“No.”
“The kid was already in a rough situation, but his school pics showed a skinny, freckle-faced kid with a goofy smile—now he’s overweight, a smoker, a drinker when he can get his hands on it, and truth be told, a bully. I’ve been working with him a while now. I’ve noticed a difference in him when he started Jackson’s football program. I’ve wanted for some time now to talk to Jackson, but Cole was resistant.”
“I don’t understand. How long ago did all this start?”
“Cole’s been trying to get Phelps for years. Friends in high places and the murder of Cole’s husband derailed his investigation.”
“Murder?”
Frank’s voice softens as he says gently, “Jake killed Cole’s husband, Danny.”
“While Maddox was investigating Phelps?”
Up until now, the talkative Frank has been right there with me. Now silence occupies the other end of the phone.
“Isn’t Jake the one who shot you? Attacked Kane? This the guy you’re talking about, right? Is Jackson in danger?”
“Jake’s dead. It’s a completely different case.”
Frank’s voice changes, takes on an official tone, like a New York detective getting the scent of something not right. A bloodhound on a trail. Goose bumps break out across my skin. No way is what I’m thinking real. Could Paul be willing to kill to protect his ability to…? To have sex with young boys? Such a wild speculation, and it makes me sick to even let my mind give birth to the idea. I feel dirty just thinking about it, honestly. Is Frank’s brain going in the same direction as mine?
“I’m no detective—” I start to say.
“No, you’re not,” he says, short and curt, no longer sounding like the friendly shrink. “I’ve got to go. Cole’s getting out of the shower. I’ll tell him you called.” He rattles off his phone number, and tells me to call him when Jacks returns. After that I hear the beep of the disconnection.
What the fuck just happened? I’ve never pressed Kane for any details, but right now that’s all I want to do. I want to grill him for everything he knows about Jake. Could Jake have been someone Paul hired to get Maddox off the trail? What if Jake was one of Paul’s kids? Damn Frank for hanging up on me before I could ask all these questions.
The sliding door grinds in its track, and I hear Auntie giving Jackson an earful about being gone so long. My stomach unknots with relief, but now a new tension festers. What if Paul tries to hurt Jackson? What if Paul’s motives for taking the receivers’ coaching position was to get at Jacks? Could the death of Maddox’s husband be related to the case?
The prickling feeling I’m being watched makes me look up. Jacks stands in the opening between the foyer and the living room. He’s watching me. Dark rings deepen his eyes. He appears wasted. Like he’s spent the last hours running from a predator and can’t run anymore. Snow melts and trickles from his hair. My man is cold and worn. A threadbare soul.
With his frozen hand in mine, I lead him to the staircase and silently up to the bathroom. At the doorway, he hesitates, and I drop his hand to turn on the shower. Steam begins to fill the room. Jacks stays just outside the door but too weary to show fear. I take advantage of exhaustion to wave him into the room. The man should know by now I won’t hurt him, and my heart fills with an unexplainable joy when he stutter-steps into the bathroom.
Jacks nearly falls into me, but I snatch him up by his shirtfront, diving into his mouth and sucking him into a desperate, devouring kiss. He smells like the woods. Pine and cedar. Fresh melting snow soaks his clothes, and I start to peel them off.
The steam swallows us, and Jacks pulls away from me. I can still see the faint bruises from our last scrimmage. Receivers get hit hard, but man, can they take it. Jacks most of all. My mistake early on was thinking he was weak, but now I know he’s stronger than me. Boy’s been through so much, just like Kane, and just keeps going with a smile on his face, playing the clown. Now it’s catching up to him, and I see his inner workings. A glimpse of the cogs powering the machine that drives him.
“Will you let me bathe you?” I ask with a gentle tone, not wanting to spook him.
Jacks is half-naked. I’ve slid most of his clothing to the floor. His jeans are open and down his hips. I want to make love to him, but this isn’t about sex. It’s about trust. Jacks’s hands fist and unfurl. That delicious tongue snakes out to lick his lips and disappears. I’m struck dumb by his existence. The man is a vortex that’s sucked me in, and now I’m lost without him.
“Please,” I say without any qualms over begging.
Jacks nods.
I immediately plug the tub, focusing on filling it with hot water but cool enough so it doesn’t burn Jacks’s ice-cold body. When I turn around, I see a bit of the fear in his eyes as he stares at the tub. I slip my hand around his midsection and pull him against me so my warmth can seep into his skin.
“This is me here. Only me.” I kiss him, sliding my hand down between his jeans and his ass, pushing the denim away. He steps out of them without breaking the fusion of our lips. The tangle of our tongues grows tighter, and I feel the press of my dick inside my jeans. Later, I tell myself. Down, boy.
The pain in my chest as I break the kiss reminds me of Garrett jabbing his finger to my sternum. Yeah, I’m not about to fuck this up.
I take Jacks’s arm and guide him into the water. He steps into the tub, but the dig of his fingers into my other arm reveals his tension. “Come in with me,” he says, so quietly I almost miss the sound.
When I don’t answer, he looks at me, still holding my arm, and says, “Please.”
I’m not going to make my man beg. I nod and ease him into the water, splashing some up over his shoulders to fend off his shivers. Then I straighten to strip. His intense gaze shifts as I pull each article of clothing from my body, until I stand bare before him, and I still wait for his permission.
Jacks scoots forward as an invitation and I step in behind him. As I sit, the hot water envelops our bodies, washing us in the trust I’m trying to develop, and Jacks leans stiffly into me. I throw my legs over his, my skin a dark, wet contrast to his whiteness. With my arm around his middle, I ease him closer to me and use my other hand to work the water over his smooth skin.
A soft moan comes from his lips, and he pushes his ass back against my achingly hard dick.
“No,” I say, encasing his beautiful hip with my hand to stop his movement. In his ear, I whisper, “Trust me. No sex. None. No matter how bad each of us wants it, babe. This is us trusting each other. Let me bathe you.”
I cup my hands together, scooping water up to drop over his head, wetting the already stringy strands. Next, I take his shampoo and squeeze a generous portion into my hand. As I work the lather into his hair, he begins to talk, softly at first, but then he clears his throat.
“He’d shower me. Not like you’re doing. Different. He’d focus on other parts of my body. Not my hair. Not ever.”
I lean Jacks across my body, holding his head against my chest as his feet press against the burnt-umber tile. I love this room, and I love this man. Now I need to make him feel safe in here with me. Suds streak my chest as I slowly work his hair down into the water, keeping his face just above the surface, washing away so much more than soap. He looks up at me as I work to expunge that sadistic fuck, Paul, from our lives. Jacks suddenly sits up and kisses me, slopping water over the edge of the tub onto the floor.
The fervor, the taste of conviction in his mouth, tells me I’m forgiven for the photos. I’m still the man he wants touching him, and I hold him tight, allowing him to control the kiss. When we break free, he whispers a plea for sex, and again, I tell him no. I settle him down once more, this time facing me. I lather up a washcloth, and the invigorating scent I associate with Jacks fills my nose, crisp like a glacier, sharp and clear.
With his legs tossed over mine, I pull him closer, and he cinches around my waist like a perfect fit. The washcloth covers my hand with lather, and I stroke
it up his throat, around his neck, sliding back down over his chest. We’re silent. Neither of us willing to break this bond. Our dicks are hard, bobbing in the water, brushing each other, building the same trust. Unable to help myself, I kiss Jacks, and he opens for me, scooting just a millimeter closer. I stop him with a cloth-covered hand, still bathing him even as our kiss depends. Without much more thought, I slide my fingers into his hair, grasping for the control he gives me. I lick the inside of his mouth, dancing my tongue along his teeth and lips, pulling away to run along the faint stubble of his jaw, down to his throat.
I pull back spitting, the tang of soap on my tongue, and he laughs. Jacks moves to rinse away the suds.
“That’s my job,” I say.
Jacks stalls and drops his hands to my ankles. He leans back, his long hair swirling in the soapy water, exposing his dick, chest, and throat to me. Such a vulnerable move, and I rinse my cloth, using it, along with my hands, to splash water across his body. I drop the cloth to run my hands up his torso, culminating in my fingers slipping around his throat to the back of his neck, pulling him to me.
“I love you,” I whisper to his lips. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me the same thing for real, but I don’t want to hear it until this thing with Paul is done. When that fucker is in jail, you can tell me you love me, but not one second before, you understand me?”
“You’re forcing me to do the deposition.”
“I’m giving you the choice of deciding who is more important to you, the man who hurt you or the man who loves you.”
God, I pray I’m not destroying the trust. I’m forcing him because it’s the right thing to do, for himself and all the potential victims, but that’s not why I’m doing it. I need to know, when everything is said and done, I’m the one he loves. I know the words are hard for him, so I’ll give him action.
Jacks drops his head to my shoulder, and I hold him. I no longer feel the bump and rub of his dick against mine. I’ve let Paul back in again. Damn it. Still, I hold Jacks, not letting go or easing up. His arms snake around my body, and his soft voice says, close to my ear, “I’ll put the fucker away.”
Joy explodes in my heart. I crush him to me, and he confesses once more into my ear, “I trust you. Don’t make me regret it, you hear?”
“Loud and clear.”
“No more rent boys with infatuations leaking compromising photos.” Jacks sighs. “Well, welcome to the club. Now you’re out and proud. How do you feel?”
“Like I’m worth more than six hundred thousand a year.”
“Oh, is that all, rook? When you get to thirty-six mil just in bonuses, give me a call.”
“Can’t I just roll over and kiss you?”
“Don’t go getting all mushy on me, I-reese.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jacks looks down between us, his eyes hungry, and he takes my dick in his hand. The look he flashes me, of innocent yet devilish defilement, makes me groan. I lean back in the tub as he covers my body with his, kissing me into a brainless mass of flesh, his hand stroking my cock. Fuck me. I want to stop him, to tell him he doesn’t have to, but he swallows my words. His tongue creates an incredible distraction, while his hand works at my dick like a fucking milking machine. I cry out as I come, his hand tight on my cock, his mouth sucking in every sound I make until I’m breathless and sagging.
“I can’t wait until the day I can say those words,” he says into my mouth.
Close enough for me. When I reach for him, he lies across my chest, the water lapping at our bodies. I realize he’s soft.
“Did you?”
“Uh-huh. So good,” he whispers in a sleepy voice.
I smile to myself, but then kiss his head. With almost no sleep last night, my boy is gone, and I should move him to the bed. “We’ll drown in here.”
“Then we’ll die happy,” he murmurs into my chest.
I’m inclined to leave him where he is, at least until the water gets cold.
* * * *
“I-reese! Jackson! Ya boys git down here. Football and grub! Get ta movin’!”
Auntie Beulah’s voice ping-pongs around the tile even from the foot of the stairs. Jacks jerks awake, a trail of drool stringing from his lips to my chest, and he wipes it away with tepid water.
“Sorry,” he murmurs thickly, a nice, deep sleep leaving him groggy.
I hug him, hauling his ass up with me as I stand, his cramped legs helping as much as possible.
“Told you it was a bad idea to sleep in the tub.”
“The longest I’ve ever been in this room,” Jacks mutters, sort of sounding surprised.
“I enjoyed it too,” I say as I grab a towel and dry Jacks. I smack his ass when he runs off to get dressed.
I hear him holler over the railing, “Smells good, Miss Beulah! Be down in a minute. What’s the score?”
“It’s the Pirates. What do you think the score is?” Garrett asks, his voice carrying all the way into the bathroom.
“Fucker,” says Jacks right back at Garrett.
“You got a ring,” Garrett hollers.
“I’ll have another one too, when the Highlanders goose egg them in the championship this year!”
“Gonna have to start playing like you mean it, McCoy,” Garrett says.
Jackson turns from the railing, a shit-eating grin on his face. My man loves to banter. He looks at me and hollers over his shoulder, “Gotta get our defense going.”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “Offense needs to start doing something with the turnovers I create.”
“Yeah, well, both of you girls played like you broke a nail last week,” Garrett says and then yells something unintelligible at the TV.
Jackson looks at me, an eyebrow raised, and says, “He’s your brother-in-law.”
“He’s a pain in my ass.”
I grab the football sitting on a shelf. “Heads up!” I chuck the ball over the railing. Jacks never takes his eyes off me, even as the ball whistles past his head.
The sound of running footsteps smacking the hardwood drifts up from living room. Glass breaks and there’s swearing.
“I got it!” Garrett’s voice drifts up from the living room, sounding a bit muffled and pained.
“You know, he probably broke my granddaddy’s decanters.”
“Shit, sorry,” I say to Jacks.
“Don’t worry about it. At least he caught it, which means it’s a good thing you’re not our QB.”
Jackson starts rummaging for some clothes. His back is to me, and I hate to ask the question that might ruin his good mood, but I can’t help myself. “We go back to practice day after tomorrow. How do you feel about that?”
He yanks his sweats up and turns to me. “I’m stuck between excitement and dread. I’ve been dropping balls because I can’t concentrate with Paul riding me.”
“You talked to Coach Bryant or Daily?”
“They know the score, but doesn’t mean shit if I can’t do something on the field. You know that.”
I do. “Talk to me when he comes at you from left field like that, and we’ll work through it, okay?”
“Quit mixing metaphors.”
I laugh. “You know what I mean. If he touches you, I want to know about it.”
“So you can be pissed, frothing at the mouth, and absolutely useless?”
“We can come home and fuck our frustrations away.”
“Appealing. I’ll take you up on that, but let me deal with Paul in my own way.”
“Sure. You got it.”
“Now, what about you?”
“What about me?”
“You gotta face a whole team of guys who thought you were straight. You didn’t pipe up when I was outed, and they’ll want to know why you were a chickenshit. What’re you gonna tell them?”
“That my boyfriend made me keep my mouth shut.”
Jacks throws his shirt at me, and Auntie hollers again from downstairs.
* * * *
There’s nothing qu
ite like prime-time football, except prime-time football on Thanksgiving. We gather around the living room, plates loaded down with the feast Auntie and Kane prepared. Kane sits near the fireplace, cross-legged on the floor, balancing his plate on his lap with Garrett right next to him. Jacks and I sit on the couch; our plates are on the coffee table. Auntie’s in the big chair, her feet kicked up on an ottoman. We’re engrossed in the football game on TV.
Kane seems perplexed. The football game has all his attention, but he glances at me. “Why do we hate the Pirates again?”
“They’re a pack of gay bashers,” I say. Jacks slips his hand in mine but gives me an admonishing look.
“Gay bashers,” Kane says. His fingers trail his throat. “Why do you call them that?”
“They beat me up when they found out I was gay.” Jacks explains to Kane about the last time he was in the Pirates’ locker room. I’m surprised to hear him admit the truth.
A cold glare forms in Kane’s eyes. “Then we shall hate them for all time.”
Auntie sighs. “Lord, weren’t they all back in my day.”
“It’s getting better,” I say, not sure who I’m trying to convince. Perhaps it’s more hopefulness on my part than anything else. Mostly I say it to make Jacks feel more secure.
Kane turns back to the TV, watching the game I know he doesn’t understand, and when Garrett yells at the TV, Kane studies the replay. He’s determined to learn what the whole jumbled mess means.
“I don’t get it? Explain to me why that was offensive pass interference!” Kane is frustrated, but Garrett rests his big hand on my best friend’s knee.
“Babe, the receiver turned him. He wasn’t going to get the ball, so he tried to keep the defender from picking it, but he used an illegal move.”
“Cheaters. Pirates suck.”
“I know you’re angry, Kane. I love your loyalty,” Jacks says to him. “Sometimes, though, we all get caught doing something sort of against the rules.” He looks at me like somehow I’m the cheater.
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