by Liz Crowe
Parker’s face reddened at the mention of the marketing department. He and Ashley had been a known couple for a while and his little one-off with her a month ago still bugged him, ashamed he’d used her. Being the tight knit little family they were, rumors drifted back to him that she’d been seeing someone else, some higher up with the casino funding them. He also knew she’d gotten promoted and now lead the public relations department. A thankless job considering how “public” the team had been about pretty much everything.
There had been pregnant girlfriends, one shot gun wedding, a few divorces, some DUIs, bar brawls, and of course, Nicolas Garza, the official gay player. Now Parker had to decide what to do. Every molecule of his being screamed at him to go back to Nicco, to hold and kiss, to soothe and laugh and play soccer and…he looked down to find Rafe’s son reaching two chubby arms at him.
Rafe laughed. “This is the most social kid on the planet. Loves to be held and charm family, friends, and strangers alike. Go ahead.” He held the boy out to Parker.
Parker hesitated a half second, then took the warm bundle of slightly milky-smelling child in his arms. “Da! Da!” he bopped Parker on the head with a toy he’d been clutching, then laughed so hard when Parker pretended to be hurt. “Ba! Ba!” he pointed to the ball on the floor.
Parker picked it up and handed it to him, loving the way the kid’s arms and legs kept moving. He gripped the ball screeching “Ba! Ba! Ba!” the whole time. He couldn’t resist taking a sniff of the boy’s soft, black hair. He looked up at Rafe.
“I’ll talk to him. We’ll…figure something out.”
Rafe took the boy back who immediately started crying and reaching back for Parker. “Hmm….” his coach said. “If you ever wanna babysit, let me know.”
Parker laughed, his heart light for the first time since he’d lain on the beach in the South of France with Nicco. Their five-day silence had stretched to weeks, then months. Months of sleepless nights, written and deleted emails. Finally, he made the decision to leave the team and run away from Nicco as far as he could get. Especially after discovering the mysterious Josh, who must be some kind of online boyfriend and who enjoyed a much more emotionally intimate relationship with his man.
Parker squared his shoulders as he walked down the hall of towards the locker room. He may not have a hair-trigger temper like so many athletes, but he didn’t shy away from confrontation. Why had he not reached out, called, made an effort to get Nicco to open up to him like he did with Josh? Because if he did what he wanted to do right now—go to Nicco and be with him without lying about it to anyone—he would also be out, a gay man, a gay professional soccer player.
Finally acknowledging something about himself that may very well kill his parents, could ruin his longed for career, no longer felt quite so terrifying. Because something about holding Rafe’s happy little boy made him resolved and ready to confront Nicco once and for all.
If a confrontation ended things, so be it. At least he would not have run away without having the final conversation and regretting that the rest of his life.
Chapter Eighteen
Parker changed into a pair of shorts and shirt, grabbed his worn cleats from the bottom of his locker, and ran out onto the field. His head spun and his gut churned. He needed a physical outlet before having the promised discussion with Nicco.
He stopped at the top of the entrance ramp, noting another figure on the field kicking balls into the back of the far goal, over and over and over. The guy had about twenty balls lined up and went at them with no break, hauling off and planting each and every one of them into the net. Parker smiled, noting the familiar elbow bend just before he made contact and the particular set of the man’s hips as he prepared his strike.
He’d been after Nicco about it, threatening to tie his arms to his sides to force him to stop his reflexive elbow motion. It provided a dead giveaway to a long, hard kick. Nicco had scoffed and told him not to be ridiculous. Besides, training it out of him would be like training him never to sneeze or to stop blinking.
Figuring the soccer pitch as good a place as any to make up, he ran out onto the field, right in front of Nicco and made off with the ball he had in his sights next, using the elbow as the perfect indication of the right moment to attack.
“Hey!” the Spaniard called. Then when Parker turned, still maneuvering the ball away toward the other goal, he frowned and crossed his arms. “You sure you want to do this, youngster?”
Parker held up his arms in a gesture of “why not?”
The game commenced.
The men matched up physically. Slightly taller, with surprising strength in his lean, wiry body, Nicco held an experience advantage. Parker’s more compact frame could be deceiving. His stamina and cardiovascular fitness had no equal. He could run for hours and hours and not tire, so when it came to it, he wore Nicco down after about fifty minutes of nonstop one-on-one. Parker loved it, the pure physicality of his game. He knew Nicco did too.
Finally, they’d played to a three-three draw and agreed to a “golden goal”—whoever scored next, won. They squared off at midfield. Nicco took possession and Parker let him, content to chase and pounce when he’d project his next move with his funny elbow thing. He stepped around him, both men moving at full speed, breathing heavy and sweating buckets.
Planting his foot in a way that would earn him a yellow card in an actual game, he lowered his shoulder into Nicco’s chest and sent the other man tumbling head over heels to the turf. During which time Parker trotted downfield and gave the ball a little tap into the net. He turned, and saw Nicco still seated, head drooping between his bent knees.
Rushing back he crouched down, hands on Nicco’s shoulders, terror and shame at his blatant trip making him breathless. “Oh God, are you okay? I’m sorry, Nicco.”
The man looked up, dark hair soaked, arms and legs gleaming with sweat. His chest heaved as he tried to catch a breath.
Parker sat back on his ass, facing him. “Who is Josh?” he demanded, glaring at the man who had shown him what it felt like to be truly satisfied.
Nicco did a double-take, blinked, and swallowed.
“Nicolas. Who is Josh?”
“He’s…how do you know about him?” The other man’s dark eyes narrowed.
“You left your email signed in on my laptop. I hadn’t paid any attention to it until a couple of days ago. You guys have quite the conversation going.”
Parker forced himself not to crawl the short distance between them and beg Nicco to come back into his life. He would not be sharing him, however. He required some answers. “Who is he?” he ground out, keeping his hands to himself with concerted effort.
“He’s…um…I mean, it’s…complicated.”
“Goddamn it, Nicco.” Parker gave up, grabbing Nicco’s arm, loving the hard muscle tensed under his palm.
Nicco yanked himself away. “He is my psychologist.”
Parker felt gut-punched. “Your….”
“Yeah, Parker. My shrink. The guy who keeps me from going bat shit over the fact that I’m…that I…oh hell.” He got to his feet, rolled his shoulders and touched his chest where Parker had shouldered him. “Nice one. Should leave a good bruise.” A beat of silence filled the space between them. “When were you going to tell me you wanted to leave the team?”
Parker got to his feet slowly, keeping his eyes on Nicco’s. “I didn’t know you were seeing a psychologist. Is it the,” he felt his face redden, “the sex thing?”
Nicco jerked his chin up, his eyes darkening ominously. “Yes. It is. I have a problem. A serious problem and you do not need to be a part of it. Okay? So, are you going to answer my question or what?”
“What if I want to be? Part of it, part of you, I mean.” Parker’s heart hurt, his lips burned to kiss and soothe the distraught man standing so close to him. “And I wanted to leave the team because I thought you…didn’t…care about me. I guess. And I just couldn’t be here, playing with you if you…stoppe
d…caring.” He blushed and looked up at the ceiling of the massive arena. Just say the word, Parker. He looked back into Nicco’s eyes and let the words tumble out. “I love you. And you stopped loving me, if you ever did. So…I needed to go.”
Nicco narrowed his eyes, flashing Parker the sort of glare that shot directly to his libido. “I love you too, Parker.” He kept his distance, confusing Parker with body language more about “get the fuck away from me” than the words he had actually spoken. “But now I’m afraid you have your own set of problems.” Nicco stepped back, putting even more distance between them.
Parker stared at him, the perfect V shape of his torso, the way the sweat-soaked shirt clung to his body. “Um, huh?” he tried to focus and figure out how to fix this.
“Ashley called me yesterday.”
“Ashley,” Parker repeated, not understanding.
“Yeah. She’s pregnant. And it’s not the casino boyfriend’s kid. It’s yours.”
Parker got the sucker-punched sensation again, and this time he dropped back to his ass on the turf, head pounding. Nicco crouched in front of him, brushed a strand of sweaty hair off his forehead.
Parker gripped his wrist, yanked him close, their lips inches apart. “I want to be with you,” he whispered, running a shaking hand across Nicco’s rough jaw. “Ashley means nothing to me. I love you…I—”
“I know that,” Nicco interrupted, softening his tone. “She told me what happened. However, the fact remains, you knocked the girl up. Therefore you now have a certain level of responsibility that may not…play well if we…I mean.” He rose, staring down at Parker whose legs were so wobbly he didn’t even try to get back up.
Nicco held out a hand and tugged Parker to his feet. They stood close enough to kiss, merely staring at each other. “I’ve thought a lot about this, Parker,” Nicco said softly. “And I don’t think it will work. Not that I don’t love you. I do love you. A lot. But you can’t afford to be entangled with me, with this whole gays in sports thing. You are gonna have a kid. You have to be something…else. It won’t be fair to you, or your…child.” Nicco looked away.
Parker started walking away, his vision blurry with anxiety. He turned when he was halfway across the field and yelled at the top of his lungs. “I love you, Nicolas Garza. I don’t give a fuck who knows about it.” He pointed, his hand still shaking. “If you want to cop out, freak out and push me away, I want you to know right now it’s your fault we won’t be happy. I will tell the whole goddamned world how I feel about you. I don’t care. I’m sick of your excuses.”
Nicco started toward him, his lips settled in a tight line. Parker kept walking backward, willing Nicco to keep coming, to follow him out. When his back hit the wall of the entrance ramp leading from the pitch down to the locker rooms, they were in near complete darkness. Parker reached out, found Nicco’s hand, and tugged him close. “Don’t do this to us,” he whispered before slanting his lips over Nicco’s, groaning with relief at having the man back in his arms. “Don’t.”
Epilogue
Three Years Later
Nicco smiled as he turned the corner from the kitchen into the large sunny family room. He held a backpack and a small soccer ball. Ross’ mother had just sent him a text to say she’d be about ten minutes late but couldn’t come in and could they send the boy out to her. His heart jumped into his throat at the sight of the child sitting in Parker’s lap, a book open in front of them.
Parker had his chin resting on Ross’s dark blond head, letting the boy turn the pages. Of all the things Nicco ever imagined himself doing, co-parenting a boisterous, energetic and scary-smart son with his lover had not been one of them. But he wouldn’t trade the last few years for all the money in the world. He leaned in the doorway, watching. Then when his phone dinged with a text he remembered what he’d told Ashley.
“Hey, kid, your mom’s here. She’s in a hurry. Here’s your stuff.”
Ross looked up and beamed at Nicco. When the boy leapt off Parker’s lap and made a bee line for him, Nicco knelt, taking the warm little body in his arms, and held him close. “Uncle Nicco, I don’t wanna go.”
“Sure you do. Your mom needs you and so does Anthony,” he named Ashley’s accommodating, wealthy, casino-boss husband. “And I hear your baby sister misses you so…off you go!”
Ross held him in a death grip, his arms strong for a toddler. Nicco stretched out his other arm and enfolded Parker in the group embrace. Finally Ross lifted his face from Nicco’s shoulder, his impish grin back in place.
“Love you, Uncle Nicco. Love you, Daddy,” he said, wiggling down to the floor and grabbing his stuff. “See you tomorrow night? At the game?”
“Yep,” Parker crouched down and gripped his son’s hand. “I love you too. Be good for your mom and Anthony and give baby Ellie a kiss for me.”
The two men stood at the door, waved to Ashley, and watched Ross clamber up into his car seat. She blew them kisses after fastening him in and sped away in her obnoxiously expensive SUV. Parker sighed and leaned into Nicco a moment. “I miss him already.”
“Me too.” Nicco kissed Parker’s hair, then tugged him back inside. “I have an idea for some activity that could distract us, however.”
Later, after a long run, then dinner, Parker lay on the leather couch, watching an English Premier league match. Nicco brought in a couple of cold bottles of beer. Accepting one, he moved his feet to make room on the couch, reflecting on the tumultuous last few years with a smile. The two men had become an acknowledged, accepted couple. They led a few low-key fundraisers for gay rights in the workplace and, of course, for same-sex marriage. It killed Parker that if anything happened to him and he was incapacitated, the damn owner of his team had more say over him than did his partner of the last three years.
After three winning seasons no one would argue with the Black Jacks’ success. The leadership remained solid. Metin and Rafe had settled into their roles as co-coaches. A new goalie had been signed for the coming season. They had a new legal department able to ride herd on the crazy shit the promotions people concocted. The stupid blog the marketing geniuses has set up had been shut down after getting several players in trouble as fans took it as a challenge to catch a “BJ” out misbehaving and posting it up on the site as quickly as possible. Nicco had lain low, remaining completely out of the limelight except for his abilities on the field, which proved just as amazing the subsequent seasons as the first.
And Parker loved him. Was truly, madly, head over heels with the man. Not that they did not have their differences of opinion. They were prone to knock-down drag-outs, leaching onto the field at times, just like any other couple that worked together, he supposed. He plopped his bare feet onto Nicco’s lap and sipped his beer. Nicco changed the station to some random violent movie, leaving Parker content to drift and observe his lover’s profile as he got sucked into the killing and bloodshed on the screen.
At one point, as if sensing Parker’s gaze on him, Nicco glanced over, his face lighting up with a smile that made Parker’s heart pound. He had continued his therapy and fully owned up to his past addictive tendencies. He fought the demons still, but Parker kept him focused, and having a baby, then a toddler around half the time kept them both near exhaustion.
Being a parent had made Parker feel complete. He adored his son and truly appreciated the boy’s mother, who had so readily agreed to let him be a huge part of Ross’s life.
The hand Nicco had resting on Parker’s leg moved up, under the towel Parker wore after his shower. “Mmmm….” Parker sighed and slid down, shivering as his lover grasped the hard-on he’d been sporting since Nicco had come into the room. “Whatcha gonna do with it?”
Nicco shrugged, feigning boredom as he kept his gaze on the large screen, but his hand moving against Parker’s flesh. “I’ll think of something,” he muttered.
Parker sat up, turned Nicco’s dark face to his. “I love you,” he said, threading his fingers in the man’s silky black hair.<
br />
“I always knew you were insane.” Nicco smiled. “Now lay back. I just figured out what I want to do with this,” He yanked Parker’s towel off and crouched between his legs.
“Yeah, baby,” Parker groaned and fisted his fingers in Nicco’s hair, fucking his mouth until he came in an explosion of erotic energy, groans, and sighs.
Nicco got up to his knees, wiping his mouth, his eyes dark and sparkling. “Flip over, lover boy. I need to fuck you.” The low, sexy growl of his voice made Parker’s entire body zing with anticipation. He grabbed a tube of lube from the coffee table drawer, handed it over, and dropped his towel, presenting his ass to the other man’s gaze.
Parker gripped the couch arm, groaning in pain and pleasure.
“God! Yes!” Nicco cried out, pounding into him, gripping his hips, then draping over his back. Sweat slicked their skin. Nicco nipped at his shoulder, making Parker yelp and squirm, then sigh when Nicco pulled out of him. He grabbed the towel and sat.
“I love you, Parker,” Nicco said simply, as he dropped down to one knee on the floor. Parker looked at his outstretched palm. It held two heavy silver rings. “I want to be with you forever. Please.”
Parker took one, and slid it onto Nicco’s left ring finger then let his lover do the same for him. “This is gonna cause another shitstorm, you know,” he said as he pulled Nicco into his arms.
“I don’t care,” Nicco declared before dropping into sleep, leaving Parker to run his fingers through his hair, contemplating how much of a mess it would cause and how they’d weather it together.
The End
Read an excerpt from Red Card: Black Jack Gentlemen (Book 2)
Metin studied the attractive woman sitting across from him at the huge kitchen island. Musing that she probably would just as soon pour him a lovely glass of cyanide as sit and drink red wine with him, he smiled, trying not to overreact to her unsubtle hostility.
