Fair Catch

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Fair Catch Page 6

by Leigh Carman


  “Okay, so you’re brilliant. What about Austin?”

  “It’s so cliché, but we met at a coffee shop. I had seen him there before, but he was more like a fantasy, someone to imagine yourself with but could never actually have. The businessman in the suit and tie you picture bending you over his desk. You know?”

  Leo nods. “Honey, I’ve had so many of those fantasy men I could fill a filing cabinet with them. The straight guy you pine for from afar but never actually approach.”

  “Yeah, only he wasn’t straight, and I didn’t have to approach him. One day he walked right up to me and asked me out. I freaked out and said no. The next day he was there again, and I said no again. He never got angry or upset; he simply smiled and left. Finally I said yes. What did I have to lose?”

  “Was he your first?”

  “Yeah.” I’m not telling Leo how Austin was my one and only lover until very recently. “I was young, naive, and fell head over heels in love. One month later, I moved out of my parents’ house and in with him. They’re still angry with me for not telling them I’m gay and for defying them after years of doing everything their way without complaining. Not once.”

  “Do you still talk to them?” Leo asks.

  “No, not much. It’s not the same as it used to be. They’re disappointed.”

  Leo rolls his eyes. “Honey, everyone’s parents have expectations we’ll never live up to. My dad wanted me to play shortstop for the Dodgers.” I burst out laughing, and Leo snorts. “He gave up on that one when I preferred dressing my sister’s dolls to throwing around the ball. But I digress. Continue.”

  “I was working on a computer program when I met Austin. It was new, innovative, something that could be huge in the technology sector.”

  “Did he stop you from finishing it?”

  “Oh no,” I explain. “Austin encouraged me, and when I was done, I sold it for a lot of money.”

  “How much?” My face heats and Leo waves me off. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. It’s none of my business. Why do you live in our building if you’re loaded, T?”

  “The money feels tainted, Leo. I can’t explain it. It feels dirty, or maybe it’s me who feels dirty.”

  “You earned it, hon.”

  “I know, but Austin expected me to share it with him, because he supported me while I worked on it. Which isn’t true. I had a job at a local electronics store. Austin made me quit because he said he didn’t see me enough. Then he became jealous of my friends, so I stopped seeing them. It got to where my entire life revolved around Austin and his needs, just like with my parents. I kept the yoga classes and parkour a secret. God, hiding them nearly gave me an ulcer. I was so stressed out. I did everything I could to make sure he was happy, because when he wasn’t….” I shudder and close my eyes. “He used to… you know, even when I didn’t want to.”

  Leo’s hand covers mine. “Oh my God, Toby. He raped you?”

  I drop my gaze, my face burning with shame. “It all came to a head one day when he got home from work. After a particularly stressful day—he was a junior attorney and put in a lot of hours—we had the same old argument. Money. Austin expected me to divide my money with him, or let him quit his job and live off me. I was already paying more than half of the household expenses because he said it was only fair, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough for him. He backhanded me when I refused and told him I was leaving. Then he… he…. Jesus, Leo, how humiliating is it to admit I was raped by my boyfriend?”

  “Toby….”

  I look through watery eyes when Leo says my name. He hands me a napkin, and I realize tears are running down my face.

  “Sorry.” I wipe them off, embarrassed.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he snaps. “That asswipe shouldn’t have touched you, T.”

  “Yeah. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I whisper.

  Leo stares at me, as if deciding whether or not to push me to tell him the rest. Thankfully, he spares me.

  “No problem. Let’s get out of this depressing shithole and go have some fun.” I nod as Leo stands. “Let me just use the bathroom and we’ll get out of here, T.”

  “Sure. I’ll get the check.”

  Leo narrows his eyes. “Fine, but I’m buying the first drink at the club.”

  I smile. “No problem, Leo. And thanks.”

  Van

  “HEY!” JUSTICE Creighton, a right guard on the Wild Cats, jabs me with his elbow, making my beer slosh over the edge of the glass. Beer is the one unhealthy item I allow myself to indulge in, and the fucker spills it.

  “What the fuck, Creighton?” I snap, grabbing a few napkins off the bar to wipe off my hand.

  “Check it out,” he says, pointing with his drink.

  I follow his arm and see a small man with bleached-blond hair making his way to the back hall where the restrooms are located.

  Uh-oh. I bet I know where this is going.

  “I don’t see anything,” I reply, turning back toward the television and our other teammates. It’s not often we get together during the off-season, but the four of us are all recovering from various injuries, so we’re all in town under the care of the team physician and the rest of the staff.

  “You don’t see the little queer, Archer?” Ronnie Weathers, an offensive lineman with a torn ACL, says. He makes a disgusted noise. “Dude is wearing makeup, I swear. Fucking fag.”

  I stiffen at the derogatory slur but say nothing. Years of listening to the overly macho bullshit in the locker room and on the field have curbed my instinct to pound the shit out of anyone who spews bigoted crap. Besides, Colton Rivers, our quarterback, snapped at a teammate once for calling someone a fag. Colton flat-out admitted his brother is gay. For months after that, other players acted like he was contagious, as if being near someone who knew someone gay would make them suddenly desperate for a cock in their ass.

  “Who cares,” I say, keeping my voice uninterested. Calvin and I exchange worried looks. All we need is for the press to get wind of members of the Wild Cats being involved in a bar brawl or a gay bashing. We’d be off the team or suspended at the very least. Asses tossed in jail at the worst.

  Unfortunately, Ronnie and Justice aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. When the small blond twink exits the restroom, Justice can’t help but open his ignorant fucking mouth.

  “Hey, you!”

  The petite man’s head twists in our direction, eyes wide. I take a look at his shocked face. The guy is beautiful. He has delicate features and porcelain skin, with full lips and, yes, makeup on his stunning, honey brown eyes. His clothing is… bright, but the guy is definitely cute. He lifts his head and thrusts his chin out, determined not to let anyone intimidate him.

  Good for you, kid. But damn, not so good for me.

  “I think you’re in the wrong bar, buddy. The fag bars are in WeHo. This is a sports bar, for real men,” Justice says. Ronnie claps him on the back, and they both crack up at their very unfunny joke.

  The blond sashays over, fluttering those big, pretty eyes. When he’s about three feet away, he stops, scanning the two men from head to toe, examining them with a critical eye. He puts a hand on his hip, cocking it out in an exaggerated way, and holds his other hand out, waving it extra flamboyantly at my teammates.

  I hold my beer in front of my mouth to hide my smile. The kid is hamming it up on purpose, and it’s working. Justice and Ronnie are speechless.

  “So,” the kid says with an over the top, stereotypical lisp. “How would you know where the gay bars are, stud? You been there?” He taps a finger on his mouth. “Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you at Sunday News.” He points at Ronnie, whose mouth drops open and face turns a deep shade of red. “Did we hook up there once, sweetie?”

  Calvin bursts out laughing, and I can’t hide the way my shoulders are shaking in amusement. Then Ronnie steps forward, and suddenly there’s nothing funny about this anymore.

  “Who the fuck do you th
ink you are, faggot? I ain’t never been to no fucking gay bar, asshole!” Ronnie’s hands are clenched tight at his sides, his jaw pulsing from the pressure of his teeth grinding together.

  “Whoa, Ronnie.” Calvin jumps off his stool to put a hand to the big man’s chest. “Calm down.”

  “Fuck that, Cal! This little queer just said I’m a fag! I ain’t no fucking homo, man.” Ronnie is so pissed he looks ready to explode. They say the guys who are the most outspoken are usually the closeted ones. Or maybe Ronnie is just angry that the kid made him look stupid, which, to be honest, is true. Ronnie is stupid.

  The kid snorts. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

  Justice steps up next to Ronnie as Ronnie closes in on the kid. “Who the hell are you calling a lady? I’m not the one wearing fucking makeup, fuckwit!”

  Jesus Christ. Of course the irony goes right over their idiot heads. I put down my beer and help Cal keep the two men back. The bartender has come over, and a number of patrons are staring.

  “What’s going on here?” the bartender asks.

  I glance over, grateful to see he’s a big guy, so if we need help restraining Ronnie and Justice, he’ll be able to help.

  “This asshole called me a fag!” Ronnie shouts, spittle flying from his mouth.

  The bartender tilts his head to get a better look at the kid. He grimaces, his expression suddenly hostile.

  What the fuck?

  “Oh, it’s you. The one who ordered the pansy drink.”

  My mouth falls open in shock.

  “Maybe you should just leave.”

  My veins pulse with anger. “The kid didn’t do anything,” I hiss, glaring at the idiot bartender.

  “Leo?”

  Heat rushes through my body at the sound of the voice behind me. My skin prickles with electricity. Slowly, I turn away from the bartender to see Toby standing side by side with the blond man, who is apparently named Leo.

  “What’s going on?” Toby asks. His skin is pale and drawn, and it’s subtle, but I can see his entire body trembling in fear. Crystal blue eyes dart from face to face, and I know the exact moment he spots me. Moisture gathers in his eyes, creating a glistening sheen over those stunning blues. His face falls, as if I reached out and slapped him.

  “These assholes called me a faggot,” Leo says, pointing at Justice and Ronnie.

  Toby grabs his friend’s arm, tugging him toward the door, but those hurt eyes never leave mine. “Let’s go, Leo,” he whispers, his voice on the verge of cracking.

  “Of course there’s two of you. Fucking fudge packers,” Ronnie growls.

  “Hmph,” Leo grunts. “Bye, boys. Maybe next time.” He winks at Ronnie as he walks away. “See you later at Sunday News, big boy.”

  Ronnie surges forward, but Cal and I each grab an arm, holding him back.

  Justice doesn’t move, but he makes sure to shout out a string of slurs at the men as they leave the bar. Outside, I see Toby glance over his shoulder, gaze finding me, the sting of betrayal evident on his beautiful face.

  I let go of Ronnie’s arm and drop onto my barstool. The dickhead bartender walks over to me. “Thanks for getting rid of them. I can’t ask them to leave.”

  I bristle angrily. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing to them,” I snap. “Give me a double whiskey, straight up.” He places the drink in front of me. I down it and quickly order another.

  Fuck me and my cowardice. I can’t even fight for Toby and his friend. Stand up for them against my bigoted teammates. How can I expect Toby to trust me after today?

  Cal sits next to me and pats my arm. “Ronnie and Justice left.”

  My head whips in his direction, and a black fist of fear squeezes my heart. “They didn’t follow those guys, did they?”

  Cal shakes his head. “I made sure. The other guys were long gone by the time Ronnie and Justice went outside.”

  Jesus. Just the thought of something like that happening to Toby has bile burning the back of my throat.

  “Excuse me.” I leap from my stool and dash for the men’s room, able to make it to the toilet just in time to stop my teammate from seeing me on the edge of losing my shit. I lean against the wall waiting for my hammering heart to slow and for my anxiety to subside. When I drag a hand across the back of my neck, it comes back slick with sweat.

  I move in front of the sink and stare at the stranger in the mirror. His eyes are wide and pupils tiny. The skin of his neck is flushed a dark red and the hair at his temples is damp. He looks like shit, which is appropriate since I feel like shit. I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now. I deserve it if Toby never speaks to me again. I’m not worthy of a guy like Toby. I’m not worthy of jack shit.

  “Jesus, get a hold of yourself, Sullivan.”

  I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, forcing back the tears that threaten to fall. After washing my hands and splashing water on my face, I head back to the bar. Back to the pathetic string of lies I call a life.

  Chapter 5

  Toby

  LEO HAILS a cab outside the sports bar as I stand there, numb, unable to process the overwhelming pain of betrayal. Watching Van’s friends verbally attack Leo while he stood silent was like a knife to the heart. The residual pain hurts a thousand times more than Austin backhanding me across the face or tearing off my clothes and forcing himself inside my body. That was a caress compared to the agony crushing my chest.

  The cab stops in front of some gay bar Leo chose. When he hops out, I huddle into the seat instead of following my friend.

  Confused, Leo sticks his head back in. “Earth to Toby. You coming?”

  God, I wish I were as strong as my friend. Four huge scary men tried to break his spirit, and not only did he stand his ground, he’s already put it in the past and is ready to party.

  “Toby.” Leo’s voice is low and calm. “Come in with me.” He gives me a sad smile. “Don’t let those guys ruin our night.”

  If only Leo knew it isn’t “those guys” who ruined it. It’s Van. My… what? My lover? My client? What is he to me?

  Nothing. He’s nothing.

  Determined, I climb out of the cab. Leo grins. I take his hand and head for the door of the club, the loud music seeping outside. I return my friend’s smile. “Let’s go. I’m ready to have some fun.”

  BANGING AT my door makes my head feel as if it’s being split in half. I wince and groan.

  How much did I drink last night?

  The knocking starts again, louder. If I could yell at Leo without my skull shattering, I would. Since I can’t, I roll out of bed, ignoring the way the room spins and the shitty taste in my mouth, and shuffle to the door.

  I turn the knob, chastising my friend as I open the door. “Leo, Jesus. Why can’t you just come in like you always—” The words die on the end of my tongue. My overtaxed digestive tract spasms, and I have to swallow several times to keep from vomiting all over my unexpected visitor’s shoes.

  “Can I come in?”

  I blink away the sleep and the nausea, anger surging to take their place. “Van. What are you doing here?” I remain cold and detached, wrapping my arms around myself as if my frigid tone could permeate my body.

  “Please, Toby. Let me explain.” Van is as large and imposing as usual, but something about him is different, missing.

  I scan his face, trying to pinpoint the contrast between the Van I know and the one standing on my doorstep. I gasp when I realize what it is. The ever-present spark in Van’s green eyes, the unwavering confidence, the inner glow that exudes from him—they’re all gone. Deleted. Before me stands a husk, an empty shell of the Van I met in the office of a club, a far cry from the one who stared passionately into my eyes as he made love to me on his pool table.

  Even though I know it’s most likely only going to lead to more hurt, more pain, I step aside and let Van in, then close the door behind him.

  “How did you know where I live?” I ask, still wrapped in my own embrace.


  Van runs a hand through his short hair. “I know people.”

  “You know people,” I repeat.

  Those hollow green eyes flick to mine. “Yeah.”

  “Okaaaay,” I say sarcastically. When I see Van flinch at my rudeness, I sigh. “Would you like some coffee? My head is killing me, and I need the caffeine.”

  Van nods, a hint of a smile on his lips. Lips I want to taste again. Lips I want all over my body. Damn it!

  I shake my head and step over to the tiny galley kitchen, fill the coffeemaker, and flip the switch. We lean on counters opposite each other, arms over our chests in identical poses. The awkward silence is broken by the beep of the pot when it finishes brewing.

  “Milk? Sugar?” I ask as I pour two mugs.

  Van shakes his head. “Black.” I wrinkle my nose and add both to mine. Van chuckles. “I don’t eat processed food, remember?”

  I do but choose to be flippant. “You were drinking a beer yesterday. You remember yesterday, don’t you, Van?”

  It’s childish, but I find no reason to go easy on him. Grumpy and tired, I sit at the tiny kitchen table and sip my drink, waiting for Van to speak. He drops into the only other chair, and I’m surprised the fragile thing doesn’t splinter to pieces from supporting his bulk.

  “I’m sorry, Toby. I have no excuse for what happened yesterday. Those guys….” Van’s grip tightens around his mug, and for a second I’m afraid it will shatter in his huge hands. “They’re not my friends. Calvin is, but he’s a good guy. Not the two assholes who….” He swallows, his face going pale. “I just need you to know how sorry I am.”

  “Okay.”

  Van’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. “Okay?”

  I nod. “Yes. You’re sorry. I accept your apology.”

  Van reaches out with one hand to touch my arm, and I shrink back. His forehead crumples in confusion.

  “I said I accept your apology, Van, not that I want to continue seeing you. Thank you for stopping by.” I stand and walk over to the door.

 

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