by Sean Michael
“It’s difficult, but this morning? You could see that he wants you.”
Benj snorted. “There wasn’t much left to the imagination this morning.” That had been embarrassing, though mostly it had been worrying because Brett had been so upset.
“No. And Ralph should have given him some privacy. Ralph is… stubborn.”
“Yes, so is Brett.” He kept watching the road. “He asked me to get a new lock for the door.”
“I think that seems fair.” Jean nodded. “I’ll bring breakfast up and speak to Ralph about being more flexible.”
“I think that would help. Brett keeps having things taken away because of this injury, and I know Ralph isn’t hurt, isn’t the one here to heal, but it can’t be easy to be always told no, no, no, you have to do better, and you have to do more. And he is trying very hard.”
Jean nodded, “Sometimes Ralph needs to push someone into working. I think this is not your Brett’s problem.”
“No? What do you think it is?”
“I think he needs to let the injury heal. I think he is not allowing himself to breathe, you know?”
“He’s not the kind to sit around, waiting for things to happen.” Not his Brett, Mr. Go Get ’Em.
“Then that is what Ralph will teach him.” Jean nodded. “Give them the afternoon together, yes? Ralph will begin to understand.”
“I hope so. Brett really needs this.” And so did he. Because he had no clue how to help Brett, and he was, quite selfishly, scared he was going to lose his man over this.
“You do know he’ll have to stop eventually, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, but like this? It’s not his choice, not the way he wants to go out. Like he was beat.”
“And if this is it? Do you know what you’ll do?”
Benj shook his head, trying not to let the panic take hold. He tried very hard not to think about that, because he was terrified Brett would sink into the bottle and disappear.
“Well now. You need a plan.” Jean glanced at him. “Not because I don’t believe, but because you need a plan. You need to be able to cope, cher.”
He nodded, blinking away sudden tears. “I try, Jean. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Chut-chut. That is why we are here, oui? To help you learn.”
He nodded and sniffed, wiping his eyes. Brett wouldn’t be happy to see him crying. “There’s no crying in baseball, baby.” He could hear the words as plain as day in his mind.
Jean patted his knee. “All will be well.”
He reached out and took Jean’s hand, squeezed it. “Thank you, Jean. Truly.”
“No more worries today, cher. Only sex and laughter.”
He laughed through his blush. “Okay. I can deal with that.” Benj squeezed Jean’s hand again and then let it go.
He thought he could, really, deal with that.
Chapter Six
BRETT DID every fucking exercise Ralph asked him to do. Didn’t bitch. Didn’t complain. Just poured himself into them, one after another after another, letting his muscles scream.
He kept counting down the clock, waiting until he could go take a shower, have a minute to be alone.
It was a minute from noon when Ralph finally stopped him. “You’d go until you fell over, wouldn’t you? How does this compare to the training you’ve been doing since you hurt your shoulder?”
“It’s comparable.” His regular training didn’t include the howling muscles and anger, but he couldn’t have everything.
Ralph snorted. “No wonder you’re not healed yet—you’re pushing yourself far too hard!”
“You’re the one who said to do them.” He couldn’t resist.
Ralph nodded. “I did. And then I watched you do them, watched your muscles screaming, and still you pushed, and then you tell me this is the kind of workout you usually do.” Ralph went over and picked up one of the free weights. “If I’d told you to do arm curls with this with the sore arm, would you have?”
“You’re the professional.” The coach said to do what the trainers said.
“Do you never listen to what your body says?”
Brett counted to forty. “This is like being married without the fucking.”
“Is that a proposal?” Ralph asked, giving him a wink.
He chuckled. “Sorry. I’m spoken for by someone who actually likes me.”
“Oh, I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Brett. That’s a lot more than like.” Ralph winked at him again before he sat next to him. “Look, you need to listen to your body, to hear it when you’re going beyond your limits and back off. Give it time to rest, to heal. If you’ve been working out as hard every day as you did for me just now, then you’re pushing too hard. There’s a balance, and you haven’t been finding it.”
“Look. I’m just trying to get better. You said to work. I’m working.”
“Fair enough. Now I’m saying not so hard. Look, I’ll work out a routine for you. I want you here for electrical impulses, acupuncture, and ultrasound every day. Stretches, walking, making love are all acceptable and encouraged. So is sitting and reading, talking—you know, relaxing, enjoying. Swimming every second day, but only gentle laps. I’ll let you work everything but your bad arm every second day for twenty minutes.” Ralph stood again. “Come on. We’re done. Come back to the house for lunch, and you’ve got an appointment at two with Mike, the headshrinker. He usually uses my desk, so you can meet him here.”
“So swimming one day, exercise the next?” Lunch sounded good.
“I’ve changed my mind. I think swimming every day, and you can exercise every second day or not as you wish, but not the sore arm and not for more than twenty minutes.” Ralph’s fingers slid gently over his shoulder. “And if this starts bothering you, you stop and come see me.”
Brett’s eyes actually closed. Christ, he hurt.
“Jesus, man. You need to let people help you—you can’t carry this all on your own. I’m a tough old dog, Brett, and I’m going to push you to do things you don’t want to, like giving up the alcohol, like showing up here every day for the acupuncture, but I can help you with your load, yeah?”
“I’m just fucking tired of it hurting, man.” So fucking tired.
“I’m not surprised. You need to heal. Come on, let’s go eat. I know you’re skeptical, but I tell you Jean’s cooking is a medicine all its own.”
His stomach growled, and he nodded. “I’m starving.”
“Excellent. We’ll go eat, and you can tell me all about yourself. As a friend—not for the job.”
Brett slid off the bench, grabbed his shirt. “There’s not much to tell. I play ball. I watch movies. I paint.”
“Walls or pictures?” Ralph ambled along toward the house.
“Pictures.” He’d been an art major in college, been painting for years.
“Very cool. Why don’t I get Jean to pick you up some art supplies?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That’s something I planned to do when I retired.”
“Well, you’ve got lots of time now to relax, take it easy. Do you and Benj play cards? My Jean plays a wonderful hand of rummy.”
“We like to play games sometimes, yeah. Benj likes to read, bake. We both like music.” They liked to dance. To go look at shit.
“Oh, we have an excellent sound system back at the house. Decks of cards. We’ll have fun, Brett. You’ll see.” Ralph gave him a grin.
“It would be better if I was here just to vacation, man.” He tried to grin back.
“So think of it like that’s what it is. A vacation.” Ralph winked, nudged him. “With a warden.”
“Oh, handcuffs and bars.” He rolled his eyes, but laughed—a real laugh. “What’s for lunch, Ward?”
“We’ll have to see what Jean left us. And the name’s Ralph. Please.” He gave Brett a mock glare.
“What’s the norm, though? Sandwiches? Dogs? Nachos? Mmm… nachos….”
“Gumbo, steak, salad. Whatever’s taken Jean’s fancy a
t the market.”
Someone was spoiled. Brett grinned, shook his head. “I usually grab whatever, wherever.”
Ralph grinned back at him. “There are advantages to having a cook as your lover. Let’s see what he has for us today.”
The refrigerator coughed up chicken subs and fruit and pasta salads. “Oh. Yum. There soda here?”
Ralph laughed. “Oh, Brett, he’s even more against soda than he is alcohol.”
“Ralph, man, you’re killing me.”
“Trust me. He’s a good enough cook that you’ll soon realize the sacrifices are worth it.” Ralph smirked. “Well… he’s damned good in bed too, and I’ll eat whatever he puts in front of me to keep him happy.”
“Well, given I’m not likely to have him in bed, there better be something with caffeine.” Brett chuckled, shook his head.
“I bet there’s a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge.”
“That works.” Brett poured two big glasses, then drank the first down before pouring another.
Ralph sat at the big table in the kitchen rather than going out to the dining room. “The dining room seems rather formal with just the two of us.”
“That’s cool.” Brett opened the fridge again, looking for pickles to go on his sandwich.
“Eat your food the way Jean made it, Brett. Trust me on this one.”
He looked at Ralph. “Are you saying I can’t have a pickle?”
“I’m saying if there’s no pickle on your sandwich, then you should eat it without a pickle.” Ralph opened his mouth and shoved in one end of his sandwich, eyes twinkling.
“Okay. But I still want a pickle.” He had a taste for it now.
Ralph nearly choked on his submarine. “God, Brett, warn a man before you start with the jokes.”
He snorted. “Who, me? Joke? No….” He found a jar of kosher dills, pulled one out.
“You realize that’s the most suggestive thing going, right?” Ralph’s eyes were still twinkling at him.
“Only because there aren’t any frozen bananas.” He licked the side of the pickle, winked.
Ralph laughed again, the sound rich, deep.
Brett sat and ate, enjoying the pasta salad and the sandwich.
Ralph ate with enthusiasm, humming over this bite and that forkful. “You see? He’s a genius, my Jean.”
“It doesn’t suck entirely.” He grabbed the salt, and dusted his honeydew.
“Better not let him hear you say that, or he’ll put you on bread and water.”
“I wouldn’t dare to.” Brett wasn’t evil or stupid. Just grumpy.
“He’s a fiery one, my Jean. A dynamo.” Ralph leaned back, patting his belly happily.
“I can see that.” Brett stretched, wincing as his shoulder pulled. “Benj likes him.”
“Your Benj is a sweetie. You should let him massage you every day. It’ll help your shoulder.”
“He’s done it quite a bit. I don’t want to trouble him with it. It bothers him.”
Ralph’s eyes went wide. “It does? It certainly didn’t seem to bother him this morning.”
Brett shrugged. Maybe not. He hated being weak.
“Maybe it’s you it bothers,” suggested Ralph when Brett didn’t say anything else.
“Maybe. Things have been different.” He finished his fruit salad.
Ralph put his dishes in the sink and started rooting in the freezer. “Yeah? What’s changed? How did things used to be?”
“Well, I wasn’t injured, and he didn’t worry.” Brett picked up his own plate, rinsed it, then refilled his glass.
Ralph crowed and pulled out two Popsicle-shaped Tupperware containers. “Want one?” Ralph asked, working off the plastic top.
“Sure. What is it?” Brett peered over Ralph’s shoulder.
“Homemade Popsicle. I’m not sure what all Jean puts in them, but they’re sweet and got chunks of fruit, and he doesn’t make a face if I want one.” Ralph winked and handed over the pinkish-purple frozen treat.
“Oh, I’m so there.” Sweet. Fruit. Cold. Yum. He licked and sucked, feeling almost okay, almost good.
Ralph nodded and attacked his with almost obscene pleasure, slurping and licking, sucking the thing but good.
“These things are good.” And perverse. And led a man to think of things.
Ralph grinned at him, lips stained dark. “They are. Refreshing, renewing.” Ralph sat back down, still working on his Popsicle. “Tell me, Brett. Is your injury the entire focus of your and Benj’s life these days?”
“Yeah.” No reason to deny it. No reason at all.
“Wow. That’s pretty…. So your entire lives are on hold until this is cleared up? That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Playing ball isn’t fun and games, Ralph.” He smirked, aware of the irony of his words.
Ralph didn’t seem terribly amused. “Well, no, but surely there was more going on in your lives? Stuff that’s got nothing to do with playing ball. I mean, there’s an off-season, after all. Did everything grind to a halt?”
“Benj works. I work out. We travel. The team keeps us busy.”
“What are you going to do when they don’t?” Ralph didn’t wait for his answer, though. “You have any questions for me, Brett?”
He shook his head. What was there to ask? “I don’t think so. I just need my schedule. And some aspirin, my head’s killing me.”
“Did you bring any with you?” Ralph gave him an apologetic look. “Jean’s got homeopathic stuff I could give you, but there’s no aspirin or Tylenol or any of that kind of thing.”
“How about a car and directions to a drug store?”
Ralph checked his watch. “You haven’t got time before your appointment with Mike. Who might have some aspirin. Or you could try a shower or a cold compress while you close your eyes for a bit.”
“I might go sleep in the tub. That sounds good. Cold.” Wet. Quiet. Relaxing. Sleepy.
“As long as you don’t drown. I think the team might hold me liable if you do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He nodded, waved, and headed up to his room. Christ, he was tired. Worn out. Sore.
And he really needed a drink.
RALPH WAS sitting on one of the deck chairs by the pool with a book, more dozing than reading. Not only was it siesta time, but he’d been kicked out of his office by Mike, so he didn’t have to even pretend to feel guilty that he wasn’t busy working.
It was a beautiful day, not even cold enough yet for them to start heating the pool water, though he imagined Brett might find his daily swims a tad chilly. He’d have to remember to ask about that. If this morning’s grin-and-bear-it attitude was anything to go by, Brett wouldn’t say anything about the temperature of the water, he’d just “muscle through it.”
Ralph wondered idly how Mike was doing with Brett. The session seemed to be taking quite a while, but he hadn’t heard any shouting, so he took that as a good sign.
He glanced at his watch. Jean should be back soon.
“Mmm… cher ’tit chou. You look comfortable.” Jean landed in his lap, dark eyes warm. “No one’s dead? I’m so proud.”
Ralph laughed softly, arms looping around Jean’s thin frame. “No one’s dead. In fact, I was even friendly. Shared one of the last Popsicles with him.”
“And was the growly bear properly appreciative?”
“Actually, he was. Very appreciative. Until he needed some aspirin and I didn’t have any to give him. You want to have something for supper that’ll help his head, babe?”
Jean nodded. “White willow bark will do it up. It’s the booze. You need to talk to Trelaine, though. I think he needs to be on pain meds. I think that’s why he’s drinking.”
Ralph nodded, not terribly surprised. “He hadn’t been resting, healing, Jean. He’s been pushing himself, working out as if there was nothing wrong with him—it’s no wonder that shoulder hasn’t healed!”
“He’s stubborn, and Benj is a lover, but… not terribly strong, you know
?”
Jean was so nice. “A pushover, you mean.”
“I mean I think Brett made all the decisions, took care of things, took care of Benj.”
“And now they’re floundering because they’re trying to carry on as before and it’s not working.” Ralph shook his head. “Their entire lives came to a halt when he got hurt. They need a lot of help, Jean. A lot.”
“That’s why they’re here, oui? For us to help?”
“Yeah. And if we can get Brett to relax and Benj to help him with that? He just might be able to play another year or two.”
“I think they’d both like that.”
Ralph nodded, hands sliding idly on Jean’s back. “Yeah. You really like Benj, don’t you?”
“Mmmhmm… he’s edible, love. Sweet as good beignet.”
Ralph chuckled. “And his partner, Jean? What foodstuff would you compare Brett to, babe?”
“Bitter café?” Jean licked at Ralph’s lips, humming low.
“Oh, now, there’s a good man under all that hurt, Jean.” Ralph opened his mouth, chased Jean’s tongue with his own.
“Mmm… and beignets need it….” Jean moaned, the kiss going deep and long.
Ralph was happy not pursuing the conversation with words. Oh yeah, their tongues and lips had much more important things to discuss. Groaning, he opened wide, slid his hands down to grab Jean’s ass. Jean pressed close, diving into the kiss, reaching to stroke Ralph’s cheek.
“Babe. Yes.” Ralph nodded, tugging Jean in close.
“Is there time?” Jean was hard as a rock, rubbing against him, wanton.
“Where did you leave the little beignet?” He didn’t figure it would shock Brett to see them like this, but the little one would blush.
“Upstairs to bathe. Where’s the bear?”
“Talking to Mike. I think we’re safe.” He chuckled. “As long as the chair doesn’t give out.”
“We’ve broken all the ones that were weak, cher.” Jean winked, pressed down against him.
His chuckles turned to laughter, the sounds swallowed up by Jean’s mouth. There was nothing like the passion of his Jean.
Jean’s fingers found his waistband, his cock, his balls. “Mmm…. So hot.”