by Layla Reyne
“Careful, mijo, you’re going to shred that dish towel.”
Eyes snapping open, he spied his mom clutching the doorframe leading to the back porch, to which she’d retired with Carla after lunch.
She shuffled forward, and Alex jolted into motion, stepping toward her. “Let me help.”
She shooed him off with her knitting needles. “I can walk five feet to the table.”
He knew better than to argue. It was a wobbly five feet, and he stayed at the ready the entire time until she collapsed into a chair with a huff. “You can breathe now,” she said with a wink, knowing exactly what he’d been thinking.
He let the held breath out slowly. “Carla still outside?”
“Cursing Excel. Hurts my heart.” Before getting sick, his mom had managed the farm’s books, her days filled with invoices, order forms, and spreadsheets. Carla was training to take the reins, a little sooner than expected. “And it’s too hot out there for me.” She wiped sweat from under the edge of her brightly colored headscarf. “Even in the shade.”
Snagging a glass out of the dry rack, Alex filled it with cold water from the fridge door and slid it in front of her. “How are you feeling?”
She took small sips, easier on her stomach. “Better than last week.”
“Which I wasn’t here for.” He worried a nick in the table with his nail, until she stopped him, hand over his. He couldn’t help but notice how flaky dry and pale her skin was in comparison to his, lacking its usual golden brown tone.
“You had more important things to take care of than a sick old woman.”
Turning his hand over, he squeezed hers. More than could be said for the words failing to squeeze past the lump in his throat. “Mom,” he croaked.
She kissed the back of his hand, then dropped it, taking up her knitting again. “What happened to those things?” she pressed, undeterred.
He should have made a break for it when he’d had the chance. His dark mood had scared away questions when he’d shown up unannounced this morning, but his mom braved the storm now, no matter her own battle.
“I got kicked off the team,” he answered.
“Not the first time. Soccer, first grade.”
The surprising response, and the amusing memory it invoked, made him laugh, his first since everything had gone to shit yesterday. “Two practices and I was done,” he said, recalling his bumbling display of ineptitude on the grass pitch. “You took me to the pool the next day.”
“You do great things in the water, mijo, but on dry land . . .”
“I was a mess. All limbs and zero coordination.”
She smiled, tapping his arm with a needle. “You grew into them.”
“Still hate soccer.” Before he or she could say more, his phone rang, trilling ringtone piercing the quiet afternoon and causing his dad’s snores to stutter. He dug it out quickly, silencing the third incoming call from Bas today, the sixth since last night.
“Don’t want to talk to your best friend either?” his mom asked.
He laid the device facedown on the table, waiting for his dad’s sleep to resume, then answered quietly, “He’s calling to check up on me.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I’m accused of doping.”
“Like the East Germans?”
He nodded. At her age, that’s exactly where her mind would go.
“Did another team fix the results?”
Stinging tears pricked the backs of his eyes, and his shoulders sagged with relief. He hadn’t realized until just now how much he needed her to believe, without question, that he wasn’t guilty. Bas, Ryan, and Jacob had rallied behind him yesterday, but after Coach’s betrayal, he needed his family’s backing too. He needed the people who knew him best to believe he fought fair and worked hard for everything he earned. And they did. He folded over, resting his head on his forearms on the table, gathering himself as his mom’s hand soothed over his back.
“Thank you,” he said between gulping breaths, straightening after another minute. “I needed you to believe.”
“I may be sick, but I’m not stupid. I know my son.” After another sip of water, she relaxed back in her chair, needles clicking, blue thread looping in and out as she added to the blanket she knitted. “Now, really tell me what’s going on.”
“I pissed off the wrong people. Fell in love with their son.”
“The redhead next to you at the press conference?”
Chin, meet floor. “How’d you know?”
She winked. “A mother always knows, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you either. His parents don’t want you together?”
“To say the least.”
“What about this boy? What does he want?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
She pressed her lips together, dark eyes flaring with more life than he’d seen in weeks. Mama Bear protecting her cubs. She’d always been fierce when it came to her kids. He’d been heckled at a swim meet once, shortly after coming out, and her verbal takedown of the heckler, and his parents who didn’t think their son had done anything wrong, had been epic, earning a standing ovation from the other spectators. He was lucky as hell she had his back, always.
That shred of sympathy for Dane made itself known again.
“He’s not out, Mom, and I can’t force him to be.”
She simmered down, a little. “What do you want?”
Dane, but that was a pipe dream best forgotten. “I want to swim.”
“Then swim. Since when have you ever given up?”
“You need me here.”
Simmer heated to a boil again. “Do not use us as an excuse to give up on your dreams. Not when you’ve given up so much already.”
“What have I given up? I went away to school, I teach and work at USOC instead of here full-time, and I’m always gone when you need me most.”
“You’ve not been to as many meets the past few years.”
“You’ve been counting?”
“Of course I have, so don’t tell me you haven’t given anything up.”
“Mom . . .”
“If not for the responsibility you feel toward us, would you be here still? In Colorado? Or would you be in California with Bas?”
She’d watched the press conference, had heard Bas’s comment. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it before she’d gotten sick. But then she had, and all thoughts of leaving had been shifted to the back burner. She’d put the pieces together, though, just like she had about Dane.
She clasped his hand. “What we need—me and your father, your brothers, your sister—is a son to be proud of, a brother to look up to, and a good man to admire. Doesn’t matter where you are to do any of those things. Here, Colorado Springs, or California, just do what you do best. And that means not giving up. You have to fight for your dream. That’s how you’ll fight for us.”
His hand flattened on the table beneath hers, surrendering. “There’s not enough time, and it’s out of my hands.”
“Was it out of your hands when USOC turned you down the first two times you applied to the program? Or when you decided to swim only backstroke and became the best in the world? Each of those times, someone told you ‘no’ and you said ‘no’ back. Why are you saying ‘yes’ this time?”
Because this time his heart was broken too.
She must have read it on his face. She lifted a hand, cupping his cheek. “Oh, mi querido.”
He turned his face into her palm, fighting back tears again. She was right, he should fight, but hopelessness seemed too great a foe when he was so damn tired, mind, body, and soul, and so damn sick to his heart.
The dogs barked outside, startling him, but not half as much as his brother, Javi’s “What kind of fancy-pants shit is this?”
Alex and his mom glanced toward the front door, to where his brother’s long shadow stretched across the front porch, and that’s when Alex heard it over the dogs’ racket. A car bumping down the gravel ro
ad toward the house. His gaze whipped back to his mom, who looked as confused as he felt.
“You expecting any visitors?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He stood, helping her up, and they crept down the hallway. By the time they reached the front porch, a black town car was pulling to a stop in the gravel circle in front of the house.
Alex’s stomach hit the wooden planks beneath his feet. There were only two possibilities as to who was in that car. A representative from USOC or Dane’s parents. Neither outcome would be good.
“What’s going on?” his dad said behind them.
“They’re here for me.” Alex shifted his mom’s weight to his dad and stepped to the edge of the porch, praying no one noticed his shaking legs as he prepared to meet his fate.
The car door opened, and it was not a fate Alex had expected.
Dane climbed out of the car, squinting against the bright midday sun. Dressed in jeans and a wrinkled tee, hair a red rat’s nest, auburn scruff matted along one side of his jaw, and the rest of his face somewhere between flaming red and sickly green, Dane looked a sleep-deprived mess, worse even than Alex.
Alex stepped back, not forward.
And met his mom’s hand, pressed lightly against his spine. “I think you know what he wants now.” Alex could hear the smile in her knowing voice.
“Isn’t that Big Red?” Carla asked, drawn from the back porch by the commotion.
Alex nodded, still speechless.
His mom gave him a firmer push, and he stumbled down the first porch step. No going back now. Putting one foot in front of the other, he descended the steps and came to a stop in front of Dane.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voicing the only question that mattered in this present world gone mad.
Clear blue eyes stared back at him, full of the same affection he’d seen there Saturday night, had seen for the first time ten years ago across a pool. Together with Dane’s shy, self-deprecating smile, the real one, it was a beautiful and dangerous combination.
And beautiful, dangerous words followed. “I came here for you.”
Alex stood there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and Dane gave serious consideration to putting that open mouth to good use. Since seeing the pictures from the club and experiencing the flood of memories that came with them, kissing Alex again had shot to the top of Dane’s to-do list. Second only to helping him get his spot back on the team. But seeing Alex dressed down in worn jeans and a threadbare Broncos tee had kissing vying for first place. The ravaging would have to wait, though, until Alex’s family wasn’t looking on.
A jingle of metal off to their sides snapped the scene back into action. Two leashed cattle dogs fought the leather straps held by one of Alex’s brothers, Dane guessed, given the striking resemblance.
“Didn’t know we were having visitors,” the brother said.
“Manners, Rafe.” The younger of the two women on the porch descended the steps. “I’m Carla,” she said, hand outstretched.
“Dane Ellis,” he replied, shaking it. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Why don’t you come inside, Dane,” the older woman said. Alex’s mother, standing between his father and other brother, was worryingly frail, but the smile on her face was as bright as the colorful scarf around her head. “You’ll fry out here in the sun.”
Dane pushed his rolled shirtsleeve up his arm, flashing his sunburn. “A week in the Texas sun, ma’am. Afraid I’m a lobster already.”
She smiled wider. “All the same, come inside.” She turned into the house, calling over her shoulder. “Alex, help your guest with his bags.”
Your guest.
Alex must have told her at least some of what was going on. Carla didn’t let him dwell long, looping an arm through his. A warm hand brushed his other shoulder, Alex slipping his computer bag off, leaving little shocks in his wake. Dane bit back a whimper as Alex’s touch lingered. He wanted to reach up, cover that hand with his own, or bend his head and drop a kiss on his knuckles, taste his skin again, but they’d put on enough of a scene as it was.
Carla led him up the front porch steps, Alex on their heels. The farmhouse’s yellow paint was faded and peeling in some places, but everything had its place on the porch, and all of it was colorful. Vases of fresh sunflowers, pink and green throw pillows in the giant white rocking chairs, and stained-glass wind chimes dangling in the space between each porch column.
The color came into Alex’s mother’s cheeks too when, inside, Dane kissed the back of her hand, deploying his full Southern charm as he introduced himself properly. He didn’t know what Alex had told them about him, but in any event, he needed to be on his best behavior. Alex’s father, Manny, was more reserved, assessing the situation. Noticing the orange knitted blanket on the back of the couch, and the framed Bronco’s poster and tickets on the wall, Dane asked questions about the team’s upcoming season, and the big imposing man was talking animatedly within minutes.
Rafael and Javier also introduced themselves, before disappearing back outside, claiming work. Manny followed, once he settled Maria at the kitchen table. Alex hung back, dropping Dane’s bags on the floor by the door. Dane tried not to read too much into it, telling himself Alex had set them there out of the way and not as an indication he wasn’t welcome.
He followed Carla down the hallway, taking time to survey the pictures lining the walls. Alex had a big family that worked hard and loved hard, if these photos were any indication. Pictures like this didn’t exist in Dane’s house. Every family portrait, school photo, and publicity still were cold posed affairs. None of them genuine. Never candids of mother and father kissing by the barn door. No blurry shots of brothers wrestling in the cornfields. No pictures of brothers looming over what appeared to be their little sister’s prom date.
Carla sighed dramatically beside him. “Worst day of my life.”
Dane laughed as they continued into the kitchen.
“When’s the last time you ate, Dane?” Maria asked from her chair at the table.
“You don’t need to feed him,” Alex said, shoulder leaned against the doorjamb. “He can fend for himself.”
“He cooks too?” Carla said, brow raised.
“He claims. But he also gets altitude sick. Go easy until he adjusts.”
“In that case . . .” Maria reached behind her into a cabinet. She righted herself and tossed Dane a long, narrow pack of crackers. “Saltines. Good for an upset stomach.” She would know, as both a mother and chemo patient.
“Gracias,” he said, palming the crackers. “These always do the trick,” he continued in Spanish, earning another smile as he popped one in his mouth.
“Have you ever made empanadas?” Maria asked.
He shook his head and swallowed before answering. “No, ma’am.”
She shifted her gaze to Alex. “Why don’t you show Dane around, and when you’re done, bring him back here.” Her dark brown eyes, the same as Alex’s, swung back to him, sparkling with mischief. She was giving them privacy, on purpose. He might like Mrs. Cantu, and it seemed she might like him too. “We’ll see about those cooking skills then.” She switched back to Spanish. “Have to know you can take care of my Alex.”
“I want to,” he answered. “He takes care of all of us,” he added, then startled when the screen door banged shut behind him, Alex gone.
“Go,” Maria said. “And don’t go easy on him,” she added with a wink.
He snagged two more crackers, shoved them in his mouth to settle his stomach, and tossed the package on the counter on his way out.
Rounding the corner of the house, he saw Alex disappear into one of the big white barns. Dane hurried inside after him, stumbling when the sudden dim lighting and bales of hay conspired to take him down.
Alex wrapped a hand around his biceps, steadying him. “Careful.”
That gravelly voice, the heat of Alex’s body close, the smell of his sweat that triggered another rush of weekend memories
, moved kissing Alex to the top of Dane’s to-do list.
Leaning in, he rested his forehead against Alex’s and brushed his lips over the corner of his mouth. After all he’d cost him, this had to be Alex’s choice, his move. Didn’t mean Dane wouldn’t beg. “Please, Alejandro,” he whispered. “This has been the worst two days of our lives, and I just need to kiss you, to rewind to Saturday, to ten years ago. Just, please.”
Alex groaned, the sound going straight to Dane’s dick. He canted forward, his grip loosening and becoming more of a caress, lips brushing.
Then gone. Nothing but air.
Hitting the brakes, Alex tore out of his arms and reeled back. “What are you doing here? You should be in the pool.”
Dane started forward, like a magnet inside him had been switched on and he couldn’t stand to be apart from his paired end, even a few inches too far. “The team’s covering for me.”
Alex held up a hand, forestalling his advance. “While you do what?”
“Help clear your name.”
Alex’s eyes grew wide, before he ducked his head, shaking it. He sat heavily on a stack of bales, hands braced on his knees. “This is my fight, Dane. One I’m not sure I can even win.”