“Kid can’t catch a ball to save his sorry life.”
“He says he’s gonna bench me,” I interrupt. “Send in Haines as your number one. Mal and I have all the plays and timings down. Our tempo is good. You can’t bench me!”
“No one is benching you,” Coach Bryant says. “I think it’s been a long first day back. Go home. Get clean and warm. Have some food, and think about the team.” He looks at Paul. “I’ll decide who goes in and who warms a bench around here. Not you.”
“Just trying to do my job.”
“Maybe you’re being a bit too old school. Some of these young receivers need a coach who’s understanding, not threatening. Try a different approach tomorrow. We all want the same thing here.” Coach looks at me, a double meaning in his stare, and I nod.
“Yes, Coach.”
“Now go change. Paul, you and I should talk strategies. We’ll get Jackson catching the ball again. I’ve no worries.”
Coach Bryant leads Paul away. Irus doesn’t let me go, clinging to me as long as he wants, watching the two men leave.
“I’m gonna make those goddamn plays to spite him.”
Irus leans his head against mine like a big cat, his large paws holding me. “What’d he say?”
“Called you a thug. Said I was a slut. Said I wanted him when I was a kid. That he loved me.”
Irus went still. His breath shallow. Anger radiates through him into my body, and I realize we’re both shaking. “Sick fuck,” he says in my ear.
“He knows your auntie is Bert Beaumont. Paul’s not stupid. He knows something is up. Asked me who I told.”
“Lord have mercy,” Irus whispers, sounding like a subtle version of Beulah.
“We’re all gonna need it, Irus.”
* * * *
I practically crawl up the stairs. My legs are rubber imitations of my real limbs. Kane and Garrett are all kissy face by the couch, working to pull out the bed. Probably gonna have to listen to them fuck again tonight. Nope, I’m too tired. I won’t hear a thing.
Halfway up the stairs, Miss Beulah grabs my arm and drags me the rest of the way up to my room. She deposits me on my bed, and I roll away with a groan. The bruises from Irus’s tackle ache.
“I’m sorry, child. It’s my fault. Shoulda stayed away from tha piece of sad, old leather. Took ’im a bit to figger it out, but he made me. Wanted to deck his ass so bad, baby child. Took all my strength, ya know?”
“Don’t worry, Auntie. Jacks did it for you.” Irus rounds the bed, sits down beside me, working at my socks, stripping one and then the other. His big hands surround my feet, hard fingers digging into sore spots I didn’t even know I had, and I’m so fucking grateful for him. I can’t even express it, but I think he knows. Irus is a smart man. A better man than I am.
“Well, best get ta bed. Y’all get some sleep.”
Miss Beulah turns away. She’s down the first two steps when I stop her. “Thanks for not snapping him in half.”
“Can’t make no promises for next time,” she says and hoofs it down the stairs.
“I agree with her, boy. Don’t know how I’m gonna unhear what you told me.”
“I think it’s safe to say Paul deserves to go to jail, and tomorrow I’m going to do the deposition. Right after practice. Do you want to come with me?”
“You know I do. Auntie’s promised to give one too.”
From below in the living room, we hear the soft sounds of Kane and Garrett getting busy. Irus grins at me.
“When do the lovebirds go home?” I ask.
“Yeah, about that,” he says.
“What?”
Irus stops rubbing my feet. “I’ve been talking to Auntie. She wants to stay until Paul is put away. Kane and Garrett have promised to go home and take care of her buildings while she’s here. I’ve been thinking she can stay here and we can go to my place, which is closer to the facility, or vice versa.”
“I don’t mind the long drive, but I don’t want anyone disrupting their lives for us.”
“No problem. Auntie can stay at my place. Kane and Garrett are heading back after the game this weekend.”
“Should we give Maddox tickets?”
Irus grins. “Fuck no. It’d look fishy, right?”
“Right,” I say, as I move gingerly to the edge of the bed.
“We need to soak those muscles. A bath?” Irus asks me.
“Yeah, sure. Couldn’t hurt,” I say, knowing my agreement means more to him than a mere bath. It’s become a symbol of our trust, I think. He keeps trying to prove himself to me, when it should be the other way around. Sure, he’s had his rent boys, but I’ve been the locker room slut…in a way, since I was a kid.
I follow him into the bathroom. He bends over the side of the tub, gets the water the right temp and plugs the drain.
“I want you to know, Branson has been the only man I’ve been with in the last few years. Everything being said are lies. I never fucked all those men the folks on Twitter say I have, you know? People like to make stuff up. I don’t know why.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He stands and stretches. “What’s up? I thought we already went through this. Is it what Paul said?”
“Partly, I guess. When I was a kid, I thought Paul loved me, and I forgot that part of it, which makes me wonder if I didn’t somehow encourage him to do those things.”
Irus leans down to check the water. “Even if you did, which you didn’t, he was the adult. He should’ve controlled himself.”
“The way we controlled ourselves last night? We weren’t going to have sex. You didn’t want to make it about sex, but what did I do? What I always do, take a big dick in my hand and jack it off until we’re both a pile of goo in dirty bathwater.”
Irus shakes the water from his hands and straightens. His long fingers rest gently on my cheeks, his big hands the perfect size for my face, and he kisses me. The tang of him is addictive. I kick up the heat, kissing him with more aggression, but he pulls away.
“We’re adults. We know what we’re doing and the consequences. We can say the hell with everything, no matter the cost, but a child doesn’t have that same ability. You didn’t have that choice, yet you survived however you could, and I’m completely amazed by your resiliency. One of the reasons I love you so much.”
My loss for words leaves the running water the only sound in the room. I can barely hear my shallow breathing. This man makes me more vulnerable than Paul ever did, and I wonder if it’s a smart thing to give in to this feeling.
I look around the room, at the beautiful tile, the tasteful way my mother remodeled it, and how much this space has now become my sanctuary because of Irus Beaumont. “You make me feel weak. In a good way. You scare me.”
“Don’t be scared. I’ll be strong for you. Time you took a break. Now, bath, bed, no sex, and lots of sleep. Busy day in the morning.”
* * * *
“All right, all right. I gotta know,” says Eldridge. “How long you been battin’ fer the other team?”
The locker room’s a flurry of activity. Practice went well, and I didn’t drop any passes. Mal and I are going over the playbook when I hear Els harassing Irus. To his credit, Irus keeps his cool. He allows the wet towel to slide from his dark hips. My gorgeous man’s dick hangs long and heavy over his balls. My face flushes, the heat coming slowly up from my neck. Irus’s tight curls are damp, and all I want to do is lick the water from his skin. Mal nudges me, and I return to the touch-screen tablet in his hands as his finger draws out the plays he has in his head.
The groans across the room tells me Irus managed to achieve his goal. Not only does everyone look at his junk at least for a quick second, a few guys look twice when he scratches his balls. Irus grins like a fool.
“Look at all y’all starin’… That’s right, I’m a god. You may bask in my glory.”
Irus takes a wet towel to the face. Someone growls for him to put on some clothes. I think it was our punter. Ni
ce, sweet, bible-thumping boy from Oklahoma. I like him. He’s a good guy.
“Just answer the question, bro.” Els pushes Irus playfully.
“Been into guys since I can remember. Had my first experience when I was sixteen.”
“What’s it like, you know, to have a dick shoved up your ass?” asks one of the offensive linemen, a guy by the name of Chuck Etterson, a rookie out of UCLA.
Els looks at him. “Ask your sister.”
Etterson laughs. “I did, but she told me to ask your brother.”
Everyone starts in now, and it’s fair game on everyone’s family members. Etterson’s voice rises above the din. “No, seriously. I want to know if it’s worth the pillow biting.”
“Etterson, you ever had your prostate checked?” asks Els.
“I ain’t old like you,” Etterson responds. Els takes the ribbing without any qualms.
“All right, I give you that…well, I’ll admit—if this gets around outside this locker room, I’m killing me some folks.” Els points his finger at the most likely culprits and continues. “On occasion, my missus and I like to get a little freaky. Sometimes that beautiful finger of hers finds my prostate, and it’s like hearing glory of the bells.”
“Yeah, but a finger ain’t a dick,” says Etterson.
“True, but try a finger and imagine a dick,” Els says. “Imagine the possibilities.” He throws an arm over Etterson’s big shoulder, pushing him down onto one of the wide leather ottomans with our team logo embroidered in the center. Els puts his towel-draped, half-naked leg up next to him. I can tell by the flush in Etterson’s face, he’s getting the full monty shot.
“The possibilities are endless. What if you like that finger up your butt? What if you meet a girl, and she has a strap-on?” Els straightens, looks around the gathering players, and asks, “What do they call that?”
“Pegging!” someone shouts from somewhere suspiciously like the Bible Belt of lockers, but no one claims to know.
“Yes, that’s right, pegging. What if this doll of a woman, cute little blonde with perky breasts and deep blue eyes, asks to stick her finger in your ass? You say okay. Then next time, she asks if you’d mind taking a teensy butt plug up there, you know, for shits and giggles.”
Etterson is thinking hard, his face red, but listening intently to everything Els is saying. Thoughtful murmurs and a few laughs echo around the room. Els has a captive audience, and he’s working it. He stands and looks to the room, his long, dark fingers playing with the edge of his towel.
“Say this sweet thang makes you feel so good. That butt plug is replaced with a bigger one, but her mouth is on your dick, and the pressure on your hidden gland makes you feel like the universe is delivering all her secrets.” His voice grows in tempo, like a Baptist preacher facing a congregation. “Suddenly, that plug is gone. You feel empty, hollow, until that lovely, sweet thang shoves her big, black strap-on right up your ass, and you blow your wad all over the ceiling.”
Etterson blinks. “I don’t…I gotta go.” He runs from the room, heading to the showers among friendly jeers. Probably to beat off. Everyone laughs.
“You sound like you speak from experience, Els,” Mal says, having forgotten the playbook.
“Let’s just say, I had a lot of fun in college, and leave it at that, my friend.” Els walks away with a smug look and a swagger.
Irus grins at me. I’m disappointed in the amount of clothing he has put on, but I get to sleep next to his naked body every night, so I can’t be selfish. He looks at the clock. Time is ticking. I’ve got to be in Seattle to give my deposition in a few hours. I nod.
“Gotta get ready to head out, Mal. E-mail me with any changes?”
“You got it, man. Hey, great practice today. Your angelic hands have returned. A good sign for Sunday.”
“Yeah, it is, huh?”
Haines is at his locker. A big grin plasters his face, and I look around the room. The whole team is smiling, a few guys are dancing, others are joking around, and everything feels easy. The tempo of the team feels right. Like we’re gonna win tomorrow. Like nothing’s going to stop us. There’s magic in this room. I can feel it and so can everyone else. We’ve finally hit our groove.
“How much you wanna bet Etterson is in the shower jacking off?” Haines asks me.
“That’s a sucker’s bet, and I ain’t going in there to find out.”
Haines laughs and finishes stripping to head for the shower. “Let you know how it turns out,” he shouts over his shoulder.
“What the fuck? Just ’cause I’m gay, you think I want to know every time a guy jacks off in the shower?”
Haines chuckles and keeps on walking. I change my clothes, still not willing to brave the shower room at work. Irus bumps me from behind, his hard chest to my back, and says, “Come on, we can get ready at my place.”
Now he’s reading my thoughts? The look on my face must broadcast my confusion.
“My grandma always says, when you can read your lover’s mind, it’s time to get married.”
I damn near break my neck with my double take. “What the—”
“Just sayin’ I know what goes on inside your nugget. Probably better ’n you. Come on. If we hurry, there might be time for a wrestle.”
I shake my head and follow Irus from the building. The promise of some roughhousing before time to go has me hustling out to the car. I’m going to enjoy my good mood while I can.
Chapter Twenty-One
FBI Field Office, Seattle, WA
Irus Beaumont
The glow in Jacks’s eyes doesn’t abate until the elevator doors close. The vibrant man who just enjoyed a round of phenomenal combat sex stands morose, like he’s attending a funeral. This has got to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, leading the man I love to confront the things in his past he wishes would die quietly. I have to believe it’s the right thing to do for everyone. The media circus, once the story breaks, is going to be so much worse than anything so far.
We’re greeted by Frank at the outer bank of offices on the fifth floor. He shakes our hands and leads us with his limping gait to the conference room where Maddox and several others wait for us.
“Cole wanted me to be here in case you need me, Jackson.”
“Thanks, I—” Jacks swallows whatever was meant to come next, stalling at the door to the conference room. He turns to me, a gleam in his eyes, but a calmness to his voice. “Wait here, Irus. Please. You know enough. You don’t need to know all of it, okay?”
Talk about being caught in the headlights. The look in his pained blue gaze leaves me speechless, but I nod my head. After a moment, I say, “I wanted to be there for you.”
“You are, and when I’m done, I’ll need you. Will you stay with him, Mr. Frank, and keep him company?”
“Sure thing, kid. Not a problem. I think we have a lot to talk about anyway.”
I’m reminded of our conversation earlier in the week. I would like a chance to ask all those questions. Plus, I want to tell Frank about Paul getting suspicious.
Jacks smiles and squares up his shoulders. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” Frank and I say in unison.
Once Jacks disappears into the room, Frank turns to me and says, “We gotta talk, Beaumont.”
“Coffee?”
“Fuck yes, but I want something a little stiffer,” he says as I follow him back to the elevator.
We wind up a few blocks down from the building, in a small, trendy establishment. After I sign a few autographs, we order drinks. Frank and I settle into a booth in back.
“If Cole knew I was digging into this, he’d be pissed, but I went back through everything that had to do with Danny’s death. All seemed pretty much like we thought, but what isn’t factored in is a lonesome threat Cole received a few weeks prior, warning him off all his cases. Not just one, but all of them. Cole figured it was someone who didn’t want anyone knowing which case was involved. At least going by his notes. A few days be
fore the attack on Danny, a car drives by, slows, and someone leans out shouting gay slurs. Cole doesn’t pay any attention to the incident. I remember him calling me to talk about it and how he hated that Danny heard it all.”
“What’s this have to do with Jackson or Paul?”
“Cole was only working two cases at the time, the Paul Phelps molestation case and a case involving an influx of illegal pharmaceuticals—steroids, fake Viagra, shit like that… It was either one of those two cases, and I don’t know if fake Viagra is a good enough reason to rape and kill a man.”
For a second, I sit back, wondering what I’m doing here. Do I want to know what happened to Maddox’s husband? If I learn the horrid details, I’ll know what happened to Kane, and if I think that could happen to Jacks, or that Paul had something to do with it, I can’t begin to explain what I’d do to the man.
“Don’t—don’t give me details, please.”
Frank takes a drink of his whiskey and coffee. “I understand. Believe me, I know. I deal with Cole every day and his worry over what I might and might not remember. I can definitely spare you the details.”
“Does Maddox suspect a link between Paul and his husband’s death?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’d like to keep it that way until the trial is over.”
“Is Jacks in danger?”
Frank’s dark gaze finds mine. “I can’t tell you yes or no.”
“Paul suspects something. He recognized my auntie. Confronted Jacks about it.”
“What happened?”
“He told Jacks how much he loved him. What he did was love, and the creepy part is I think the bastard believes it. That sleeping with a little boy is love. My fear is Jacks believes him.”
Frank stares at his drink. He spins the mug slowly. “I can’t tell you how much I don’t understand that mentality. I’m sorry Jacks has to relive this, but so does Jared and every other boy he’s touched.”
“He doesn’t just touch them.” I can’t keep the snarl out of my voice. Memories of Kane living on the streets to avoid his father and his ilk. I feel guilty for having a huge, loving family spread out all across the country. Family I can go to at a moment’s notice, who’ll take me in and love me, feed me, clothe me, and ask if I’m doing fine. I can’t ever give Kane or Jacks those memories.
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