“Listen, you need to keep your head on straight. You hafta work around this guy and not kill him.”
“Have you figured out who this Jake asshole was?” I ask. I don’t want to think about Paul on the sidelines, eye-fucking my boyfriend.
“I’m going through everything we have on Paul. Cole’s been looking for other victims. Maybe Jake will turn up there, who knows.”
“That’s it, that’s all you got?”
“The ping on his prints was for the other murders. The same problem as before, an unknown print. A killer without an identity. The man never gave Kane a last name, and Jake had never been fingerprinted. Never so much as an arrest for shoplifting or assault, the kinds of things we see in volatile personalities.”
“Is that usual?” I ask.
Frank shrugs. “Most serial killers have never been in a speck of trouble, until they get cocky and make mistakes. Which means he was smart. He wasn’t just a common criminal. The things he did were with passion. Cruelty and joy. He got a sexual thrill from the killing, not the rape. No, the sexual assault was only part of it. For him it was the beating. The strangulation gave him control. To feel something or someone expire under his power, that’s what got him off.”
Christ. I said no details. How can he sit there without emotion and relay this shit to me? “Still, you’d think he’d have some kind of identification. A life somewhere.”
“He did. Seattle was ground zero for this sick fuck. We’ll find him, but if Paul is responsible for Danny… If he made one monster, he might’ve made more, and who knows what’s going on in his mind? Be careful with him, Beaumont.”
We sit for a while, finishing our drinks. A new worry washes through me, and I can’t help but wonder how this is all going to play out.
“I wanted you to know,” says Frank. “Also, I have a list of ‘Jakes.’ Kids Paul had contact with over the years. It’s slow going, but I’m trying.”
“And you remember nothing about your previous investigation?”
“There’s something in my head. Has to be because I went to that building that night for a reason. There’s nothing in my notes on file. I didn’t talk to anyone. Cole said I was forced to call him, lure him to the building. We figure it was because of Günter, the kid Jake killed. I can tell you this: if it were just me in trouble, Cole would be the last person I’d endanger. Always been that way with us. I imagine it’s that way between you and Jackson.”
“You got that right.”
“So, you’re going to have to understand something. Jackson may not want to talk about the deposition. Don’t make him. Just be there. That’s all you can do. He’ll talk when he’s ready.”
Frank’s advice is in direct contrast to Garrett’s. I guess it’s going to be up to me to figure this out on my own.
“When are they going to arrest Paul?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure Cole will call you with the heads-up.” Frank shoves his empty mug away and throws a few bucks on the table. “Let’s get back before they’re done. I want to make sure Jackson is okay before you guys take off.”
* * * *
When we get back, Jacks and Maddox are in the lobby of the building, drinking coffee near a coffee stand. Jackson looks tired. I put my hand on his back, rubbing small circles as a group of businessmen and women look our direction. They smile and wave. A few come over for autographs and pics. Jacks perks up a bit, and he has a great time talking to the fans.
“Going to decimate Ft. Lauderdale on Sunday,” one woman says.
Jacks smiles for a photo with her. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“That’s what I like about you,” another woman says. “You’re such a good sport.”
“Betsy,” the other woman says, as if speaking to a child. “They’re going to hand Ft. Lauderdale their asses on a platter, and then beat them over the head with it.”
I lean in and interject, “It’s really just about the kids, right?”
Everyone laughs. Jacks sounds more nervous than anything, and I steer him out of the lobby. Maddox follows us out onto the street, fussing over Frank like a gruff mother hen. Frank shakes him off and thumps Maddox’s arm.
“Knock it off. I’m not an invalid,” Frank mutters.
“You look tired.”
“I swear to sweet Jesus, if you make one more comment about my gray hair, I’m going to smack your mouth.”
“Love you,” Maddox says, and for the first time, I see a softening in his eyes. His face slips into an expression of near worship, and Frank frowns at him.
“Whatever, Cole.”
Maddox flips back into his Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. mode and turns to us. He’s about ready to say something when someone yells from a passing car, “Hey, look, it’s the wide receiver and his cockback! Faggots!”
Another voice from the car drifts back to us, “Fudge packers!”
Maddox looks at me and Jacks. “I do believe they’ve mistaken you for the wrong team.”
Surprisingly, Jacks laughs. “We don’t play them,” he says.
* * * *
In the car, I reached for Jacks’s hand, closing down on his fingers gently. “Can you tell me about it?”
“I told you, I don’t want you to know the details.”
“The details aren’t going to change how I feel about you.”
“They might.”
“Doubt it. Can I at least ask a question?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him looking at me, and then out the window. With a soft sigh, I feel his hand relax in mine. “Go ahead. Ask one question.”
“Did Paul ever bring in other boys, you know, to do stuff with you?”
His hand tightens on my fingers, and I can tell he wants to pull away. I won’t let him. Fuck Frank and his melodrama around treating Jacks with kid gloves. There’s been more questions than answers stirred up around this whole thing, and I want to know if I should be worried.
“Sometimes. There were two boys, older than me, and Paul would take all of us down to the river to swim. Afterward, we’d spend the night at Paul’s house.”
“Did they participate?”
“I said one question.”
I don’t respond, and after a few minutes, he continues, “Yes, we all participated.”
“What were they like?”
He looks at me. “What do you want? Their dick sizes?”
“I mean, did they hurt you?”
He licks his lips and turns away. “Jake wasn’t happy. I think he was threatened by me. He did hurt me, but only when Paul wasn’t around. We fought a few times, and Paul got angry at him. After the last time we fought, Paul never had us together again. I don’t know what happened to him.”
Jake. Intense jabs of fear dart through my skin, like the feeling of a ghost fucking with my soul. Serious heebie-jeebies. “Did he have a last name?”
“I don’t know, why?”
“Just wondering. Maybe if they found him, he could testify too.”
“They’ve been looking for other victims. No one wants to come forward. I’m the only dumb-ass willing to do it. Besides Jared.”
It’s hard to convince Jacks he’s doing the right thing without sounding preachy. This may be what Frank meant by just being there for him. The rest of the ride home, we talk football. Talking shop helps, I think. Strategizing distracts him. Mal and Jacks are practically inseparable at work. Their synchronicity is something captivating to watch. Sometimes Jacks just holds out his hands, not even looking, and Mal drops that ball right where it belongs.
“You know,” Jacks says, the scenery out the window completely engaging him. “With my luck, Jake would testify on Paul’s behalf.”
The thought chills me. “Why do you say that?”
“Jake loved Paul. Soaked up every bit of attention Paul would give him. It’s why Jake hated me —why he hurt me.”
When I contemplate who Jake really could be, I realize losing Jacks is the last thing on this planet I want to have hap
pen. Will this trial break him? Me?
“Well, we can’t think about that right now. We have a game to prepare for,” I say, lifting Jacks’s hand, giving it a small shake.
* * * *
Game day. I’m thrilled that Kane and Garrett get to attend the game before heading home. I wish I had time to go talk to them again before the game starts, but I’ve got to stay focused. Around the locker room, everyone is engaged with pregame rituals, and I glance at Jacks.
Coach Paul is talking to him. No one notices when Paul ushers Jacks from the stadium locker room. What the fuck is that guy up to now? I follow them into the hall, where Paul shoves Jacks into an office. The door doesn’t quite close, and I sneak up to listen. I can hear Jacks. He sounds pissed, and Paul sounds placating.
“Just give me two minutes, Jackie. That’s all I ask. Two minutes to apologize for my behavior lately.”
“You have to do this now? Right before a game?”
“You need to hear me. To hear this now.”
“Fine, what?”
“First, has anyone come talking to you about us?”
“What’re you going on about?” Jacks asks.
“You remember what we had together, Jackie. You must’ve loved me to keep silent all these years.”
“I’m outta here. I’m not gonna listen to your crazy.”
There’s a scuffle in the room. I imagine Paul using his height and strength to keep Jacks in check, but only because Jacks allows him.
“You’re not talking to anyone now, are you?”
“About what? Your sick perversions?”
“You’ve said nothing to that thug boyfriend of yours?”
A rough sound comes from Jacks’s throat, but in a dangerously steady voice, he says, “Best watch your mouth. Around here, we’re the minority, and I only include myself because of my color. I’m nothing like you.”
“Please, Jackie, understand. I love you. I’ve always loved you. What we had was special, so don’t shut me out now. We can be together. Beaumont doesn’t understand you the way I do.”
“Are you insane? Don’t touch me.”
I peer inside through the cracked door in time to see Jacks smack Paul’s hand away. Paul gets indignant and slams Jacks up against the wall by his pads. I’m about to lose my cool, but the sound of Jacks’s calm voice stalls me.
“I was a child. It was wrong. Get off me before I hurt you.”
Paul drops Jacks. “It wasn’t wrong. It was love. I needed you. Still need you. Please, Jackie, don’t do this to me. I can’t take your rejection again.”
“You’re a sick man.” Jacks drops his shoulder and checks him into the desk, moving toward the door.
Paul grabs his arm, his voice is angry as he grinds out his words. “We’re not done, Jackie. Understand?”
“I look forward to finishing it with you.”
I stumble back as Jacks comes barreling through the door and into my arms. He looks at me, surprised. Something hits the wall inside the tiny office, and Jacks yanks me aside into a storage room in time to miss Paul as he leaves the office. The man storms past the doorway in a spit of anger just as Jacks quietly clicks the lock. Paul’s rant echoes in the corridor.
“You heard all that, did ya?”
I nod, too speechless to even articulate a grunt.
“Well, good. Use the anger, and stay focused.”
“How can you think of the game now?”
Jacks peeks out the door. “It’s not just a game, Irus. We win this one, we’re one step closer to the wild card in the play-offs. You want that ring, don’tcha?”
“Not at the expense of you.”
Jacks looks at me and smiles. “I realized something in there. Paul can’t hurt me anymore, and he knows it. He’s running scared. What happened in there was about fear. I’m not afraid. He can’t hurt me.”
He can if he hires some nut job like Jake to kill you. “It’s not right. The asshole’s projecting his fucked up feelings onto you.”
“He’s sad. Pathetic and evil, true, but he can’t have what’s yours,” Jacks says with a sweet smile. “Now, reach down, grab your balls, and let’s go kick some dirty birds’ asses.”
Jacks slaps my pads and opens the door.
“How’s my head supposed to be in the game now?”
Jacks spins around, his blond hair clean and bright, swirling around his shoulder pads. “I’m in love with the best corner in the league. I think we’ll be all right.”
“Shit, boy.” I watch his tight ass jog away. What can I do but follow?
* * * *
“How Jackson McCoy held on to that ball in triple coverage, I don’t know, but he’s got the down.”
The announcer is nothing but babble in the back of my mind. Jacks gets up a little slower after that vicious hit. They huddle, and he takes up position opposite a single defender as the center snaps the ball. Jacks is off. He battles the defender and scrubs the coverage to catch Mal’s pass. He hits the ground and turns to run into the red zone. The safety reaches out, snags Jacks’s face mask, and whips him around, damn near yanking Jacks’s head off.
A yellow flag hits the green. Coach Bryant yells, moving forward, as Coach Daily grabs him around the middle to pull him behind the white line. That’s quite a feat. Coach Bryant isn’t small.
Jacks jogs off the field. Coach Paul reaches him as Jacks gets his helmet off. Blood rushes from the bridge of Jacks’s nose and spills down into his mouth. Paul wipes away the blood. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Jacks nods. Blood wells back up. Paul lingers a little too long in my opinion as he holds Jacks’s chin and wipes my lover’s face. The cheers from the crowd tell me the next down was successful, but all I focus on is that prick touching Jacks. Staff medics butterfly the laceration together, and Paul smacks Jacks’s ass as he runs back out onto the field.
No one looks askance at the whole thing, but I know what Paul wants. I alone know what that sick fucker is capable of, and I don’t trust him. I want to decleat the motherfucker right here on the sidelines.
The crowd jeers, and I look in time to see Jacks on his hands and knees. The ball sits between his hands. One of our rookie receivers, Samuel Michealson, leans over Jacks’s back. He’s talking to Jacks. I glance at the big screen to see the replay. Jacks goes up to get the ball just as Sam comes in, running the wrong route, and goes up for the ball. Jacks gets his hands on the ball, and Sam’s knee collides with Jackson’s nuts. I cringe. What a fucking hit. Jacks never dropped the ball, so he extended the play and moved the chains. But I know for a fact that boy never wears his cup. It messes with his ability to run fast. Honestly, I don’t wear mine either. For the same reason.
I look back to the field. Jacks is up walking it out. He gives his leg a stretch as he limps to the sidelines. I grab a towel, fill it with a handful of ice, and jog over to him.
He laughs when I hand him the ice. “Thanks, bro.” He gently holds the ice to his boys. A hiss escapes through his teeth.
“Gotta look after my favorite bits,” I say.
Jacks grunts. “Sorta my favorite too, man.”
Everyone leaves us alone for a minute. I sit down next to him. “Rookie looks a little rambunctious.”
“Samuel will be all right. I’ll work with him more. Paul’s been busy grooming Haines to take my spot.” Jacks grins, but I can see how the lines around his eyes convey the pain.
“Jacks, Paul will be gone before you. Trust me on that one.”
“I know. Hey, look at Kane.”
When I turn around, Kane waves to me, and I wave back. “What am I looking at?”
“He’s wearing my jersey.”
I narrow my eyes. Sure as shit, Kane’s got Jacks’s numbers emblazoned across his chest. In a cheeky move, Kane turns around and lifts his hair so I can see the broad letters spelling out McCoy. As if I couldn’t already tell. “Bastard.”
* * * *
Coach Bryant stands in the center of our locker room, addressing the team. “
That was a brutal, ugly, diabolical game, and I’m damn proud of everyone. No one said we could pull a win off against these guys, but we proved them wrong. They’ve been wrong about us all along. Let’s keep shoving how wrong they are down their throats.”
We all gather around in various stages of undress, sweaty, beaten, and bruised. Jacks is across from me, standing slightly behind Coach Daily. Without his gear on, his pale skin shines red and purple, the bruises deepening as Coach speaks. A large splotch of deep red spreads from beneath his waistline, his pants pushed down low at his hip. One of the medics prods at the tender skin, and Jacks winces. He smacks him away as the medic tries to see farther down Jacks’s pants.
I’m anxious to get home and check out the damage to my lover’s boys. I’ve known guys to rupture testicles and need surgery. Hell, one guy lost one of his nuts. They had to take it because it had become necrotic. The man had refused to let anyone look at his sac. The thought makes me shiver. No, I’ll be checking out Jacks as soon as we get home. Right now, Coach finishes up his speech, and we sound off under Mal’s leadership.
“Highlanders on three. One, two, three…Highlanders.”
The room echoes with our collective voice as the reporters move into position for interviews. Jacks deftly avoids them as always, but Haines helps by intercepting them, ready to give his sound bite to the evening sports edition. The kid’s good, but that taunting call early in the first quarter cost us yardage, and Coach will have more words for him, I’m sure. That’s not how Coach Bryant operates. His players are invested in the team, not themselves, and Haines is starting to believe his own hype. I blame Paul for Haines’s case of the ass. Even now, Paul is hovering over his new protégé, making sure he says all the right things.
Paul disgusts me. I head into the clinic to check on Jacks. The persistent medic managed to detour Jacks for an examination. Just outside the door, I hear Jacks’s frustrated voice.
“Fuck! Watch it, kid.” Inside, Jacks is on one of the exam tables, his junk black and blue, splayed out for examination.
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