Unnecessary Roughness

by Alison Hendricks

  He makes a face at that and sits back down on his bed. "Good point."

  Safe from Owen's wandering hands--for now--I kick off my shoes and hop onto my own bed, finding my mom's number in my contacts. She picks up on the second ring.

  "Nathan? What's wrong?"

  "Wow. Jump to conclusions much?"

  My siblings and I grew up around kids whose parents would've torn into them for saying something like that. But Mom's where I get my dickish sense of humor from in the first place, so we've always had a pretty friendly relationship.

  "Oh, excuse me," she says, drawing out the words, "you must be somebody else's son, because my son only calls home when the world's ending."

  Guilt washes over me and I wince. She said it playfully enough, but she's right. I get so caught up with school and football that I forget to call her and Mike unless everything's going to shit and I need advice.

  "Sorry, Ma. I promise I'll call more."

  I hear her laugh, and her voice sounds distant as she says, "This boy says he'll call us more. You believe him?"

  Oh my fucking God. For such a tiny woman, she sure does pack in a lot of sass.

  "Are you gonna stop giving me shit long enough for me to say what I wanted to say?" I ask, smirking.

  "Is this something you need to be on speaker for?"

  "Yeah. Might as well tell you both at the same time, and I guess you can tell everybody else." I wait for her to switch it over. When I can hear the TV in the background, I say, "I just got a letter from Eastshore. They want to recruit me."

  The squeal that comes out of my mom forces me to pull the phone away from my ear. I laugh when it doesn't let up, holding the phone a good bit away from me as I speak again.

  "Yeah, I know. Not all that exciting, but I figured I'd keep you in the loop."

  "Nathaniel Vincent, don't you even joke about that," she scolds.

  In the background, I can hear my stepdad distractedly say, "Good job, kid."

  Mom scoffs. "Mike’s proud of you. He just has trouble finding the words. Apparently."

  I can imagine her shooting him a glare from across the room. Probably at the back of his head, since he's most likely lounging in the recliner. Damn, I'm not one to get homesick all that often, but sometimes I miss how predictable my folks are.

  "He better be. I worked my ass off for this."

  "I know you did, baby. You deserve it. Even if I'm gonna have to wear that bland-ass Eastshore blue everywhere now."

  We both laugh, and I can see Owen grinning across from me. My mom's crazy loud, so it's no surprise he can hear her. Seeing his face though, and those big green eyes lit up with a smile, it makes me realize I've got two pieces of life-changing news.

  "There's something else, Ma. You remember Owen Collins?"

  "The boy who told everybody your business?" Her voice turns harder; more protective. "I remember. Has he been giving you grief?"

  Owen's brows lift and a frown chases away that smile from earlier. Okay, I probably should've led with something more positive.

  "We're good now, Ma. Real good. He's... kinda my boyfriend."

  I look toward the phone as if it's going to show me the expression on her face right now. It's all I have, though, since she goes quiet for a long time.

  Then I hear her... laugh. A crazy, half-hysterical laugh.

  "I knew it!" she finally says. "I told you, I told you that boy had a thing for Nate."

  "What the fuck? You didn't ever tell me that!"

  "Like you would have believed me," she says with another scoff.

  And she's right. I wouldn't have. Owen was always the golden boy. The All-American athlete who'd probably marry the homecoming queen and have two kids by the time he was twenty-five. I never would've imagined he'd secretly been crushing on me.

  "Yeah, well. I guess you were right."

  I smile over at Owen, but he's not smiling back. His eyes are filled with caution and suspicion, and his posture's all closed off like he's trying to protect himself.

  I don't need to hear him say it to know he's not happy with me just casually telling my parents we're a thing.

  "Hey Ma, I gotta go for a little bit. We can talk more later, okay?"

  "You better call back," she warns.

  "I will. Love you."

  "Love you too, baby. I'm so happy for you."

  I wish I could enjoy it more, but the way Owen's looking at me right now makes me feel like I'm in deep shit. I make sure the call actually hangs up, then plug in my phone to charge for later.

  "You could've given me a heads up," Owen says.

  "I didn't plan on telling them, it just sorta happened." As soon as the words come out of my mouth, they piss me off. Why am I defending myself? I wanted to share good news with my parents. I shouldn't feel guilty about that. "What's the big deal?"

  "I'm not out, Nate! Jesus, my own dad doesn't even know yet, and I'm sure as hell not ready to have that talk with him."

  There's an edge to his voice that grates at me, picking at a sore spot I thought had finally started to heal. I know I should be cool about this and keep my perfect boyfriend status, but Owen's always had a way of getting under my skin.

  "Are you seriously pissed at me for telling my parents about us? Because the whole 'not wanting people to know' thing didn't seem to be a problem when you outed me."

  Owen's jaw clenches and he looks away. "Yeah, I know. I'm a piece of shit and we're never going to get past the stupid thing I did in high school. Not sure why you're even bothering with me."

  The way he says that pushes every one of my buttons, but there's something underneath it all that forces me to chill the fuck out and actually listen. It's not just petty resentment fueling his words. There's panic there, too. And real, raw fear.

  I cross the small gap between our beds and kneel in front of him, taking his hands in mine.

  "Hey. You're not a piece of shit," I say, knowing it's his dad's words he's hearing when he says that. Knowing it's his dad's reaction he's most worried about. "I'm sorry I outed you. But this thing between us? It's just as big a deal to me as that letter from Eastshore. I wanted them to know."

  His eyes meet mine and his expression softens. Turning his hands in mine, he threads our fingers together.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah," I say with a smile.

  "It's a big deal to me, too. I'm just..."

  Scared. I can see that easily enough in his eyes; feel it in how tightly his hands are joined with mine. I could keep being petty, tell him he didn't consider my fear three years ago. But what the fuck would that accomplish? He'd feel bad, I'd feel bad, and it'd probably be the beginning of the end.

  Instead, I decide to keep on being an awesome boyfriend. Leaning close, I brush my lips over his and give him a reassuring smile.

  "Don't worry about it. You'll tell him when you're ready."

  Another kiss, this one Owen answers fully. The way it keeps on, his lips mapping out mine, his tongue seeking and stroking, I can already tell it's going to be a long while before that spaghetti gets done.

  17

  Owen

  Of course, the week I finally decide to tell my dad I'm dating another guy, he scores tickets to the Jags game. Four of them, to be exact. One for him, one for me, one for a guy from his office, and an extra ticket I convince him to give to Nate.

  "You sure about that?" he asks, voice heavy with skepticism.

  "Yeah, Dad. Nate and I are good now."

  Better than he knows. And apparently I'm going to be stuck telling him just how good we are in the middle of a crowded stadium, with some random coworker and tons of other strangers looking on.

  Yeah. Okay. I think Nate will forgive me for not doing it there. Maybe we can hit a Chili's or something afterward. At least that'll be a little more private.

  "You know, I proposed to your mom at a Jags game. You find a girl who likes football, that's powerful stuff."

  My dad thinks his relationship with my mom was built on f
ootball. He believes she only went out with him because he was playing for UF at the time, and I’ve heard the story of how he proposed at least a hundred times. The truth is, Mom pulled me aside one day last year and told me Dad's obsession with the game is why they're divorced, but I'd be a dick to point that out right now. He's just trying to be nice and help me get what he assumes would be my dream girl.

  "I told you, I don't have a girlfriend. And Nate will be stoked to go."

  I hope so, anyway. I haven't exactly had time to ask him about it, but if I don't reserve the ticket now, my dad will probably auction it off to some UNF co-ed to come be my date for the evening.

  "All right. Well, I guess it's good of you to take the high road, considering how much that boy fucked you over."

  Of course my dad thinks Nate was the one who fucked me over. But then, all he knows about is the fight. I never told him what happened to prompt it.

  One more thing I'll have to clear up.

  "I'm not taking the high road, Dad. We're friends now. He's the reason I've been playing so well this season."

  Dad makes a noncommittal noise, and I can imagine exactly what he's thinking. What does it matter if I play well for a D3 school? I might as well brag about playing decent high school ball.

  "You know how to get to the stadium, right? Bridge might be closed, so you've gotta be careful."

  "We'll get there." I pull the phone from my ear and look at the time. "I gotta go, I need to be in uniform soon. See you Sunday."

  "Right. Good luck today."

  We hang up, and I try to not let my resentment get the better of me. He's showing a house in an hour, so he really couldn't drive down to see me play, but somehow he always makes time to see all the Gator games every season.

  It's not something I need to worry about right now. I'd probably play worse if he was here anyway, though I'm sure he'll get ahold of the game footage somehow. He always does.

  Sighing, I shove my phone into the pocket of my jeans, grab my bag, and head for the field.

  As soon as I step into the locker room, Nate comes up to me. His brows lift and he draws his lip into his mouth in silent question. I told him this morning before he left for class that I was going to set something up.

  "So... how do you feel about going to the Jags game Sunday?"

  Nate blinks at me. "What?"

  "Dad got tickets. I thought you'd want to go."

  "Hell yeah I want to go," Nate says, a gleam lighting in his eyes that makes me want to kiss him right in the middle of the locker room. "But does this mean...?"

  "I figured we can get dinner somewhere after the game and I'll tell him then, if that's cool?"

  Nate smiles at me, gripping my shoulder and giving it an affectionate squeeze. I can tell he's into the whole idea of kissing in the locker room, too, but I'd really rather tell my dad before we just come out to the whole team.

  That is if they haven't already noticed the constant touching and the serious fuck-me eyes we exchange in the locker room, the gym, and during practice. That and the fact that we aren’t at each other’s throats anymore. I'm pretty sure Eli has figured it out, the way he looks between us sometimes.

  "Yeah, man. Whatever you need to do."

  We talk a little more about the long ass drive we'll have ahead of us that morning and how much it's going to suck coming off of a game against a really physical team, but eventually we have to head to the pregame warm-up, Nate and I going with our respective coaches to talk strategy and loosen up before what's probably going to be one hell of a game.

  The Armada have a reputation for being aggressive. In the five years since they cobbled together a football program to raise money for their college, they've somehow had more penalties called against them than anybody else in our division. Sometimes it feels like their coaches are telling them to play that way on purpose, to make it more entertaining for their fans and to sell more tickets to people looking for a little blood sport with their D3 football.

  Coach Ladner warned us injuries would pretty much be guaranteed unless we played smart.

  "They're gonna try to bait you, but you ignore that shit," he says in our sectioned-off portion of the athletics building. "Just play good, smart ball and we'll have this game without anybody getting into trouble."

  Nobody's that worried about the actual game itself. Miami College is ranked dead last, and all their posturing and aggression is just to distract people from what a shitty football team they are. At least half their program is filled with eighteen and nineteen year old guys who could barely hack it in high school.

  We're all on our toes and, just like our coaches said, the Armada come out swinging. They draw a flag on the first damn play of the game by not respecting the fair catch, and we start ten yards closer to the end zone because of it.

  Most of my attention is fixed on Nate when the offense is on the field. For as big as he is, he's pretty fucking agile, and most plays I see him fake out the guy covering him before running the rest of his route. When Brody passes it to him, he's almost always wide open, picking up first downs left and right. During one play he catches a low pass in heavy coverage, leaps over a defender, and sprints to the end zone.

  After the first quarter, though, the Armada catch on. One guy sticks on his ass like white on rice, and they always have another peel off zone coverage when he starts running deep. It's obvious they've singled out Nate, and the pushing and shoving that's going on even when he doesn't have possession of the ball makes me fucking anxious.

  Everything comes to a head late in the third quarter. The score's 28-3, with the Armada just barely able to make that field goal attempt to put points on the board. Time's running out and Brody keeps looking down the field, trying to widen the gap even more.

  I see Nate run to the outside, getting one step ahead of his coverage. The ball sails in a high arc, and Nate leaps for it, forcing his feet to come back down so he can be counted as in bounds.

  But Miami has other plans. The same guy who's been pushing Nate around all day, who's been getting into his face even after the plays are called dead, comes rushing toward him like a freight train.

  I try to call out, to warn him, but there's nothing I can do. The guy slams into him, knocking his legs out from under him and sending him toppling over. The ball is knocked loose, players from both teams scramble for it, but I'm focused on Nate as my whole world stops.

  I run toward him, shoving my own teammates out of the way, ignoring the blaring of the whistle. Nate tries to get up, but the defensive end is standing over him, his legs spread apart as he grabs his crotch.

  "--maybe I'll let you suck mine later, bitch boy."

  I only catch the tail end of what he says, but it's more than enough to make me see red. My ears are ringing, my heart pounds, and I'm moving toward the guy before I even have a chance to think about what I'm doing.

  My body slams into his as I tackle him to the ground hard enough to make his helmet come off. He may be a big wall of solid muscle, but he sure as shit wasn't expecting me to come for him, so I get a chance to pin him to the ground and introduce my fist to his face again and again.

  "Owen!"

  Nate's voice is distant, like he's half a field away from me when I know damn well he's right here. Whistles are blaring again, players from both teams are closing in around us, and all I can see is this motherfucker who was aiming to hurt Nate in whatever way he could.

  "Oh shit, son!" He laughs, even as blood trickles from his split lip. "That your boyfriend? My bad, dude. We can share him if you want."

  "Shut your fucking mouth," I growl, pulling back to swing at him again.

  Somebody grabs my arm from behind, though, and I'm suddenly being pulled off of this asshole. I struggle, thrashing and flailing, catching whoever's got me in the stomach. Their arms just tighten around me, and it's Nate's voice I hear in my ear.

  "Hey, it's okay. Calm down, Owen. It's okay. I'm okay."

  He holds me up as I slump against him, the
feeling of his embrace, the sound of his voice soothing whatever crazed beast is raging inside of me. My chest heaves, my stomach roils, and I can feel my adrenaline about to jump off the nearest cliff.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Coach Ladner walking toward us. His face is red, his lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn't yell, though. He just stares right at me like I'm the biggest fucking failure he's ever seen.

  "Get the fuck off my field, Collins. You're suspended."

  I let out a whoosh of air, all that tension in my body dropping away, leaving me weak. Nate tries to keep me on my feet, and I know everybody's looking at us and drawing their own conclusions about what we are to each other, but all I can think about is how the hell I’m going to explain a Juco suspension to my dad.

  18

  Nate

  Meeting Owen's Heisman-winning dad was always going to be awkward, but meeting him a few days after Owen was suspended for the rest of the season was going to be something else.

  Owen drives us up to Jacksonville, blasting music and not really saying much of anything despite me trying to get him to talk. Yesterday was fucking surreal, and he hasn't wanted to talk about it yet. Honestly, I'm not sure I'm totally ready to talk about it, either, but not for the same reasons as him.

  Owen's probably worried about how much that little stunt outed him and exposed us, but I'm trying to keep my heart from making more of it than it is. He got pissed because some dude was being a dick to me. So what? He's got a temper; I've seen that firsthand. Not like him punching some asshole was a proposal of marriage.

  That's why I eventually just let him stay inside his own head, even when we have another hour and two major highways left between us and Jacksonville. He's nervous, I'm freaking out, and we don't need to go down that road right now.

  I should probably spend this time thinking about what I want to say and how I want to represent myself to Tom Collins. Normally, it wouldn't matter. I don't give a shit that he was a superstar in his golden years. He's just a guy now; a guy who makes bank flipping houses because people in Gainesville recognize his name and his face.