The Locker Room

by Amy Lane

  “Because your whole world spiraled out of control when you were a little kid,” Chris said, sounding grown up and far away, “and you like to think that other people are running the show, because it makes you feel safe.Truth is, Xander, youre damned good at running your own show.”

  “None of that makes any sense,” Xander mumbled. “But God, I miss you already.”

  It was the last thing he remembered saying before Leo took the phone from him and he slept.

  Slumber Parties

  THE doc made him sit out for two games, and for a scant moment, his heart lifted. A week! No basketball for a week, and he could go to Colorado and stay in a hotel, and Christian could hold him while he slept!(Corny, yes, but hed slept so poorly, pain meds notwithstanding, that he realized that it was going to be a real pain in the ass while they were apart.)

  And then hed remembered that Chris was gone on a six -game road trip, and he sighed and slumped on the examining table, even as the doc wrapped his foot, glaring at him all the while.

  “What the hell did you do to it, anyway?” Malloy asked, and Xander shrugged.

  “Shot a few baskets, then propped it up on the coffee table and

  watched the game.”

  Malloy shook his head and grumbled as if he didnt believe him

  (but it was the truth!) and wandered away to find crutches. He passed

  Wallick,who walked in, who said, “You know this doesnt get you out

  of being there at the games!”

  For a minute, Xander wanted to protest, but he didnt. He enjoyed

  the pregame festivities at the arena; in particular, he really loved signing

  balls and shooting baskets with the kids whose parents brought them

  early.He wasnt sure when hed started loving basketball, or when it

  came to be so important, but he could only imagine that once, when he

  was in kindergarten or first grade, some adult had paid attention to him,

  some adult had put a ball in his hand. Most of the parents who brought

  their kids were good people—fed their kids, clothed them, loved them,

  but that didnt stop Xander from loving the idea that he might be putting

  the ball in the hands of the next Larry Bird, or LeBron James, or Vlade

  Divac or Chris Webber. Or Clifford Washington. Or Christian Edwards. Or Xander Karcek.

  That last one didnt seem like such a benefit, but he still wasnt

  going to skip out on signing balls.

  “I know it doesnt,” he said now to the coach. “Ill be there.” “I swear to Christ, Karcek, if you try to injure yourself out of spite

  for this season, I will fucking out you myself.”

  Xander looked at him, horrified.Hed thought theyd keep this

  civilized, and that the fuckers prejudice would remain as on the down-

  low as he and Christian had tried to keep their relationship. Apparently,

  prejudice was more socially acceptable.

  “Why didnt you?” he asked. “Why not just out us both?” Wallick looked away, uncomfortable.“I promised this town a

  championship,” he said.

  Well, tough!

  “Then why send Chris away!” he challenged, thinking it was a

  pretty good thing that he didnt have a ball in his hand today, either. “Because what you were doing was wrong!” Wallick snarled, and

  for a moment, Xander thought this was easily fixed.

  “Im sorry, Coach. We dont usually, you know, do that when

  were not at ho—”

  “I mean you two, screwing each other! Its wrong, and… I swear

  on my church, I dont know why God would give a gift like yours to a

  couple of queers who spit on the game!”

  “God didnt feed me!” Xander snapped, not sure where this was

  coming from, except he couldnt remember the last time hed felt this

  alone.“God didnt feed me, or clothe me, or put a roof over my head.

  YourGod didnt give a damn about me! But Chris did, and so did his

  family.If Ive got a gift, its because Chris wouldnt let me starve on the

  streets, and his folks wouldnt let me die in a hole.So dont ask me to

  give a fuck about your God. I love this game, and this phobic, pissant

  town, and I will play my heart out for them.But dont talk to me about

  God. You sent Chris away—and until that gets fixed, Im not talking

  about your God ever fucking again.”

  Coach Wallick whirled on him, his small eyes narrow in his

  oatmeal face.“Thats blasphemy, son.”

  “Well,according to you, so am I.” Xander didnt shout. He was a

  big, gawky man, and he was aware that his body had plenty of presence

  and he didnt need to add any to it with his voice. So he was hissing, snarling, growling the words, and Wallick took an involuntary step back

  from him, his mouth opened to respond.

  Doc Malloy walked in at that moment with a pair of crutches with

  an easy, almost oblivious smile on his face.“Had to get the extra-long,

  Xander—fortunately, weve got a lot of those around here.” Xander managed a small smile for him, and Malloy turned

  guilelessly to Wallick.“Hey, Coach, give us some room here. Hes got to

  try these out, okay?”

  Xander took the crutches and thrust them under his arms,

  experimentally testing his weight and shifting it back and forth. For a

  moment, he just hung there and played, enjoying the balance and swing,

  like a little kid, using his good foot to catch his weight when he swung

  down. Of course, he knew from experience that the novelty would wear

  off, but for the moment? Swing forward, swing backward, swing

  forward, swing back….

  “What in the hell were you two talking about?”

  Xander almost missed the swing forward and crashed to the

  ground, and wouldnt that have been embarrassing.

  “Stuff,” he muttered, not looking at Malloy. He had no idea how

  Doc Malloy felt about gay rights, and he didnt really want to know,

  either. Honestly, was it too much to ask that the whole world not give a

  flying monkey shit who he slept with? Did it really make him a better

  basketball player? A worse one? Whatever.

  “Yeah, well, whatever stuff it was, I hope you gave him a piece of

  your mind. Ever since he transferred Edwards, youve been looking like

  someone slept with your girlfriend and shot your dog!”

  Xander managed a small quip, and when Malloy laughed, he felt

  like hed won some sort of battle, because he was not usually the funny

  one.

  “Yeah, well, if someone had shot my dog, then Id be reallyupset.”

  LATER that evening, as he watched his team lose, he was not laughing, even a little bit.

  Hed started the night with such high hopes.

  The families lining up with their kids to have their little mini

  basketballs signed were delightful, as always (although Xander kept hearing Chris making jokes about fondling baby balls, because Chris could get away with that without it sounding creepy) and Xander had gotten to talk to a fan who managed to not make him feel like shit about kicking a rock and getting injured during the season.

  “Sounds like something Id do when I was fighting with my wife,” the guy said with a grimace. He was a comfortable-looking man with a graying beard and bright blue eyes. His daughter—a sturdy, redheaded dumpling of a precocious four-year-old—had the same eyes, and since she was sitting on her daddys shoulders, they were gazing up at Xander with a guileless charm.

  “Your eyes are pretty, like mine. My brothers eyes are the worser color.Theyre brown.” Xander looked at her brother, a tall boy with sandy hair full of cowlicks,
and a grave smile.“I like brown eyes,” he said quietly, thinking of Chris. The little boy gave Xander his ball to sign, holding it in one spiderlike hand. He smiled with a mouth full of gaps in his growing teeth, those brown eyes sparkling, and Xander got hit with a longing so strong the pen shook in his hand as he signed the ball.

  “We were going to have it signed by Christian Edwards,” Dad was saying.“We were really disappointed when he was traded.”

  “You and me both,” Xander replied, feeling hollow and bright, like a candy shell.

  “Yeah—we really thought this team had a chance with the two of you.Now I guess its just you, right?”

  Xander frowned.“No—theres four other guys on the court, whether Chris is one of them or not,” he said. It was automatic, ingrained in every player of team sports ever, to give his team props. But hearing his own voice saying the words made him realize that yes, they really were true. For a moment, he felt a surge of gratification—basketball and Chris, right? Well, he still had basketball.

  Hed smiled at the father and his children with more of his heart, and lifted the long-limbed little boy up to dunk the ball (an easy feat, since his long limbs felt like they were made of birds bones) and sat down to watch his team play with a certain amount of pride.

  And now? Jesus, were they letting him—and Doc Malloy, and that nice family and Chris, for heavens sake, all of them—down.

  “Dont take the shot,” he muttered, as Wilson Aames, who usually played guard but was replacing him tonight so that the second string could be guard, went running through the other teams guards to try to shoot.“Dont take the shot,dont take the shot,dont take the shot—” Wilson was an inch taller than Xander. Why couldnt the guy see that Napoleon Burkins, his guard, had a better chance? But, no, there went the ball in the air.Napoleon, whod had his hands up when he was expecting the pass, dropped them to his side at the shot and missed the rebound.

  “Goddammit, you shouldnt take that shot!” Xander hollered. He was loud enough to make Wilson roll his eyes in Xanders direction when they were hustling down the court to block the other teams next attempt at scoring.

  They failed, and the gap widened to nearly twenty-five points, and Xander fought the urge to get out his phone and text Chris to tell him that he quit—he was going to buy these clowns some red shoes and striped pants and let them entertain the crowd that way.

  Because the crowd was sure as shit not laughing now, were they?

  But Xander didnt yell. He was known for it.He didnt yell, and he didnt coach. He ran in, did his job, led by example, and shared the ball as often as he could, as long as it would benefit the team.

  And when Chris was by his side that was enough. With Chris to jolly everyone along, tell them to have their heads up for the pass, rebound the ball and give it back so Xander could find someone else to make the shot, well, they pretty much couldnt be beat. But now it was Xander, and he was on the sidelines watching five years of their work go spiraling down the fucking drain, and he couldnt bear it. Not tonight. Not when Chris had woken him up that morning with a phone call to make sure he was all right—and because Chris knew, to the minute, when Xanders nightmares were the worst.

  Not when sleeping in that big house without Christian felt like being alone in a box, only bigger, darker, and more frightening than it had ever been when he was a kid and didnt know how much he had to lose.

  Wallick was not pleased at the half. And Xander hoped everybodys asshole hurt, because the coach had gnawed on them for a good five minutes at the half before stalking back through the tunnel connecting the locker room to the arena to confer with his assistant coach on who was playing third quarter. Xander, who had hated the guy on principle before, and now hated him with a particular personal flair, found that he really hated the fact that he agreed with the guy.Theyd played like shit, and hed be damned if he was going to throw this team on his back and haul them down the court when he was up and running if they couldnt at least try to take on some of their own dead weight.

  “You got something to add to that, Karcek?” Wilson asked, the edge of his sarcasm dulled by the weariness in his voice.Theyd been run hard around the court, and Xander knew how that felt.

  “Share the ball,” he said quietly. “Let someone else take your shot. Seriously, Wilson—Burkins, Oswald, Pollack—they were all open during that last turnover. They would have helped you out. But everyone expected you to go for the shot and you didnt disappoint them.”

  Burkins snorted.“But its not like our percentage is any better! Jesus, Xander—none of us have your shots.Its like you and God have that shooting percentage, you know?”

  Xander shrugged.“But part of that is that I dont take shots I cant make—I give them to someone else. And that helps their numbers too. And, you know.Win/win, right?”

  There was a sigh, and a buzz, and Xander looked at all of them. They were his teammates, and he loved them. Not like Chris, but then, what was?

  “Look, guys—you hear that crowd?” Everyone nodded their heads yes.“Man, most of those people arent rich. They gave up a better car or better clothes or a home improvement or something to be here. They love us and they gave up something to see us.Its only fair we give up something to please them, right? So give up the shot to your teammate. I mean… were thirty points in the hole.Anythings gotta be better than that.”

  He would have loved to have stalked out of the locker room with dignity, but he was still on crutches, so he sort of gimped out of there with whatever he had. He felt foolish, foolish and idealistic.Hed never expected anybody to follow him unless hed been on the court. And then, theyd only followed him because he usually managed to be down court first.

  But then, he did have a point. If there was ever proof that a mercykilling rule was needed in pro sports, this game was it.

  He must have done something, he conceded, because there was a noticeable difference in the second half. Not enough to fix a thirty-point lead, but enough to make the game un-embarrassing, and that was something.

  Xander kept up with Chriss game on his phone as he sat through the press conference with the other players, and saw that Denver was primed to win.He left a text, “Better you than me, buddy,” before standing up and looking official to escort the team down to the locker room.

  The team spent a lot of time clapping him on the back and telling him thank you. He felt obligated to hang out for a while until the room had cleared out. Strange, yes, but true. He spent that time texting Chris— because Denver had won, and even if hewasnt going to get postgame sex, he could at least get postgame sexting.

  Xan@CE--Nicely done, hotshot—28 pts, not bad.

  CE@Xan--Cliff had a good night too.

  Xan@CE-Yeah, but Cliff doesnt give victory blow jobs

  CE@Xan--grrrrr--and tonight, neither do I-hows the foot?

  Xan@CE--Looks like a seal flipper, hurts like a seal bit it, chewed it, and ate it.

  CE@Xan--ROFL--well hang in there, seal bait—youll be up on it soon.

  Xan@CE--R U calling in the morning again?

  CE@Xan--Do you want me to?

  Xan@CE--Please.

  CE@Xan--Then of course.

  Xan@CE--I set up the computer—we can do the conference thing. CE@Xan--Good. I miss your face.

  Xan@CE--I miss everything.

  CE@Xan--I gotta go, man.Im supposed to be buzzed. Love you Xan@CE--Love you too.

  Well, it didnt actually give him a woody, but he figured that would come when he finally climbed in bed.Hed made Leo help him with the damned computer and the video, and hed set it up by the bedstand deliberately. He had to get used to sleeping in that bed alone, or he wasnt going to get used to getting any sleep at all.This way, hed have a reason not to fall asleep on the couch. Either way the bad dreams would come, but in the bed, at least Chris would be there in the morning.

  Xander looked up from his conversation and realized that most of the locker room had cleared out. He was surprised—and unsettled. The last time hed been in there
when it was this quiet was when he and Chris had been busted. A good memory and a bad one, he guessed—just like a lot of the sport. With a sigh, he leveraged himself up on his crutches, put on his trench coat and scarf, and swung himself across the room behind most of the rest of the team.

  The town car hadnt arrived yet, although hed called them before he texted Chris, and he settled himself on the crutches to wait as the last of the team got in their own vehicles.

  “Hey, Xander—you want a ride to the bar?” Burkins asked, and Xander had to hold up his hands. “Going home to baby the foot,” he said cheerfully. “Have a good time,though!”

  He waited patiently, looking out at the parking lot—it was still lit by the sodium lights, which turned the January fog into a surreal pink, and it was hard to see much beyond that electric wool blanket. But he could hear just fine.

  “No, asshole. I told you we were through. I got my shit out of the apartment this morning, and youre not getting another chance to hurt me, you hear?”

  Xander blinked. He knew that voice. He stood and started moving to the corner of the building where the womens locker rooms emerged, trying to figure out which of the dancers was currently sounding very pissed off, and not a little bit distressed.

  “Look, Mandy—if youll just listen, I swear, Ill never touch you like that again!”

  “Youre goddamned right you wont… fuck. Let go, Derek—Jesus, ouch!” Xander heard the sounds of a scuffle, plus a lot of “Goddammit, stop it, bitch, Im just tryin to tell you something, you fucking moron!” as he hauled his lame ass around that corner.

  He was unsurprised to see Mandy (thank you, asshole exboyfriend, for the name, he would have forgotten it!) struggling with a squat, powerful man with an ethnic potluck of features—slightly dark skin, blue eyes, high cheekbones, square jaw—that Xander could actually see the attraction. The guy must have been awfully pretty before he opened his mouth up and talked.

  And right now, he had Mandys arm behind her, and was yanking on it brutally every time she screamed (which was often—go Mandy!) and Xander didnt do a lot of thinking in the next couple of seconds. Neither of them had heard Xander come up behind them, so the guy didnt even turn around as Xander swung up his crutch and brought it down with controlled force on the back of Dereks head.