by Leigh Lennon
More reporters clamor in the background, and Dallas folds his piece of paper and tucks it back in his suit jacket. “Thanks for coming out today. This concludes the press conference.” Dallas exits the stage with his head held high, and I’m thankful he’s gotten through it virtually unscathed. The repercussions are coming, I’m positive. But, in all of this, it prepares me for when I’m ready to live my life out in the open. And because I want to forever hold Ryder’s hand, I know that day is coming soon.
My first full day back on the field is ruthless. Jackson Dobson practices right next to me, and I’m fearful I won’t be ready for the Seattle game on Monday night. The only blessing is that I have three more days, and it’s a home game, so no traveling.
My throws are successful, mainly with Solomon, Ry, and Dallas, but I can’t, for the life of me, go longer than five minutes without needing a water break.
Most quarterbacks may be jealous of Jackson and his stellar game last week on Thanksgiving, but I’m not. We need a win, and this fucking infection has been ruthless, but I can’t lead them to the big game if we don’t continue to be successful.
Coach makes his way to the center of the field. We work on plays with all the wide receivers. “Colton, over here.”
Jackson continues the throws, and of course my overachieving asshole boyfriend shows off and catches one that had been underthrown.
“Yeah, Coach.”
He rubs his chin and averts his gaze to mine. I understand where this is going.
“You aren’t strong enough, and I don’t see three more days will make a difference. Your spot is your spot. No one is taking it, but I think for now…”
I don’t need him to say it. It’s a fucking punch in the gut, but I don’t need him to say these specific words.
“I get it, Coach.” I won’t look at him either.
“I want you back to one hundred percent. The chances of injuring yourself when you’re still sick are high.” I wave him off, this time looking him in the eyes like a man.
“I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but it is what it is.”
A part of me wants to wallow in the fact of another week passing, and it won’t be me throwing the ball to my team. But then again, at the end of the day, I want the win, and I’ll continue to tell myself as I had just a couple of minutes earlier that I’m not jealous of Jackson Dobson.
Three hours pass and we break for lunch. As is normal, Ry trots over to me, and we leave the field together. On the way into the locker room, I’m quiet, and I don’t want to tell Ry.
“Coach isn’t playing you on our Monday night game with Seattle?” He’s direct, but in the mocha of his eyes, I sense his pity.
I shake my head, taking my non-throwing hand and hitting my helmet.
“Fuck, Crush.” But he can’t finish because I throw my hand up to him, like a fucking crossing guard, telling him to stop. I don’t need pity, and right now, anything along the lines of sorry is merely that.
27
Ryder
I can’t blame the man. Football lives in our souls. In my new Audi I’ve bought because my Lambo is too flashy, I open the garage door to Crush’s house with the new remote he’d given me a couple of weeks ago.
Crush isn’t anywhere in sight, though both his Hellcat and truck are here.
“Crush, where are you?” I call out, taking the steps into the house. It’s dark, only the last part of sunlight shines in through his blinds.
In the living room, I turn on the muted light of a lamp, needing a new bulb, just enough I won’t trip over a possible toy of Brooklyn’s she’s left out.
On the side of the bed, Crush sits, his body slumped over his legs, his elbows on his knees.
“Don’t turn on the light, please.” His head stays lowered with his command.
“How’d you know I was here?” My casual question is meant to take his mind off this shit—if only for a second.
“I heard the garage door, and you’re a heavy as fuck walker. The whole house shakes with you in it.” He’s monotone in his answer.
“Is that so?” I close the space between us, sitting next to him, our thighs touch.
“Yeah, it’s like a bull in a china cabinet.” His face turns from his hands to me, giving me a small peck on the cheek. “Hey, you.” It’s the standard greeting for me I’ve come to covet from him. It’s sweet, even in his despair.
“You aren’t being replaced, babe. You know this, right?” I ask.
A low chuckle radiates through his body, and I feel it through his thigh. “It’s funny. I told myself today as I was watching Jackson’s flawless throws being caught by you, Solomon, and Dallas that I wasn’t concerned, and that I was secure in my game, in me. And then Coach tells me about Jackson playing for me until I can get back to one-hundred percent. The kid had numbers I haven’t had ever, like the fucking third down conversions. It only makes sense that he could be my replacement.”
My hand connects with his back, rubbing it in large circles. “Babe, we all have this fear. You’re not the only one.” I place my thumb on his chin, turning his face to mine. “But I believe in you, babe. I’ll always believe in you. And I, for one, know you’ll be back, leading us in no time at all.”
There’s no reply as my hand is still massaging his back. “Crush, babe, tell me what you need. What can I do for you?”
It’s his turn to move my face to his. “Make love to me, Ry. I need you.”
My arms encompass him at the neck, pulling him down to the bed. “You never have to ask. I need you as much as you need me.”
“No, Ry, you don’t understand.” His voice is hoarse. “I need you—to make love to me. You inside me.”
I’m over his body, and his exact words hit me, what he’s giving, and what he desires.
“Oh, hell, babe, I’ll make love to you anytime you want, and being inside you, fuck me twice, it’s never even a question.”
I’ve been working to this, never one to pressure him because I go at Crush’s pace. I’ve not known when he’ll be ready, but I’ve been stretching him for some time.
I pull out his lube in the drawer and pepper kisses down his face.
“I’ll be gentle, lover. I will…”
His fingers find my mouth, shutting it. “I need you to take me, and the only thing I’m feeling is your love,” Crush responds.
“Lie down, I need to see you as I make love to you.”
His smirk moves to a broad smile. “Don’t get used to this. I’m the top.”
I push back, saluting him. “Aye, aye, Captain,” I return, squeezing a generous portion of lube on my fingers.
But in a second, his vulnerability returns. My hand wraps around his cock, stroking it, a moan of pleasure leaving his mouth. “I’ll go slowly, babe.”
I continue to stroke him, and with the intrusion of my fingers inside him, he pushes against me. “That’s right, babe. Just like that.”
“Fuck, you’re going to slowly kill me in the best way, Ry.”
In his eyes, his crystal blues, I see so much. His love, his desire, his need, his pleasure. For someone who is as connected as the two of us, I can read him like one reads a book. He’s my book, and I know him from front to back.
I push another finger into him, and his puckered hole allows me access. “More, baby,” he calls out. “I can take more.”
“You’ll get your chance, lover. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not small, but this ass was made for me,” I tease.
“And I want every bit of you, inside me.” There it is, in his eyes, in his pitch. His need, but it goes further. It’s me who will tame the demons inside him, the one to make him forget all of the shit going on in our life.
I continue my prepping and push three fingers inside him. “Oh. Ry. Oh, fuck, Ry.” I’ve almost rendered him speechless, which is a lot for Crush, who wants to dissect every little thing about everything.
I’ve not forgotten about the other part of him, my hand still wrapped around him, with laz
y pulls, going up and down.
“I’m not going to make it. I’m about to come.” Crush’s tone is beauty in his pleasure. One more pull and my mouth wraps around him, sucking up everything he’s able to give me.
“I love you, pretty boy.”
I don’t have to reply. He knows me, and my affection toward him goes so far past love at this point. It’s a prerequisite for life. I demand him with me. After just months with him, my life would never be the same without Crush in it.
I’m over his head, a kiss on his mouth, my tongue slipping through his lips, as I let him taste himself on me. “Are you ready, babe?” I ask.
“Ry, with you, I’m forever ready.”
I’m on my knees, our basic wants on the forefront of my mind. “Push down, again, babe, like before. I’ll stop if you say the words.”
“Yeah, not happening, baby, not ever.”
His words urge me on as I drive into him slowly, methodical.
He’s quiet, but in his expression, as my face falls on his, is everything I need to know. Again, it’s the pleasure, desire, need, want. It’s there as I inch my way inside.
“Go faster, Ry, I’m not a patient man.”
“Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” I push deeper until my full length is in him. “I love you, babe. Love you so much.”
My speed quickens. My pushes deepen, and I want to be so inherent in his mind, and when my hips buck faster and faster, he, too, meets me, pushing farther toward me, giving me further access.
“I’m going to come, then I’m going to lick it from you.” My breath is heady at best.
“No complaints here, pretty boy,” he calls out, and as soon as I come, I don’t fall next to him. I do as I promised, and his squirms and whimpers only egg me on.
When we fall down on the bed together, we’re sated, and we stay like this, sticky and wet in each other’s cum, until sleep takes us. It should be gross, but being with him in this way, marked by each other solidifies our bond of a forever.
For three quarters, I’ve watched Crush shine in the position he was born to play. The coach had him out for two weeks, and he was as ornery as they come, but I understood his fear, his trepidation of being replaced.
“Keep it up,” I say, passing him on my way to chat with Keegan on the sidelines.
“Yeah, you, too, PB.” It’s his way of showing me a little affection when we’re not free to be ourselves.
At the end of the third quarter, we’re up by three points. But I loathe a three-point lead. It’s too easy to lose, especially with our competitors known for playing their best in the last quarter of the game.
“Is your mind in the game, Hanley?” Keegan asks me, watching my interaction with Crush.
“One hundred fucking percent, Coach,” I answer, and he pats my ass, walking by.
“Good to hear.” It’s all Keegan needs to know, as I watch the defense take over after our successful field goal.
Dallas stays huddled in a coat because it’s freezing as fuck in New York state this time of the year. “You okay, man?” I ask, and he’s shivering.
“Yeah, I’m pissed at myself for missing the yards to make a third down conversion. And we had to go for a field goal, not a touchdown.”
I’ve been there. We all have missed passes, ones we should have caught, or ran past the defense.
“Don’t beat yourself up too bad. It happens. We’ll get it next time.”
He shrugs his shoulders, and before I know it, three plays and the other team never makes the first down, and they’re punting the ball.
“See, the defense just did their fucking jobs. Let’s get in and do ours.”
I’d like to say our time in is successful, but Dallas fumbles, giving the team the ball back, a bit too close to the end zone for my liking.
Crush finds me on the sidelines. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure. It could have something to do with the hate he’s gotten.” It’s natural. People aren’t going to change their opinions often. And just as I did when I came out, he’s gotten some bad press, hateful emails, and posts on social media. But the majority of the world has been kind and supportive.
“Figure out a way to get his head in the game, or I’ll have Coach find me someone else.”
There’s a lot on the line for Crush, too. This game solidifies his spot as the starting quarterback. Of course he wants to win, but it’s more like he needs to win.
I amble on down to Dallas, attempting to make it look as if I’ve not been given a secret mission by my boyfriend.
“If you’re coming to deliver a message from our captain. I get it. My head is anywhere but here,” Dallas admits.
“You can’t afford for anything to be on your mind but this game. Visualize carrying the ball without dropping it.” My words seem harsh, but they are the truth.
And because the defense is taking care of their side of the ball game, they hold the other team from making another first down.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Crush calls the play, looking at Dallas. “Your last chance, man,” he warns.
The center hikes him the ball, and as Dallas runs behind him, Crush slips him the pigskin. The offensive line blocks for Dallas, and he pushes through. Play after play, between Solomon, Dallas, and I, we get first down after first down until we’ve ticked so much time off the clock, we score a touchdown, plus the extra point, leaving us up by two possessions with a minute left to go. And as the clock ticks down, it’s time to celebrate. My man is back. And it’s where he’ll stay.
28
Ryder
“I don’t know, babe.” I’m in his kitchen, starting dinner for tonight. “There are your parents, Jesse then Sawyer and his two girls, and Brooklyn, my sister and Loretta, and the two of us. Are you sure? It’s going to be tight.”
“I’ve never had a family as I do now. And I want them all at my cabin for Christmas.” He pauses to peer over my shoulder taking a quick look at what I’m cooking. Pecking me on the ear, he pulls back sharing the vision he has for our first Christmas together. “I have that huge loft for all the kids, Kelsey can stay in Brooklyn’s room, Mom and Dad in the spare room, and Sawyer’s and Jesse’s asses can sleep on the pullout in the living room and the air mattress. It’ll be tight, but I want everyone that means the world to you and me there.”
I drop the chicken breasts in the frying pan with garlic and salt, then turn toward him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull his head to mine. “Um, and did you forget where I’ll sleep or at least pretend to sleep so your daughter won’t see us in the same bed and spill the beans to her mother.”
Dawning stretches all over his face. “Ah, yeah, shit—good point. So I’ll get another pullout couch delivered. We need more seating in the den, and that can be your bed, and you can sneak back out there after I suck your cock each night and you give me a Christmas hand job.”
My moan could be heard throughout the house if others were with us, and a long stifled mewl leaves his mouth. “Fuck.” I lean in and drop a kiss on his nose. “You know how to sell your idea, babe. But we’ll have to be careful. I mean…” I start to explain what he already knows.
He pulls from me only to place his hands on my cheeks. “After the season, Ry. I’m coming clean. Might as well start the process after the first of the year with a good PR team. But I can’t hide this anymore. It’s killing me. I need you in my arms and in my bed every night.”
My heart stammers. “Are you asking me to move in with you, Christopher Colton?”
“Yeah, baby, for now. Eventually, I want to build a place together. With your sister in your house, I know it will be a great excuse, too, to let her have yours. You’ve tried like ten times to buy her a home.”
Sometimes, I don’t realize how much I ramble on about my life, but Crush listens to all of it. “And,” he continues, “I know all my shit drives you crazy, so starting over eventually, we can pick something that isn’t so bare and desolate as your
sterile house or as cluttered as mine.”
Yeah, he’s teased me about the stark whiteness of my home, but it suits Kelsey, and I’d feel better if she has a safe neighborhood to live in.
“So, now we’ve just made plans for two things.”
Crush’s eyes cloud in confusion. “Christmas, and what else?”
I drop a kiss back onto his nose. “The start of the rest of our life together.”
Kelsey doesn’t get off work until noon on Christmas Eve, and I don’t want her driving to Crush’s by herself. My beautiful Lambo won’t do well on the mountain roads, and we’re sludging through the holiday traffic in Crush’s truck.
“You really need to get yourself one of these.” Kelsey’s been happier lately since moving in with me. She’s always been the glass is half empty kind of a gal, but lately, she’s been almost jovial.
“Yeah, you’re right. These big beasts come in handy.” I hated taking Crush’s truck, but he rented a big ass SUV to accommodate his whole family. In the rearview mirror, I take a peek at Loretta, watching a portable television with headphones on, and we have the peace and quiet to chat about things we normally wouldn’t in front of little ears.
“So,” I begin, “what has you so happy?”
At my question, her eyes sparkle, and her face shines. “Um, nothing really. I never realized how unhappy I was in Knoxville. Being in Nashville and near you, where Loretta has actual family who takes an interest in her—it’s wonderful.”
I don’t buy it, not at all. “So, you’re telling me there’s no one else responsible for your jolly demeanor.”
“I’m responsible for my own jolly demeanor, but hey, I’m always jolly, like a fucking elf, year-round.”
