Out of Bounds (Reedsville Roosters #5)

by Holley Trent

  Gary rolled his eyes.

  Grunting, Marcus sat.

  Dean nudged Gary with his elbow and flashed his phone screen at him.

  Ah.

  Dean worked his thumb against the screen for a minute, and then handed the device over to Gary.

  Gary thought he’d been typing up a missive for him to read, but instead, he’d found a Facebook album from about a year prior.

  The album was labeled “KEN’S PIG PICKING,” and had seventy images inside.

  Gary scrolled slowly through them, smiling at his cousin and a newly postpartum Olivia, and suppressing laughter at the pictures of Lo, who looked so put out by the whole thing.

  Dean tapped at the bottom of the screen to show the caption of one particular image that featured Lo standing with her hands on her hips and glowering at the holder of the camera. It read, “IDK why she was mad. Why was she mad?”

  Olivia had answered in the comments: “Someone knocked over the moscato.”

  Gary pinched his nose to quell the snort threatening to come out, and scrolled to the next picture, which Lo was actually grinning. Apparently someone had found another bottle, and she was hugging it.

  Aw, sweet little lush.

  Gary scrolled through the rest of the pig picking images and landed on the final one, which was a candid of Lo and Dean leaving the house. He was looking down at her in that adoring way Gary had witnessed time and time again, and she looked like she was talking.

  Gary handed the phone back, glad that he couldn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say, and he was sure Dean hadn’t given him the phone because he hadn’t wanted Gary to have a new thing to fixate on.

  But Gary couldn’t help obsessing. He worried he was getting in the way, horning in on something that didn’t belong to him. Lo said they could try and see what happened between the three of them, but he didn’t want either Dean or Lo to be hurt. He didn’t want to be a wedge between the two of them or do anything to diminish the affection they had for each other.

  He didn’t know how to do what Clint and his little family were doing. Gary wasn’t like Clint. He didn’t have his shit together. He didn’t have anything to offer anyone.

  Dean pulled Gary’s hands apart. While Gary had been fretting, he’d also been picking at one of his cuticles, obviously, and had dug it bloody.

  The squeeze of Dean’s hand seemed to be silent edict to stop, so Gary balled his hands into fists and stared out the window.

  Dean pointed to a sign they were passing that advertised something called “Gator Cheese,” and stuck out his tongue.

  Gary smiled and nodded, and gripped the armrests of his seat because that sensation of overwhelm that he never knew what to do with as a kid was creeping up on him. He’d undergone enough therapy sessions in his life to be able to pick apart what had triggered him, even if he couldn’t make the anxiety go away.

  He liked Dean’s companionship, and he didn’t want to give it up.

  She said I could have it.

  He couldn’t stop being upset, though. Couldn’t stop feeling like something was off-kilter, and maybe that something was him.

  What am I doing?

  He didn’t know what he was doing. Coming on to Lo had been easy. He knew how to seduce—one of his few somewhat useful skills. But he didn’t know how to build lasting relationships. He didn’t know what to do with Dean.

  Gary pulled his phone out of his pocket and fired off a quick message to Lo before Dean shifted his gaze away from the television mounted in the row ahead of them.

  I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.

  He didn’t think she’d get the message. She was supposed to be on a plane, and probably wouldn’t see his message until she landed. He’d needed to be doing something, though. He’d needed to put the message out there so the ball was in someone else’s court.

  She responded.

  Woot. Employees get free onboard wifi. What don’t you know how to do?

  He rocked a bit in his seat and stared at the side of Dean’s face.

  Dean was squinting the television, which was playing some movie from the eighties Gary had already seen three times.

  He decided to try honesty, and typed, With Dean. Tell me what to do with him. Should I tell him that…

  He rocked bit more and tried to shape the question in his head. Lo probably would have understood him any way the words came out, but he wanted to be perfectly clear, so that her answer was, too.

  Should I tell him that I want him?

  He hit send.

  The three little dots indicating that Lo was typing up a response undulated at the bottom of his screen, and bile crept up his throat.

  He and Lo had already discussed their little mess. He didn’t think she’d have changed her mind that quickly, but he couldn’t help being the way he was. He couldn’t help worrying.

  He was afraid to read the message that flashed onto the screen, but he forced his vision to focus and read, anyway.

  Just be easy. If he doesn’t believe I gave you the go-ahead, tell him to call me.

  Gary took a breath, and typed, Or I’ll call you. Before anything happens.

  If anything happened.

  Gary had knots in his gut at the very idea. He’d never been so apprehensive about taking a lover before.

  He decided him not actually being expected to play that day was a good thing, because he would have been dropping balls all over the place and showing Wallace he wasn’t really to be back.

  But he was ready. He needed to be back and getting his life together. He thought he could. But whether or not he could succeed without having a babysitter or two—that he was much less certain of.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gary being too quiet made Dean exceedingly uncomfortable, and he was quiet long after Wallace had lifted his speaking moratorium from the team.

  He didn’t say anything after rejoining the team after they’d won their game. Didn’t say anything on the bus on the way to dinner. Didn’t say anything at the table except to tersely state his order to the waitress.

  Dean worried that if Gary was as much like his brother as he thought, Gary being too quiet meant he was probably a little down. Although Dean couldn’t think of a single thing that would have promoted that emotional state, he didn’t want to risk letting the mood bloom into a full-blown episode.

  Dean gave Gary’s knee a squeeze under the table, and Gary looked up from his half-eaten burger.

  Gary should have been done already, and everyone else had already finished. They were waiting for the waitress to bring Wallace the check.

  Gary resumed eating, saying nothing.

  “Wallace loosened the reins on us a little tonight,” Marcus said from the across the long table. “Want to hit the town in Reedsville? Not like there’s much town to be hitting, but there are a couple of bars with some local flavor that are always good for a couple of hours of amusement.”

  “Define flavor,” Dean said.

  Marcus made a waffling gesture. “Maybe not the kind that’ll get a guy in trouble with his wife.”

  “Yeah, let’s not get me in trouble with my wife. I’m supposed to be the sobering influence here, remember?”

  Wallace, who’d been passing the table behind him at the moment, paused and gave his back a thump. “Hey. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up for a few more days. I might be able to get Cassavetes off his power trip by Tuesday or Wednesday so you can go home.”

  “And what about Gary?”

  Gary set his sandwich down again.

  Wallace shrugged. “I think Morstad’s proven he’s a big boy and that maybe he can take care of himself.”

  Gary grunted quietly and pulled his water glass closer.

  Wallace moved toward the other end of the collection of pushed-together tables and accepted the portfolio from the waitress.

  Dean squeezed Gary’s thigh beneath the table again.

  What’s up with him?

  Gary slipped his h
and atop Dean’s, and then gave it a strong squeeze before pulling his away.

  “So, what do you say?” Marcus asked. “A little honky-tonk action before bedtime, or does your wife have you on curfew?”

  “Nah, no curfew. She knows I always end up in the right bed at the end of the night.”

  “Cool lady,” Charles said. “She got a friend?”

  Dean chuckled and leaned his chair back onto its rear legs. “A single friend? I don’t know about that. She’s got a bunch of cousins in Florida, though.”

  “Tell her to hook a guy up.”

  “I’ll see what she says. Knowing Lo, she might want to interview you in advance to make sure you’re up to snuff.”

  Charles groaned and drained the dregs of his sweet tea. “Ugh. I’ll never pass that test. When the Fates were handing out couth, they forgot to give me any. My grandma says I couldn’t have come out any worse if my ma had dropped me on my head when I was a baby.”

  “Sounds like a nice lady,” Gary muttered.

  Finally, he talks.

  Dean tapped his foot against Gary’s under the table.

  Gary tapped back.

  “Ain’t nothing nice about my grandma,” Charles said. “She’s the archetypal, get-off-my-lawn kind of lady. The only reason she let me on her lawn was because my ma made me go over to her place every other Saturday to cut it.”

  Marcus furrowed his brow and tapped the end of his fork against the table’s edge. “Doesn’t your grandma live on a three-acre spread in Nebraska?”

  “Yeah. Owns a tractor mower, but made me use the push mower on the front half. Said I needed to build character.” Charles scoffed and loosened the knot of his tie. “All that pushing ever built was resentment and huge blisters on my palms.”

  As the waitress whisked away the ticket and Wallace’s credit card, the team started to stand and move toward the exit.

  Gary remained seated and still until the room was nearly empty, not even flinching at Cameron’s “bench-rider” quip as he moved past. Then he stood, slowly, tossed a few dollars into the tip pile for the waitress, and then asked quietly, “Did you call Lo?”

  Dean followed him outside and drew in a deep breath of the swampy Florida air. “Yeah. When I left the table earlier after putting in my order.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Same way as I always do. She led the conversation and I just nodded like she could see me.”

  “She doesn’t care that you don’t talk back.”

  “You keep saying that, but…” Dean shrugged and gestured toward the bus.

  “Yeah. Hard to let go of some ideas, I guess.” Gary climbed onto the bus, and Dean followed him down the aisle, seeing too late that Cameron was waiting by their row. Blocking it, really.

  “Get out of the fucking way,” Gary said.

  “Not until I say what I gotta say.”

  “Say what you’ve got to, and move, then.”

  “I’d watch my tone if I were you,” Cameron said. “Or have you forgotten already that you haven’t yet been offered a place on the team?”

  “Can the power trip, Moreno,” Marcus said. “That captain gig of yours might not last past the season otherwise.”

  Cameron didn’t bother looking Marcus’s way, but the slight grinding of his teeth hinted that he knew the words to be truth. He straightened up and folded his arms across his chest. “Just so you know, I’m going out tonight. So if you had any ideas about going to any particular places, now you know I’ll be there, too, and I plan on having a good time.”

  “Nobody’s stopping you,” Gary said. “Go have a fuckin’ ball.”

  “Like I said, I plan to. And if I see you…” He gave his head a doleful shake. “Man, that won’t be fun. You get what I’m telling you?”

  Dean grabbed the waistband of Gary’s slacks and gave him the slightest yank.

  Cameron was goading him, but Gary didn’t have to respond. He didn’t have to become the aggressor in a situation staged explicitly for that purpose. Moreno would probably have liked just fine for Gary to lose his shit. He’d make his recommendation to Wallace that Gary wasn’t fit for the team, and yet everyone else knew Gary stayed on track when folks didn’t poke at him.

  Cameron had a vendetta, but Gary didn’t need to let Moreno fulfill it.

  Dean gave Gary another small nudge. He wanted to lean in and whisper something encouraging, but he didn’t have the right words, and even if he did, he wouldn’t do that with the entire bus looking on. Gary needed to show he was capable of self-regulating.

  Gary gestured down the aisle, indicating that Cameron should go that way.

  And he did, likely only because Wallace had climbed onto the bus, shouting, “Let’s get this tin can moving.”

  Gary slipped into his seat at the window, and Dean took the aisle.

  As the bus cranked closer to Reedsville, Gary’s body language was closed off. He sat with his head against the window and his knees turned away from Dean.

  His eyes were closed and arms folded over his belly.

  Don’t shut down on me.

  Dean squeezed what he could reach of Gary’s hand, and when Gary didn’t squeeze back, he left him alone.

  He wasn’t going to make a scene the way Cameron had. Anything he had to say to Gary could wait until they were back at the motel.

  Evidently, they weren’t going anywhere for the evening.

  ___

  Dean had barely gotten the room door closed and locked before he spat the words, “Talk to me.”

  He wasn’t used to being the person driving a conversation, but he suspected Gary wouldn’t volunteer any information if left up to his own devices.

  Gary paused at the end of the dresser, clutching the corner as he worked his feet out of his loafers.

  “Talk,” Dean said. “Please.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Say whatever you want. Just don’t get quiet.”

  “Most prefer me being quiet.”

  “I’m not most people. I’m Dean. I suck at talking. I’d rather listen.”

  “Why do you want me to talk?”

  “Because you’re in your head right now, and I worry that’s not a great place to stay for too long.”

  “Usually isn’t.” Gary sat on the corner of his bed and loosened his tie, his gaze fixed on the floor, and so Dean knelt next to him to make him look at him.

  “Come on, you’re bolder than that. Look at me.”

  “Looking at you is part of the problem,” Gary said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Gary scoffed, closed his eyes, and yanked his tie out of his collar. “Never mind.”

  “No, don’t tell me never mind like something’s not bothering you. And don’t tell me you don’t know or that you don’t know how to say it. You do. Maybe your head’s a mess, but you know how to talk. You know how to make sense.”

  “Funny that that should be a compliment.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t be for other folks, but you know my heart’s in the right place. I wish you could teach what you do to my brother, but I don’t know if the ship has already sailed for him. Might be too stuck in his ways now.”

  “I’m sure he’s used to folks giving up on him.”

  “And I don’t want to be the next, but most days, he’s so hard to get through to. Can hardly get a word in edgewise. I hope you can help me help him.”

  Gary toed off his dress socks, unfastened his belt, and then stood. He started toward the dresser again, but Dean needed him to be still for a moment. He needed him to pay attention.

  He wrapped him from the back in a bear hug and pinned his arms down to his sides. “Are you listening to me?”

  Gary’s swallow may as well have been a gunshot for as loud as it seemed.

  He fidgeted his hands against his sides and rubbed his chin across the forearm Dean had pinned to his chest.

  His body relaxed in small increments, the stiffness retreating and his b
ody molding more against Dean’s.

  His breathing slowed. His hands stopped.

  “You like when I do this?” Dean whispered.

  Another of those loud swallows.

  The air conditioner cranked on, the noise unwelcome, but the cool air so very needed.

  “Yeah,” Gary said finally, with a rasp in his voice.

  “Will you talk to me like this?”

  “I still don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Tell me what’s bugging you.”

  “Just…things, Dean. Things I shouldn’t have.”

  “Like what? Baseball? Looks like everything is shaping up in that department. You’re doing good, man. You just need to keep avoiding Cameron when I’m gone. I bet Marcus and Charles will help.”

  “When you’re gone…” Gary said low. His hands started to fidget again.

  “Isn’t that what you want? I would have thought you’d be happy to get rid of your extra shadow.”

  When Gary didn’t answer, Dean forced his knee against the back of Gary’s to unbalance him a little, only to grip him tighter when he started to stumble. Dean wouldn’t let him fall. “Answer me.”

  “Do I want the special treatment to stop? Yeah. Yeah, I want that. Do I want you to leave?” Gary gave his head a minuscule shake.

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t want you to.”

  “Don’t give me that word. Don’t give me just. What do you mean? You’re adaptable. You’ll be all right without me here.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be all right, but I don’t want you to leave, just like I didn’t want Lo to leave. What folks say about three being a crowd isn’t true.”

  Dean held Gary tightly against him, trying to parse what he’d just said, but his words hadn’t been unclear, and what he hadn’t said was simple enough to intuit.

  But, certainly he couldn’t mean that.

  Ask, stupid. Dean couldn’t just nod his way through the conversation. He had to ask. “Why don’t you want me to leave? Answer. No pause.”