by Amy Lane
He drilled for an hour, and it began to rain, and he continued. The court became slippery, and his vision was blurred, and his eyes stung with sweat and rain and maybe something else, but he was damned if hed stop. His foot settled into a steady, aching, swollen throb, and he ignored it, because everything was just so pure out there with the ball in his hands. It was so simple, so easy. Hands up, sight your shot, shoot, run the play, score again. He could do it for hours.
He did it for two hours. Leo came out in a trench coat with an umbrella and told him that his lips were blue, and he said “So the fuck what!” Leo turned around and left.
He did it for three hours.He couldnt see the basket in the dark, and barely noticed when the all-purpose light snapped on overhead. His muscles trembled and his knees ached, and his foot was a bloody ring of fire, but every step had the whole of his heart in it, and every shot had his every concentration, and every run back was the run of a man pursued by a legion, at least, of hells nastiest demons, the ones calling him a faggot, and telling him that what hed had in his life for the least twelve years hadnt been real, not real at all.
He was in his fourth hour when Leo came out again, trench coat collecting new water droplets on its matte gray water-repellent exterior, matching umbrella held close to his chest because the wind had picked up.He was shouting something, but Xander didnt want to hear it, so he ran past the half court, ran even into the bushes, and sighted the place he wanted to dunk from, as though everything in his body wasnt shaking with exhaustion and dehydration and cold.
Leo placed himself right in front of that spot, and was yelling at the top of his lungs, and Xander couldnt hear him over his own labored breathing, and, dammit, he didnt want to stop. Didnt want to stop. Didnt want to stop. The sound of the ball splattering with each dribble started to eclipse the tortured breath roaring through his lungs, and his stride lengthened and his body flew,and he had a vision of Leos eyes growing as big as basketballs when he realized what Xander intended.
Xander had to give it to the little guy, he didnt move. He just dropped to a crouch at the last moment as Xander vaulted right over him, legs scissoring to give him air, and threw the ball straight into the dripping net from the height of his chest. He grabbed onto the rim there, suspended, not wanting to come down because it was as close to flying as he could get without a hang glider on his shoulders, and then the muscles in his arms gave out and he came crashing to the ground. He lucked out, because his knees couldnt hold him, and they gave as his feet touched down. He rolled to his back, howling triumph and exhaustion and pain and rage, until his body was too spent for even that, and he simply rolled sideways and stayed, panting, in the water running off the court.
A pair of patent leather dress shoes interrupted his vision, and then Leos face, dripping water and still a bit wide-eyed, as he crouched down to see if Xander was still living.
“Happy with yourself?” he asked dryly, and Xander swallowed and nodded.
“Ecstatic,” he muttered, and Leo rolled his eyes.
“Chris plays in about five minutes,” he said. “I thought, you know, you might want to snap out of your self-pity and everything, because the guy called to make sure youd be watching.”
Xander closed his eyes.“Fuck,” he breathed. “Is it really that late?”
Leo let out a string of curse words, some of which Xander hadnt heard since high school, and others that he was pretty sure Leo had no personal experience with whatsoever.He finished with, “Man, are you going to get up and go dry off and warm up or something, or do I have to call the fucking paramedics?”
“Dont be a drama queen, Leona,” Xander mumbled. “Just give me a hand up, willya?”
It took more than a hand up—Xander actually had to lean on Leos shoulder, because his foot, given some sign that the punishment was about to end, decided to bitch like a prom queen on the rag. Xander asked Leo if he could get the pain meds out of his bag while Xander went up and took the worlds fastest shower—or so he planned. It took him a while, because his hands were too damned cold for small shit, like taking off his socks, or fumbling with the handles on the shower.
When he came gimping down the stairway ten minutes later, holding onto the rail because his knees wouldnt hold his weight and his body was just too exhausted to move, Leo had the DVR on pause and had put together a tray of leftovers that Lucia had left for him, as well as some hot chocolate.
Xander was too tired to even complain that the hot chocolate was for a little kid. He felt like a little kid. The last time he could remember feeling this completely wrecked, had been—
Oh shit. Surfing, on their way to Chapel Hill. Xander actually had to fight back a sob, and he was angry with himself for even thinking it. All of that work, all of that hard work, to not think about sleeping in that bed without Chris—for damned near the next six months.
Leo gave him the remote, and he pressed play while his body started to demand he shovel food down his throat in record quantities. About halfway through, as the pre-game ended and the lights and music started, he remembered to stop for his painkiller. At his whimper of relief when he downed it, Leo grabbed the remote, pressed pause, and then looked down at his bare foot, propped up on the big glossy black coffee table that went with the leather couches and cream pale rug and giant front bay window that curved around the front of the house as it faced the lake.
His toe was almost as black as the coffee table, and Leo made a little moan when he saw it.
“Press play,” Xander mumbled. “Chris was about ready to come out.”
“What in the fuck did you do?” Leo asked harshly, and Xander didnt want to talk about it. Leo pulled his arm back with the remote control, though, in a tight little concentrated fist, and Xanders eyebrows raised as he realized that Leo probably had the power to pitch the thing through that big glass window from the couch.
“Dont look so surprised, Superstar—I pitched in the minors for three years after college, and it was my knees that fucked me over, not my elbows. Now I will throw this thing into the goddamned lake if you dont tell Uncle Leo what in the fuck happened to that prime piece of real estate parked on the fucking coffee table!”
Xander swore and leaned his head back.“I broke it,” he said, embarrassed all over again.
“On the court? Because Malloy would have told me about that.”
Xander looked at him miserably, pathetically aware that Leo could learn pretty much everything he wanted to know with a few questions to folks other people ignored.
“I broke my goddamned little toe talking to Chris on the phone on the running path, because I realized that we probably wouldnt get to see each other until the All-Star break in February and kicked a rock like a little kid, does that make you happy?”
Leo started laughing a little, and stood, that brittle, bitter sound not stopping even a smidge.“Ecstatic. Here.Heres the goddamned remote. Im gonna go get you some ice. And another bandage because your arms bleeding. And maybe a brain transplant, because I swear to Christ, Xander, I thought you were the smart one, right up until you practically stepped on my head.”
“I didnt come anywhere near your head,” Xander grunted. Hell, he hadnt even come near Leos umbrella.It didnt matter. Xander pressed play and watched the television hungrily as Chris ran onto the court in the lights and the music and the thunder of the crowd.
God, Chris could play to the crowd—and they loved him. He waved and dimpled, and danced through his intro, and the announcers said things like, “Well, when he gets over his shyness, well stop worrying about how hes going to fit in here!”
“Chris could play with anyone,” Xander said, believing it.
Leo let out a sigh and a grunt, and Xander glanced at him.
“Let it go, Xander,” Leo said quietly, packing one of those chemical ice packs around his toe.“Lets just watch the game, okay?”
They did, and Denver was doing okay. They were behind by six or eight points but they kept the lead steady and didnt do anythin
g stupid. Chris was starting, and he was making a fair show of it, hands up, moving quickly, throwing himself into the game the way he always had, but he didnt seem to be racking up the points.
“Hmm…,” Xander muttered. There was something wrong with the television. He tried adjusting the tint, the contrast, the hue, and finally Leo stole the remote from him and snarled, “What in the bloody hell are you playing at?”
“Dont you have forty-nine other clients or something?” Xander asked irritably, and Leo rolled his eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah, in fact I do.But Ive got a soft spot for the two of you, okay, and not just because you have the potential to make history after you retire.But youre totally pissing me off, and if you dont stop fucking with the goddamned set, Im going to fire myself by jamming that thing down your throat.”
Xander grunted and waved at Leo as master of the remote. It wasnt the empty threat of eating the remote control that got him; it was the very real threat of being in the house alone. Penny was moving in the next day. She had an engagement that night, and hed told her not to miss anything for him.
“All yours,” he muttered. “Knock yourself out.”
Leo grunted back.“What in the hell were you looking for?”
“Chriss color didnt look right.I wonder if hes sick.”
Leo was quiet for a moment as Chris took the ball, bounced it to his center and threw himself in position for the rebound, if Cliff decided for the long shot. Cliff went in to dunk, instead, and Chris fived him. It wasnt the smooth five that Chris and Xander had perfected, but it was friendly and competitive. Xander watched the screen, puzzled. Why hadnt Cliff gone for the long shot? It was easy enough to make. God knows, the two of them had spent enough time drilling three-pointers at UNC.
“Hes not as good as you are,” Leo told him patiently.
“Cliff? He just took a while to bloom.”
“No, idiot, hes not as good. He knew he couldnt make the long shot, so he couldnt take a second and make his guard look good. Thats how good you are, Xander.Its how good youve always been.”
Xander shrugged.“I practiced,” he said quietly, some of his defenses leaking away.“Chris practiced with me. It was all I had.”
Leo sighed—he knew some of Xanders past. Not all of it—enough to help give Xander some good sound bite answers if the press cornered him, but not all. No one knew about that shameful little apartment, or the halfway house that followed it.No one knew hed run away. No one knew the last time hed seen his mother—maybe not even Chris. No—he was billed as a foster-home success story, and about half the papers erroneously put Chris as his foster-brother. Leo let them think that. It was one of the things that had made them signing on the same team so damned easy.
“Man, you just dont get it, do you? Look at Chris out there—hes playing his heart out.Howre his numbers?”
Xander looked, and Leo was right. Chris was sweating, fierce, and concentrated completely on his job. It was just like calculus, which Chris had hated. He hated it, but damned if he was going to do a crap job on something hed been told was his duty to perform.
“Hes usually better than that,” Xander mumbled. “I think its because hes sick.”
Leo waved his hands in irritation—he did that sometimes.“What is this „sick bullshit, Xander? He looks fine to me!”
“Well, yeah, if he was sitting next to you. But on the court hes usually….” Xander waved his big hands around, searching for equally big words for the shiny nimbus that seemed to follow Chris around, telling Xander when to pass and when to shoot.
“Golden,” he said after an uncomfortable moment. “Hes usually golden when were on the court together. You know.Darker tan.”
Leos eyes bugged out, and Xander subsided, watching the game with the same fierce concentration that Chris seemed to be showing while playing it.
When it was over, Denver had won, but not pretty. Chris had proved himself as a capable first-string team player—but not any better than Cliff, and only a little better than the guy theyd shipped from Denver in his place. Leo and Xander sat expressionlessly and watched the postgame wrap-up, where Chris grinned amiably into the camera and lied his pretty little ass off.
“Yeah, it was fun being here with Cliff. If we had Karcek with us, it would have been just like being in college again. Do I think I can replicate the same success I had with Karcek?”
And Chriss grin faded, became bittersweet.
“Xander and I were a team for a lot of years. You dont just bust something like that up on the court and expect it to be rebuilt in a day.”
And then someone, thank God, threw him a soft ball that put him right back in the drivers seat again. “How do I feel about Colorado? Have you seen your roads? Nobody here believes in guardrails! My God, I love you people!”
The obligatory burst of laughter pretty much wrapped up the press conference, and they shifted to an announcer somewhere else in the sports complex.Xanders hungry fixation on the screen eased up a bit as the object of his desire became another body primed for the mysterious art of sports dissection.
ThenLeo turned off the television and said softly, “Its you, Xan.”
Xander tried for light.“I swear that one was the dog,” he said, and he was gratified when Leo let out a rusty chuckle. The dogs, overtired from barking at Xander in the rain, lay sprawled on their cushion on the floor and didnt move.
“That one was you, you overgrown fifth grader, and dont lie to me.No, thats not what I was talking about.”
Xander was tired. He was exhausted, and his body ached, and underneath the cast-iron chemical plating separating his toe from the rest of his cadaver, there was some serious pain-throbbing-agony going on in his metacarpal phalange. The only thing keeping him awake was the knowledge that Chris was going to call him soon—hed promised—and he had to know Xander was watching the game.
In short, Xander was too tired to deal with what Leo was saying, but worse? He was too tired to escape it, either.
“What were you talking about?” he asked, fearing the inevitable.
“I was talking about the color that was missing on the television screen. Xander—thats not Chris, its the way you see him. Thats how he looks to you, when youre both playing the game. Hes a good player, and hes going to make a fine living. But hes not you.”
“I hope not,” Xander murmured, almost to himself and half-stoned on painkillers and exhaustion.“Because that would make sex almost as boring as masturbation.”
Leo was surprised into a guffaw before he picked up the phone. “Hey, Edwards, hows the cutest little free-thrower east of the Rockies? Or are you west?My sense of direction sucks.”
Leos small talk didnt last long, though, because in a moment the phone was in Xanders hand.
“Hey, man, how you feeling?” Chris was all concern, and Xander fought the temptation to reach out to the television screen and summon back the vision. Damn, he was out of it.
“A little stoned,” Xander confessed. “They gave me some painkillers, and I took one before the food hit.”
“Yeah? How long ago was that?”
Xander thought hard.“Right at the beginning of the game,” he said, and Chris did some thinking.
“Xander, how long after practice was that?”
“Well, I came home and practiced too,” Xander told him. “God, its good to hear your voice. You get used to someone, you know? I kept expecting to hear your voice. All day, I kept expecting to hear it.Its a good voice.Your words are short, because theyre always tumbling, one on top of the other, because you have so much to say. I like that. The house is never quietwhen youre talking.”
There was a digestive silence on the other end.“Um, Xan?”
“Um, Christian?”
“Can I talk to Leo for a minute?”
“No,” Xander said perversely. He was sort of cramped, having his leg extended over the coffee table that way. He rolled over on his side and grabbed the throw pillow on the end to tuck under his head, and realized with a
little surge of happiness that he was not going to have to go into their bedroom this night. No.Hed fall asleep on the couch, and avoid that big empty bed altogether.
“No?” Chris asked. He was clearly surprised, and Xander wished he could cuddle the phone to his chest while he was talking on it.
“Youre on the phone with me. Leo will be back. He takes care of us. I mean, I know we pay him, but is it wrong to think that hes really Uncle Leo?Cause your family is the only family Ive got, and you need them.” Oh, God. Chris was here on the phone, and the shitty day and the ball thrown at Coachs head and the halo that clearly was not around Chris on the television—it could all slide under the fall of Chriss words.
“No, Xan,” Chris said hoarsely. “I think Leo likes us for real too. Are you sleepy yet?”
“Yeah—youre not. Youre all wired after the game, arent you?” Xander heaved a big sigh.“Youre usually pretty horny too. Damn. We had the best sex after a win.”
“Yeah,” Chris laughed into the phone. “Its the only time you never question whether or not you should top.”
“I like it when you top,” Xan mumbled, too foggy to even blush, or wonder if Leo was listening, or anything.“Feels good.”
Chris laughed some more.“Xander, you know its about more than how it feels.Its about who leads.”
“Mmm… you always lead real good, Chris. You have good plans. You wanted to go to Chapel Hill, and that was good.”
“That was your idea, genius.I just got us the applications.”
“Naw….” Xander was so tired.Wasnt that wrong? Wasnt he an athlete?Shouldnt he be up to playing on a hurt foot, and then partying all night? But he was trying to find the memory of who decided they should play at UNC and all he could remember was the smell of sweat and clean shampoo in Chriss wild, curly hair when they were sitting next to each other at the kitchen table, making plans for this exact future.
Except in their plans, he and Chris had been together.
“Geez,” he mumbled, “why dont I remember that?”