“Paul Phelps was just indicted for child molestation and once again taken into custody,” Jacks says with some pride.
Coach Bryant smiles and bobs his head. “Well, that is some good news.”
“It means my son can stop worrying about what that prick is going to do to him,” Jacks says.
“Well, then do you suppose we can go back out there and score? Win this game for your son?”
“Our son,” I say.
The room erupts with cheers.
“I guess that’s a yes,” Coach says.
The receivers huddle up with Auntie. We all break off to strategize with our coaches. Some of the guys are getting ankles taped up, and I notice Haines approaches Jacks. I wander over just to make sure everything is good. Haines acknowledges me, but he doesn’t stop talking to Jacks, grilling him about Phelps.
“I want to know the truth. Is what they’re saying about you and Coach Paul true?”
“A lot of things are being said. I can’t go into specifics, man. I’m one of the witnesses.”
“I can say something,” I say, glancing between the men. “I was there the night Coach Paul did something truly heinous to Jacks, and so was my auntie. No one is making this shit up. That man molested little boys for a long time. Now it stops.”
Auntie shows up and shoos me away. Time to get our heads back in the game. No more playing nice.
* * * *
Halftime clock is ticking away. We’re only down by three points. Jacks is next to me as we look out of the tunnel at the snow flurries covering the field.
“Backyard football?” I ask.
He nods. “Just like back home.”
“Go get ’em,” I say to him. “Jackrabbit that shit outta there, bro.”
When both teams assemble, our return team is ready, and we have a plan. By-the-book football isn’t played in the backyard, but that’s how we’re playing it, like we’re still in Jacks’s backyard. Samuels is our kickoff returner this time, but only as a ruse. Make the Paladins think they’ve got to catch someone slower than Jacks, throwing them a bone as it were, feeding them up a rookie.
Jacks loves this play.
The ball is kicked. Samuels catches it on the one-yard line and immediately runs it out right. The Paladins bite, honing in on Samuels, getting ready to decleat his ass, when he laterals it left across the field to Jacks. I execute an excellent lookout block. As in, “Oh, look out!” I plow through the guy and follow Jacks downhill. My boy is a beast! He’s gone. His feet disappear in the rushes of snow. Paladins slip in the wet, trying to shift gears and run the other way.
God, their kicker thinks he’s gonna stop Jacks. My boy stiff-arms the kid, mushing him to the ground, whitewashing his face into the snow. Jacks keeps running all the way out the back of the end zone. No one but Highlanders behind him and one lone Paladin, who pile drives Jacks into the snow.
Jacks pops up with the ball and a face full of snow. Even the defender is laughing. He and I help Jacks get the snow outta his face. I smack Jacks’s ass, smiling, and I glance up into the crowd as he walks away. A dark-haired guy, not wearing any colors, Highlander or Paladin, holds up a sign.
GO TO HELL, FAGGOTS!
I see instant red. In two seconds I’m up the barrier, fighting to get over the railing. Screaming fans grab for me. Highlander blue-and-black away jerseys outnumber the red and gold of the Paladins. All I can see is the dirty green of the guy’s army jacket as he disappears into an ocean of football fans.
Someone has my leg and yanks me down. Jacks looks at me like I’ve gone insane. Back up in the crowd, the sign is gone, and I can’t see the dark-haired man. I imagine he simply walks out of the stands toward the concourse.
Jacks ushers me back to the sidelines before we get a delay of game penalty or illegal formation call. Jacks dumps off his helmet on the bench next to me and gets in my face.
“What the fuck?”
“Didn’t you see the sign?”
“What sign?”
Jesus. I debate telling him. He’s so happy right now. In his mind, we’ve won. The game. The trial. Jared. I touch the bruise on his cheek, the one from the first-quarter hit he took, and he leans into me just a bit.
“Nothing, bro. Just fans talkin’ shit. You know how I get.”
Jacks grins and grabs my helmet. “Then go get ’em, son.”
I’m on the field, but my mind is in the stands. Frank has made me paranoid. Shit. The ball’s snapped. I hurry to make coverage. I just get my fingers on the ball, but the receiver comes down with it anyway. Damn it. I can’t give it away on defense. Need to get my mind back in the game.
This time I read it right and tip the ball. Incomplete pass. Quarterback then tries for the middle. Els takes the receiver out, God damn snowboarding that boy across the field, and I laugh. The guy’s the shit-talking tight end Els hates. Els stuffs the dude’s face in the snow with a big hand on the back of his helmet, pushing off him to stand. The tight end gets up to have a go at Els, but my big safety is already three long strides away, looking so smooth. The Paladins corral their player, urging him to the huddle, while we shift our lineup. We don’t want to make it easy to read our defense.
Right before the snap, I see the dark-haired guy again. This time he’s wearing stadium security gear, but his drab green collar pokes out of the down jacket. He’s behind the Paladins’ end zone. The sign in his hands. The ball snaps, and instead of running my route, blocking, or intercepting the ball, I’m running in the opposite direction. I swear I can see the smug smile on the bastard’s face. He turns calmly down the tunnel toward the Paladins’ locker room.
The crowd cheers. The almost deafening noise fades, and all I see is the disappearing figure of a dark-haired man in a security coat. The sign is left on the field. I’m almost there when someone yanks me around by my face mask, nearly snapping my neck, and I’m stunned silent by the angry gaze of Coach Bryant.
“What the fuck you doing, boy?”
“There’s a guy…with a sign—”
“There’s lots of guys with signs. You forget which team you’re on? They just scored! On your broken coverage! Get on that fucking bench.”
The sign is still on the ground. I point to it, but he shoves me toward the sideline. When I look back, he’s holding the sign and calling over security. Doesn’t help now. The guy’s long gone, and I’m responsible for the Paladins scoring on my busted coverage.
We’re down now. We were up seven to three, and they kick the point after. Now we’re trailing by three with eight minutes left in the quarter. It’s all good. Mal and the boys got this, and Jacks is on fire.
Mal sets up in the pocket, fake pumps to the right, can’t get the read, and looks to Jacks, who’s in double coverage. Christ if Mal doesn’t just thread that needle, dropping it right in Jacks’s hands through the two defenders. I’m up, Jacks spins, breaks a tackle to gain ten more yards.
The offense huddles up quickly, snapping the ball before the defense is set, and hands it off to Eagle. The miniature tank plows through the line, defenders hanging off him, to land in the end zone. Touchdown Highlanders! Yeah, way to come back strong.
The point-after kick is good. Score’s fourteen to ten, and I’m grabbing my helmet. Coach Daily stops me at the line. “We’re sending in the kid, Mitchell. Take a break, Irus.”
“I just had a goddamn break!” My voice cracks with my anger.
“Take another one.”
Coach Daily walks away. I sit, fuming, with my helmet on, and Jacks glances my way. He gives me his Zen expression. I chew on my lip and look away. I’m too mad to let him calm me down. One last scan of the crowd turns up nothing. No army-jacketed guy. Not like the man is hanging around, I’m sure. I don’t know what I expect to see, but there seems to be extra security prowling around. I sigh. Maybe I’m overreacting. Focus on the game, Irus.
This time the Paladins are looking at fourth and long in their own end zone. They either bring out their punter or risk giving
us great field advantage. Sure enough, here comes their punter.
Haines returns the ball, and we get good field position at the Paladins’ forty-yard line. The clock is stopped for the field crew to blow some more snow from the yardage lines, and then Mal is once again under center. He hands off the ball to Eagle. It’s a power O. His favorite play. The O-line punches a hole in the defense, and Eagle runs it downhill from the forty to the thirty. He’s still going. I stand on the bench to see. Defenders slip in the snow behind him, and he just keeps going. The twenty. The ten. Yes! Yes, we’re in for a touchdown!
In this moment, I look up at the clock and the score. The third quarter’s been and gone. Where the fuck did the time go? We are up by eleven. The score’s twenty-one to ten. There’s still another quarter to play, but I’m no longer feeling generous. I climb from the bench and make my way over to the coach.
“I found my head.”
“Did you? Was thinking for a moment that we needed to evaluate you for a concussion.”
“I can extend this lead. Score on defense. Push their QB to throw my way. Drive him to throw to me. He’ll do it. I’ve seen enough film of this guy. He’ll bite.”
“You think so, huh?”
“I know he will.”
The crowd cheers as the Paladins gain pretty good field position. “That’s a sixty-five to seventy-yard run for you, Irus. Depends on how many yards downfield he throws it.”
“Shit, I can do that without even breathing hard.”
Coach gives me the nod, and I run out to join the defense. Our huddle breaks, and now we wait to see how they line up. The ball snaps, and we blitz them, piling all our guys into the pocket, just to rattle the quarterback. The twins sack him.
Paladins’ quarterback is known to get jittery if he thinks he’s gonna get sacked. With the twins breathing down his neck, he’s got nowhere to turn, and on the next snap, they drive him to my side of the field. All his other receivers are covered. I lurk behind the only receiver he has to throw to, and with the twins almost on him, he throws. I jump in front of the receiver, cradling the ball like it was meant for me, and I’m off with defenders throwing blocks. The sounds of the snow under my feet, my pads shuffling on my shoulders, and my heavy breathing are all I can hear. Then the feel of cold snow on my left foot tells me I just ran outta my shoe.
With a glance back, I realize no one’s catching me. I’m too long and fast. I’m laughing as I reach the end zone. Defense just made the score twenty-seven to ten. The point-after boys will make it twenty-eight, but the look on the Paladins’ quarterback tells me we already won the game. We’re in his head.
Els hands me my shoe. “Damn, boy, I knew you got this, so I went back to get your shoe.”
“You stopped for my shoe?”
“Can’t have you getting frostbite in your piggies. We gotta game to win.”
* * * *
Down to the wire in the fourth quarter. The stadium announcer’s voice is almost drowned out by the cheering on our sidelines. “That’s the fourth interception Allen has thrown this quarter.”
Els grins from the snowy end zone. I can’t see his eyes because of his black visor, but there’s no mistaking the joy at having the game-clinching touchdown. The Paladins’ last chance at tying it up and sending the game into overtime just died with forty-five seconds on the clock.
“Four interceptions in the fourth quarter. Said all we had to do was get in that boy’s head,” I say, shoving Els’s shoulder. The realization we’re going to the championship hits me, and I have to find Jacks. The field is full of staff, reporters, film crews, and players. Mal is shaking hands with the Paladin quarterback as I jam through the crowd to look for my man.
“Hey, Mal, have you seen Jacks?”
He turns and points back toward the benches. Jacks sits on the bench, a cell phone stuck to one ear and a hand clamped over the other one. Auntie Beulah is right next to him, her hand on his shoulder, and she looks damn near in tears. What’s my boy doing? I run across the field. When I get close enough, I slide onto the bench next to him, bumping our hips together. He grins, and he hands me the phone.
“Hello?”
“I-reese!” Jared squeals in my ear. “You’re going to the championships! How does it feel?”
“Like a happy ending, kid.”
“Ew, gross.”
“Not like that, boy. Get your fourteen-year-old mind outta the gutter, and tell your dad how proud you are of him.”
“That’s why I called. Olivia came by with the paperwork. Judge signed off. I’m yours.”
A quick glance at Jacks confirms what the kid says is true, and I’m speechless. There are no words to describe the moment you become a father. A real, honest to God father. Shit.
“I wasn’t thinkin’ he could do it, but tha’ boy Maddox, he made y’all a family,” Auntie says through her tears.
“You said I’m going to the championship with you…Dad?” Dad sounds experimental on his part, but I think it fits perfectly.
“Yeah, I did. Great news, son. Better than I’d ever hoped.” I hand the phone back to Jacks. I’m too overwhelmed right now. The conversation doesn’t even penetrate all my thoughts and worries now. Jacks’s voice is indistinct. He’s too choked up for words. Miss Beulah laughs as she takes the phone, walking away, talking to Jared about the game. The sound in her voice at having a new child around to dote on as much as she did me and Kane does something to my chest, something between panic and euphoria. Either way, it’s hard to breathe.
Jacks pokes me. I don’t know what to say. He’s beaming. Real, true happiness is plastered across his face. “Paul’s being indicted, we’re going to the championship, and Jared is ours.”
I stand, yanking Jacks into my arms, and I hold him as my tears begin to fall. I don’t give a fuck who sees me. I’m so happy and terrified at the same moment. I take one last look around for the dark-haired man, but don’t see any threats.
Just the looming cameras.
I’ve been holding my helmet this entire time, clutching it like an insane person, but now I toss it over my shoulder. With my hands free, I grasp my man’s face, trailing his tears with my thumb, and I kiss him.
The world is a frenzy around us, but I notice no one. The taste of Jacks is too compelling. My heart threatens to escape as my blood rips through my veins. Jacks grabs my pads and jerks me closer still. He inhales me, sucks my lower lip into his mouth and bites just a little too hard.
“Boy,” I hiss into his ear. “Don’t give me hard-on right now. I’m not wearing a cup.”
Jacks laughs. He wraps his arms around me and hooks his hands on my pads, horse collaring me in place.
“We’re going to the championship, baby. Who’d a thunk it?” I ask.
“We did,” Jacks whispers.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A Week Later
Jackson McCoy’s House
Jackson McCoy
The bed on Irus’s side is cold. Through the fog of sleep, I breathe deep, hoping for the smell of breakfast. I listen for the banter between Irus and Jared. Maybe a crackling fire. Nothing. Silence. No delicious smells, either.
My head slowly begins to hurt. The fuzziness of sleep fades. I remember why I won’t hear any banter. My eyes are dry and tired. The air is freezing, so I pull the blankets tighter around me and think of Jared. Of how hard Irus worked to keep my spirits up last night. Sex with Irus is always a wonderful distraction, but now I’m left with all this shit circling around inside my skull. And an empty house. Again.
Shouldn’t have believed in happily ever after.
Didn’t imagine I’d ever lose the kid.
Never thought Jared’s dad could come back and take him from me.
Apparently, Jared’s biological father filed a preliminary injunction with the court before our judge signed off. Had no choice but to give Jared back to him. Thought everything was said and done. Judge signed off. Just goes to show how fucked the system is. Foster parents have no r
ights. The state gives and takes away. The day they took Jared, Irus was all over it, getting a lawyer, starting an actual bid for adoption.
Hell, he even went to talk to Jared’s dad. Irus wouldn’t let me go with him. He was afraid I’d deck the guy. I probably would’ve too, based on how pissed Irus was when he came home.
“Bastard wants us to pay for the kid. Wants a million dollars or some shit.”
“Do it. Empty out my accounts, retirement, savings, checking, anything, just get Jared back,” I begged.
“Baby, we can’t just go around buying kids. Even if it is for their own good. We need to explore all legal options first. If it comes down to it, I’ll sign over my game check to the prick.”
“That’s not a million dollars.”
“Do you really think he’ll balk at how many zeros aren’t there?”
“I can’t lose that kid again. I just can’t.”
“You won’t. We won’t. Just keep your head on straight.”
How could everything go so far south inside a week? Won the divisional round to send my team to the national championships and got the news I was a father all in one night. A week later, one phone call destroyed my happiness. Some abusive son of a bitch pulled the rug from beneath my feet, and I have to hand my kid back over to him.
Been over this a thousand times. I scrub my face with my hands. “Ugh!”
Paul’s still being indicted, at least.
Shit. One more week to get my head back in the game for the national championship. Not sure how I’m gonna do it, but I can’t let my team down now. Irus suggests we just bide our time. Things’ll work out.
I roll over. On the bedside table is a note, and hanging from a hook near the closet is the suit I wore to the national championship after-party last year. The last time I wore that suit, Branson fucked me raw in a bathroom, and now, according to Irus’s note, I’m to put the suit on and meet him at the stadium, seven p.m. sharp.
Whatever he has in mind, I’m not wearing that suit, and so I get up to go shopping. I’ve plenty of time. Food first. I sit up, feeling all the wonderful bruises along my body. Trophies of being Irus’s fuck toy last night. The zing in my belly will hold me over until I get to see Irus tonight. I wonder what he’s up to, but I have an inkling he might be trying to cheer me up some more.
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