My Only Reason (A Love is Love Book Book 1)

by Leigh Lennon

  Ryder

  From the reflection in my rearview mirror, I can see Crush’s porch light turn on, and his huge body stands on the stoop, watching my car as I leave. I won’t go back. I can’t let one potential stupid kiss, especially when Crush is so confused, ruin our friendship again.

  My text alert dings, and when I’m far enough away from Crush’s house, I pull over. I’m expecting it to be him when Garrison’s familiar and handsome face pops up on the screen.

  Garrison: Hey, haven’t heard from you. Just got assigned to your first game in Kansas City. Maybe we can celebrate your win before parting ways.

  Normally, this would be a hell yes. To say Garrison knows his way around my body is an understatement, but after the past few confusing days in Crush’s company, I can’t commit. But, then again, we don’t bring emotions into our fuckings.

  Me: I’m not sure. Could I get back to you?

  It’s still three weeks away, and a lot can happen.

  Garrison: Sure, no problem. BTW, remember our pledge from so long ago.

  Garrison had been my support system when I came out of the closet. And we’d talked for what felt like days one long weekend. He’d given me a lot of advice, but the pledge he’s referring to, I could never forget. And I realize that in the few minutes he’d been around Crush last weekend, he must have seen it, too.

  Me: Yeah, don’t fall for a straight man.

  The dots begin to bounce as I await his response.

  Garrison: I’m not jealous—never. And fuck, do I want to see you with someone who loves you the way you love that man. But I worry about you. Just be careful, and if you need to talk, I’m always here. I’m more than just a good cock at the end of the day.

  Leave it to Garrison to be both a little crude and funny at the same time.

  Me: I may just take you up on it. Let me try to figure this out first.

  Garrison: Anytime, man, day or night, call me. I’m here for you.

  This is why Garrison will always be a part of my life. I search the rest of my texts. A part of me wants to hear from Crush, but the other part isn’t ready. If I’m right, and he does have feelings for me, I don’t care if he’s ready to come out of the closet. I don’t think I could be with someone long term who isn’t able to live openly with me. And I’ve tried straight men. It’s a waste of my time.

  I’m back at my place before I realize it, opening the garage door and pulling my Lambo into the safety of it. I remain seated in my car for a couple of minutes longer in deep thought until the heat is too much for me. I bypass everything in my house and decide to call it quits for the night.

  I have a long week ahead of me and decide to hit the shower before bed. I need something to calm my very active imagination. Yet I keep going back to simply being in the presence of Crush.

  Just the mere thought of Crush’s scent so close to my nostrils has me hard. Placing one hand on my cock and the other on my balls, I stroke it slow and hard—thinking of the crystal blue of Crush’s eyes or the way his hand always rakes through his sandy blond hair. The dimple on his cheeks, the right one larger than the left, or the little scar under his chin, a product of a drunken brawl in college, are all features I focus on as my speed increases.

  The sensation of my own touch changes when I envision it’s his fingers cupping my balls and his hands working my shaft.

  “Christopher,” I cry out as cum paints the inside of my shower stall. “Fuck, I want your mouth on my cock.” It’s a fantasy. I understand this, but it’s a fantasy I can always partake in the privacy of my own room.

  The alarm wakes me at five the next morning, and hope invades me when I grab my phone, but it instantly falters. There’s no text from Crush.

  What was I expecting, really? A text saying I’ve always known I was gay, and I want your cock in my mouth?

  Nah, life has never been that easy for me in the romance department.

  Working through the motions of getting ready, I’m in my own world, and before I know it, I’m at the training field ready to start my day.

  Crush’s locker is full of his shit, the unorganized bastard, when I walk by. Dallas Phillips and I are the only ones left.

  “Hey, have you seen Crush today?” he asks. “He’s in a mood already. I’m not sure what’s climbed up his ass, but it’s going to be a tough one if he doesn’t remove a little bit of his dick-like ways.”

  He’s not wrong. The first week here was hell just because Crush was otherwise preoccupied. Since we cleared the air, it has been smooth sailing. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks for the heads-up.” But I can read something in Dallas’s foul mood that has me prying a little more than I normally would.

  “Dallas, you okay, man?”

  He doesn’t answer me as he slams his locker, and I’d never pegged him as a hothead. “Yeah, just a tough weekend.” I want to help him. Hell, he was me a year ago, wondering if I could be both the man I knew I was and the football player I wanted to be. “Hey, do you think we could get together tonight? Maybe order some takeout?”

  “Yeah, man, I’ll text you my address.” This somehow changes his sour disposition, and he leaves when the door from the field opens, and Crush steps in, his presence as big as his body.

  “You’re late. We’re all waiting on you, asshole.” Dallas hadn’t been wrong about Crush.

  I turn over my phone. “It’s not even seven, jack ass. I’m on my way out. And if you’re going to be a dickhead, just forget I exist until you’re done being a douche.”

  “Yeah, maybe I can do just that and leave without a fucking good-bye, too.”

  He’s getting to the root of the problem and a helluva lot sooner than I thought he would. I expected him to ignore me, ignore this.

  “You really want to do this here, Crush?” My eyes lock on his.

  “Not really, but I also didn’t want to walk back in my house after dealing with the bitch of all time to see you desert me just as you had done for the past six years.”

  I take in a deep, calming breath. “You think that is what I did? And last night, I gave you a chance to come to your senses before we did something you might regret.”

  My words have him pushing farther away from me, and in the crystal of his blue eyes, it appears I have physically wounded him.

  “Yeah, regret this, fucker!” he yells, flipping me off and exiting the locker room as quickly as he came.

  I have avoided Crush all morning, or more like, he’s avoided me. However, our game is in sync. All his anger from earlier in the day has been channeled into practice.

  I’m putting on some clean clothes after a shower, and Dallas approaches me, but in all this, I sense Crush’s gaze on the both of us.

  “Still on for tonight?” I quietly ask, though only a handful of men remain in the locker room.

  “Yeah, need me to bring anything?”

  Normally, this would be when I’d say hell yeah to beer, but I know Dallas is not a rule-breaker, nor would he allow something as wonderful as pizza and beer into his purely vegan body.

  “Nah, I have a delivery of your bird-like food coming for supper. I, on the other hand, have ordered a steak—just to give you the heads-up. Hope I don’t disgust you too much,” I tease, but it’s all in innocence.

  “Yeah, and thanks, man. See you later.”

  I’m not far behind him when Crush’s large frame blocks my exit. “Hey,” I say as if we’re simply hanging out, and he hasn’t purposely avoided me most of the day.

  “What’s going on with you and pretty boy 2.0?”

  I snort at his words. “Ah, there’s a better version than me out there? Your words hurt.”

  “I’m just curious.” They don’t carry a curiosity but more of a demand.

  He moves out of my way, and I pass by without another comment.

  Dallas pushes his tofu, fresh mozzarella, and tomato salad away, taking a big gulp of water as I wait for him to open up to me.

  “I assume what I say will stay strictly b
etween you and me?” Dallas asks.

  “Yeah, man. Strictly between the two of us. I promise.” And I get it. If it weren’t for Garrison, I’m not sure where I’d be. Certainly not out and living life on my terms.

  “I’m gay,” he blurts out so casually, and I instantly feel him lighten at his declaration.

  I return his honesty with a broad grin. “How does it make you feel to say it out loud?” I’m not surprised by his announcement. I could see his struggles the night of his barbecue.

  “A lot better this time than when I shared it with my mother this past weekend.”

  This explains a lot—the foul mood, the almost kicked in the nuts sort of expression he wore this morning, and all the dropped passes.

  “I get it. My parents didn’t take it well, either. But it was easier for me to tell them to get fucked because we’ve never been close.”

  His stare stays on his half-eaten rabbit food but continues. “But, here’s the thing. My mom has always been my number one supporter in all I do. We’ve never fought like we have over this. She thinks it’s a choice. Like I’d purposely choose for people to make derogatory comments and dig into my life. Believe me, if I could, I would choose a simpler path. I know this won’t be easy. But no man I’m with deserves to be hidden like a dirty secret.”

  “Is there someone?” The answer to my question will tell me a lot.

  “There was, but I wasn’t ready. He’d been super patient with me, but after a year, I still wasn’t ready, and let’s just say, things didn’t end well.”

  And there it is. He’s loved and lost and understands he can’t go through it again. This tells me he’s close to coming out, but only he will know when the time is right.

  “There’s a lot I can tell you,” I begin, “like it’s not hard, it’s freeing and will eventually become normal. But it’s all bullshit. I had a friend who helped me prepare. And I don’t have to pretend anymore. But I can’t have a normal press conference without it circling around to my sexuality.”

  He quiets at my honesty. “I’ll tell you this,” I start. “I wouldn’t have it any other way because I’m not hiding who I am. And I’ve been an inspiration to other athletes out there who feared the repercussions.”

  “Do you regret it?” Dallas’s question is full of hope.

  “Not for one moment. I only wish I would have come out sooner. And I’m certainly not telling you to break the news tomorrow. You need time to prepare, and logistically, you’ll have to hire a good PR team. But I’m a gay man who happens to play football. I’m not a football player who happens to be gay.”

  With his forehead furrowed, I see confusion creep onto his face.

  “What I mean is, I will always be me at the end of the day. I’m gay. It’s as much a part of me as my eyes, my hands, and my feet. Hiding this side of me was like hiding a part of my body. Does this make sense?”

  He cocks his head to the side, and a question is on the tip of his tongue when a loud banging startles us, and we both move our gaze to the front of my house. Someone is about to bust my door off its hinges, and I’m almost positive I know who it is.

  “It seems like you’re popular tonight,” Dallas says, sitting back in his chair at the table with his hands over his head. “I wonder …” His large, toothy grin has me guessing he’s picked up on some chemistry between Crush and me. “Who could it possibly be?”

  I hitch an eyebrow higher than the other as my silent question while the banging continues.

  “Don’t worry, Ry. I can keep a secret as well. And I’m sure I’m the only one who’s noticed it because well, obviously, I know the signs. And I’d get your door before it loses the battle with the curious quarterback.”

  He stands, clearing his plate from the table. “And as much as I’d love to stay for the show, I have no popcorn for my viewing pleasure, so I’ll leave you two for now. But understand, I, too, can be a good listener.”

  He’s on his way to the door, and I’m behind him when he opens it to the reddened face of Christopher Colton. “Hey, Crush, I was just on my way out.” Crush doesn’t move for Dallas. But this doesn’t stop Dallas as he sidesteps Crush’s large body. “Good night, y’all. I’ll see you two in the morning.” He finds this funny by his high-pitched tone.

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow, asshole,” I call out after him around Crush.

  “Oh, I see you have little nicknames for one another. What’s next, a kiss on the cheek?” Crush barks.

  Maybe he’s sensed that Dallas isn’t into pussy either. I don’t react to his comment and walk away from him. “If you’re coming in, shut the fucking door. I’m not cooling the outside.”

  “Well, I’m not going to walk away like you did last night without a good-bye, pretty boy.”

  He’s over at my couch and falls back, stretching his arms on either side.

  I moved from the doorway to the living room, my arms crossed, watching him as he watches me.

  “Okay, you’re here, Crush. Say what you want to say, but I did you a solid yesterday. You can walk away, and we can forget what might have happened.”

  “Spell it out for me, Ry. What almost happened?”

  Oh, he’s not getting off that easy. “Nope, you tell me. You’re the one so bent out of shape, so you explain what you think happened.”

  “It’s easy. I almost kissed you.” Crush is blunt and to the point. I have to give him points.

  “And?” I probe a little further.

  “What do you want me to say? I wanted it? I want you? I’ve had unresolved feelings for you and have had for the past fucking six years.”

  A feather could tip me over with his words right now, but I can’t zone out. “I guess if it’s the truth, it’s what I want to hear. But I’m not a science experiment, Crush. You can’t just try me on for size and see if I fit. I’m not a glove.”

  He quickly pushes to stand while I attempt to stay steady on my feet. He’s so close his nose is almost touching mine. “You would never be an experiment because you’re the only thing that makes sense in my life besides my daughter. And as far as trying you on for size, I have both size and the intentions and I’d never let you out of my bed or my life.”

  He moves out of my space as fast as he had been in it. “For making you realize where I stand, I’ll give you the week, and it will give me the same. I’ll show you after we have time to stew on this connection and chemistry we share that level heads will prevail.”

  He’s to the door and out of my home before I can form the words to respond.

  It’s Friday, and I’ve barely spoken to Crush all week as I carry my sorry ass into my house from practice. His text alert rings, and I smile because I have it set to “Cotton-Eyed Joe,” the quintessential country song.

  Crush: Pack a bag. I’m heading to my cabin in the mountains, and you’re coming with me.

  I don’t think when I type out a reply.

  Me: I am? Am I?

  Crush: Yeah, and I’m closer, so bring your pretty car, and you can put it in the garage for the weekend. I don’t think it can handle the roads. Plus, I’m sure I’d be stuffed like a fucking sardine in it.

  He's right on both accounts.

  Me: You don’t talk to me all week, and now you want to take me to your cabin.

  Crush: Yeah, that about sums it up. Come on. I’m leaving in an hour. Got food delivered and such. If you aren’t here, I’m leaving your ass. The choice is yours.

  The choice is mine. He’s letting me decide if I want it to go any further. But is it really a choice? I throw a variety of garments in a bag, and I’m out of my house before I can second-guess my decision.

  When I get to Crush’s home, the extra garage bay is open, so I pull in. Grabbing my duffel bag off the passenger seat, I toss it into Crush’s big ass truck. The door is cracked, and I enter through the kitchen and don’t see him. “Crush, you big baby. I’m here—are you happy?”

  I cross into the foyer from the kitchen, and when I get to the front door, searc
hing for his demanding ass, he enters the house from the backyard.

  “Come on, asshole. It’s a two-hour drive. Let’s go before you desert me again.” His words are neutral, but there’s a little hint of vulnerability in them when his pitch lowers with his last sentence.

  He crosses from the back of the house, through the kitchen, and when he’s at the garage exit, his face swings to mine. “Are you coming, scaredy-cat?”

  This time, he gives me a broad smile stretching throughout his entire face, letting me know he’s messing with me. What will this weekend entail? I don’t know, but somehow, I think this will be a make or break kind of trip, and because I know I’ll never let Christopher Colton out of my life again, I follow him without another word.

  12

  Crush

  The mountain home is nestled back in the woods. Driving the winding gravel pathway from the main road, Ry starts to chuckle. “There’s no way in hell I’ll ever drive the Lambo here. All the gravel would chip away my red paint.”

  “Yeah, pretty boy with the pretty car—I’d never even think about asking you to do this.”

  He leans his face toward the window, taking in the view of my home away from home. “Hell, man, this is amazing.”

  “Yeah, it was my present to myself after the divorce. And you’re the only person I’ve brought here, besides Brooklyn of course. Alison flipped her lid because I wouldn’t give her the address. But it’s my favorite place to be.”

  “You’ve not brought anyone else here?”

  “Nah, my cabin is for the most important people in my life. I’ll bring my mom, dad, and my brothers up here sometime when they’re visiting—maybe for Christmas—but that’s pretty much it. Only those important to me.”

  Ry is quiet, and I pull closer to the cabin. I can breathe better here. “My life seems simpler here. The air is different. I have no pressure and can disconnect from everything. I have a landline, so I switch all my calls over to a service. And the only person they connect without question is Alison. No one can get me here, and it’s refreshing.”