“Good call,” I struggle to say. I take a shot to the head from Miss Beulah.
“Ya boys think yer so funny. What’s wrong wit my coaching, y’all?”
“Not a goddamn thing,” I say. “In fact, I look forward to it.”
“You’d be lucky to have me.”
“I’m already lucky to have you,” I say. Somehow, what I thought was a compliment went south. The look on Miss Beulah’s face falters. Gone is the hard-lined woman, not even a trace of the Bert I knew as a kid. Just a soft, sad expression remains.
“I–I’m sorry, Miss Beulah. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. You’d make a great coach!”
Irus shoves me. “What’re doing making my auntie cry?”
Kane pushes around the end of the counter. “Knock it off, you meatheads. She’s happy. Aren’t you, Momma?”
“I’ve always wanted to coach. No one’d have an old tranny like me.”
Coach Daily stops hauling yakisoba into his maw and looks at Miss Beulah. “Bryant wants you there first thing in the morning to discuss the details.”
“Tha’ man really want this old queen to coach?”
“Yes, ma’am, he does. Quite insistent, as a matter of fact. Told me not to take no for an answer. Told me to haul you in hemming and hawing if I had to, but…to be honest, I hope it doesn’t come to that, Miss Beulah.”
“Yeah, cuz you can’t even get your POS outta my driveway on your own,” I say. Hope the sarcasm bleeds through as well as the bruises on my balls.
“It’ll be gassers for you, McCoy. See how your nut sac likes that shit.”
Irus leans in and whispers, “You know, she’s misty-eyed because you said you were lucky to have her.”
Irus’s forehead collides with mine when Miss Beulah smacks him upside his head, and he hollers. I quietly rub my brow. Between my balls and my nugget, I think I might be better off going to bed. Which is right where I’m headed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Coach Daily asks.
“To bed, where it’s safer.”
“No, you have to unstick my car from that cesspool of a driveway.”
“Right now, my balls are bigger than everyone’s in this room, and it’s not a fun thing. You can bunk with Miss Beulah. I’m going to bed.”
“Um, y’all know, I don’t have ’em anymore.”
“What?” I ask.
“Balls…got me a va-jay-jay now!”
God, I don’t want to think about Miss Beulah’s vagina. “Thanks for sharing, Auntie.”
Daily looks at Miss Beulah, who winks at him and gives him a pretty smile.
“As much as I love me a little brown sugar, my wife would have my scrotum for a lampshade,” Daily says.
Garrett laughs. “I’ll get your car loose.”
“I’ll help,” Kane chimes in.
I leave them to it as I make my way slowly up the stairs to my bedroom. When I get to the bed, it’s the last thing I remember until Irus undresses me, and I feel a pair of soft lips kiss my balls. God, if only that felt as good as I really wanted it to. But I groan as Irus slides in next to me.
“That’ll have to do, you sex-crazed addict,” he says.
“Asshole.”
“I love you too.”
* * * *
I wake to the smell of coffee and bacon mingling with the scent of wood smoke. The flashback to my mom fixing breakfast is so profound, I almost hear her, but the sound of Paul Phelps’s voice obliterates the moment.
“I am innocent of all charges brought against me. They’re manufactured by a troubled young man who is a jealous former lover. It’s true Jackie McCoy and I had a liaison when the young man was in college, but I ended it, giving in to more mature and rational thinking. He’s harbored resentment ever since.”
“Turn this shit off.” Irus sounds pissed. Lord, this has only just begun. I lie in bed, trying to go over all the reasons I’m destroying my life and career. Jared. He’s the only reason I need to get out of bed in the morning. Irus helps too.
I reach for my phone and dial Jared.
The kid answers with a solemn tone. “Hey, Jacks.” Like he’s heading for a funeral. I think it might be mine. So buried under the accusations and insinuations I fear I’ll lose myself entirely.
“How you holding up, kid?”
“I hate him.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“How can he say those things about you?”
“There are going to be a lot of things said about me, Jared. Some true and some not so true. I don’t want you to listen to any of them, okay?”
“Jacks, he’s blaming us.”
“No, he’s blaming me. Listen, you didn’t do anything wrong. He’s just trying to cover his ass.”
After a long, silent moment, Jared speaks up. “How’s your ball sac doing?”
“A little worse for wear, but I’ll be fine by game time on Sunday.”
“You better be. I got a bet going, and I don’t want to owe no one, you hear me?”
This kid makes me laugh. “I hear you.”
“You got this.” I can hear the double meaning in his voice. Yeah, I got this shit.
“I’ll take care of everything, kid. Don’tcha worry, ’kay?”
After I drop my phone back onto the bedside table, Irus clears his throat. “How’s the kid holding up?”
“About the same as me, I guess. So, I assume Paul made his bail?”
“Don’t you know it, boy? Been all over the TV claiming he’s a ‘done wrong’ lover.”
“I heard him.”
Irus leans against the banister with his arms folded. “You still feeling guilty after talking to Jared?”
“Yes and no. In reality, I was hoping all this would take place after the season ended. I just got to where I could put up with Paul. Maybe even feel sorry for him.”
In a blur, Irus rushes me and smacks my face. My block comes too late. I’m just so stunned, but I shove him away.
“Don’t you feel sorry for him. Ever. That bastard destroyed your childhood. He’ll destroy you still, if you let him. You can’t hand power over to him like that. I know what Kane’s father did and how it affected him. You don’t have to forgive him.”
“I never would’ve said anything if it weren’t for Jared.”
Irus sits next to me on the bed. “I know you wouldn’t, but now you have to. Shit, you keep circling this… Why?”
“Paul was the only one I had. After Mom and Grandpa died, he was it. He raised me. Paid for my clothes, my school, Mom’s funeral, and got me back into college. I owe him a lot.”
“You owe him nothing. He already took more than you’ll ever owe him. What happened to the man who decided to quit handing his soul over to the bastard? The man who was there at the start of the game yesterday?”
“It’s all different in the face of the storm. When public opinion crucifies me, and I’ve got nothing left? What am I gonna do?”
“You’ll have your integrity.”
He leaves me on the edge of the bed. I feel like I’m clutching the last of a frayed string. I suppose I’ve no choice but to tie a knot in it and keep dragging it around behind me. Until I’m needed to testify, I’m going to block out everything but the game. I’ll be damned if we don’t make it into the play-offs.
* * * *
Two days later
Highlanders’ Athletic Facility
The ref whistles the ball dead, and Haines shoulders me out of the way. “Faggot.”
Fucking original. “I so thought we were over that, Haines,” I call over my shoulder. “Sorry I didn’t hit on you, but you’re not my type. You’re too in love with the mirror.”
Haines doubles back and gets in my grill, looking down his broken nose at me. “You want to keep talking, pussy?”
“Sure, what do you want to talk about? How about that taunting call? Way to put the team ahead of yourself.”
“Talk about putting the team ahead of yourself, faggot. Couldn’t keep your
dick in your pants for one goddamn season, could you? Had to take a fine coach down with you, huh?”
“You don’t know Paul. You have no idea what he likes to do with little boys.”
“You’re lying.”
“Ask Coach Bryant why Paul wasn’t allowed to bring kids to the locker room anymore.”
Crap. I know. I need to keep my head down and my mouth shut. After two days of listening to Paul’s smear campaign against me, I’ve had enough, and I want to smear back, damn it.
“You boys done kissing over there,” Miss Beulah calls out, “then run it again. Haines, scrub that coverage better. Jacks, you watch out for Irus. They’re not fooled by you, so make the play more believable.”
“Yes, Coach.”
Miss Beulah’s got a big ole cigar clenched between her teeth. Dark red lipstick stains the leaf. She may be dressed in the usual coach’s sweats and windbreaker of the organization, our logo emblazoned across her huge tits, but in my mind I still see her all done up in a dress. I smile and nod my head. Oh yeah, this league is growing in leaps and bounds. Hope society catches up soon. If not, Miss Beulah may smack the world right upside its collective head.
I look along the sidelines, toward the press section, and see double the usual bodies. Big-time TV news personalities broadcasting live. Some of the guys are disgusted by the vultures. Eagle has expressed more than a passing disdain for the media, and today is no exception. Our tailback is in full-on sarcasm mode.
“What’d you suppose them scavengers would do if I laid a big, wet lickery one on ya, Jacks?” Eagle asks as we move back into position.
“They’d call me to the carpet for cheating on Irus.” The idea of that huge mustache crawling all over my lips sends an irrational shiver down my spine, but I’m warmed by the suggestion. I glance at Irus. “You prepared to go rounds with him?”
“Shit yeah, to see the PUNTS over yonder get their boxers wadded up their asses, it’d be worth it.”
“PUNTS?”
“People of utterly no tactical significance. My daddy was military.”
“All right, boys. Quit yammering and play,” Coach Daily hollers. “If you guys thought the last game was rough, you’re gonna be playing the elites for the rest of the season. The easy games are over.”
Eagle looks at me with a smarmy grin. “He called those games easy. He should try running the ball with six guys hanging off him.” Eagle chuckles. “Sounds like a night at the bar, don’t it?”
All I can do is shake my head and laugh.
* * * *
On the way out of the training facility, I’m inundated by reporters shouting out questions. Personal ones.
“When was the first time you had sex with your coach?”
“Is it true Paul Phelps paid for your mother’s funeral?”
“The man says he raised you. Do you have anything to say about that?”
Irus is next to me, holding my arm, as our linemen push us through the throng. I keep my mouth shut. Our big uglies clear the way, with Miss Beulah right in front.
“Get on, all of ya. Jackson ain’t gonna say diddly to y’all.”
They cling to Miss Beulah like she’s my mouthpiece, and I can’t think of a better person to take on the task. Instead, she picks me up and shoves me into the Jeep. Irus runs around to jump in the driver’s seat, leaving his auntie behind with the media. The engine rumbles, and the car jerks as he gets it into gear. He grins at me.
“Not used to a clutch,” he says.
“Have you ever driven one?”
“Nope, figure it’s a good time to learn.”
“Great, just don’t give me whiplash.”
Irus laughs as he gets the car out on the road. “Do you suppose they know where you live?”
“Shift,” I say.
“What?”
“Shift. When the engine whines like that, shift.”
“Oh, yeah.” He shifts into second, and then third. I leave him alone. He seems to have it figured out now.
“I don’t even want to think about them knowing where I live. How’s Miss Beulah getting home?”
“I left her my keys. She has a coaches’ meeting.”
We drive in silence for a bit. When the rain starts up, the soft squeak of the wipers on the windshield fills the space between us. Irus’s dark hand rests on the gearshift. Long fingers dangle, relaxed, and I have the urge to thread my fingers in with them. I’ve never been much of one to display affection. The few times I tried, Branson called me a faggot and ridiculed me.
“I haven’t had many relationships,” I say, startling myself with the admission. Hadn’t been planning on having this conversation, but here I am, dumping it all over Irus. He just hums thoughtfully, as if telling me to go on, and for some ridiculous reason, I do. Not before I slide my hand over Irus’s and interlace my fingers with his.
“I’ve only been with a handful of men, in terms of dates or relationships. In college, Paul pretty much kept me on a tight leash. Football took up most of my time. In the past, the relationships I had were just like sex, you know? Blowjobs, that sort of thing, quickies I could get in without Paul knowing. When I went undrafted and was picked up by the Pirates, my plan wasn’t to fuck things up with sex. Then came Terry Branson.”
Irus’s fingers tighten on mine. A glance is all I need to recognize the tension and jealousy he feels over Terry. I can’t say I blame him. Deep down I think part of me had been in love with Terry. I certainly blossomed as a receiver with him. I learned to experience sex in a different way.
“In college, there was no ‘faggot’ talk, no blame. We were just kids having fun and exploring. With Terry, it was important for him to demean my existence, like he could compartmentalize what we were doing and how all the blame could be rested solely on me.”
“Asshole,” Irus says and then clenches his teeth shut so hard, I hear them clack together.
“I can’t make him the bad guy. It is what it is, and I wasn’t coerced into having sex with him. Just this”—I hold up our interlinked hands—“is all new to me. Terry never wanted to hold hands. It was never about affection. What I thought was love, with Terry, wasn’t. It was just fucking.”
The verbalization of what the pit of my stomach already understood silences me for a moment, and the rain funneling through the tires is all I hear. Road noise hums in my head. Irus’s jaw is working. He wants to say something, I’m sure, but what is there to say?
Finally, he finds his voice. “None of us have had good relationships. Football is all consuming. I’m not surprised you turned to Terry-fucking-Branson. He’s not bad for a white guy.”
I can’t help my laugh. Irus slides me a side smirk, but continues, “He’s afraid of who he is. I’m not. I know who I am and who I love. I’m not afraid to show it either. The whole fucking world can know I love you, Jackson McCoy. When you’re ready, you can show it too. I’m patient.”
“It’s not right to make you wait. To go through this public slaughter with me. This isn’t your fight.”
“Paul made it my fight when he decided the best defense is to publicly attack the man I love.”
“This is a distraction the team doesn’t need right now. I was thinking of asking Coach to bench me until the grand jury is done.”
“No way. We can’t pull off the kind of win we need. If this works out the way I have it planned in my head, we sweep the play-offs. We’ll be in the championship against Terry-motherfucking-Branson. He doesn’t have you to make him look good anymore, and let’s face it—I’m his favorite receiver of late.”
Irus grins, his teeth flashing brightly in the dim light of the dash.
“How many interceptions do you have on him so far?”
“Four. All in one game. We play that boy again, and he’s gonna be rattled. You know it, and then you go up against a defense you completely understand. You know how to scrub coverage better than any receiver in the league. Not until you came on board did we have that kind of weapon. Plus, you’re
fast.”
“Stop. I love—”
“Don’t say it, not yet. Not when we’re joking around.”
I realize what I was about to say, and Irus’s reaction perplexes me. “I thought…”
“I want you to mean it, Jacks.”
Does my acquiescence mean I don’t love him? Is that what Irus believes? Did I just fail some sort of test? Fuck my life. I can’t even figure out how to love a man.
We sit in silence the rest of the way home. The comfort is that we’re still holding hands, and I’m entirely taken with the gesture. My dumb ass never understood what I was missing. Not until Irus showed up with his love and patience.
The driveway is rutted with frozen mud and slush, rain having turned to snow some miles back, but I can see fresh tire tracks. Once the Jeep is in the garage, Garrett arrives with some disturbing news. We walk through the snow, back to the house, listening to Garrett relay what had happened only hours ago.
“So, Paul showed up. Wanted to wait for you. Said you guys needed to talk. Kane ran him off. Threatened to bash in Paul’s head if the bastard came back. I’ve seen Kane angry. Don’t want to poke that dog with a stick.”
We’re in the foyer, slipping off our shoes, and the house smells like garlic and onions. My mouth waters. Fuck Paul. I’ve got an amazing cook in my kitchen. I leave Irus to fume with Garrett.
In the kitchen, Kane stands at the stove, looking so much like my mother from behind. He’d probably punch me if I told him that, but the long blond hair along with the way he stands is just like my mom. She used to stand with one foot flat against the side of her knee, balanced like a flamingo, our cat curled at her feet. Kane’s a dancer, and I find him quite often in poses most folks don’t strike.
“Smells good,” I say.
“Hey, darlin’,” Kane says, sounding a lot like Garrett.
“What’re you fixing?” I ask, leaning over his shoulder. He picks up a piece of meat from the pan and pops it into my mouth.
“Sirloin tips. You need plenty of protein, but all this chicken you’ve been eating has to have bored you to tears. I thought something more…meaty would do. I mean, it’s not like it’s game night or something.”
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