The morsel is tender and juicy. “I’m not complaining,” I mutter around the hot piece of meat. “It’s tasty.” For some reason, I feel a lot of affection for Kane, and I give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Whoa! He’s mine!” Garrett laughs, though, like it’s some great joke. “I’m always having to beat men off him with a stick.”
“So, you chased Paul away?” Irus asks. The intensity in his voice kills the joy in the room. I don’t want to listen to it and go in the living room to turn on the TV. As I’m stoking the fire, I hear Paul’s voice. He’s live, by phone, with one of those talk news shows. The kind that expose folks like cheaters, crooks, and pedophiles. Inwardly I groan, but I’m also drawn into what Paul is saying.
“Who is going to take these troubled children if I’m in jail? Who is going to mold them into the fine young men all my boys have become?” Paul sounds tired.
“All your boys?” the interviewer asks for clarification, and I realize I’m not as familiar with this guy as maybe I ought to be. His face is familiar, but I don’t watch enough TV to know. Makes me feel sort of out of the loop. I throw another log on the fire and sit down to listen to Paul. Irus comes in, but he doesn’t say anything. He has a plate of food for me. I take it, mouthing a silent thank-you, more engrossed with Paul than I should be, I guess. Kane and Garrett join us, sitting cross-legged on the floor. We’re all focused on the TV. At least I’m not the only one.
“Over the years, my charity has given meaningful help to the disenfranchised youth in our community. What about all those boys I’ve helped over the years? What will happen to the ones to come if I’m sent to prison?”
“How many boys have you helped over the years?”
“Hundreds. The percentage of successful young men outweigh the number of”— Paul’s voice stutters, and he continues, sounding unsure of himself— “um…ah…damaged youth. Our success rate is phenomenal. My fear is the support for these young boys will falter with the change in public opinion. True damage is being done to my good name.”
“What can you tell us about your accuser, Jackson McCoy, wide receiver for the Highlanders? A team you were coaching for up until a few days ago, is that right? You’ve since been let go, correct?”
“Yes. The Highlanders fired me. As for Jackson McCoy, he works for my organization, which he, as a child, attended. He is a large part of our charity. He makes frequent donations of time and money. I took a personal interest in Jackie’s upbringing because his mother was so ill. Jackie’s where he’s at today because of my charity.”
“Do you feel Jackson McCoy is trying to sabotage your efforts in the community?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Jackie was always a troubled young boy. A sexual boy. Even at a young age, he was making inappropriate suggestions to me, and at first, it made me nervous. Then I realized how hurt the young man was, and I tried to help him.”
“You admitted to having an affair with Jackson McCoy when he was attending the university, under your tutelage I might add, as a redshirt. How do you explain your actions?”
“Well, his mother had just died. The young man dropped out of a great football program in California, forfeiting a full-ride scholarship to take care of his dying mother. What you have to understand about Jackie is how hard he works. He graduated high school early. Part of an accelerated program. He went to college right before his seventeenth birthday. I don’t think he was ready mentally, but he was always driven to succeed. Unfortunately, Jackie didn’t even have a chance to begin the program. He transferred two months into his freshman year. Gave me the opportunity to assist him. His mom tried to be strong. Told him to stay where he was, but the boy wouldn’t be deterred. He worked endlessly to care for her and keep his head above water. Burned the candle at both end… I felt sorry for him. How could I not care for him?”
Paul falters. His voice wavers and grows quiet. My stomach pitches. So much of my past is being exposed, but it’s worse hearing it all pour out of Paul. He clears his throat.
“After her passing, I paid for her funeral and helped Jackie acclimate to our football program. He was too good of a talent to allow it to be squandered. I also feared for the young man. After so much tragedy in his life and such a rocky start, I figured he needed a mentor.”
“Mentors don’t have sex with the young men they’re mentoring.”
“You’re absolutely right. The young boy had grown into a man, but I’d not taken into account his lack of maturity. Truth be told, I’d forgotten how sexual the boy had been, and as a man, it seemed perfectly natural for me to console him.”
“You understand that’s not done. Sexual relationships with your players is prohibited, are they not?”
“Yes, um…but this young man was like a son to me, I hated seeing him hurt.”
“Did you just say, ‘he was like a son,’ yet you had sex with this college athlete?”
“I mean, I felt responsible for him, having spent so much time raising him. His mother was so ill. Most of the time Jackie stayed with me.”
“Where would he sleep when he was with you?”
“Where would he sleep? Um…sleep? With me?”
“You said he stayed with you. Did he have his own room?”
“No, um…he didn’t have his own room. Um, well, he’d sleep in bed with me. He had night terrors. As a child, he needed to be consoled.”
“Like in college?”
“Well, yes. He’s always had a troubling time of it. First and foremost, I had to care for his needs.”
“As a ‘sexual child,’ were his needs met?”
“Were his needs met?”
“Yes, did you fulfill all his needs?”
“Of course, I take the care of a child very seriously. Look, it’s not like I do this with every child. I’ve helped hundreds of boys. Not all of them I’ve slept with or sought sexual contact. Jackie’s not the only boy I’ve helped. Hundreds of boys have gone through my charity and not had contact with me.”
“What about those boys who have had contact with you?”
“Well…um, maybe not all of them consider me a horrible monster. Not every boy had a relationship with me. I wasn’t running around trying to have sex with every boy who came through my charity. Many of those kids—”
I pause the TV. “Did he just admit to having sex with children?”
Like me, everyone has forgotten their food, staring wide-eyed at the TV screen. Irus turns to me, his mouth compressed into a hard line for a moment, and then he responds, “I think he just admitted to having sex with you as a child, not a college kid, and that you’re not the only one.”
“What is he thinking?” I say.
“How’s his lawyer not having fits right now?” Kane asks.
Garrett responds, “I bet his lawyer doesn’t even know he’s doing this, but this is because of what you said to him today.”
“What’d you say to him?” I ask Kane.
“Just told him he needed to cleanse his soul. Own up to his wrongdoing. I had him pretty rattled. Went off on him a bit about how my dad truly fucked up my life, and that’s what he’s done to yours.”
Irus slips the remote from my hand and turns off the TV. “From now on, no more TV. The only thing we’re watching when we get home at night is game film. We’re going into the play-offs as a wild card if we win these next two games. Gotta focus, bro.”
“You’re right. We got time to worry about this later. Grand jury isn’t even scheduled yet.” I dig into my cold food. It still tastes good and suddenly I feel ravenous. I’ve not been eating well lately. Kane’s been having fits over it along with Miss Beulah.
Irus’s phone rings. I listen to the one-sided conversation idly. When he gets off the phone, he announces Kane and Garrett can have Miss Beulah’s room. She’s tired and is gonna stay at Irus’s house in University Place.
“Yay!” I squeal a little like a girl. “I don’t have to listen to you guys throw
ing ass at each other tonight.”
Kane blushes. I tuck back into my food, slightly embarrassed by myself. Irus laughs. Despite hearing Paul all but admit his sick predilections, I’m feeling good for once in my life, in my surroundings. Irus makes me feel like I belong, and I’ll be safe.
Tomorrow morning we say good-bye to Kane and Garrett, so I’m kinda glad we’re having a good night. Turns out, I really like Kane. Imagine that, my liking the ex, the first lover Irus ever had. I guess it’s not the first that counts but the last.
* * * *
The hired jet sits on the tarmac at Boeing Field, waiting for Kane and Garrett to board. I hate to see them go, but Miss Beulah needs someone there to take care of her business. And I need Miss Beulah here.
“You don’t mind me borrowing your momma, do ya?” I ask Kane as I shake his hand.
“She’s your auntie now. Treat her well.” Kane gives me what I thought was going to be a bro-hug, but after knocking elbows, I find myself in a true hug. I’m not used to it and feel a little uncomfortable.
He whispers in my ear, “Burn that fucker down.”
“I will.”
When he moves away, Garrett hugs me and slaps me on the back hard enough to make my teeth rattle. “You’ll be all right.”
“I hope so.”
Irus stands back. Clearly upset that his best friend is leaving. He has his arms crossed, and the expression on his face is one of a petulant child. Kane laughs at him, which only makes it worse, and knocks Irus’s arms down for a hug.
“Stop being pissy. Take care of your man and win your football games. I’ll be watching you.”
“Yeah, wearing Jacks’s jersey,” Irus mutters.
“I bought one of yours,” Garrett says. “He wears all my shirts anyway. I’ll make sure he has it on for the games.”
“I’ll switch between the two. I’ll wear Jacks’s when the offense is on the field and yours when defense is up.”
“Damn,” I say. “That’s a lot of stripping on and off of jerseys.”
Kane grins. “I used to be a stripper. I think I can handle it.”
We all laugh, but it’s short-lived as Kane follows Garrett onto the jet. I’m missing them already. Irus is worse off. I can see it in his eyes. A part of him still loves that man. Strangely, that makes me care about Kane even more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wild Card Play-Off
Highlanders vs. Firebirds
Irus Beaumont
This is the last play of the game. We stop this drive, or we go home. If our rival scores, our chances for the championship are finished. There’s a man in motion. The center snaps the ball and I move, my gaze locked on to the quarterback. His receiver runs long down the side of the field. I match him, not watching him but keeping my eyes on that quarterback. His head doesn’t even swing across the field. The cocky bastard doesn’t look away. He’s gonna test my abilities. A poor choice in judgment he’ll have to live with because I can jump higher than the asshole I’m covering. The man throws it high to try to keep me from intercepting. I barely have time to laugh to myself. I’ve got a thirty-nine-inch standing vertical jump and forty-three-inch running vert. I’ve got my hands on the ball before the receiver registers the ball is in the vicinity.
I’m already facing the right way too. I start to run. My long legs churn up the turf. A couple good blocks from my D-line guys clear the way for me. My chest hurts. The burn in my legs keeps me going. “Just keep runnin’, I-reese.” I hear my auntie’s voice in my head. I turn to look. She’s on the sidelines, running with me, and I dig deep to find that extra burst I need to put this ball in the end zone. I’ve already ended the game. Just don’t fumble, Irus. However, I want to score. Make this a spectacular win. A pick six. I know I should’ve gone down in the end zone, but if I make this touchdown, it’ll rattle Terry Branson. When he hears about this and sees the replay, he’ll know I’m coming for him. I want him rattled from head to toe. As it is, we’re going up against the best teams in football for a chance to make the championship. Time to scare the hell out of them all.
My reserves are waning. Guys are on my heels. The end zone looms before me like a damn oasis. I just need to make it. The turf catches my cleat and twists my foot out from under me. This is trouble. My next stride falters. I’m tripping toward the end zone. Someone’s fingers graze my jersey. I throw myself forward, stuttering past the goal line, and hit the ground hard. The wind is knocked outta me, and I feel the ball start to come loose. I tighten my grip, roll to standing, and hold the ball aloft to a cheering sideline. The crowd falls silent. We’re the visiting team, and we’ve just dashed our opponent’s chances of advancing. Nothing like kicking someone’s teeth in on their own turf. Can’t feel bad about it now. This is what they call an upset.
Jacks meets me on the field when the game officially ends, running to hug me hard enough to knock my ass down, and Els picks me up, laughing.
“Don’t you be grinning like you did that all on your own,” Els says.
“I saw your block, bro. Nicely done.”
A few hours later, we’re on a plane home, and I sit with Jacks. Despite our win, he sits here morose and inside his own head. After the game, he got the call he’s been waiting for, the scheduled time of his grand jury testimony.
“Hey, boy, we won. Smile for me,” I say.
Jacks smiles wanly. I sigh and hold his hand. Haines comes up the aisle, going to the head, and he glances our way. I hear a derisive snort, but he moves on. It isn’t until he’s on his way back that he starts something he shouldn’t, not when we just won.
“Do you guys have to do that here?” Haines asks.
“What’s it to you, bro?”
“I’m offended by your public display of affection. I’d like you to stop.”
“Really?” I breathe deep, flaring my nostrils, preparing to unleash my full anger when Jacks turns my head and slips his tongue between my lips. I’m on board in a second, tangling my tongue with his, deepening the kiss until I feel the first spark of arousal and pull away.
Jacks looks at Haines. “I’m sorry. Were you saying something?”
Haines makes a dive for Jacks, who’s sitting near the window. I take someone’s elbow to the eye and shove at Haines. A couple of linemen pull Haines off me as Jacks takes a swing, clocking me right in the grill.
“How is it I get the piss beat outta me, and you’re the one fighting?” I yell at Jacks.
There’s a little laughter at first, but soon Jacks is hysterical, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Even Haines laughs. It’s contagious. Soon the entire team is laughing. We won the game, and I think Jacks won the battle. Haines leaves and comes back with some ice for my face.
When Haines leaves again, Jacks looks at me and says, “He’s still not over it, but this is a first step.”
“Well, I hope so, I’m already tired of taking shots meant for other people.”
“Oh, quit your grousing. You’re a hero.”
“Does that mean I deserve a hero’s worship?”
“What’d you have in mind?”
“You on your knees,” I say. My fantasy still so indelible in my mind. Of Jacks on his knees, worshipping my cock after I make a game-winning TD.
“We might be able to arrange something.”
* * * *
A Week Later
First Divisional Round Play-Off
Santa Clara Tigers vs. Highlanders
Our offensive line takes the field, waiting for the official to confirm the takeaway. I just picked the ball, taking it from the Tigers in our end zone. We’ve kept them from extending their lead. They’ve been scoreless since the half, but so have we. We’ve got the ball on our twenty-yard line.
My gut’s a sick knot of twisting snakes. Once again, we’re down to the wire, and all we need is a touchdown to win. Clock’s past the two-minute mark, and we burned our last time-out on our goal-line defense. We could win or lose this game inside of two minutes. It’s now
or never. Offense has to do something great.
Miss Beulah huddles with Coach Bryant and Coach Daily. Mal and Jacks stand nearby, waiting. All of them are speaking heatedly to each other, and I hear Auntie say, “He can do this, him and Mal, they’s been practicing for a moment jus’ like this. Let ’em make the damn play.”
“The game is on the line,” Coach Bryant says. “You’ve been out of the game a long time, Bertulah…shit, can I just call you Bert?”
“Jus’ fer you, sugar.”
Coach Bryant eyes Auntie.
“Give my boys a chance,” Auntie pleads.
Coach Bryant reluctantly nods his head. Mal smacks Jacks on the ass and both men run onto the field.
No longer able to sit on the bench, I move to the sideline. Watch the snap. See the handoff. I blink. Mal doesn’t hand it off to Eagle but to Jacks on a jet sweep. A college play where the receiver runs full speed, the handoff disguised, and gets around the end of the defense to run downfield. The play creates separation and is designed for big yardage gains. The defense knows this and doesn’t bite, running to that side to intercept Jacks, but he stops. Our offensive line forms a quarterback’s pocket around him, and Jacks lobs it toward the opposite side of the field.
I don’t fucking believe it!
Jacks passes the football to Mal, who is wide open! A thirty-yard pass!
Mal catches it and runs it into the end zone with no defenders covering him. We’ve won! Sweet Jesus! We’ve won! Our fans cheer, interspersed with the home team crowd who are booing, and I swear to God, I look for a penalty flag, too afraid something is gonna bring this one back. Sure as shit, there’s a yellow flag thrown in the backfield. The refs consult each other. Probably a hold. One of our guys caught holding a defender. Then the ref confers with Coach Bryant. Coach nods his head and walks away.
The white hat hits his audio button. “Roughing the passer. The penalty is declined, the result of the play stands. Touchdown Highlanders.”
I run onto the field, and Coach Daily yoinks me back behind the line and hands me my helmet. Those are the longest few seconds of my life. Stuffing my head into my brain bucket, I wait for the point-after kick. Now I can run onto the field, ready to join Jacks on special teams to chase this kick downfield. Our gunner is always ready to beat the ball and take out their kick returner. Not like this is anything near a formality. With a minute thirty seconds left to play, Coach decides in favor of an onside kick. There’s still a whole lot of football that can be played inside the two-minute mark.
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