“What do you think it is?” Graham squatted down next to the box and pulled one of the frames free. He ripped away the newspaper to reveal a picture of basketball players in green uniforms. Large gold lettering spelled out “State Champions 1986–87” along the frame.
“Cool.” Connor wiped away a layer of dust to read the list of names printed at the bottom.
“Hey, look, is that Baxter?” Graham squinted at the image. “It is, it’s him. He has more hair and it’s darker, but it’s definitely him. Look at that mustache. That’s a total porn ’stache.”
“Ha! That’s awesome. Let’s see what else there is in here.” Connor handed the frame to Graham before delving in the box.
The next few pictures showed four consecutive seasons of baseball state champions. Graham flipped through the images, taking in the years. “Wow, it looks like you guys have a long history of state champion baseball teams.”
“Yeah, we’ve been state champs every year since 1987.”
“That’s quite a legacy.”
“Tell me about it. We can’t lose. No one wants to be on the team the first year we didn’t win. It’d be like we let down decades of ball players.”
“No pressure or anything.”
Connor snorted. “Right.”
Graham pulled the last frame out of the box. He looked at it closely for a minute. There was something about the guy in the center. It reminded him of Connor: the build, the blond hair was the same. Actually, it looked almost exactly like Connor. He glanced at the year on the picture. “Hey, is that your dad?”
“What?” Connor scooted closer. He tilted the frame a little to reduce the glare from the open door. “Yeah, that’s him.” He stood up and started gathering the discarded newspaper.
“So your dad was a baseball player. Was he a catcher too?”
“Nope. Pitcher. Went all-state in his day.”
“Cool.”
“I guess.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but don’t you get along with your dad?”
Connor sighed while he stuffed the newspaper into one of the big trash bags they’d unearthed in a cupboard. “It’s not that. It’s, you know, regular teen/parent crap. I mean, we’re not supposed to get along with our parents, right? Isn’t that part of the whole teen angst, coming-of-age thing?”
He was evading. Graham didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. “Maybe.” He shrugged. “It’s probably pretty complicated. I mean, sometimes parents can really come through.” His parents had certainly gone above and beyond. Connor shifted away, so Graham said, “We don’t need to get into it.”
Connor only nodded, which made Graham even more curious. He didn’t want people prying into his personal life, so he knew better than to pry himself. At least not when the subject had so clearly been closed.
Connor didn’t say much the rest of the afternoon. Graham didn’t mind; it gave him the chance to study Connor. He didn’t shirk. The job was dull and the shed claustrophobic with its dim light and racks of equipment, but Connor didn’t take advantage of the lack of supervision. He did what had to be done without complaining or slacking. He went from one task to the next as though he were following a mental checklist. And, man, the boy was strong. He lifted heavy boxes and tubs as though they held gym socks, which, by the smell of it, were probably rotting somewhere on a shelf.
Graham tried to keep up, but at one point he got a little distracted. How was he supposed to stay on task when Connor pulled his sweat-soaked shirt off and tucked one end in his back pocket, leaving the rest to hang like a tail? It should have looked silly, but instead it drew attention to the curve of Connor’s spine and the definition of his obliques. If Connor in a white, grease-stained tank shirt was hot, Connor shirtless was the thing of wet dreams.
When it was time to call it a day, they returned the equipment from the court and locked up the shed. It only took a minute to walk to the parking lot.
Graham had just put his bag into the backseat when Connor spoke up. “Can I ask you a question?”
Graham tucked his hands into the waistband of his running shorts and leaned against the car door. “Sure.”
“Are you out to your parents?”
“I think they figured it out.” Graham laughed and looked down at his shirt. This one was a plain white T-shirt—long-sleeved, of course—printed with a small rainbow. Pale blue bubble letters spelled out “We are everywhere.”
Connor goggled at him. “You came out to your family with a T-shirt?”
“Well, they would have surely figured it out if I tried it that way, but no. They found out long before I invested in my T-shirt collection.” If he’d had his way, he would have talked to his parents rather than letting them discover it the way they did. No one should have to find out something like that at the same time their son fought to live.
Luckily, Connor didn’t ask any more questions. He nodded and said, “See you next Saturday.”
“Same time, same place,” Graham agreed.
“Later.”
Once again, Graham found himself watching Connor drive away, all the while wishing for a way to extend their time together.
Chapter 9
GRAHAM EYED the ratty cloth stretched between him and Connor. He shook his side and a plume of dust rose between them, making him sneeze. “What the hell is this?” It was their second weekend working on the old shed, and he could barely tell anything had been accomplished the previous Saturday.
“Parachute.” Connor waved his hand in front of his face.
“You guys do skydiving here?”
Connor chuckled. “Not even close. It was a gym thing. You know, everyone stands around the parachute, and they shake it.”
Graham pulled at his end. “Why?”
“I have absolutely no idea. It was an elementary school thing.” He grinned at the memory.
Graham never had a gym class that played with parachutes. Maybe it was an Indiana thing? “So what do we do with it?” The thin fabric was full of tears and holes. It kind of looked like mice had gotten to it.
“Trash.”
They each gathered their ends of the parachute and rolled and scrunched until they met in the middle, arms overflowing. “Let me.” Connor stretched his longer arms a bit to grab Graham’s share of the fabric. Somehow during the transfer, Connor’s fingers caught in Graham’s shirt. Graham squirmed at the tickling sensation, and the warmth of Connor’s touch made heat surge in his chest.
“Sorry.” Connor shifted his grip until he only held parachute.
“Not a problem.” Graham tried not to notice how much he liked the glide of Connor’s fingers on his side. He walked in front of Connor and held the top of the dumpster open.
Connor shoved the colorful cloth into the garbage, then tried to wipe away the smears of dust and dirt streaking over his shirt. He wore another of those damned sexy white tank shirts Graham couldn’t help but admire. Or, more specifically, he couldn’t help but admire the golden muscles the shirt showed off.
This was going to be a very long punishment if he kept eying Connor that way. It was a bad, bad idea to get a crush on a straight guy. If that wasn’t enough to keep Connor off limits, he also had a girlfriend. The two of them, Connor and the pretty redhead he dated, were the school’s perfect couple. No one, at least no one anybody paid attention to, had a negative thing to say about either one of them. So, yeah, Graham needed to keep his focus on something else.
Like soccer.
Nothing in his life was more important to him than soccer. When it had almost been taken away from him, it was like he’d also lost his identity. He’d succeeded, through sheer stubbornness, in playing again. He still had a long way to go if he wanted to match his earlier potential. He needed to concentrate on his goals, not on some out-of-reach hottie in a white tank top.
“I was wondering something.” Connor dug into yet another bin of footballs they were sorting through.
“What’s that?” Graham tossed a ball in
to the “keeper” pile and grabbed another.
“Last weekend you mentioned the athletics program here was one of the reasons your family moved to Green Valley. I can’t imagine that would be enough of a reason to leave St. Louis. Why else would you come here? Most people who can, get out of here as soon as possible. They take their money and their jobs somewhere with better opportunities. People don’t move here, they move away.”
“Kind of a negative view you have of the place.” He tried not to focus on the idea of Connor thinking about him. It didn’t mean anything.
“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed that this place is dying a slow death. It’s one of the reasons Clint hates you so much.”
“He holds me responsible for the decline of a town I moved to a month ago? And here I thought it was the eyeliner.” He flipped a partially deflated football between his hands.
“Seriously. This place is like a black hole. It sucks people in, and there’s almost no chance of getting out again. Nobody plans to stick around, but they do. Take my parents. When they were our age, they intended to escape the town limits and never come back again. But next thing you know, they had a kid on the way, then another, and they were stuck. Jobs are scarce and money’s nonexistent. For most of us, sports are the only way out of town. When you showed up and took Clint’s place on the team, you essentially took away his one shot to get out.”
“Should I feel guilty about that?”
“No. Clint’s a prick, and it’s not your fault you’re a better player. From what I hear, he wasn’t good enough to actually get a scholarship for soccer, but with you here, he definitely won’t. The way he looks at it, you’ve got money, so you’ll be able to do what you want. You don’t need soccer the way he does.”
Graham rested his hands on the rusted metal siding of the bin. He may not need soccer to go to college, but he needed it more than he needed anything else. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”
Connor nodded. “You’re right. And it’s not really the point. It’s got to suck, though, starting a new school partway into the year.”
“It hasn’t been too bad. Dad owns Stribog Resources, and they’re developing a new project out here that needs him on-site. We decided it was better to move than to have Dad commuting back and forth.” And Graham had been more than happy to get out of St. Louis, though he wasn’t going to get into that with Connor.
“Stribog?”
“Yep. Renewable energy company. Named after the Slavic god of wind.”
“And you didn’t mind moving to a new state, a new school?”
“As long as it didn’t get in the way of the soccer season, it didn’t matter much to me. And besides, the soccer program here is better. It’s worth it.”
“I can’t imagine what would bring a company like Stribog out here. There had to be better places for his project.”
“Dad’s building a new wind farm in the county. Apparently, the geography, or geology, or whatever, of the area is perfect for harnessing wind energy. He bought one of the buildings downtown and refurbished it so they have a home base. In a couple of months, they’re going to start doing some massive hiring, and they’ll need a central location.”
Connor shook his head, looking impressed. “My mom is going to be ecstatic.”
“She’s looking for a job?”
“No, but she’s on a local community revitalization team, and anything that brings jobs will make her day. If he’s not careful, your dad will probably be elected mayor or something. Mom’s a bit of a campaigner.”
Graham smiled. “Don’t think Dad wants to be mayor, but it’s cool to know he’ll have some support here.”
“I can’t promise everyone will feel the same, but Mom’ll be on his side.”
“What about your dad?”
Connor shrugged. “More jobs mean more people with cars, which means more business for him. He’s all for anything that keeps him in business.” He dusted his hands on his jeans and stood back from the now-empty bin. “I think this is a good place to stop for the day. I’ll haul the cart with the trash to the dumpster if you want to start putting away the rest.”
Graham nodded and grabbed an armload of cross-country skis to take into the shed. He’d returned to the court for the next batch of equipment when a whistle pierced the air. Roy and Clint walked across the court. Clint scooped up a baseball that had rolled a few feet away from the pile of good balls. He tossed it from one hand to the other, the gesture casual, but with an edge of menace. Graham wiped suddenly sweaty hands on his shorts.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Clint smirked. “We heard you and Golden Boy were out here playing house. We had to see it for ourselves.” He made a show of looking around. “Where is the Golden Boy? Surely he didn’t leave you alone to do all the work.”
“Dumpster run.”
Roy looked at the piles of random sports equipment and empty crates. “So you guys, what, spend the day playing with your balls?” He snickered.
“Each other’s balls, more like.” Clint smiled as though he’d made a particularly funny joke. The way Roy laughed, he must have thought so too.
Idiots.
Tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, Graham shrugged. When in doubt, bluff. “Since you guys are the reason we got stuck in this particular punishment, it’s only fair for you to join us.”
Clint’s face twisted in disgust. “You wish.” He tossed the baseball and caught it again. “I’m actually a little surprised to see you here. Figured you were too good to do manual labor.”
“I’m not afraid of a little dust.”
Clint stalked a little closer. “I don’t like you.”
Graham snorted. “There’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like people like you. You walk into town, with your fancy clothes and fancy cars, looking down your nose at regular, hardworking folks.”
“And here I thought it was the queer thing you had a problem with. And all along it was, what, my car?”
“You show up, and Clint gets dropped from the soccer team. You got a spot on the team, just like that. You weren’t even there for tryouts. Once they found out you were a fag, they were probably too afraid to kick you off. I bet you haven’t had to work for anything in your life. Whatever you want, you get. No questions asked, right?”
This was new. He’d grown up with plenty of money, yeah. He’d never been attacked for it before. He shook his head at Clint. “Dude, you have issues. You should mind your own business.”
Clint’s grip on the baseball tightened, turning his knuckles white. “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us.”
“You don’t know anything about me or what I think.” He turned his glare to Roy. “Do you have anything to add to this entertaining conversation? I didn’t think so.” He turned and headed back to the shed.
“Fucking pussy!”
Graham whirled around in time to see Clint hurl the baseball at him. He didn’t even have time to blink, let alone duck. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the pain. Instead of a ball to the face, he heard the smack of an object hitting flesh. His eyes popped open. Connor was there, the baseball gripped in his hand, mere inches from Graham’s face.
He looked like some kind of avenging god. Tall, broad, and blond, Connor became Thor facing his enemies across a field of battle. “You did not do that,” Connor growled, lowering his hand and dropping the ball.
Clint swallowed heavily but stuck out his chin. “What are you going to do about it? Tattle to a teacher?”
“I don’t need to tell a teacher.” He dipped and grabbed a baseball bat off the cracked surface of the court. “Twelve years of baseball has given me a hell of a swing.” He rotated the bat and stepped forward.
Graham grabbed Connor’s shoulder. No way was he letting him get into an actual fight with two dumbasses. He didn’t have to worry, though. Clint and Roy sneered and grunted, but didn’t waste any time hightailing it t
o the parking lot.
When they were out of sight, Connor dropped the bat and scrubbed his hands over his face. “That was fun.” He flexed his hand, the one he’d used to catch the ball.
“Are you okay?” Graham reached forward and pulled Connor’s hand up for closer inspection.
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure? You weren’t wearing a mitt.”
Connor snorted. “He didn’t throw it very fast. I’m actually surprised his aim was as good as it was.”
“Well, it seemed plenty fast as it flew straight at my nose.” Graham shuddered. “That dude needs some serious anger management therapy.”
“Yeah, he’s got a bit of a temper. What did they want?”
Graham shrugged. “Who knows? Probably wanted to give us a hard time.” He looked at the piles of sporting goods surrounding them. “We’d better get this put away so we can go.” He wanted to say more but couldn’t come up with words. Not even something as simple as “thank you.” He wasn’t going to think about what could have happened if Connor hadn’t shown up. He was proud of himself for not panicking or overreacting, but now that the threat was gone, he was a little shaky.
He’d honestly thought most of his problems would be gone now that he was away from St. Louis. Green Valley had seemed like a pretty boring, yet safe place. Now it looked like he’d escaped one set of problems, only to step into another. He stared at Connor’s bare back and felt a twinge in his chest. The Tweedles didn’t worry him half as much as the feelings he was developing for Connor.
Chapter 10
“SO, HOW’S detention going? Are you guys done with the equipment shed yet?”
Connor looked up from his lunch tray as Marc settled in across from him. “Huh? Oh yeah, it’s going okay. We’re making progress, but that place is a mess.”
“I think Baxter was looking for a reason to make someone clean out that hole.” Marc pulled the top of the bun off the burger and squirted the contents of a ketchup packet on top of the beef. “That’s why he took advantage of such a flimsy excuse to give you guys detention. Like you’d get into a fight.”
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