Trick Play

by Alison Hendricks

  A four game suspension. That’s what this amounts to. Five if Eastshore has a shot at a bowl game. I’m guessing they’re giving Luke the same deal. It’s better than an expulsion, but I know how much he loves football. This still has to hurt. I want to say something, but I doubt he wants me trying to speak up for him. That ship sailed when I tried to lay all the blame for this at his feet.

  Those words play through my mind as I sign my name to the documents. Even when we were rivals, I never said anything like that to him. I’d never dream of saying it in a hundred years. We’re over. I’ve come to terms with that. But I owe him an apology, and I hurry through the papers to try and give it.

  Then I hear his chair scrape against the floor.

  “We good?” he asks, handing the stack of papers to the lawyer.

  The man checks them over. “That’s everything we need from you.”

  Before I can even open my mouth, Luke pushes his chair in and then walks out. Out of the room and out of my life. And I feel like I’m frozen in place. I can’t even seem to sign my name anymore. It takes the lawyer prompting me to get me to finish. All the while, I’m thinking about what my life is going to be like without him.

  Until now, I’d held out some hope. Just a tiny shred of it. I thought maybe we could patch things up. I could apologize, explain myself, and we could go back to the good old days. Before we started this farce of a relationship. Before we embarked on something that ended us for good.

  I want to tell myself I can move on. That childhood friendships aren’t meant to last, and your first love isn’t the person you have to spend your life with, despite what every country song ever written says. But I wanted it to be Luke. I needed it to be Luke, from that first day we met. I needed him to care, because my parents sure as hell didn’t.

  Luke did. And now, because of me, he doesn’t.

  I pass the papers to the lawyer and leave, completely ignoring the local press hovering outside. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I go back to Franklin’s, grateful that he’s at class right now, and I spend the next few hours trying to focus on the biology mid-term that’s coming up.

  I end up having to read the same unit three times, and my paper is just a mish-mash of half-baked sentences that only vaguely tie together. I print off a copy, tuck it inside my textbook, and try to figure out what to do with myself for the rest of the day. I don’t even remember turning the TV on, but as I sit on the couch, staring off into space and trying to push aside the ache in my heart, I hear something that breaks through my detachment.

  “It seems like there may finally be an end to the bizarre story of Eastshore College’s Luke Trent and Brandon Tucker,” the newscaster says, stressing the word ‘bizarre.’

  I’m instantly torn between wanting to change the channel, and wanting to throw the remote at Franklin’s old flat screen. I can’t seem to summon the energy for either.

  “Trent and Tucker met with the team’s lawyer today to sign an agreement that was reached earlier in the week by the NCAA review board. Previous speculation believed the document outlined the terms of both players’ expulsion from the team, but sources say there’s been a change in the agreement. Instead of both players leaving the Eastshore College football program, only Trent is being formally ejected, with Tucker suspended for the rest of the season, but encouraged to finish out his senior year with the Tigers. Perhaps more surprising is that Trent is now also ineligible to compete in the NCAA at any level, which—”

  I don’t hear the rest of the story. My mind seizes on those few damning words, and I turn them over in my mind, trying to make sense of them. Luke is completely ineligible. I’m only suspended. Neither of those things were even on the table when Coach Haynes spoke to us.

  I reach for my phone and dial Erica’s number, needing an answer. If there’s anyone who will know what’s going on, it’s her.

  “Hey, Brandon,” she says. “How are you holding up?”

  “Did you know about Luke being ineligible?” I’ll apologize for skipping the pleasantries later.

  “Yeah, he told me he was leaning that way a few days ago.” She pauses a moment, then I hear her swear away from the phone. “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t know? He didn’t tell you?”

  “Not like we’re talking a lot these days.”

  The line crackles a little as she sighs. I can almost see her pinching the bridge of her nose. "I really have to do everything for you two."

  "Erica," I say, hoping the lecture can wait until later.

  Right now, something inside of me is saying this is a big deal. It's the first time I've felt anything other than life-shattering pain in days. I have to hold onto it as tight as I can.

  "Two days ago, he met with a few people from the review board. He struck a deal with them. He said he’d give up league eligibility, but in exchange, you would only be suspended for the rest of the season."

  I'm completely floored by her words. They sit in my mind, carrying a weight behind them that I can't comprehend. It takes several moments for me to remember how to form words of my own.

  "...Why would he do that?" I ask, my voice breaking.

  My heart hammers away in my chest. An ache blossoms there, but it's different than the one I've been feeling.

  "You know the answer to that," Erica says softly.

  Deep down, I do know the answer. I haven't wanted to even think it might be possible, but there's only one reason Luke would sacrifice his career--his entire future--for me.

  Even as I think it, though, I can't let myself attach a word to it. There's still a part of me that thinks this might just be his way of making amends, even though he has nothing to make amends for. I know, though, as I hang up with Erica and call a cab, that I have to tell him everything. I owe it to him. He's given up so much for me, the very least I can do is finally give him my heart.

  He may reject me. He may tell me we're better off as friends, and that it's not worth trying to be anything more. But even if there's the smallest chance, I have to take it.

  Luke is worth it to me. He's worth everything.

  It's late afternoon by the time I make it over to our old dorm room, but he isn't there. After tracking down the RA, I find out he's gone back home for an early weekend, and I have to call on another taxi for a two-hour drive north.

  As soon as we cross that county line, I feel that same tightening in my gut that I always feel when I go back home. I have such good memories of this place, but so many terrible ones, too. When we turn onto the dirt road that leads to Luke's dad's house, I can't help but wonder at the memories I'll be making from this trip.

  The cab pulls right up beside Luke's truck. I can see Mr. Trent's Ford parked nearby, too, and my pulse quickens even more. It's possible I could reconcile with Luke. But it's just as likely I'll be run off the property by a man wielding a thirty-gauge.

  I pay the ridiculous fare and stand in the gravel driveway, my hands stuffed into the pockets of my jeans. Mr. Trent's pit bull, Otto, comes from around the side of the house, barking in alarm. When he realizes it's me, his big head drops and he wags his tail.

  "Hey, Otto," I say, rubbing behind his ears.

  I can't seem to move beyond that. It's like the driveway's suddenly turned into quicksand. Fortunately--or maybe unfortunately--Otto's barking alerted at least one of the Trents.

  John Trent looks so little like Luke from afar that it's hard to tell they're related. He's short and barrel-chested. Broad and muscular, having a countenance that matches his dog surprisingly well. Only I know Otto at least likes me. I'm not sure I can say the same for Mr. Trent.

  He walks toward me, his boots stamping patterns into the mix of dirt and gravel. He doesn't say anything, but I can see in his eyes there's a lot he wants to say.

  I try my best to stand my ground, but it's hard when he stops right in front of me, his big arms folded over his chest.

  "So. You're gay."

  My mouth opens, but I can't seem to force any words out.r />
  "And you've been dating my son."

  Definitely not getting any words out now. My head spins as the implication of that settles in. If he actually believes Luke and I are dating--were dating--then Luke must have told him the truth.

  That thirty-gauge seems a lot more likely than I originally thought.

  "Yes, sir," I say, falling back on good manners to hopefully keep me from getting shot.

  He looks at me, a hard expression on his face. After a while, it softens. It softens so much that he doesn't look like himself anymore. He lets out a sigh, looking away from me for a moment.

  "I know I've said some things over the years. Lots of things, probably. You've gotta understand that's just how I was raised. It was a different world back then."

  It takes me a bit to realize what he's getting at. Then it hits me. He's trying to apologize for all the jokes and comments he made as I was growing up.

  That's... unexpected, to say the least. Maybe Luke talked to him about it.

  "I don't have a problem with gay folks. I want you to know that. Never thought my boy would be one of 'em, but... I guess it doesn't really change anything."

  I refrain from trying to explain the difference between gay and bisexual. Now that I'm fairly certain I'm not going to get shot, that's maybe a conversation for a different time.

  "You're a good kid, Brandon. A good man." He puts his hand on my shoulder and I can feel my chest tighten. "What your parents did to you... it wasn't right. And... I just want you to know that whatever happens, you've always got a place here."

  I just stare at him, trying to fight back the tears that want so desperately to come. John Trent, the definition of Florida good ol' boy, is openly welcoming me into his home. He knows what I am and he's doing it anyway.

  I know Luke must be behind this, and my heart leaps at the thought.

  "That means a lot to me," I manage to say.

  I can't help looking behind him, and he just laughs.

  "Go on. Luke's in the house. Me and Otto'll just take a turn about the yard or something."

  I let out a breath of relief, then extend my hand. Mr. Trent takes it and we shake.

  "Thank you," I say, barely able to contain my emotion.

  "Mmhmm. Just so you know, I don't plan on going easy on you because you're a guy. You hurt him, and I'll fuck you up. You hear?"

  I nod, smiling. Then Mr. Trent takes Otto toward the fence line, just like he said, and I'm left staring at the house that was once my sanctuary.

  I let out a breath and head toward the front porch, opening up the screen door and the proper one beyond that. I wipe my boots on the mat, and when I look up, Luke is standing there.

  His eyes lock with mine, those brown depths so full of emotion that I nearly stagger. I do stagger when, in two long strides, he closes the distance between us, grabs my face, and kisses me.

  I grip his shirt, pulling myself to him, and kiss him back for all I'm worth. The taste of him hits me, overwhelms me, and it's like that first sip of whiskey. Strong and heady and hot, with the promise of more behind it.

  It's not just physical, though. Once we're as close as we can be, Luke slows the kiss down. He explores my mouth and I memorize the texture of his lips, the feel of his tongue against mine. I let myself feel everything he's bringing out in me, where I would have shut it down before. And I pour every ounce of what I feel for him into that kiss.

  When it breaks, we're both left panting, but we don't separate. His hands still bracket my face; his shirt is still balled in my fists.

  "I didn't mean it, Brandon. All that shit I said? I didn't mean a word of it."

  "I know," I say, lifting my hands to his face. "I didn't, either. And the past few days have been the hardest of my life."

  "Yeah," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I haven't been able to sleep. Can't think of anything other than you, and how I should've done things different. How I should've been honest from the start."

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say, stroking his jaw.

  Nothing matters anymore, as long as he never lets me go.

  “It does matter. I don’t ever wanna hurt you like that again. I hate that you’re suspended because of me.”

  I can’t help but laugh. The situation is terrible. As far as Luke’s career is concerned, it looks so, so bleak. But being worried about me is just so… him. “Seriously? You’re ineligible, and you’re worried about me being suspended? We have to talk to the board again. There’s still time—”

  His lips press to mine, more tenderly this time, but still enough to shut me up. His hands slide to my waist and he draws me into him, making me forget everything but him. When my senses finally come back, I pull away from him just enough to stop his maddening pursuit.

  “I’m serious,” I say, my own voice rough. “Football is everything to you.”

  He just smiles at me in that sexy, confident way I love. “Nah, it isn’t. Never was. It just took me a while to realize it.”

  My breath catches in my throat and my heart seizes, then stutters into a staccato rhythm that I’m positive even Luke can hear. I can see it in his eyes. I can see the words I’ve longed for so deeply but have never allowed myself to think were possible. They’re right there, shining at me in that warm, welcoming brown gaze that just beckons me in.

  “You’re everything to me, Brandon,” he says, and my heart soars to hear it. “I’m crazy about you, man.”

  I laugh, the joyous sound bursting from me before I can even begin to think about reining it in. And why would I, when Luke’s grinning at me like that?

  “I’m crazy about you, too,” I say. “I always have been.”

  His hand slides to the back of my head and he pulls me in for another long, languid kiss. It feels like sealing some kind of pact; agreeing to something that I already know is going to last. Because this is Luke. He’s the most dependable guy I know, and if he says he’s crazy about me, then I absolutely believe him.

  And I will do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way. I’m not letting anything come between us again.

  Epilogue

  Luke

  Ten Months Later

  Turns out, Juco isn’t so bad.

  After the whole thing with Eastshore shook out and all the sports journalists finally got back to covering something other than our story, I got a call from the head of recruitment at Lake Reynolds Community College. They offered me a spot on the team and, since LRCC is pretty close to Eastshore, I took it without question. I honestly didn’t care about being some big superstar. Getting the chance to play again was great, but if I hadn’t been able to stay near Brandon, I wouldn’t have done it.

  It took me some time to adjust, though. Juco guys fight just as hard as D1, but Reynolds is pretty much a team full of rejects who are trying to claw their way back up. I never had much to prove, so I played because I love the game. I played because every Thursday night, as long as he could swing it with practice, Brandon came out to support me.

  And I started paying more attention to my studies. Going to a junior college doesn’t do much for me in terms of graduating, but it’s given me a chance to think about what I want to do. Reynolds has some vocational programs, so I’m trying out a lot of different things I can do with my hands and make a good living from, like cooking. It’s funny, I never really wanted to end up like my dad, but more and more these days, I’m learning to appreciate having a simple life.

  And as long as I’ve got Brandon, I don’t really need anything else.

  He’s been finishing out his senior year at Eastshore. Things were rough when he first rejoined the team. He told me the guys froze him out pretty hard, which I guess they have every right to do. Brandon had to stop me from going down there and raising hell—or at least making them hate me instead of him.

  But a few clutch field goals made him a useful player again, and Erica’s timely article gave the guys a perspective they didn’t have before. She wrote about Luke and I—the
real story of how it all went down. It was as much a public apology as it was an explanation, and it was so beautifully written she was nominated for an award because of it, and ended up getting an offer to work for a paper out on the West Coast.

  Oak arranged a night at the Top, and it wasn’t long before we were all acting the same as we ever did. Mostly a lot of arguing about pro players, some pretty serious arm wrestling contests, and an air hockey tournament that kept the Top open til 4am that night. It’s pretty nice to feel like one of the guys again, even if I’ve got my teammates at Reynolds now. But it’s even nicer to head home with Brandon when he’s in such a good mood because of it.

  The living situation was another thing we had to figure out. My dad put up enough for us to get an apartment together, and I promised to pay him back after I graduated. Our schedules don’t sync up that great, so we mostly spend our nights together. Not always in bed, either, though there’s definitely a lot of that. But sometimes we’ll talk, or play video games, or I’ll make one of the recipes they’ve got me working on in class just so I can see him enjoy it.

  The long and short of it is that making Brandon happy makes me happy, and I take whatever time we’re given. Especially the weekends. A lot of times we just hang out or catch up with old friends, but when the weather’s good, we like to hit the lake.

  I’ve been waiting for the weather to be good for a month. Fucking Florida. But it’s finally clear enough, and I can go ahead with the plan I’ve been working on for a while now.

  It’s early in the morning when we pull up in my old pickup. We take out the cooler and our rods and tackle and sit on the edge of the dock, just like always. We get some bites in between having to move to make way for the boats, but I’m not really focused on catching fish. Even when we talk, I’m distracted, and the more I cast my line, the more the nerves start to build.

  “You okay?” Brandon asks around mid-morning.

  “Yeah. Fucking hot out here,” I say, like that’s going to explain why I keep fidgeting.