It wasn't just me coaching him along, either. Brendan was right there, helping to prop him up when he got frustrated. Even just a squeeze of Ty's shoulder seemed to be enough, but usually it was accompanied by encouraging words and Brendan's eternal optimism.
It grated on me sometimes when we were younger, but I also clearly remembered watching him with the other football players and just falling even harder for him. He was like the team dad, even though he was the same age as them. Always checking up on them, always trying to help them through shit. If he hadn't become a physical therapist, he would've been a great psychologist.
When Ty took a break to run down the street and grab a coffee from Starbucks, I shared my reminiscing with him.
"You've always been really good at this. Pepping people up."
He shrugged almost self-consciously. "I just... think of the things I'd want to hear in this situation."
"It's more than that. You've got more empathy in your big toe than most people have in their entire body," I pointed out. "I was just thinking about how you took care of all the guys on the football team."
Brendan let out a soft laugh. "I've never thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess you're right."
"Back then, I was never sure if it was football you loved, or just getting the chance to play therapist for a bunch of dudes who had the emotional maturity of snails," I said with a grin.
He had to stifle his laughter this time, his hand clamping over his mouth. Both of us looked around for the stereotypical librarian, but no one was watching us.
Good time to sneak away and...
I dashed those thoughts quickly, pumping the brakes before I ended up in Horny Town.
"A bit of both, probably. Football wasn't meant to be, though. I think even if I hadn't gotten injured, I would've washed out."
I couldn't really imagine him as some big football star. It was good he'd had a backup plan, even if that changed from what his dad wanted. By the time Ty came back, I found myself wondering if he had one, too. He'd already been seriously injured. The school was setting him up for a literal lifetime of pain with how careless they were being and statistically, the chances of it being "worth it" were really fucking low.
So once he settled in, I asked, "Have you given any thought to what you want to do after football? I mean obviously not economics, but there's probably something you're passionate about, right?"
Brendan glanced at me, a sudden tension coiling in his body. I could see it in the tight line of his shoulders.
"What, like when I'm in my forties or something? Probably have a family by then. Maybe I'll end up doing volunteer work. Or coaching. A lot of guys end up coaching."
I felt bad for the kid. Even if he did get picked up by the NFL, the chances of him staying in the league beyond his twenties were slim. They'd probably drop him before he made enough money to retire off of, then he'd just be stuck.
"I mean after college. In case football doesn't work out."
Brendan's jaw tightened. His brows lifted at me, silently asking what the fuck I was doing.
"I mean... I guess I should, but football's the only thing I'm good at."
"There's gotta be something else," I said. "Maybe you're not good at it now, but you still enjoy it?"
He sat back in his chair, brow furrowing. "Not really. Football's... my life. I've given everything I have to it."
I opened my mouth to try and encourage him to explore some new interests. To really pay attention in his classes and find something that caught his eye. Brendan spoke up before I could get anything out.
"Why don't we call it there for today," he said tersely. "Great work, Ty. We'll meet up again next week."
Ty thanked me before grabbing his things and shuffling off, seeming only a little affected by the conversation. Nothing like Brendan, who stared me down the whole time. As soon as Ty was out of earshot, I knew I was in for it. Even if I didn't know what it was, and suspected it wasn't the kind of tongue-lashing I hoped for.
19
Brendan
I couldn't believe what Keith said to Ty. I couldn't believe he was pushing at a kid who loved football more than anything else in life, effectively telling him he wasn't going to accomplish his goals, so he'd better have a backup plan in place.
Or maybe I could believe it. Maybe that was the problem.
Keith never really liked football, despite having an interest in other sports. He and I butted heads over it when I joined the JV team, then again when I made Varsity. I knew he felt threatened because football meant I had less time to spend with him, but I spent literally every other waking moment either near him at school or hanging out with him afterward.
For about a semester, I entertained the idea that Keith might be jealous. I thought maybe there was an interest from the quarterback, but nothing had ever come of it and I'd never been able to prove that jealousy on Keith's part, so I'd let it slide.
I also spent most of our high school career concealing how his dismissal and sometimes his outright disdain for the sport I loved made me feel. Resentment festered inside of me, something I didn't realize until I heard him saying the same sorts of things to Ty.
The thing was, I believed Keith was genuinely trying to help. He saw football as a risky career that would dead-end for most. He wasn't wrong, but there were more tactful ways to express that concern.
"Hey, next time you wanna crush a kid's dreams, maybe be a little more subtle about it."
I hadn't meant to lead off so strong, but that ember I thought I'd let die out years ago had caught fire again. I couldn't stop myself from saying it; couldn't help my agitated tone.
"So, having a realistic idea of what the world's going to be like for him is 'crushing his dreams?'" he asked, matching my agitation right away.
I could already tell this wasn't going to go well. Keith and I could be like fire and gasoline sometimes. Always feeding each other, raising the stakes and the intensity in whatever we were doing.
"It is when you act like there's no alternative," I said tersely. "I know how you feel about football and the people who play it, but you could at least try to understand where he's coming from."
"Why are you--" his voice was raised, but he quickly lowered it to hushed tones once he realized we were still very much in the library. "Why are you acting like I eviscerated him? Like I told him he wasn't ever going to amount to anything? All I said was that he should have a backup plan, just in case. Everyone needs a backup plan, Brendan. For fuck's sake. Even I had a backup plan."
I remembered he wanted to play pro volleyball. There wasn't exactly a thriving market for that sport to begin with, and he'd never been a pro caliber player. He'd said it himself, multiple times.
"For some guys, football is all they have. Ty's on scholarship here. His family can't afford tuition for this school or any other. He's trained since he was seven years old to play football, and he's good enough to do it professionally."
"Come on, Bren. If he can dedicate himself to football, he can dedicate himself to something else, too. I mean, you did."
"Yeah, I was also privileged enough to have a lot of different options at my disposal, too. Ty isn't."
Keith sat back in his chair and blew out a breath. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was debating whether or not he wanted to continue this--and probably escalate it--or just back off.
Some part of me was spoiling for a fight and I really couldn't explain why. It was like there was something nagging at my conscious mind, just begging to be released.
The rest of me wanted to avoid all conflict with Keith and just keep living in this blissful reality where there might be more to us than just being fuckbuddies.
When Keith heaved a sigh, I realized he was conceding before he even said the words. "You're right. I'm sorry, man. I still stand by the fact that he should find something he's passionate about besides football, but I could've gone about it in a better way."
I nodded, my own temper cooling. "Yea
h, well. I didn't exactly need to jump down your throat about it either."
All right. So maybe things didn't have to be like they were in high school. Maybe we didn't have to let our tempers run hot enough to burn each other. We were grown men now, with steady careers and a responsibility for people who looked up to us. It made sense that we'd both matured and mellowed out over time.
"I'm not going to say I mind you ramming things down my throat," Keith said with a smirk, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips.
Maybe we hadn't matured in every way. It was fine, though. Harmless innuendo.
Or at least it was, until Keith stood up, walked around the table, and sat down beside me. He even scooted his chair closer so that he could lean into me and whisper.
"Sensing a lot of unresolved tension," he purred. "Why don't you let me do something about that for you?"
I let out a choked laugh, my gaze darting around to make sure no one was immediately watching us. "Maybe later, when we aren't in a public library."
I hissed the last words for emphasis, meeting his gaze with my brows slightly lifted.
Keith just continued. "Nobody's come back here for a long time, and the back of the chair is blocking the view. I could get you started, then we could head somewhere a little more discreet to finish you off."
I had no idea if by "discreet" he meant heading out to my truck and parking it someplace else, or if he meant heading into the stacks so he could suck me off. Considering the fact that his hand glided over my thigh to land on my crotch, I thought it safe to assume the latter.
"What are you doing?" I asked through clenched teeth.
I didn't jerk away from him because it would've caused too much of a scene, but I did yank his hand off of me.
"Making it up to you," he said with a pout. "It's fine. You don't wanna be adventurous, I get it."
"I don't want to do something that will definitely get me fired from my job, Keith. What the fuck?"
He pulled back from me then, his posture stiff. "Jesus, you don't have to be such an asshole about it. I was just fucking around."
"You're always just fucking around," I heard myself say, and that sensation that'd been tugging at me earlier hummed more vibrantly, urging me on. "I'm not your Grindr hookup, Keith. I'm not some guy you can screw around with when it suits you, then ghost for the rest of your life. I have feelings that don't just revolve around fucking."
"And I don't?" he fired back, pulling away from me even further.
"You don't act like it!"
We were back to arguing, back to raised voices and making a scene. This time, I didn't care. That part of me that had apparently been waiting for the chance to say these things resisted any attempt I might have made at saving face.
"Why don't you do me a favor: Don't text me for any hookups until you figure out what you want, Keith."
He looked at me, distance between us now as he'd moved to retrieve his things on the other side of the table.
"Wow. Okay. Guess I'll see you around, then," he said, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
There was anger in his eyes, but when he swallowed after that statement, I caught the hint of a tremble in his jaw. Pain flickered across his expression just for a moment before he tamped it down, getting rid of every emotion that wasn't cavalier indifference.
That small glimpse brought back the other part of me, sending the more aggressive, more demanding part scurrying back under the rock it'd crawled out from under. I knew I'd been mean about it and, as he stuffed his things into his bag, I wanted to apologize.
But... none of what I said was untrue. It was all how I felt. If I apologized now, I knew I'd walk back the words as if there weren't any problems between us at all.
As if I hadn't agonized over what we were to each other.
I forced myself to stay silent. We both needed a chance to cool off for a few days. I could text him once I wasn't so... fragile, and maybe try to explain myself a little better.
I told myself it would all work out, that we just needed a little time. Over and over I repeated it as I watched him head out of the library. By the time he'd disappeared into the parking lot, I was no closer to convincing myself it was true.
20
Keith
Brendan had a lot of fucking nerve.
Jumping down my throat about Ty was one thing. I got it; I'd said something insensitive, even if to me it just seemed like good sense. I wouldn't have wanted anyone to tell me to make a backup plan if I was dead set on a specific path, and Brendan was right. I didn't know Ty. I didn't know his home life or what he was going through. This could very well be his only shot at a university education and, if football was the pathway for that, who was I to tell him he should do something else?
The kid loved it. He was good at it. That should've been where it ended. But when Brendan jumped my shit about it, I'd gotten deep into my own insecurity with him, and everything had imploded from there.
It was a mess, and I wondered how we'd ever been able to make it work as friends. I didn't remember our personalities ever bumping up against each other as much as they had in the past few months. Then again, we weren't dealing with a decade's worth of resentment back then, either. As far as our dumb asses had known, we were on a path of lifelong friendship and nothing would ever come between us.
Well, something had now.
We weren't actually anything to each other beyond guys who sometimes fucked. I had to remind myself of that as I threw myself down on the very couch where he'd very recently pounded my ass until I moaned his name.
Why did his dismissal of me hurt so much, then?
Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I angrily swiped it awake and pulled up Grindr. Now that my leg was mostly healed, I could find a hookup and have a guy come over like he was bringing me a fucking Uber Eats order. It wasn't the safest thing, but I didn't exactly care in that moment. It felt like my heart had been broken, just like the day I realized Brendan was choosing his dad's vision of his life over a life with me.
It was probably a good thing eighteen-year-old Keith didn't have access to dick on demand like I did. I would've gotten myself into even worse situations than the time I cruised a truck stop for twelve hours straight, climbing into eight different truck cabs and sucking off guys who were convinced I was a hooker.
Now, I was at least a little more discriminating. Or a lot more. I swiped through thirty profiles before even beginning to consider one. None of them were right and I couldn't articulate why. The one I finally stopped on was a guy whose face wasn't in his profile pic--of course--and who pointedly said he was just looking for some quick fun.
I knew that meant a hookup with no chance for a repeat, which was exactly what I was looking for. I sent him a message, telling myself so long as he didn't seem like a serial killer, I'd invite him over to fuck me and then I could move past all these awful feelings swirling around inside me.
Not five minutes after I sent my ice breaker, I received a picture of his dick. Not a bad one, all things considered. Average length, but a nice girth. It would've felt good in my ass even if he didn't know how to use it. So long as I could get him to stay still for a few minutes, I could fuck myself on a dick like that and leave mostly satisfied.
But, something about it didn't appeal. When I went to give him directions to my place, I couldn't do it. I kept looking around my apartment, seeing all the places I'd been with Brendan. Not just where he'd fucked me, but where we'd talked, or where he'd helped me with my leg.
This place was haunted by his memory and all I wanted was to text him, say whatever I could to get him to come over, and pray my body could make him forget about all the problems we had.
What the fuck is wrong with me...?
Sitting with the weight of that question was enough to make me drop my phone. It fell uselessly onto the couch cushion, the messaging window still pulled up, the guy with the girthy dick probably moving on to someone else by now. All while I worked through a fucking crisis.
<
br /> It hadn't always been like this. For as much as I thought about sex in high school, I'd been terrified of doing anything with anyone. Part of that was wanting Brendan and knowing I wasn't going to have him, but another part of it was my inexperience and a belief that sex should be something special between two people who cared about each other.
I had always been prone to action rather than talking, though. If there was an issue, I preferred to work it out in any way that didn't involve untangling my complicated feelings. Brendan understood that about me and, while I knew it frustrated him sometimes, he accepted it.
With him out of my life, there's been no one to accept it and nothing to aspire to when it came to sexual relationships. It wasn't Brendan's fault I'd decided to become a man-whore. That was fully on me and the choices I made, most of which were done with the knowledge that it was a lot easier to lose myself in a blowjob than it was to actually acknowledge my feelings.
It was a recognizable pattern, though, with a clear beginning. From that truck stop off I-75 to the present day, where I'd been about to fuck away my anguish even knowing it would still be there once the cum dried.
Sex wasn't going to cut it. At least, not the kind of sex I'd been having. As I sat there, a fantasy spun itself in my mind. It took place in a world where I was open enough about my feelings to at least share them through my actions. A world where I could go to Brendan, apologize for being an ass both now and in the past, and spend the rest of the night showing him exactly what he meant to me and how scared I was to lose him a second time.
I'd always imagined my first time would be with Brendan--with someone I loved. The thought of a rushed, fumbling experience where we just rutted against each other until we both came never crossed my mind. I'd imagined it would be almost magical. Slow and sensual, with the two of us worshiping each other's bodies and then crossing into those new experiences together.
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