by Sam Elswit
"You're the bitch here," Terrence said through gritted teeth, "I bet you weren't even a virgin!"
"I never should have slept with you!" Michael cried, so enraged by Terrence's remark that he found the strength to knock the bigger man to the ground. He pinned Terrence to the ground by the shoulders and sat on his chest, his arm drawn back to punch him right in the jaw.
But he couldn't.
Michael's fist lowered. Miserably, he rolled off of Terrence, and hung his head as he got to his feet. Terrence leapt up and shoved him again. They locked arms again, but this time, instead of grappling, after a second of fighting the two men tackled each other in a violent embrace, kissing feverishly as their bodies pressed together.
"I'm not in love with Guy," Michael whispered, "I don't know how to make you believe me."
"Fuck me," said Terrence.
"Huh?"
"I said, Fuck me."
Michael pulled back, looking Terrence up and down. He looked around the field. "Here?"
"Behind the shed over there." Terrence pointed.
Michael bit his lip, then shrugged. "Okay."
Terrence led him over to the place in question, a nice dark little alcove between a shed and some trees. Once secluded from the garish white lights of the playing field, Michael melted into Terrence's arms, as they started kissing again, passionately, tenderly, the kisses of two lovers parted too long and denied their desire. Both of them were aroused almost immediately, but when Michael started to guide Terrence's hand down his pants, Terrence shook his head.
"No, no, I... I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking," Terrence murmured. "Not here, not like this." He caressed Michael's cheek and smiled a fond, bittersweet smile. "I care too much to do it like this."
"So you believe me?" Michael asked.
"I... I believe you, yeah," Terrence said with a nod. "I didn't know I'd be so jealous..."
"So you do love me," Michael teased.
"Maybe," said Terrence.
Chapter 9
They won the final exhibition game of the summer, defeating the opposing team by almost twenty points.
The celebration was uproarious, and left the entire camp in a shambles. A whole weekend was spent with a wild pack of young men drinking and vandalizing and drinking some more. The celebration spread all across campus and leaked into the city, they woke in fields and in parking lots and strange beds, and when the weekend was over they got a stern lecture from the coach, who had a hard time keeping a straight face because he, too, was so giddy over their two wins in a row.
Now that the team had started to rally behind their new quarterback, there was an undercurrent of excitement. People started whispering Super Bowl. People started joking about where they'd put the Lombardi trophy if they could take it home. For the first time in years, people started talking like they were going to win.
Michael's life was finally on an upswing. After spending years suffocating in the closet, when training camp was over, he moved to San Francisco. It was a long drive to practice sometimes, but he didn't care. It was worth it to him, not only for the beautiful views and the nightlife, but just to be in the gay capital of the Western hemisphere. It felt like the universe was offering him recompense, of a kind, for all the pain he had endured growing up. With his generous NFL salary, Michael was able to buy a condo in the heart of San Francisco and a cute little smart car.
He'd never been flamboyant before, but now that he was on his own, Michael's inner gay was positively unleashed. He got the car painted pink. He spent hours in his spare time poring over design catalogues, just because he could. He wasn't especially interested in interior design, but Michael wanted his home to look befitting of Gay Mecca. And maybe he went a little overboard with the rainbow tapestries and colorful shag carpets, but who fucking cared? It was Michael's fucking condo and he was gonna do whatever he wanted with it and anyone who had a problem with it, well... Michael was over six feet tall and nearly two hundred pounds of solid muscle. If they had a problem, they could take it up with him.
Or they could take it up with his boyfriend, who was slightly taller and much stockier than he was. Strange, Michael hadn't been the "small one" since adolescence. Prior to puberty Michael had been distressingly thin, but once he started growing and playing sports he became strong practically immediately. It was nice to feel "small" sometimes, to feel cared-for in Terrence's arms.
It was nice to be "out." Here In San Francisco, he and Terrence could go out together with very little concern about who might see. Terrence still wasn't comfortable holding hands on the street, but Michael had to meet him in the middle. It was nice enough just to walk together, instead of meeting up in secret and whispering under their breath in the locker room. Now they could go on proper dates, like a proper couple, go out for a proper dinner and come home for a proper fuck.
Sometimes it was tempting to forget about his job. Football had always been a cover for Michael, a release for all his pent-up energy. Now he didn't really need it. He did, however, need the money in order to keep his condo and his gay little life, so he kept at it, even though his mind was always somewhere else when he was on the field. Being out of the closet (except at work) was gradually having a deleterious effect on Michael's performance. Coach noticed, and Michael said he just a bit homesick. He tried desperately to keep his head in the game. The team liked him more and more, so it wasn't as bad as it had been that summer. In fact, they won their first few league games of the season, and the more they won, the better the team played. The others seemed to pick up the slack when Michael was daydreaming about getting married to Terrence and adopting some Yorkies while they practiced plays.
And then, of course, there was Guy.
That moment in the locker room went unspoken for weeks. Michael blushed and looked away whenever he saw Guy. Guy had apologized profusely, but still looked at Michael with lust in his eyes. Consequently, Terrence looked at Guy with murder in his eyes. There was a truce, for a time, a tentative kind of peace, as the team transitioned from training season to league season, but one night, after winning their fourth game of the season (out of five games played, mind you), everything changed.
The coach was so happy with his players that he took them all out for a night at the bar. Of course the guys partied regularly, but it was passing rare for the coach to take them out himself. The alcohol flowed freely on a corporate tab and before midnight, all the players were roaring drunk.
Michael was finding it hard to keep his hands off of Terrence with the booze in his system, but he was also plenty self-conscious with the other guys around, so he managed tor restrain himself. Terrence also made it easier by halfway ignoring Michael as they drank and partied the night away.
Around one in the morning, Michael was in the bathroom. He'd come in there feeling nauseated, but instead of throwing up he just stood woozily at the urinal, hardly even aware of his surroundings until Guy came out of one of the stalls. Michael's heart stood still with fear as Guy staggered toward him.
"What the hell, man!?" Michael demanded, sidestepping as Guy tried to grope him. Guy staggered to the side and began to cry quietly.
"I'm sorry, Michael," he blubbered, "I just, I-I—... I care so much about you. I've been falling for you more and more ever since I met you."
"You know I'm seeing Terrence," Michael snapped through gritted teeth. "And I've told you like a hundred times now to leave me the hell alone."
"I can't take it any more!" Guy cried. "I can't stand watching you two together, it's like having my heart trampled every fucking day. I saw you two out there flirting just now—"
"We were not," Michael insisted. "You're acting crazy."
"Crazy!" Guy whirled on him. "I'll show you crazy!"
He came at Michael with hands outstretched and grabbed the taller man by the shoulders. Michael struggled and tried to shove Guy away as Guy shoved him into a wall, knocking the air out of him. And because he was drunk and sick of dealing with Guy and his irratio
nal, entitled jealousy, Michael sprang forward from the wall and threw a punch at Guy's jaw.
Stunned, clutching his face, Guy staggered backwards. Michael stared at him in shock, unable to comprehend what he'd just done, as blood leaked from between Guy's lips. Then Guy sprang back into action and socked Michael right in the face, splitting his lip. Michael screamed and threw Guy by the shoulders into one of the stalls, then stormed out of the men's room, and out of the bar, where he called a cab and went home without saying another word to the rest of his team.
***
The next day, nursing a terrible hangover and a bruised face, Michael opened his door to admit Terrence to his condo. Upon seeing his boyfriend's battered face, Terrence frowned.
"What happened?" His tone of voice suggested that he already knew, but Michael humored him.
"I, uh... got into a scrap at the bar last night," Michael muttered. "You want some coffee?"
"No. Who were you scrapping with? You don't even fight during games. That's not like you." Terrence folded his arms. "It was that fucking asshole Guy, wasn't it?"
"Chill out, it's fine, if he doesn't leave me alone after this he's fucking insane." Michael waved his hand, then sidled up to Terrence and slid his hands up his shoulders. "What's important is that you're here now, and I can finally put my hands on you—"
"I can't," Terrence said, hanging his head. "The thought of that guy coming on to you— hitting you— nobody gets to hit you—" Terrence started pacing. "I'll kill him. I swear to God I'm gonna rip his—"
"Don't do anything stupid," Michael pleaded. "Guy's one of our best players, we can't afford to lose him now. Not when we're doing so good. And we can't afford to lose you—"
"The team'll be fine, I'm second string now, remember?" Terrence said bitterly.
"I need you," Michael insisted, reaching for his hand. "C'mon, babe, just forget about him."
"Your face..." Terrence cupped Michael's cheek, gently running a thumb over his busted lip. "I'm gonna get that asshole, I don't care what it takes—"
Michael cut him off with a kiss. He slid his arms around Terrence's neck, and the bigger man relaxed a little. As the kiss was prolonged, Terrence put his arms around Michael with a sigh.
"Fine," Terrence huffed. "I won't go after him."
"Thank you, baby," Michael said with a grin. "He's not worth your time, anyway, he's just... pathetic. He thinks he's in love with me."
"How could he not be? You're gorgeous, and sweet, and naive." Terrence laughed. "That's why I've gotta take care of you."
"Hey, I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself," Michael said.
"If this is you taking care of yourself, then you need me more than you think," Terrence teased. "C'mon, let's go get some dinner."
Michael followed Terrence out the door, but he couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach. Something in Terrence had shifted. It wa subtle, but they knew each other well enough now that Michael could tell something was different. It made him nervous. He tried to bring it up, but Terrence rather acted like he didn't know what Michael was talking about, and if he was going to play dumb, there was no way for Michael to get to the truth. So all he could do was sit back, and wait, and pray that Terrence wouldn't do anything to Guy.
Something told him that hope was futile.
Chapter 10
The week went by, though, and, as far as Michael knew, nothing happened to Guy.
He was reluctant to get in touch with Guy himself, but Michael kept tabs on him through the other teammates. He saw Guy at practice and the man looked fine, except for the bruise on his face, but Michael knew where that had come from and it was healing just fine. Terrence said no more about seeking his revenge, so Michael let himself forget about the whole thing. He threw himself back into his relationship with Terrence (trying to ignore the subtle shift in his lover's demeanor), and threw himself into getting ready for the game that weekend. The whole team was excited, as they'd built up a good, optimistic momentum, and fully expected to win that weekend, but Michael was nervous. He hadn't been this nervous since the preseason, and he couldn't exactly say why. Something about the way Terrence was acting, something about how Guy avoided him, made Michael feel skittish, like a horse during a thunderstorm, but no matter which way he looked at it, he could not figure out why.
He would get his answer during the game in Sunday.
It was the middle of the fourth quarter. The two teams were tied at twenty-one points each. The mood in the stadium was tense. It had been a rough game and Michael knew he'd be feeling it all week, but he rarely noticed his injuries during the game, as the adrenaline pumped through his body and made everything but the game seem so insignificant. The queasy kind of foreboding in his stomach was hard to ignore, though, as they kicked off an offensive play in an attempt to score a touchdown. It was an aggressive, risky play, and it looked like it might pay off, as Michael hurled the ball down the field to Guy.
Out of nowhere, three of the defensive linemen sprinted at Guy and violently tackled him to the ground. Two of them got up and started to walk away when the referee blew his whistle. The third lingered for a moment, and, when the ref was looking elsewhere, he stomped on Guy's ankle, then walked away. Guy cried out in pain and struggled to sit up, and the entire game came to a screeching halt as the coach and a couple of paramedics jogged out on to the field to tend the injured player.
Michael looked on in slack-jawed horror. There was no way to prove it, but he knew, deep down in his gut, that this was Terrence's doing. Terrence had a lot of connections in the sport, and probably plenty of money to bribe someone with... it wasn't so hard to imagine him pulling some strings to get his way. But the very idea made Michael feel sick, as he watched the paramedics checking Guy for a concussion, and escorting him off the field.
The 49ers lost the game, as Michael was distressed and distracted , unable to concentrate on the game now. He kept looking over at Terrence, and Terrence was pretending to look elsewhere every time Michael looked at him.
Terrence and Michael made a point of not fraternizing too much in the locker room, so Michael sent his lover a text: Come to my place tonight at 8. You'd better not be late. He received no reply, which he took to mean that Terrence had gotten the text and agreed to come but was either too proud or too ashamed to answer. After a long, long shower, Michael changed and drove home. He fixed himself a meal and ate, trying to watch TV but too distracted by what had happened to Guy. He tried calling Guy's cell but there was no answer. He texted a few of the other guys to see if they knew what was happening. Finally, Chad answered back.
Concussion, broken ankle, fractured ribs punctured his lung in bad shape but will probably be ok
With a heavy heart, Michael thanked Chad for the information, and cleaned up his dinner. Even though he hadn't done anything wrong, Michael couldn't help feeling responsible for what had happened to Guy. He was wracked with guilt and tempted to get drunk to avoid thinking about it, but he wanted to be sober enough to scold Terrence when he got there. When the doorbell finally rang, Michael practically sprinted for it, and was a little dismayed to see Terrence standing there with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
"Hey baby," said Terrence. "Can I come in?"
"Only if you promise to answer for what happened to Guy," Michael grumbled, reluctantly accepting the flowers and a kiss from his lover.
"What do you mean?" Terrence said innocently. He came in and Michael set the bouquet on the table.
"You know exactly what I mean. Guy got attacked on the field today and we both know it."
"Maybe," Terrence said stiffly. "Why's it my problem?"
"It's your problem because he's your teammate—" Michael took a step forward, "and because I know you did it!"
Terrence gave him a hard stare, his jaw subtly clenching and unclenching. Michael held his breath, waiting for a response, but Terrence said nothing.
"You're not even going to try to deny it?" Michael wh
ispered.
Terrence shrugged. "You're a smart kid, I'm not gonna insult your intelligence." Terrence ran a hand over his own hair. "All right. I did it. I paid someone off to hurt him."
"TERRENCE!"
"Don't scream at me," Terrence growled. "Don't you dare, just because I did what you were too chicken-shit to do! It's not just that I'm jealous." Terrence's voice quavered, and he looked down. "I am jealous, but I get jealous whenever you're within ten feet of another guy because I care about you so much, I can handle being jealous.:
"Then what is it that made you almost murder your fucking teammate?"
"That sack of shit assaulted you!" Terrence exploded. He looked at Michael with tears standing in his eyes, hands balled into fists at his sides. "You were never gonna report him, I know you weren't, but he needed to be stopped—"
"He didn't assault me, he just tried to kiss me a couple times—"
"Did you want the kisses?" Terrence demanded hotly.
"No, not really," Michael admitted.
"Then it was assault," Terrence declared. "Look, I stand by what I did. I'll leave if you want me to."
"I think that would be best," Michael said stiffly. "I can't hardly stand to look at you right now. Guy almost died because of you."
"Don't be dramatic," Terrence muttered.
"I'm not being dramatic, you big jerk! His ribs broke and he punctured a lung! And he's got a bad concussion, Chad said. They don't know when he'll even be out of the hospital. And I'm pretty sure he can kiss his NFL days goodbye."
"Oh, shit." Terrence stared at Michael. "Really?"
"Yes, really, and it's your fault! Now get the fuck out of my house!" Michael crossed his arms and scowled at Terrence. When the bigger man didn't budge, Michael's face turned red, and before he even knew what he was doing he grabbed the flowers Terrence had brought him and dumped them in the trash.
"Okay, I... I get it," Terrence said, hanging his head. "I'm sorry, baby."