“Wow, I see you’re rocking the team colors all over your balls, boy.” I know I should be more sympathetic, but I’m grateful it’s his nut sac in the medic’s hands and not mine.
“You’re hilarious, Beaumont. Prick.”
“Aw, you wound me. No love?”
“You don’t deserve it.”
“Hey, I brought you ice on the sidelines. What more do you want?”
“I want this guy to leave me alone.”
The medic has Jacks’s balls in his hands, rolling them around, I’m assuming to see if they’re intact. “So, what’s his prognosis?”
He smirks. “Nothing ruptured. His testes feel normal. I can’t do anything about his bad attitude.”
I shrug. “Who can? See what I live with here?”
The medic chuckles, strips off his gloves, and washes his hands. “Shower and go home, rest, ice, and take it easy. Some ibuprofen will do for the pain and swelling.”
“As if I couldn’t figure that shit out for myself,” Jacks grumbles as he pulls up his drawers.
“Come on, let’s change and get out of here before someone tries to interview you. In your sour state, you might say something you’ll regret.”
Once back to the locker room, I can tell things have gone sideways, and I glance at Jacks. He zeros in on the problem right away and limps toward the area of the locker room set aside for the media.
Paul is surrounded by four armed police officers, and about half a dozen dark-suited men create an outer perimeter. Maddox is talking to Coach Bryant and the general manager. Paul isn’t quiet, but he appears smooth and together, like this is all a big misunderstanding. He continues to speak to a reporter while a police officer tries to lead him away from the cameras. The locker room, however, is in an uproar. People are shouting and the media are in the way, videotaping everyone they can. The lights of the cameras are disorienting.
The officer successfully extricates Paul from the media and leads him toward the exit. One arm clutched in the officer’s beefy hand, but otherwise not restrained, Paul twists around, searching for someone.
Paul finds Jacks and pins him down with a maniacal glare, his ultracool exterior evaporating as his gaze meets Jacks’s. “You sorry piece of shit. What lies have you told them?”
Jacks is speechless. I reach him just as Auntie, Kane, and Garrett come through the door, following Coach Daily. Daily whispers something to Kane, who is already moving to try and maneuver Jacks out of the room. Jacks refuses to budge.
“Don’t listen to him,” Kane says.
Paul lunges for Jacks. “You locker-room whore. You opened your fucking mouth, spreading lies about me?”
Jacks dodges Paul’s fist and nails him with a right to the side of Paul’s head. The police officers scramble to cuff Paul as he screams from the floor. Three officers pile on top of him. Maddox runs up to Jacks.
“Thought you were gonna give me a heads-up,” Jacks says through clenched teeth, barely in control of his emotions. The look on his face is murderous. I’ve never seen Jacks so angry. He’s frightening.
“I couldn’t take a chance on Paul getting wind of the arrest.”
“You should’ve waited,” Jacks says. “You shouldn’t have done it after a game.”
Maddox gives Jacks a frosty look. “Do not tell me how to execute an arrest warrant.” The man walks away.
“You know this is all your fault, Jackie. You were a sick young man who got off on playing games.” Paul hurls his words like knives, each one puncturing Jacks where it’s most vital and bleeding him of his confidence.
Jacks appears helpless. Kane grasps his arm and shakes him. “Don’t listen to him. It’s what they do. The perpetrators, they want you to take the blame. Nothing is their fault. It’s all yours, and that’s bullshit. You hear me, Jacks? Paul is the one to blame.”
The police officers stand Paul up, and the man continues on a nearly incoherent rant. Most of it directed at Jacks, but some profanities are flung my way.
“You fucking thug. Don’t think you’ll keep him from me forever. He loves me. He wanted it, everything, all of my attention. He was a whore for it, you black piece of shit…you—”
“Get this asshole out of here,” Maddox says as the media converge on him, recognizing him as the man in charge. The police drag Paul out screaming. “This isn’t over, Jackie! You’re gonna be exposed. They’ll know all about you. I’ll tell them all your sick secrets! Don’t believe him,” he says to the media, police, anyone who’ll listen. “He’s sucked off every coach and quarterback since college!”
The look in Auntie Beulah’s eyes tips me off, and I grab her as she lunges for Paul. “Tha’s it. I’ve done and heard ’nuff from tha’ man. Sick bitch.”
Garrett points at the reporters. “If we don’t get out of here now, you all are going to be headlining the eleven o’clock news.”
I’m only partially dressed, still in my gear with no shirt on, but Jacks backs off along with Kane. Auntie barges through the crowd to my locker, grabs my clothes and my keys. When we turn around to leave, Haines blocks Jacks’s way.
“What the fuck did you do, faggot?” Haines demands.
Jacks brushes Haines out of the way. “I just saved you some heartache.”
“I’m talking to you, faggot.” Haines jerks my boy around, but Jacks’s fist is already coming to bust up that pretty nose. Damn. Haines hits the floor, legs sprawled, and blood runs down his face. He stares up at Jacks.
Miss Beulah shoves Jacks toward the door. “Git a move on, boy. Shit, y’all gotta be stupid. Fools swinging fists in front of the media.”
“Yeah, what about you, Auntie?” I ask, sticking up for Jacks.
She smacks the back of my head. “Shut yur sassy mouth! I don’t have a career ta be worrying ’bout.”
We get out of there just as Coach Bryant’s baritone rises above the din and demands compliance. Kane looks at me as I shake my head. I know what he’s gonna ask.
“I’m not staying to hear what happens. There’s a TV at home.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackson McCoy’s House
Jackson McCoy
Thank God we’re home. I’m ready to drop, and my nuts hurt. Kane and Miss Beulah make a beeline for the kitchen. Garrett precedes me into the living room, turns on the TV, and pours me a drink. I can see why Kane loves this man.
I ease onto the couch as he hands me the rocks glass with two fingers of amber whiskey. Garrett smiles, an awkward expression of embarrassment on his face.
“What?” I ask as I try to get comfortable.
“An old habit, I guess. I don’t drink anymore, but sometimes a guy needs a stiff shot. My problem is I don’t stop at just one.”
“I promise, tonight, I will.”
“Good,” Irus says as he comes into the room. He joins me on the couch as Coach Bryant’s voice filters through the speakers.
Coach Bryant stands tall and commanding in front of a slew of reporters, most of whom aren’t the usual group of sports writers.
“Coach Bryant, did you know you had a pedophile working in your organization?”
“No, not at first.”
“Did he ever abuse kids in your locker room?”
“Now, wait a minute. I can only answer questions for which I have direct knowledge.”
“Coach, were you aware Coach Phelps was under investigation when you hired him?” A dark-haired female reporter leans into the camera shot a bit, but all I can see is a beak of a nose peeking out from her big hair.
“No.”
“When did you find out?” called a man from the back.
“A short time after hiring Paul, I received a visit from a federal investigator and was informed by the league to give this man my complete cooperation.”
“You’ve known Paul for a long time, Coach. Did you ever have an inkling of something like this?” Mike Shandy, our regular press guy, asks.
Coach Bryant has his game face on, but that question strikes
deep. I feel like shit leaving him there to deal with this mess on his own. Damn Maddox. He advised me the day of my deposition that I wasn’t going to be allowed to make a statement to the press. This is frustrating. Coach shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.
“No. I only knew Paul through his charity. We’d take the kids on outings. I’d donate my time to his charity, but that’s about it.”
“Is it true he babysat your children?”
“Once, in a group with a bunch of other children. It was a charity function.”
“Are you worried he touched your boys?”
“A father always worries when he finds out something like this.”
“What made you decide to hire Paul Phelps?” another voice shouts from the back of the room.
“I thought he’d be the best one to fill in as an interim coach.”
“Are there going to be any official sanctions to the team?” Shandy asks.
“None that I know of. We’ve cooperated fully with the federal investigation and done everything the league has asked of us.”
“What’s Jackson McCoy’s involvement? Is it true McCoy was one of his kids?”
“McCoy played football for Phelps at a number of different times throughout his life. What’s a matter of public record is all I can give you.”
“Since the youth league, my sources say,” another unfamiliar reporter comments.
“Since this is an active investigation, I only intend to comment on what I have direct knowledge of. If you want to ask about game play, the great win we just had, or how we plan to prepare for the next game, then I’m ready to answer your questions. On the Phelps matter, my knowledge is limited.”
When no football-related questions are forthcoming, Coach Bryant turns to leave, and the room erupts into a flurry of activity. The press fire questions like they’re missiles. Inappropriate questions can still be heard over the din.
“Is Jackson McCoy having sex with the coaches?”
“Is that a part of the locker room culture?”
“Is sexual intercourse occurring between teammates?”
“Are McCoy and Beaumont in a relationship?”
Coach Bryant waves them off, exiting the room without a glance backward. Garrett turns off the TV. “We don’t need to listen to that shit.”
Locker-room whore? Is that what Paul really believes? Did I somehow encourage him even as a kid? I’ve always had a ravenous appetite for sex. Could I have been the cause of all this? What about Jared? How many others has Paul touched, besides the few I know about? My brain spins.
What if I’m to blame for all of this and Paul goes to jail a victim instead of a perpetrator?
“Jacks,” Irus says softly.
I look up. Garrett’s gone, and it’s just the two of us. Irus puts his arm around me. Pain shoots through my balls as I shift to settle close to him. He kisses the top of my head. “Stop internalizing everything, and talk to me.”
If I could just keep my mouth shut. I’ve survived the abuse. Back then, I handled it, and I can handle it again. Not when Irus holds me, though. Not when all he wants to do is care for me in a healthy way. Like a man who truly loves me. Truth is, I don’t know how to react to his love. Or to Paul being arrested. Or to Paul being arrested because of me. Of what I said to those folks in the deposition. Am I to become the key to a case that destroys a man’s life?
“I feel guilty.”
“Why?”
“What if, I mean… Paul could go to prison.”
“I hope so.”
“What if it’s not really his fault?”
Frank’s voice is in my head, reminding me of all the kids who blame themselves, of how serial pedophiles work, using guilt, shame, guile, and a professed love to keep their kids compliant.
The memory of Paul on me, even now, makes me feel dirty. His power over me creates this guilt. Makes me want to take back my deposition.
Irus sighs. “Bro, he’s the one who deserves to feel all this pain. Not you.”
“I’m not this great guy you think I am… I’ve done things. In the locker room.”
“You don’t have to tell me this. Just don’t dwell on it, okay?”
“No, you need to know this shit before it hits the headlines. Someone’s gonna talk. If offered enough money, some ex-college football player is gonna spout off. You should understand I was dirty and confused, about myself and what I was meant for—”
“Meant for? Jesus, quit letting this guy into your head!”
“I’ve done things in the locker room without Paul.”
“People have sex. It’s a part of life, and it’s in the past. I don’t care who you fucked in college.”
“You’ll care about this, about what kind of person it makes me in the eyes of the media.”
“Fuck the media.”
“Listen to me, Irus. Please?”
“You’re not gonna say a damn thing that’ll make me stop loving you.”
“Coach Paul isn’t the only reason I hate showers. When I was a freshman in college, to become part of the team, to fit in, I did things.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Irus stands. The rush of his body leaving my side makes my balls hurt and sends a chill through my body. He moves to the fireplace, staring at the flames, his back to me.
“You will, when it comes out that I am exactly what Phelps called me. A locker-room whore.”
“You said you didn’t do all those things people are saying on Twitter.” Irus glances over his shoulder, not specifically looking at me, only in my general direction.
“Most of them are lies.”
“But?”
“There was a circle jerk with a few of the juniors.”
Irus eyes widen, and I can tell he doesn’t want to believe me. “Christ, you make it sound like all we do as football players is jack each other off after each game.”
“You gotta understand, I was young, scared, and Paul was all I had known about relationships. I learned how to deal with authority in a sexual way.”
“Stop! I don’t need to hear this, I’ve told you already.”
“You wanted me to talk about it. To not internalize what I’m feeling. This is gonna make it to the papers, the Internet. This isn’t going away.”
“No. I wanted you to talk about the real villain. You’re not the bad guy. Fuck!”
Irus storms across the room, angry, and he yanks me from the couch. His face is inches from mine. The warmth of his breath on my cheek makes me ache. “My best friend used to sell himself on the streets. I used to pay a man to have sex with me because he sorta looked like you. What makes you think any of us are clean? What makes you think I want some pristine man who’s been untouched by human hands? You are who I want. Cut the bullshit, and quit trying to get rid of me.”
“I’m just preparing you for the truth that’s out there. This is gonna get muddy and murky. You’re gonna get hurt, and you’re gonna get angry.”
Irus grabs my chin hard enough to bruise, tipping my face up to look at him, to see the anger in his eyes.
He can’t stop me from talking now. “And you’re gonna take it out on me—”
Hard lips crush mine, muffling my last sounds as Irus shoves his tongue deep inside my mouth. The kiss is fierce. Our tongues duel for supremacy, and I refuse to give in until he understands. Until he senses me and knows exactly who I am and what I’ve done.
When the first tears fall, I imagine I’ve lost it somehow, and I suck in a lungful of air as our kiss breaks. Irus’s dark hands hold me firmly. Fear churns my gut. “This is only the beginning. It’s gonna get a lot fucking worse from here on out.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere.”
Miss Beulah’s voice is soft, but almost on top of us. She startles Irus, who growls, and she laughs. “Stop all tha’ kissy facin’ and get yer asses in here ta eat.”
The glorious smells from the kitchen make my stomach gurgle. Irus looks down at my belly and laughs.
�
�I guess I’m hungry,” I say.
I’m surprised I didn’t notice the smell of food until now. We follow Miss Beulah into the kitchen. “I had nothing to do with this mess Kane made. As far as I’m concerned, there’s not ’nuff lard or fried goodness ta this meal. When I was playin’ ball, we din’t skimp on the fats.”
“Nothing wrong with a little stir-fry and yakisoba, Momma.” Kane sets a steaming plate of chicken and veggies in front of me. My mouth waters, and I pick up my fork. Before I can shovel the first bite into my piehole, the sound of a vehicle getting stuck in the driveway filters throughout the room.
“What now?” Irus mutters as he goes to the front door. “What does Coach Daily drive?”
“A Nissan, a Sentra, maybe.”
“Yeah, that’s his dumb ass stuck in the driveway.”
Kane goes to the door and smacks Irus’s ass. “Leave the man alone. I think he’s cute.”
“His wife might have something to say about that,” Irus says.
“What? His wife don’t think he’s cute? Shame on her,” Kane says. He waves Coach into the foyer. “Come on in and get warm. These assholes will get your car free in a minute.”
A few seconds later, Coach Daily tromps through the door, leaving mud and slush footprints all over. Miss Beulah huffs and digs out my mop.
“Want some dinner, Coach?” I ask.
“Sure, love some.”
Kane dishes up some grub for Daily. “Here you go. Eat up while it’s hot.”
“Will you quit flirting with the man,” Garrett says, a fraudulent snarl in his voice. Kane bats his lashes dramatically. I can’t help but laugh at these two. I know they’re doing it for my benefit. Shit, I guess I gotta love them for it, right?
“What’s up, Coach?” Irus asks. He settles down next to me at the bar as we all start to dig into the food in earnest.
“Well, I haven’t come here for either one of you poor slobs. I’ve come to talk to Miss Beulah.”
“Why?” Irus asks.
Miss Beulah smacks the back of Irus’s head at the sound of his incredulity.
“Coach Bryant has sent me out here on business. I’ve come to recruit a new receivers’ coach.”
Lord, I know I should contain myself, but I can’t help it, I start laughing uncontrollably. Just the thought of Miss Beulah whipping Haines and Samuels into shape has me rolling.
Fourth and Long Page 33