years ago—a certain tattooed butterfly swimmer he’d watched at the Olympics on TV—and his first sexual experience with a guy the summer after high school. He’d been caught blowing one of the lifeguards at the pool where he swam, at which point he’d officially come out to his family.

  In the two years since, there’d been Emily from freshman biology, after weeks of working up the nerve to ask her out, and Wes from sophomore anthropology, a handful of dates after months of Jacob’s piss-poor flirting. Nothing serious had come of either, owing to his hectic schedule, his aforementioned uncoolness, and his bisexuality. Emily had been paranoid he’d wanted to fuck every guy at UT, while he hadn’t been “gay enough” for Wes, whatever the hell that meant. Jacob hadn’t been attracted enough to either to outweigh their bullshit, or fret over his virginity. Not like the attraction he felt toward Bas, especially now that he wasn’t an out-of-reach swim God. He was real, a friend, and Bas was also bi; he’d get it—get him—like Emily and Wes hadn’t. Which only made his enduring virginity more embarrassing, his inexperience, in all regards, more stark.

  “Hey, Earth to Jacob.” Josh waved a hand in front of his face, snapping Jacob out of his head. “I’m just saying that even my straight self can acknowledge those are some good-looking men on your team. Couldn’t blame you for trying to hit a few.” Grinning, he slicked a hand over Jacob’s head. “Especially now that you’re fine like me.”

  Jacob swatted the hand away. “Yo, Rico Suave, back to reality for a sec.”

  “Dude,” Josh groaned. “You weren’t even born when that song dropped.”

  “Neither were you.” Jacob picked up the notepad again and put it back in his cousin’s hand. “My itinerary and all the contact numbers for where we’ll be are on the last sheets. And I’ve turned roaming on for my cell. Call, FaceTime, or Skype if you need me. I don’t care what time.”

  “Like I said, we got this. You don’t have to worry.” Josh pocketed the notepad and yanked him into a crushing hug. “My boy, at the Olympics.”

  Jacob broke into a smile, more than a little amazed himself still. Yes, the pressure was a crush, but when he stepped back to look at the big picture, this was what he’d worked so hard for. Long days, countless carpools, and perpetually pruned fingers, but he was going to compete at the Olympics—every kid’s dream when they took off between the lane ropes the first time.

  “So proud of you, cuz.” Pulling back, Josh clapped the outside of his left shoulder, right over the healing tattoo.

  Jacob yelped, snatching his arm away.

  “You injured?”

  Jacob slapped the spot again, fighting the urge to scrape his nails across it instead. “Not an injury.” Josh clearly didn’t buy his nonanswer one bit, judging by the lift of his bushy blond brow. “Fine,” Jacob conceded. “You promise not to tell Dad?”

  “Tell him what?”

  “I got a tattoo.”

  Josh’s eyes grew round as saucers. “Isn’t he gonna see it on TV?”

  “Yeah, but by then I’ll be an ocean away.”

  He’d asked to get ink once before, after graduation, when he was still seventeen and needed permission. Instead, he’d gotten a twenty-minute lecture on regret, which Josh had heard all the way across the street. Jacob wouldn’t regret this tattoo, but he would regret arguing with his dad before he left. His new ink needed to stay on the DL, for now.

  “Fine,” Josh said. “I won’t tell him. Now let me see it.”

  “I can’t actually show it to you.” Jacob pulled out his phone and opened his camera roll. “It’s a scabby mess and itches like an army of fire ants gnawing off my arm, so these will have to do.” He handed the phone to Josh.

  Josh stared down at the screen, jaw slack, as he thumbed through the pictures. “Aww shit, Jacob.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Are you kidding?” He held the phone closer, spreading his two fingers on the screen and zooming in on the design. “It’s fucking badass.” He glanced up, eyes big and grin wide. “You might be cooler than me now. Who’s the artist and can I get one?”

  The front door banged open, forestalling Jacob’s answer.

  “Did I miss him?” his father shouted from the foyer.

  “Nope, still here, Dad.” Jacob snatched his phone back and pocketed it just as his father rounded the corner into the kitchen.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Davis shrugged out of his grease-stained shop shirt, throwing it onto an empty chair. “Knew I had to be home by noon—set an alarm and everything—but I got to working on a ’67 Camaro SS. Full engine rebuild.”

  Josh whistled low.

  “You got that right,” Davis answered with a smile.

  Jacob was happy his dad was back at work and enjoying it. He’d worried the loud garage noises, especially the air compressor that sounded like a machine gun, might trigger his PTSD, but Davis doing what he did best, aside from firing a sniper’s rifle, had settled him, for the most part. Asking him to come home, off schedule, was more likely to trigger an anxiety attack than a full day at the garage. Jacob, though, had wanted to say goodbye, in person, before leaving for Europe.

  His father seemed all right as he drew Jacob into a hug, careful not to pat directly with his grease-stained hands. “You packed and ready to go?”

  “Bags are already on the team bus at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “T-minus thirty minutes to departure.”

  “You got your passport and everything?”

  “Cap’s got all that stuff.”

  “Alex looking out for you?” Davis’s memory, for better or worse, was sharp as a tack. He never forgot a name.

  “Yeah, Dad.”

  “Good, good.” Except he’d started to shift back and forth on his feet and rub his thumb over his left ring finger, where his wedding band no longer rested. “You’ve never been this far away.”

  Jacob moved slowly, making sure his dad saw his approaching hand before it landed on top of his and squeezed. “We set our daily call time. I’ll
ring you each day. It’ll be just like when I’m at UT.”

  His father’s smile returned, except it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But you’ll be at the Olympics,” he said, wonder tangled with worry and sadness. “I’m sorry I can’t come with you.”

  Jacob jutted a thumb at the sixty-inch television on the adjacent living room wall. “You’ll have a better view on that thing.”

  “And I’m gonna stream it,” Josh said. “We’re gonna watch live and have the whole gang over for the main event.”

  “I know. I saw the Evite.” It comforted Jacob to think of their family and friends gathered here to watch the medley relay race with his dad. He hoped like hell he didn’t disappointment them, or the members of his squad.

  Davis cleared his throat. “Okay, a couple things to take with you.” Face turning bright red, his dad pulled a strip of condoms out of his back jeans pocket and slapped them into Jacob’s hand. “You be safe.” Three words, and just as awkward as Jacob remembered the same “talk” two years ago.

  Jacob’s face roasted to match his dad’s as he pocketed the strip.

  “I hear there are plenty of those around Olympic Village,” Josh said.

  “Lord, don’t tell me that, boy,” Davis said. “And you—” he pointed a finger at Jacob “—don’t come back and tell me either. I don’t wanna know.”

  Jacob coughed to cover his laugh. “My lips are sealed.”

  “One more thing.” Davis slid his fingers under the chain around his neck and lifted it over his head, his Marine Corps dog tags slipping out from under his shirt collar. Reaching for Jacob’s hand, he dropped the body-warmed metal into his palm. “These will keep you safe too.”

  The lump in Jacob’s throat made it hard to talk. “Dad, if you need these . . .” Except for in-patient stints at the clinic, Jacob couldn’t recall a time his father had taken the tags off since returning home.

  Davis folded his fingers over the tags. “I need to know there’s a part of me with you. That I’m still doing my part to keep my boy safe.”

  His dad had said those same words each time he’d deployed. Doing his part to keep his boy safe.

  “Okay, Dad,” Jacob replied hoarsely. He pulled his dad into another hug, grease-stains be damned. “Thank you.”

  “You come back with medals around your neck, and you can give me back those rusty ole things.”

  Jacob squeezed him tighter. “It’s a deal.”

  The team bus parked at the IAH departures curb, and Sean’s beleaguered, “Shit, they’re here too,” echoed from the front of the bus all the way to the back, where Bas had spent the trip from San Antonio.

  Tossing his tablet onto the adjacent seat, Bas shifted across the aisle to the empty row behind Alex and Dane to stare out the curbside window. Sure enough, a crowd of waiting press was gathered at the terminal entry.

  Alex rammed the heel of his hand against the arm rest. “Fuck! I thought the change in airport would cut this shit out.”

  Bas poked his head between the two seats in front of him, eyeing his best friend. “And I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Dane stood and stepped into the aisle, looking perfectly pressed despite the three-hour bus ride. “It’ll be fine.” He shrugged into his designer sports jacket, adjusted his silk tie, and ran a hand over his thick red-gold hair, taming it down. “I’ll just go out there—”

  “I’ll go out there,” Coach said, halfway down the aisle to them. “And we’re at this airport because it’s two less stops to Vienna.” He tossed a black pouch into Alex’s lap. “Distribute passports and make sure everyone’s got their shit. When I wave you off, we’ll need to move through fast.”

  “Yes, Coach,” Alex said, joining Dane in the aisle.

  Hartl pushed his way back to the front, through their teammates, who were up and about, gathering bags and peeking out the tinted windows.

  Beside Alex, Dane held out his hand. “Give me mine first,” he said. “I’m going out there with him. Let the press get it out of their system.”

  “Dane.”

  “Alejandro.”

  Their stare-down lasted all of five seconds, ending with Alex’s defeated sigh. Bas lowered his chin, hiding his smile. He was still a little baffled and a lot amused at how easily Dane could chip through Alex’s defenses with a few perfectly rolled syllables. In this case, though, it wasn’t a complete Ellis victory.

  Alex fished two passports out of the pouch, handed one to Dane, and kept the other for himself. “This is my team too,” he said. “I’m going with you.” He tossed the pouch to Bas. “You got this here?”

  Bas nodded, and Alex followed Dane off the bus. The rest of the team rallied, grabbing their documents, shouldering bags, and joining Coach, Alex, and Dane in front of the gathered media.

  Everyone except Jacob, who’d been unusually quiet during the long bus ride. He’d sat by himself in the row in front of Alex and Dane, declining Bas’s invitation to join him in the back. Bas wondered if his refusal had to do with the way they’d woken up this morning, or if there was something else going on, maybe having to do with his hour-long disappearance right before go time.

  Bas withdrew the last two passports and sank into the seat next to him, flipping through the blank pages in Jacob’s booklet. “New passport?”

  Jacob nodded, glancing over briefly before casting his gaze back down. Between his clasped hands, a shiny object momentarily blinded Bas.

  “You lose your old passport?” Bas asked, squinting.

  “That’s my first one. This is my first time out of the country.”

  “Cool, first stamps.” Bas wasn’t surprised, given Jacob’s age and relative obscurity on the swimming scene. A few of the younger athletes on the previous Olympic squad hadn’t traveled abroad either before the Games. “We’ll have to celebrate.”

  Except Jacob didn’t appear in a celebratory mood. He turned the object—no, objects, two of them, dog tags—over and over in his hand, like his nerves from last night were resurfacing.

  “Whose are those?” Bas asked.

  The tumbling stopped, the metal tags faceup. Jacob ran a thumb across the name imprinted on them.

  BURROWS, DAVIS J.

  USMC.

  Dread sank like a brick tied to Bas’s ankles.

  Fuck.

  Did those tags belong to Jacob’s father? Or to a brother, maybe? A relative, for sure, given the same last name. With the way Jacob was acting, was Davis dead? Killed in combat? Maybe on a flight? Shot down? That’d explain Jacob’s sudden anxiety right before a transatlantic flight. “Jacob, I’m sor—”

  Jacob’s head whipped up, eyes meeting his. “No, no, no. He’s still alive. My dad.”

  Bas breathed a small sigh of relief, but Jacob’s down demeanor made even less sense now. “Pup, I don’t get it.”

  “I went to see him, before we left. He gave me these, to . . .” Jacob shook his head, fingers closing around the tags. “For good luck. He’s excited for me.”

  Bas lifted a hand to cup Jacob’s cheek, to tease the tip of his frown into a smile, the instinct to comfort him easy and natural. But after this morning, and given Jacob’s present distress, Bas stopped himself short, clasping his shoulder instead. “Why aren’t you? This is the Olympics.”

  Jacob shrugged. “I am excited. Worried too.”

  “We talked about this last night. We’ve got the gold locked up.” Bas pointed out the window at Alex and Dane. “Just look at those two.” Next to Coach, their team a united front behind them, Alex and Dane stood tall and proud, Dane’s hand resting at the small of Alex’s back as they answered questions. Not a sight Bas thought he’d ever see, but unquestionably right.

  Jacob, however, didn’t seem convinced that his worry was unnecessary, his eyes still locked on the dog tags. “I’ve never been this far away.”

  The sudden homesickness struck Bas as odd, nothing of the sort having come up in Colorado or Texas. Granted, San Antonio was Jacob’s hometown, but he hadn’
t said a word about his family or actual home, until now. On second thought, maybe that was odd.

  Was this the next page of Jacob’s story?

  Bas rewound Jacob’s words. He’d said his father was still alive. Had something happened to him? Was that why Jacob was reluctant to leave? That would be the Jacob Bas had come to know—always putting others first. Too worried about his dad to be excited for the Olympic experience ahead.

  “Jacob, is there something more?”

  Outside, Alex glanced over his shoulder, searching the crowd, then peered over the heads of the gathered team to the bus. Their absence had been noticed, and Jacob apparently recognized the offered reprieve. He stood and loomed over Bas from the inside seat. “We need to go. They’re waiting on us.”

  Answers would have to wait. Rising, Bas returned to his seat and gathered his things. He hastily donned his coat and tie and turned back around to see Jacob dragging his feet toward the exit.

  Fuck waiting.

  Three long strides and Bas caught up to him, gently clasped Jacob’s elbow, and rotated him. “Whatever it is, Pup, you can tell me.”

  Jacob smiled as he pocketed the dog tags. “I’m good.”

  For the first time since they’d met, Bas saw Jacob’s smile for what it was—a mask. Like Alex wore sometimes, except Jacob wore his better. “Hey,” Bas said softly. “Remember how we told Alex he didn’t have to take it all on himself? The same applies to you.”

  “I don’t have nearly as much—”

  “Jacob, the same applies to you.” He squeezed Jacob’s elbow for emphasis. “The Olympic experience is going to blow your mind. It will be overwhelming. You’re strong, Pup. Stronger than any of us have given you credit for, I’m starting to think, but I guarantee, the weight and chaos will hit you. When it does, you come to me or Alex or Dane. Okay?”

  Jacob’s eyes grew wide, round mint dimes, as the clink of metal—Jacob turning the tags over in his pocket—echoed in the otherwise silent bus.

  Bas slid his hand up Jacob’s arm, grasping his biceps just below where the Longhorn tattoo hid beneath his sleeve. “I’m here.”

  The clink of metal stopped and red slashed across Jacob’s cheeks, same as it had when Bas had yanked the curtain back in the tattoo shop. When he’d uttered those exact same words. Their eyes locked, no mirror for distance between them, and fuck if Jacob didn’t look as beautiful now as he had then.