I slick his asshole, kneading his sphincter with my knuckle, pressing only enough to loosen him a bit. Jacks likes some pain. A part of him needs it, and I want to give him everything he needs. My cock presses against him, but I can’t get my angle right. So much for trying to be a slick brother, sliding in all smooth and Barry White-like, but when I throw Jacks’s legs over my shoulders, he opens up for me.
My cock slips inside just enough to make him cry out. I stop moving. His ass clenching and unclenching around my dick makes it damn hard to control myself. Does this boy know what he does to me? Fuck. A part of me dies with each sound from his lips. A little bit of heaven from his mouth. A tiny death.
“Irus,” Jacks mutters. “Don’t stop. Come on, keep going.”
“Not until you tell me you love me. Not until I know you’re mine. Tell me I have no reason to be jealous.”
“There’s no one to be jealous of—”
“Bullshit, I’ve seen how men look at you. They either want to be you or fuck you.”
“They can’t have me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t love them.”
“Who do you love?” I whisper, dropping his legs to hover over him. My lips brush his, and I smell him on our breath.
There’s no answer, so I plummet deep inside him. I pound his ass a few good times before I slow my pace, and we can both breathe again.
“Fuck, I need you!” Jacks cries out.
Might be as close as I get right now. “I love you, Jacks. You’ve no clue how much.” I watch his face. My languid strokes feel so good. I could fuck him all day like this, his face so serene, his blue eyes focused on me. There’s so much emotion pooling in them, but it seems like he’s only giving a small part of himself away. I’m afraid this moment can never last. The fear I might lose him nearly suffocates me. “Don’t leave me, Jacks. Stay right here. I’m sorry.”
I kiss him before he can answer, his impoverished tongue doing all the talking. His desperate need for love fills me. I’ll give him everything I have, all of it, my heart and my life. I’d even come out of the closet for this man. Please God, just don’t take him away from me. “Am I forgiven?”
“Make Branson disappear. Leave yourself inside me, and I’ll forgive you. Prove he’s no longer between us.” His hands clutch me. Our chests sweaty. Our bodies sliding together at an ever-increasing pace, and his words sink into my fear-soaked brain. He wants to forgive me.
“Come for me,” he whispers, pulling me down on top of him.
I growl, thrusting deep. My whole body tenses as I spill into him. The tension in my muscles heightens. I can’t breathe. Fuck.
“Shit, I think I love you,” he whispers.
A fresh wave of tension erupts from my body. I fill my lover, making him mine, and he’ll never be Terry-fucking-Branson’s whore again. Jacks is too precious to me.
“I…love you too.” I can’t catch my breath.
Oh God. I’m gonna have to listen to Kane gloat.
Chapter Fourteen
Highlanders’ Athletic Facility
Jackson McCoy
Irus glances my way. I wink at him from across the locker room. Haines is next to me, preparing for practice. He says something about how great Coach Paul is, and I grunt. I don’t want to get into a discussion about Paul with Haines. It’s nice Haines is talking to me again, but he keeps his distance. Even now, there are more than two arm’s lengths between us as we dress. It’s kind of funny when he changes his drawers.
“What’s the matter, Haines? Not sure which side’s safe around me, your cock or your ass?”
Haines shakes his head. “Aw, man. See now, that shit’s just wrong. Now you got me paranoid.”
“You were already paranoid. Don’t worry. I’m not gonna touch. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m horndogging it every time I’m in the locker room.”
“So you are some of the time?”
“That’s my secret.”
Haines bites his lower lip. He leans in a little, but not too close. “Do you think I’m attractive?”
“Is this a trick question?”
He shakes his head. I’m reminded of his confidence issues. There are faint scars dotting his cheeks. Acne scars. His skin is clear now, and he’s a handsome guy. Baby faced. A pretty boy with light brown skin and green eyes like precious stones. His hair is close cropped, but with kinky curls starting to grow out some. Personally, I prefer Irus’s dark skin and dreads. There’s no denying Alex Haines is a stunning man, though, especially with his slightly broken nose. Yeah, that was Irus. He’s the one who broke the kid’s nose in practice.
“Football players aren’t supposed to be beautiful, Haines. You want to be good or pretty?” Lord knows the pain I’ve endured being thought of as ‘purty’ in this league. I wouldn’t even wish that on someone like Anderson.
“Can’t I be both?”
“I suppose. If I start telling you how attractive you are, it’ll go to your head, and you’ll be impossible to deal with. Are the women complaining?”
Again, he shakes his head.
“What’s going on, Haines?”
“You haven’t made a pass at me. Just thought—”
“I didn’t want to get my head knocked off.”
This conversation has moved from funny ha-ha to funny weird real quick. My answer seems to satisfy the kid, and he leaves me alone. I check the clock. Ten to nine. Time to meet with the doctor.
Doc is supposed to clear me for full practice today. I could’ve been back sooner, but Coach Bryant didn’t want to take any chances. I’ve been strength training, taking all their tests, and jumping through every hoop to get back to where I’m at now. With any luck and hard work, I’ll be able to play in our next game.
“Hey, Coach Paul, who’s your little friend?” Haines asks.
I look up. A boy, about ten or eleven, stands next to Paul. The kid’s small, sort of like I was at his age, with wispy blond hair flopping in his eyes. Christ, it’s like looking into a mirror, only one showing my youth. My mouth’s gone dry.
“This here is Kiernan. He wants to be a football player someday. Kiernan, this is Alex—”
“Alex Haines, I know. Wow, so cool to meet you.”
The kid’s admiration boosts Haines’s tiny ego. I listen to them talk a bit, trying not to stare at them. Paul turns to me.
“Kiernan, this is Jackie McCoy. I practically raised this boy from when he was about your age.”
The kid looks at me like I’m some sort of god.
Paul places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Son, I remember when Jackie here got bounced around pretty good playing high school ball. He was so much smaller than a lot of the other players, but he could go up to get the ball more times than not. Don’t worry about your size right now, Kiernan. Right, Jackie?”
My head hurts. I’m sure grinding my teeth doesn’t help, but I can’t let everyone see how much I hate Paul. Especially not this kid who is just in awe of all of us. I remember the feeling. The first time Paul took me to a real locker room with professional players. Those guys were so big and loud. People were laughing and giving me stuff. Like signed stuff. I still have it all in my memorabilia room. I’ve kept it all, but can’t look at it anymore. Now it means something else to me. Something I’d rather forget about entirely.
“Size doesn’t matter, right, Jackie?”
“Huh?”
“Size doesn’t matter.” Paul expects me to play nice.
“In more ways than one, kid. You gotta play your own game. Don’t let anyone make you play their game. Tell them no way.” I’m not sure the kid gets my meaning. Hell, I’m not sure I do either. Paul doesn’t even notice, too intent on hearing his own voice.
“So, Kiernan, we’re in this college game, an away game, and Jackie goes up to get the ball. Snatches it right out of the air like he’d been doing all night long. Well, the kid covering him was so frustrated that when Jackie went up to catch a deep pass, the kid yanked h
im down to the ground by his foot like a kite. Jackie did a face-plant.”
By now the whole fucking team surrounds Paul, listening to the story, and all I want to do is punch Paul in his face. He’s been doing this shit for days now, telling everyone who’ll listen about me as a kid. He doesn’t tell them the important shit. Doesn’t tell them what kind of father figure he was for me. Or wasn’t. He makes himself sound so heroic. Like he saved me from poverty, abuse, and desertion. Paul Phelps didn’t save me from shit.
“What happened?” Kiernan asks, the awe in his voice catching my attention.
“He popped up still holding the ball.”
“Sounds familiar,” Els calls from the back. “Shoot, boy, you did that last week, didn’t ya?”
Everyone laughs, including Irus. I bite my tongue.
“What happened next?” Kiernan asks, bouncing on his toes, waiting impatiently to hear the story.
“I had to drag him out of the other team’s huddle by his face mask. Kid didn’t even know what day it was, either. Poor boy was concussed.”
“Yep, that was last week.” I don’t know who said it, but a round of laughter follows.
Paul comes over to me, placing his arm over my shoulders, and I cringe under his touch. He’s big like Branson. Still solid. Still loud and boisterous. Still so annoying. Still playing the goddamned hero.
“Jackie, I knew you had something in you even back then,” Paul says. His hand squeezes my shoulder a little too tight, reminding me to be good in front of the kid.
“I gotta go.”
Paul smacks my ass. “See you on the field.”
God, he’s so touchy-feely, and I hate him. When I think about how much he made Mom feel at ease while she was sick in the hospital, my gut twists into knots. At the same time, I’m glad she didn’t have to worry. I’m relieved she never suspected anything. Never found out Paul Phelps was a fraud. I’d call him a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but I think wolves have more honor. They’ll just eat you. Paul Phelps will consume my soul if I let him.
* * * *
The windows looking out on the field are expansive, taking in the lake in the background as well as all the players milling around. Coach Bryant is talking to Eagle, our running back. The kid, Kiernan, is on the practice field with Haines, tossing the ball around on the sidelines. I don’t see Paul anywhere. I’m on break from the medical evaluations, getting ready to do the physical ones next, but I had to check to see where Paul took the kid. Haines looks like he’s having fun with the little guy.
“He looks like that picture of you on your mantle. The one with your mother.” Irus moves in beside me, watching Haines play ball with the kid. “You look like your mother.”
“Yeah, he’s a cute kid. What’re you up to?”
“We’re in the film room today. I love watching film.”
“I know. You’re a freak.”
“So, you gonna tell me what’s up?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“The tension between Coach Paul and you.”
I shrug and look back out the window. “You know how it is with father figures. They figure they’re fatherly, and you figure they’re just jackasses.”
“Jackass? Oh, wait, you mean all the stories he’s been telling about you as a kid? I like them.”
“Well, I wish he wouldn’t.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“You would. You’re nothing but a pain in my ass.”
“Hey, you love that pain in your ass.”
I smile. Irus slides closer, all sly like, and kisses me. We look around to see if we’ve been seen. We’re a couple of teenagers not wanting to get caught right now.
“Is this why you do all the work with foster kids?”
“I like helping those kids. I’m a little worried about Jared. Something’s going on with him. I know his dad is back in jail. Mom’s in rehab. Again. It’s a pattern with those two, and then Jared gets put in foster care. I’ve taken him a few times, in the off-season, but when camp starts up, we have to find other accommodations for him. Believe it or not, the kid hates leaving me. It’s part of his anger. He wants to live with me full-time.”
“I don’t blame him. I want to live with you full-time.”
What the fuck? “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“This shit ain’t funny, Irus. Don’t fuck with my head like this, man. Not cool.”
“I’m not fucking with your head. Take you home tonight? Your place? I like it out there.”
“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
Irus grins. He starts to leave, but turns back to me with sort of a somber expression on his face. “You know, I didn’t realize you had a foster father,” he says. “I guess I thought your grandpa raised you.”
“He did, for a while, Mom was really sick. Grandpa died around the same time she was in the hospital for her double mastectomy. Aortic aneurysm. It was sudden. Happened at the hospital, visiting Mom. He died on the operating table. With Mom in the hospital, no one knew what to do with me. One of the social workers knew about Paul Phelps. Her husband coached football with him. He would sometimes take in foster kids. I had to stay with him for a while.”
“How long were you with him?”
“Years, off and on. By the time I went to college, he was coaching at the university, and when Mom got sick again, I came home from college, giving up a scholarship. Paul got me on the team at the university. He made it happen. Paid her medical bills, cremation, and my college tuition. The man did a lot for us. I guess I owe him. I don’t like owing people.”
“Well, it sounds like he did it because he loves you. You’re all he talks about.”
Yeah, he loved me all right. “Perhaps. Paul likes to be the hero.”
Irus steals another kiss and takes off before we’re caught. Out the window, I see Paul giving Kiernan a ride on his shoulders. The whole thing makes my teeth clench. Paul made me a promise. I pray every day he kept it, but my mind circles back to Jared. Yeah, his childhood sucks. Just hope it doesn’t suck as bad as mine. Most of the foster parents have been apathetic women. That I know of, at least. Jared’s never mentioned Paul. Which is heartening because it means Paul has stayed away from the charity events, leaving them to me, like he promised. Just, I wonder where he found Kiernan?
* * * *
It’s getting late. Most of the guys have gone home. Irus is still watching film, his favorite pastime, and he even watches it at home on his laptop. The weight room’s empty except for me, my trainer Steve, and Paul Phelps. Kiernan’s with him too. Paul’s putting the kid through his paces, lifting barbells and dumbbells, going from machine to machine.
“Come on, Jackson. Focus.”
My trainer helps guide the barbell into place, adding more weight before I lift it once more. I can hear Paul across the room, his booming voice not subtle as he laughs and jokes around with Kiernan. Paul grates on my nerves.
“Kiernan, son, that was a great workout. Now we need to hit the showers.”
The barbell comes down on my chest. Oh fuck, that’s gonna leave a mark. Steve lifts it up, placing it back in its cradle. I sit up, grabbing my towel to wipe my face and discreetly rub my chest.
“I’m done, Steve.”
“You did really well today. Let me go fill out the paperwork and talk to Doc. Be right back.”
“Sure.”
Steve leaves the room. Paul and Kiernan are right behind him. On a rack sitting across from me are a variety of dumbbells. I grab a fifteen pounder and head out of the gym. There’s no one around as I make my way to the showers. I can hear Paul telling Kiernan to get undressed so he can shower. They’re not in the shower room yet.
“Take everything off?” Kiernan asks, sounding a little uncomfortable.
Say no, kid. Please, say no.
“Yes, take everything off. See, just like me. Grab your towel.”
It’s now or never. I’ve got to stop this before everything goes hide
ously wrong. I can’t let them in the showers. I can’t let that little boy who looks so much like me into this shower room. There’s no living with myself if I don’t do something.
With a deep breath, I run into the showers, swinging my fifteen-pound dumbbell, smashing the first showerhead I see. Water sprays out, hitting me in the face, and I fumble for the lever, trying to turn it off. The valve must’ve been stuck. My hair’s wet and in my eyes. The next shower takes a few more swings to snap it off. The next one’s easier as I move along, smashing every goddamn showerhead until they’re all lying on the floor.
Water gushes down the drain and my sweats are soaked. When the final showerhead hits the floor, I become aware of the screaming. At first I think it’s the kid, but reality penetrates my enraged mind. I’m the one screaming.
“What the fuck?” It’s Paul’s voice. Right out of my nightmares. “What the fuck’re you doing, Jackie?”
“I said don’t call me that—don’t!” I wave the dumbbell for emphasis.
People crowd into the shower room to stare at me. I back up, not dropping my weapon. Haines slips in, and I point to him with the dumbbell. “Get that kid dressed. Take him home.”
“Can’t Coach Paul—”
“No! No. You take him. Haines, you take him home. Please. Take him home.”
Paul rushes me, slamming me into the wall, and yanks the dumbbell from my hands. I can feel his hard body beneath the towel. He makes me sick. “Don’t touch me.”
I’m bigger now. He can’t do this to me anymore. I take a swing at him. The sound of my fist as it connects with his jaw wrenches a deep satisfaction from my gut.
“Jackie? Have you gone insane?”
“Stop calling me Jackie.”
“Hey, hey, hey, I got him!” Irus hollers over the sudden onslaught of voices. He shoves Paul away and takes my arm. Flanked by Doc and Steve, Irus leads me out of the room. Assistant Coach Daily is with them. I can hear the confusion in his voice as he asks someone what just happened.
“Let’s get him out of here. He doesn’t like the showers,” Irus says, leading me away from the white-tiled room into the hallway. My vision’s gone blurry. Fuzzy around the edges like tunnel vision. Irus’s grip on my arm is gentle. Someone has my other one. Steve, I think.
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