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

by Leigh Lennon

  Crush pops one eye open. “Yeah, so I’ve been told. And it does something to my ego, too,” he quips.

  “Glad to know your smart-ass mouth still works.” Dex saunters to the front of the plane, and I’m left in peace with my man again.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”

  “Ah, fuck, pretty boy, I’m not sick. I’m just a little under the weather. And I don’t need the doctor.”

  Crush doesn’t have time to object when most of the offensive coaching staff and the head coach, along with our doctor, descend on us.

  “Hanley, let me get in there.” I trade places with the doc, his bag open and ready to go. “Christopher,” he begins, “when did this start?”

  “Hmm, woke up this morning…” Crush begins to choke as he coughs and can’t catch his breath.

  The coach pushes the crowd back. “Okay, guys, let’s give him some room.” Everyone disperses, but I remain as his coughing fit continues. “You, too, Hanley. Let the doc take care of this.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to object. What do I say, though? We’re talking about the man I love. The man I’m spending my forever with. It’s not what anyone wants to hear, and I take one last glance at my man before making my way to the front of the plane with the rest of the team.

  All the players buzz over the possible loss of our captain coming up on this pivotal game with Detroit. But I’m mentally away from what the entire team whispers about, and I can’t force my eyes from the commotion on the back of the plane.

  Dallas sits near me but doesn’t speak. He’s a good friend and doesn’t bother to spout all this positive shit at me, that he’ll be alright because I’m not alright. The plane descends, and we all have to take a seat and buckle up, but I’m looking over my shoulder to the back of the plane the entire time.

  He’s the first off. The entire team follows suit. He’s not on the bus taking us to the hotel. My heart sinks, and my eyes swing to every person, but I can’t place him. My pulse begins to race as I’m being pulled in the nearest seat.

  I whip my sight to the right of me to Keegan O’Healy. “Hey, calm yourself. They’re taking him to the hospital to get him evaluated. They decided this on the plane. As soon as I know something, I’ll text you.”

  This should calm me, as Keegan has ordered, but I can’t keep my mind off the impossible, because life is just cruel enough to take away the person I’ve needed for years and just got back. Yeah, life is a bitch like that.

  The walls in the hotel room are closing in. My phone is in my hands, and the longer I’m left to wonder about Crush, the more my mind imagines things I can’t fathom to be true.

  Texting him is not an option, in case another person gets ahold of his phone. I can’t continue to pace back and forth. Falling back on the bed, I swipe my cell, and one of the first pictures after my passcode protected photo album is Crush and me, embracing on the back porch of his cabin. The next picture is Brooklyn and her dad on the fishing dock down at the lake, as she’s showing him how to bait the hook—the sassy little thing, with her wispy blond hair flying in the air.

  My eyes don’t leave the screen, and I continue to walk through the past two months of my relationship with my best friend. My mind is lost on Crush, and a banging on the door brings me back to reality.

  Three steps are what it takes to close the distance before I make it to the door and swing it back to Keegan O’Healy. He steps in, not waiting for an invitation. “Hey, get yourself changed and pull a ball cap low on your head. I’m taking you to Crush.”

  “What do you mean? Is he okay? You gotta give me something to go on, man. I’m dying here,” I call out. After grabbing a change of clothes, I stop in front of him before entering the bathroom.

  “They’ve done some tests. They think he’ll be alright, and they caught it early, but it’s some sort of blood infection. It’s called bacteremia, and he’s already on antibiotics. He’s out for tomorrow, and Jackson Dobson is ready. So, I’m bringing you in under the guise of becoming the team captain. Which was Coach’s call because you’ve stepped up. But I know your mind won’t be in the game until you set your eyes on him.”

  Yeah, Keegan knows how to motivate his players because fuck, I’ll not calm until my eyes fall on Crush.

  I’m out of the bathroom and through the door with Keegan behind me.

  “He’s moved to a private room, but you still need to be…”

  I wave him off. I don’t need to be told how to be watchful and alert when it comes to Crush. The door opens before my hand can connect with it. Our head coach steps outside of the room, rubbing his face, physically dragging his feet.

  “Hanley, glad you’re here. I’m on the way to the hotel to make sure Dobson is ready for tomorrow.”

  Jackson Dobson is a Heisman Trophy winner who’d been hurt in the college championship game last year, and Nashville grabbed him up near the end of the draft when no one else wanted him. Now, he has the chance to show the world what he can do.

  “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll shine.” I know this for a fact because Crush has been riding him hard.

  “Anyway, Hanley, be sure to get a good night's sleep. I need you to be your best tomorrow. We need your leadership.”

  The idea of not being on the field with Crush leaves me empty. “Yeah, sure thing, Coach.”

  Keegan is behind me, slapping me on the back. “Can you get back on your own? I need to have another huddle with the wide receivers, making the changes with Crush out.”

  “Yeah, no problem, Coach,” I return to Keegan. He’s only three years older than I am, but at the end of the day, he’s still my coach.

  Right on the other side of the door is Crush. My body quivers and my pulse quickens at the thought of my big guy taking up every bit of the small hospital bed.

  I tap on the door, and I don’t hear an invite. Pushing it open slowly, I find his eyes are closed. He’s so pale and it’s different from the red splotches covering his face earlier.

  I pick up a chair so as not to wake him by scooting it across the floor. The news will break soon about Crush not playing tomorrow. I need to contact his parents before the media catches wind of this, but for now, I sit next to him, watching my man sleep peacefully.

  One eye pops open when I accidentally clear my throat. “Creeping on me, pretty boy?” His voice is raspy.

  “Yeah, I’m creeping on you. And you better not ever fucking worry me again. And, how did you get a blood infection?”

  He winces, just to flash a smile my way. “I fucking hate not having you here. They think it came from the cut at the lake.” I’m unable to ask about this before a question falls from his mouth. “Apparently Keegan O’Healy knows about us?”

  His voice is both raspy, and breathy now, and I watch him intently, with an answer to his question. “Yeah, he called me on it earlier. Didn’t have a chance to tell you, but he’s cool.”

  With a small nod, he doesn’t seem concerned. He attempts to twist his lips into a smile. But he’s too weak. “Hey, Ry, can you call my parents before they hear it on the television? Ask them to give Al a heads-up for Brooklyn.”

  “I’ll do that, but give me a second. I need to make sure you’re okay first.” My arms instinctually reach for Crush, my fingers wrapping around his. My free arm brushes the wavy curls out of his face. We stay like this until he falls asleep, and my eyes don’t leave his sight.

  Jackson Dobson isn’t green. He’s young, but with his throws, he’s having the game of his life. We gather around the huddle at the two-minute warning, which I’ve always been fond of because it’s basically a free time-out and all we have to do is keep possession of the ball.

  “We have to hold them off. Let’s stick to our running play, no throws. Let’s run that fucking clock down.” I turn to our best running back, Solomon Meager. “Don’t fumble the ball, dude.”

  Both Solomon and Jackson give a definite fuck yeah sort of head jut, and we break the huddle and line up. I approach the sides,
at the end, and Solomon, is four yards to the right of Jackson. He hands it off to Solomon and breaks through the defensive line, landing us a first down.

  The other team doesn’t have time-outs left, and even with thirty-seven seconds on the clock, the game is essentially over. I race over to the rookie and jump on him. “You did it, kid! You fucking did it. Crush is going to be so proud of you.”

  We’ve beat the home team on Thanksgiving, but the only place I want to be is with my man. But, somehow, I know he’s watching and going crazy. And because the hospital won’t release Crush until the morning, the team is arranging a private jet to fly him home. I won’t leave him by himself, and the hospital is where I’ll spend my Thanksgiving.

  A nurse is leaving the room, and I sneak in as the door isn’t quite shut. The team leaves tonight, but with Crush flying back on a private jet, I, too, have been moved to the same flight without any questions.

  His eyes fall on me the second I’m through the door. “There’s the man of the hour,” he calls out to me, clapping his hands. “I swear, Jackson looked like a seasoned quarterback, as though he’s played in the league for years.”

  “Yeah, he was pretty amazing, but nothing compared to you on the field.” I fold my hands over my chest, giving him a devilishly needy smile.

  “Don’t be so sexy. Apparently, I’m going to be on bed rest for a couple of days,” Crush says.

  I pull out a chair in this upscale hotel type of hospital room. Money buys a lot, very specific privacy, along with NDAs signed, according to what Crush explained to me last night.

  “Yeah, and you’re going to have a very strict Nurse Ratched taking care of you, and this nurse, he’s not very lenient when it comes to you breaking the rules.”

  “Fuck, pretty boy, you going to dress up in a sexy nurse costume for me, too?” he asks.

  He’s playful today. I love this change in him from last night when he could barely keep his eyes open. “Oh, yeah, but no costume needed, I’ll just walk around naked. How do you like them apples?”

  “Ah, sweet heavens. You’re bad, so bad.”

  I lean in and pull his hands to mine. “If I’m bad, you’re rather kinky, too.”

  “Yeah, we’re a match made in heaven.”

  26

  Crush

  He won’t let me do jack shit, and with the Seattle game in three days, I’ll start training again today. “You can’t push yourself after you get the all clear from the doctor,” Ry calls over his shoulder. He’s walking out of my closet, looking hot as sin in a suit. I’m still lying in bed, but in his get out, he has me wanting to attack and mount him.

  Not only has he been against me returning to the field but he’s also said no to sex every night he’s stayed over. And because I’ve worried the fuck out of him, in his words, he has been staying over all the time.

  His house is a little full with Kelsey and Loretta. And my home has been a place of sanctuary, except for me being almost tied to the new king sized bed because the doctor hasn’t released me yet.

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t be there for this?” I push myself up against the bed frame.

  “I know as the team captain, you want to support him, but you have your doctor’s appointment today.” He leans into the mattress of the bed, as it dips, feeling my forehead.

  “But Coach is going to be there for him, right?” With Ry in my space, I fix his tie, a little crooked to one side.

  “Yeah, and because we can trust Garrison, he’s flying in for this,” Ry says casually.

  My face heats at his name. “I didn’t know Garrison was coming in.”

  “Yeah, he was a support for me when I came out of the closet, but for Dallas, he can help control the narrative a bit.”

  “Are you meeting up with him afterward?” A tinge of jealousy rises in my gut, messing with my mind. It makes my pulse quicken and is both unlike me and brutal.

  His lips land on my lips. “I wouldn’t meet him for dinner or such without clearing it with you first. Now, will I greet him and give him a hug like friends do? Yes. But nothing else.” He flips around, buttoning his suit jacket. “And by the way, Mr. Colton, green doesn’t suit you.”

  Ry is rifling through the small number of items he neatly places on my dresser drawers opposite the wall from where I’m currently sitting. “Remember, Crush, it’s only been you. You’re my reason in life. You’re the one thing that makes sense, so don’t become all territorial on me. At the end of the day, your cock is the only thing I want filling me up. And my mouth is all I want wrapped around your dick.”

  I won’t admit this to him, but I’m still a little weak, though I push from the bed anyway, readying myself for a second on the nightstand. He’s turned around, clasping his watch to his wrist.

  “Pretty boy,” I call out before I fall on the bed to gain my strength. “I’m sorry for being a jealous asshole.”

  He plants himself down next to me, pulling me against his strong chest. “Don’t think I didn’t see you struggle there.” He takes in a cleansing breath. “I love you as a possessive asshole, babe. But, at the end of the day, you can trust me. There’s nothing I want more than this.”

  He walks to the door but not before I swat his ass. “Go be there for Dallas, pretty boy. Make sure he knows every single man is behind him.”

  No one seemed shocked yesterday when Dallas called a team huddle after practice. I’d been allowed to attend it by my fussy boyfriend. Everyone praised him for being true to himself. There may be a couple of men on the team who have problems, but no one aired them. And just as everyone accepted Ry when he came to play for us, it seems Dallas has the same support.

  I’m in the training facility, where the team doc is meeting me. The television is cranked, watching our coach, in front of the press. This man, the only coach I’ve ever played for in the league, is one of the best men I know. Without question, and without issue, he’d told Dallas that he had his full support. He approaches the podium, and the press quiets at his presence.

  “This is going to be a very short press conference. And I will preface this by saying, I will shut you down if any disrespectful remarks are made. Dallas Phillips is one of the most talented tight ends and truly one of the most devoted players I’ve ever coached. He’s prepared a statement and will allow a few questions, and then we’ll be done.”

  I spy Ryder as Coach moves, and he’s as handsome right now in his more muted blue suit. He’s sporting a paisley tie, though. He can’t be without this specific pattern for some reason. I laugh at this random thought.

  Dallas approaches the podium, adjusting it. He clears his throat, a weak smile covering his face.

  “Good morning. I’m sure you all have your guesses as to why I called this press conference. I will tell you why I haven’t called this—I’m not retiring. It’s the question floating through social media today. So, let me reiterate. I’m not retiring or leaving my team. I’ve prepared a statement, and I ask that you wait until I’m done. Afterward, I’ll answer a couple of respectful questions.”

  He clears his throat again and pulls out a folded piece of paper in his suit jacket. “I’m a football player, in a sport where image is everything. Image is important, but it’s more important to be who I am in this world. I thought I could make it past the season, but to be fair to myself and others in my life, I’ve decided it’s time to embrace who I am. And for this reason, and for this reason alone, I want to pave the path for other players. I’m a gay man. I’m a proud gay man, playing in a very masculine sport. I shared this with my team last night, and everyone has been supportive. And sure, you’d expect anyone to say this, but it’s true. I’m grateful for my good friend Ryder Hanley, who has started this path for anyone else who wants to come out. Now, I’ll answer a couple of questions, but I’ll ask that you keep it respectful. And when I’m done, I’m done.”

  My eyes water at Dallas’s courage, but I know the first question will be addressed to Garrison.

  “Garrison, why
don’t you go first,” Dallas begins.

  “Hey, Dallas. I want to commend you for sharing this with us. You’re entitled to your private life, and I want to focus on your game. You are, after all, one of the best tight ends in the league. Can you tell me how your decision to come out will affect your game?”

  Fuck, I wanted to hate Garrison. But Ry is a great judge of character. I guess I need to lay off Ry when it comes to him. My direction swings back to the television.

  “Thanks, Garrison. I mean, I’m hopeful it won’t affect my game. It’s as strong as it’s ever been, and with Crush’s game the best I’ve seen in him, and our defense is the greatest in the league, I honestly feel we’re unstoppable. I had reservations about sharing this mid-season, but it’s how much faith I have in my team. My sexual orientation won’t disturb this.”

  Ry had told me that the PR firm gave Dallas a couple of sympathetic reporters, ones who wouldn’t go for the jugular right away. I assume this is who he’ll call on next.

  He points at the next reporter, and when I look upon Dallas, he appears lighter. It’s as though living with this secret has been such a burden for him that sharing it has created such a weightlessness. I can sure as fuck understand how he feels.

  “Dallas, can you tell us if having Ryder Hanley here has been your way of sharing that there is a romantic relationship budding?”

  I stop breathing as the camera pans to Ry. In the redness of his face, I have to say he’s about to do the job of the offensive line and tackle this son of a bitch reporter.

  “Wow, you’re going for it first thing, aren’t you?” Dallas rubs his chin as he takes a second. “Ryder Hanley and I are friends. He’s here merely for support as someone who’s been down this road. Now, I don’t owe you an answer, especially since you’ve crossed the line, I feel, in your disrespect to both Ryder and me. But I’ll disclose to all of you that I did this for myself. Until I was able to be open, I knew I couldn’t give a relationship what it needed. And because there’s bound to be follow-up questions, I’ll simply say, I’m not involved with anyone.”