I hear him crumple the chip bag and toss it in the trash can. “You think I’m the only gay football player at SCU? You really don’t know your team very well, Morgan.”
This guy is fucking with my head. Is Kevan right? Have I been misreading my teammates for years? This is the most unsettling conversation I’ve had in a long time. I don’t like it one bit. I don’t answer him, but I also can’t sleep, running through a list of my teammates, trying to figure out who I actually know.
Eventually, Kevan says, “Not everyone feels safe admitting it, though. Some guys are good at trying to hide who they really are.”
That gets me thinking about my fucking father—master of hiding his true self. I mean, it’s sort of the opposite. My father hides that he is a monster and Kevan’s saying my teammates are afraid of monsters. Everyone in my home town thinks dad’s some upstanding citizen. Turning all the boys of Fulton football into men. Loving mentor. All of it an act.
My father would come home and spit venom, complaining about everyone and everything in his life, detailing how thoroughly everyone was standing in his way. Most especially me and Brody.
I honestly think that’s how Olive got her start as a trainer. She’d look after me when he’d twist my arm behind my back for missing a spot washing the dishes. She figured out how to massage my head if he slammed it off the dining room table. Brody never had anyone like Olive to look after him. Sounds like Kevan knows a thing or two about that experience himself.
I don’t like thinking about my brother the night before a game. I roll around for awhile, trying to forget everything Kevan said, too. Eventually I hear him snoring and I cram a pillow over my head. I fall asleep thinking about Olive’s touch on my skin and how much I missed feeling that in the training room this week.
CHAPTER TEN
Olive
Football Saturdays have always had a special rhythm. Usually, I wake up early and head into the training room, get everything set up to tape ankles and wrap wrists. The linemen always come in first, needing more attention than everyone else. And then I give Bax a pep talk, assure him I’ll be watching from the stands, wearing his jersey. I kiss his forehead each week, for luck.
So today, when I’m in the natatorium all morning stretching out swimmers, I just feel off.
Tim was in early for some more treatments for his back. He’s not going to let anything like muscle spasms prevent him from competing. I’ve been around athletes long enough to know they don’t sit out until their coach screams in their face.
Nobody seems to mind that I, an undergrad assistant, step in to work out Tim’s hamstrings and hook him up to the TENS unit. Justin is over with the football players for game prep, so the mood in the training room is pretty light while I go about my business.
Tim is doing much better after a few days of lighter training and heavier stretches. He is even chatty, telling me about his internship from last summer in New York City.
He grits his teeth as I lean into his leg, trying to get some more stretch from his thighs. “Yeah,” he says. “The hours were insane at the bank, but I was staying with my cousin and he has a pool in his building, so I could still get in off-season workouts.”
“That’s good that you can be that disciplined on your own,” I tell him, gesturing for him to roll to his stomach. I crank back his hairless shin to stretch his quads, marveling again that I can be so close to an objectively beautiful body and feel nothing sexual. Not even a flutter in my belly.
I get him race ready and stare at the clock. One more hour of my shift. I’ll miss the first quarter of the football game. I head into the office to make notes, update Tim’s chart, trying to be ready to leave as soon as possible.
There’s a grad student trainer in here working on charts, too. She looks at me questioningly as I sit at the big table we all share. “Justin reassigned me the other day,” I tell her. “I was on football before.” I shrug.
“This is a big shift,” she says. “Anyway, I’m Emily.” She holds out a hand, and I shake it.
“Olive,” I tell her. “Pleased to meet you.”
We sit next to each other working for awhile, and then she stops and stares at me. “I know who you are,” she says. “Julia was telling me. You’re the undergrad wonderkid.”
“Wonderkid?”
Emily tells me how Julia was bragging about me to the other grad students in the program. I flush, embarrassed, but Emily grins. “I’m glad you’ll get more hands-on experience with the swimmers. This will be good for you.” She shows me her folder.
Emily’s doing her PhD research on knee ligament tears. She’s been trying to get moved back to soccer or a sport with more impact, since the swimmers don’t really damage their knees all that often.
Turns out, Justin has been shifting a lot of people around this semester.
“So who got sent to fill my spot at football? Why not you?” Emily shrugs and looks over my shoulder, like she’s searching for someone.
“Honestly? I wasn’t willing to kiss Justin’s ass, so he sent me here as punishment.”
“What? That’s insane.”
Emily shrugs. “It’s just a thing he does. He’s on such a power trip. None of the higher ups give a shit because the athletes are all fine. It’s just that none of us can really finish our research easily since we don’t get the right cases for our focus.”
I spend the rest of my shift thinking about Emily’s words, wondering what comes next. As soon as my time’s up, I hurry to grab my things, wanting to get to the stadium as quickly as I can.
Emily shouts out, “You wanna come to the Dark Horse? A bunch of us are going to watch the game on the TV there,” she says.
“Oh,” I pause. I look down at my Morgan jersey. It’s not one like fans can buy in the gift shop—this is one of Baxter’s actual practice jerseys. A lot of the players give these to their girlfriends…he says he just likes knowing he’s got a friendly face in the family section. “I actually have to get to the stadium. I have tickets…”
Emily nods. “Gotcha. Another time, right?”
“Definitely.”
By the time I get up into the family section, it’s midway into the second quarter. Scotty’s mom waves me over to my seat and hands me a bag of popcorn. “Olive, there you are! We just weren’t sure what on earth happened to you.”
I explain about getting my assignment switched to swimming. I realize with a jolt that I didn’t even check to see if the Otters won the swim meet. I really should be more invested if I’m going to help take care of the team. I start to feel bad until I see Baxter turn around from the bench. Then I feel worse.
“He’s having an off day,” Scotty’s mom whispers to me. “Maryland running back snuck past him for a first down early in the game.” I cringe. I know this isn’t my fault, but I feel guilty that I wasn’t here to show Bax support when he missed a tackle.
Bax scans the crowd, looking absolutely miserable, until he finds me. Relief floods his face as I wave and shout, and then his expression quickly fades to irritation. I can tell he’s angry that I missed so much of the game.
Bax leans down and talks to one of the water carriers, who looks baffled that one of the players is speaking to him. Bax puts an arm on the guy’s shoulder, and he nods rapidly and runs off. Soon, the water boy pokes his head into our section, breathless.
“Ms. Hampton?” I nod. “Baxter just wanted to make sure you’d be in the training room after the game.”
I swallow. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to do that…but if Baxter wants me there, I don’t see the harm. I nod and turn my attention back to the game. The SCU defense takes the field to open the second quarter.
I watch the snap, the pass, the reception and the smack as Baxter flies down the field and flattens the wide receiver. Most people have their eyes on the big screen watching the replay, but I’m looking over at Bax. I see that it takes him longer than usual to get up. He’s hurting, and he’s angry. So very angry.
But Baxt
er has been angry for years. Sometimes he thinks he’s angry about one thing, but usually, he’s angry about his dad. He’s angry about his brother. He’s angry that his mother left.
Baxter spends so much time curled up on my couch confessing to me how very, very angry he is, and the only way he seems to express any of that anger is out on the football field. Playing football seems to calm him, give him an outlet to focus his anger. Most of the time.
For the rest of the game, I cringe watching him play. His adrenaline must be pounding through his veins as he chases down players who may or may not even have the ball. He slams them all into the ground, again and again, getting up with a roar I can hear across the stadium, where the other parents in our section look at me with wide eyes.
Over the loudspeaker, the announcer keeps talking about Baxter’s stats, and I know he will eventually feel excited that he played so well. Scouts will likely see him today and this will help his career. But I also know that everything he’s doing is in response to feelings stirred up inside. Baxter Morgan is hurting.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Olive
Stone Creek pulls out a win against Maryland, which is a bit of an upset, so the mood in the stadium is ecstatic. Fans are jumping and screaming, hugging and crying. I wind my way through everyone down to the players’ entrance to the stadium. The security guards know me by now and wave me through the barricade so I can wait for Bax in the training room.
Justin glares at me, and I hesitate as I walk toward him. “Bax asked me to be here,” I tell him. “I’m off the clock, just here for my friend.” Justin furrows his brow and looks like he’s about to say something, when the guys start limping in from the field.
“This is a restricted area. For players and staff only,” Justin finally says.
The players who are really hurting stop by the training room before they even talk to the media, so they’re still peeling themselves out of shoulder pads and helmets. I glance around, but don’t see anyone I know well.
When I don’t move, Justin grabs my upper arm, his fingers digging into my skin, and quickly marches me to the hall. “Players and staff only, Ms. Hampton. You’ll do well to remember that.”
Before I can open my mouth again to protest, I hear the sound of football spikes clacking down the hall. I look over to see Baxter coming slowly.
“Shit, Liv,” he says, and I can see that he’s really in pain. He doesn’t even comment that Justin laid his hands on me, and Justin quickly releases my arm as Baxter approaches.
“It’ll be ok, Bax. We’ll get you fixed up.” I squeeze his hand and he winces. He walks into the room and turns around, to see that Justin has blocked my path again.
“Ms. Hampton will have to meet you afterward, Morgan,” he practically sneers. “This space is for athletic team personnel and players only. If you could please let us do our job.” Justin moves to shut the door.
“What the fuck,” Baxter roars. He tries to lift his arm, and then winces and groans. He looks to Justin, pleading. “Please, man.”
Coach Burns walks in the room just then and starts patting his players on the shoulder. “JT, tell me about your thumb, kiddo?” Coach makes his way around the room, checking everyone out while I stand hesitating in the doorway, and Justin relents. His nostrils flare as he breathes. “Fine, she can come in. But she is not assessing. She is here in a moral support capacity.“
Bax grabs for my hand. “Please stay,” he says again. I nod and stay close. Justin starts poking and prodding while Bax winces but tells him nothing hurts.
Justin rolls his eyes and grabs Baxter’s arm. He raises it up and tries to circle it around as Baxter moans. Justin doesn’t seem to be reading Baxter’s nonverbal cues at all, is just going through the motions of a joint check. He doesn’t even look to see Baxter’s obvious pain response when he performs certain maneuvers. It’s killing me not to jump in, not to say what I suspect has happened.
“Hey,” I say, finally, stepping in between Baxter’s legs. I grab his cheeks and pull his face down so his forehead rests against mine. “You have to tell us where it hurts so we can help you.”
Justin nudges me out of the way. “Olive, that’s enough. Let us do our jobs here.”
“Don’t fucking talk to her that way,” Bax says, jumping up off the table.
His chest heaves. “Bax,” I say. “It’s ok. But you need to tell him what hurts or he can’t fix it.”
“I need you to fucking fix it, Liv.” He tries to raise his arm to touch my shoulder, and he can’t. I think I know exactly what’s wrong, why he can’t lift his arm, but before I can speak up, Justin growls that I need to leave the room.
This gets Coach Burns’s attention, and he whips around.
“What the hell is going on over here, Morgan?”
“Coach, I want Olive to check me out,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Well then have her check you out. What’s all this caterwauling burning holes in my ears?”
I bite my lip and stand to the side while Justin glares at me. “Olive Hampton no longer interns with the football team, Coach,” Justin says. “She is, as you know, an undergrad, and has been reassigned to the swim team where she can earn more—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck if she’s a hot dog vendor.” Coach Burns spits his gum out onto the table next to Bax. “My players are finely tuned machines. This finely tuned machine has it in his thick skull he wants a specific mechanic. Give him the god damned mechanic.”
Bax grins and, with his good arm, rubs the hair at the back of his neck. Coach walks away, and Justin throws his hands up. “This is a fucking liability waiting to happen,” he says. He moves on to another player laid up on a nearby table.
I’m not sure what the fallout will be, but I’m sure it’s not good. But I can’t worry about that now. Baxter is injured.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bax
“It’s my shoulder,” I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut. “It’s my fucking shoulder, Livvy.”
“Ok,” she says, soothing, brushing her hand through my hair and leaving a trail of sparks along my skin. I’m scared and I know she knows it. I felt something creak when I flattened that Maryland runner. I’m so fucking mad about it, too. My head hasn’t been right since last night. I didn’t get enough sleep and I’m all over the place with my thoughts, thinking about what Kevan said.
If I don’t know my teammates, if I can’t read people like I thought, can I read the offense? Can I even fucking do anything? Liv tries to lift my arm and I groan.
It started hurting even worse when her dickhead boss was moving it around. “Bax,” she says, gently moving my arm around. “I’m going to assess your A-C joint, ok?”
I don’t know what the hell that means, but if Olive says I need it, fine. I’m not letting that asshole guy put his hands on me again, though. I can tell you that.
By this time, my roommates are done getting checked out and are standing around staring. I growl at them. “Take a picture, guys. It’ll last longer.”
“Hey,” Liv says, squeezing my leg. God, that feels good. Her touch almost makes me forget the stinging ache in my shoulder. “Be nice, ok? I think I know what’s wrong.”
Justin steps away from whatever he was doing and frowns at me. He starts asking me stupid questions I don’t feel like answering, and then he tries manipulating my arm. I yank it away from him. “I want Olive to do it,” I snap.
My shoulder is starting to throb.
“Hey,” Olive says, resting her palm on my cheek. She never touches me this much. Fuck, she must know something’s wrong. I cannot afford to have something really wrong. “How about if Justin and I do it together, ok? I’m right here.”
He rolls his eyes and nods, and then resumes trying to lift my arm while Olive keeps her hand threaded with my left hand. She presses her other hand on my leg, and I try to focus on that. I hear Justin talking low with Olive, and she nods. She runs her fingers along my collar bone, and then points to the so
re spot on my shoulder.
“It’s right here, right, Bax?” She presses on the spot where my collar bone connects to my shoulder and I hiss.
Justin sends one of the assistant trainers for ice and his attitude shifts a little, like he’s back to being pissed off. Good, that means it’s not too serious. “I think we’ve got a sprained A-C joint, Morgan,” he says. “One week no contact. Ice and stim. Some PT. It’s not separated or torn—just looks like you tweaked it when you made a tackle.”
I nod. “What about the pain?”
He cracks a maniacal grin. “Can’t handle a little pain?”
“Fuck you, man. Step in my shoes for an hour and we’ll talk.” This is such bullshit. I look around for Coach, but he’s already left the room.
Justin rolls his eyes, a-fucking-gain, and mutters that he’ll get the doc in here for a cortisone shot.
Mother fucker. Those shots fucking hurt. I usually wind up getting one in my back each season. This sport is so damn painful. Olive must see me shivering, because she squeezes my hand. I realize she hasn’t let go this whole time. “I’ll be right here with you, ok?” I nod.
Doc seems to be lining up a few shots of glory—some of my teammates lie ass up on a table, some have their knees exposed. None of them get their own personal angel with them, so I try to shut my mouth while they deal with the stick alone.
Olive runs her fingers through my hair, soothing me. I know I need her. I need someone who just loves me, who has always loved me.
Not even my own mother stuck around when our worlds exploded, but Olive was there. She’s always been there. I can’t risk losing this by answering some feral need I feel whenever I think about her.
I can dip my dick anywhere.
Olive knows what an injury-free season means to me to get my chance at the pros. So when she sees me tense up as Doc prepares the needle, she gives me a smile and I forget everything I just convinced myself about why I need to keep my hands off her.
Stone Creek Page 21