by Liz Crowe
Nicco frowned as his brain processed the collection of images there into something he tried to understand. He, Nicco, seemed to be a fairly serious-looking clench with a woman, one of the many from these past weeks. Forgettable as they all were, as they always were.
He sought something. He’d found it once with Leandro. And then at the resort he’d found it again. But his love had rejected him. With good reason since Nicco had spent their entire vacation not-so-subtly forcing him away.
He knew damn good and well what Parker required from him—his heart. Nicco didn’t think he could give it. “Well, it’s not his business anymore, I guess. He’s the one who wanted ‘space to think.’” Nicco hooked his fingers around the words, rolling his eyes. His heart pounded and his mouth stayed bone dry.
“You need to talk to him. Take the initiative. Call him. Sitting around waiting for him to call you is making you fall back into bad habits. After all the progress we’ve made, it seems pretty damn counter-productive.” He glared at Nicco, his eyes dark and intense. “What do you want, Nicolas, really? Have you ever once answered that question in your own mind? Because I am pretty sure it is not random hookups.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be supportive of me, young Josh? Not bossy?” Nicco looked away. “I mean I’m no expert in this head-shrinkage thing but…”
“I’m supposed to be the one you can turn to when you need to talk. But I am allowed to ask questions. What do you want, Nicco?”
Nicco jumped up, shoving his seat back. “I don’t fucking know, don’t you get it?” He leaned over Josh’s desk. The kid just sat there, implacable, and annoyingly calm.
“I think you do. If the conversations we had while you were on vacation were any indication.”
Nicco made an exasperated noise and stomped out. He’d left a lot of sessions like this, he mused, as he made his way down to the locker room. He needed to run, to kick, to bash into people. He was practically crawling out of his skin. Leaning his head against the wooden door of his locker he let himself have it—the longing, the raw, true emotion he’d been fighting for months now.
“Call him,” Josh’s voice floated through his brain. “Take the initiative.”
He stared at his phone for a full minute. Then tossed it back into the locker. He pulled on shorts, shirt, socks, and cleats and grabbed a bag of balls from the equipment room. Action, movement, physicality, that was what he required right fucking now.
Chapter Seventeen
Parker sat across from his coaches, his pulse racing. He’d called this meeting to warn them he wanted a transfer, for personal reasons. The sight of them made him pause. They represented something he truly didn’t want to leave behind. It made him even more furious with Nicco for putting him in this position. He closed his eyes against the onrush of sensation—the ugly chest-crushing jealousy taking up residence once more.
It wasn’t just the photos on the blogs. That he could almost understand—Nicco acting out, as usual; Nicco regressing after their few months of blissful calm. Parker requested the break after all. He had actually gone out on a date himself, with the lovely and accommodating Ashley just a few weeks into the “break.” A flush crept up Parker’s neck at the memory of the night.
“Shh…,” she’d soothed when he broke down after she’d asked for the millionth time why he seemed unhappy. “It will be okay.”
Parker had clutched at her. Grasping at anything that might help him forget. Before he knew it their lips had met. He’d ripped at her clothes, breathing ragged, words neither of them heard escaping their lips. And then the wonderful, soft depths of a woman’s body welcomed him. They cried out together, climaxing simultaneously at the exact instant Parker acknowledged he hadn’t bothered with a condom.
The next morning she’d left with a soft kiss and even softer words as she sat next to him, hand to his morning rough face. “I loved you, Parker. But I know I’m not what you want. Go to him. Just get over your damn self and go.”
Just a couple of days ago he’d discovered the final piece of the puzzle. He’d opened up his web-based email for the first time since returning from the vacation and stared at it, confused. Until he recalled he’d let Nicco use his computer and he’d stayed signed in to his email account.
Parker closed his eyes a split second, prepared to sign out and leave well enough alone. Nothing good ever came from reading someone else’s email. When he opened them, he reached out and started scrolling through Nicco’s messages.
Not much in the way of incriminating really. Some communication from agents who wanted to represent him. Black Jack daily updates they all got. The email from La Luna made his face flush.
Then he stared at what appeared to be a long chain of communication from someone named Josh. Heart pounding, he read them all, none of them overtly sexual, but Nicco obviously had some sort of relationship with the guy between the “when will I see you again’s?” and “thanks for calling, I needed that’s” that had been exchanged even while Nicco had been with him on vacation.
He signed out of the incriminating email, opened his own and in quick succession told his agent he wanted to make a change, the sooner the better. Then sent messages to his coaches, requesting a meeting as soon as possible.
He’d made a decision in his typical all-or-nothing way, he supposed. But he wanted to give the coaching staff a heads-up before he made it official. Both men had agreed to meet with him on a Saturday morning, just a few days before the player transfer window closed.
Both Metin and Rafe had shown up with their kids. Parker stood, hands stuffed into his pockets, nervous beyond belief. He’d had no brothers or sisters but liked little kids. Enjoyed doing the fan day stuff, kicking balls around with them. The time on the beach with Nicco, when the kids had accosted them into a game he would never forget.
Rafe’s son sat in a cage-like thing with soft walls, messing around with random toys. Metin’s baby daughter slept in a stroller, swaddled in pink. Both men seemed so happy, content with their lives. It made Parker jealous but he gulped it back.
“So I need to find a new situation,” he began, not even sure he was supposed to be having this conversation outside the hearing of his newly signed agent.
“Sorry to hear this,” Metin leaned back in his chair, one hand on the sleeping infant.
“Can I ask why?” Rafe came around the desk to pick up some of the toys his boy had heaved out of the playpen.
“Personal reasons,” he mumbled, looking down.
“Funny, we just had this same conversation with Nicco Garza yesterday. Can I assume we get keep one of you?”
Parker glared at Rafe. “I…I didn’t know he was going to…I mean….”
“Listen, Parker, you know we support Nicco. And you should know we would support…you as well.”
“It’s not like that.” Parker looked away, frustrated fury clouding his vision. He stood up, fists clenched. Rafe’s little boy chose the moment to holler, giggle, and heave a mini-sized soccer ball a surprising distance from his play base of operations. Parker looked down at the kid and some of his tension eased.
He knelt, picked up the ball, and handed it back to him. “Training a goalie there, coach?” he asked, keeping his gaze pinned on the boy who gripped the soft edge of the playpen with one hand while reaching for Parker with the other.
“Something like that,” Rafe said.
Metin cleared his throat, drawing Parker’s attention back to the adults in the room. “Talk to him before you make this decision, Parker. I really think you owe it to him, to you both. While I may not understand you, it does not mean I want to break up a perfectly good team over it. Well, at least not any more than it’s been broken up over it.”
Parker stared at the two men, both tall, fit, former top players in their day but for various reasons unable to take their careers as far as they wanted. The Black Jacks had thrived under their leadership. Parker had learned so much from them both. His pulse raced at the realization of how much he w
anted to stay. “You guys have been great. I mean, you know, about Nicco.” His face flushed.
“Well, trust me, it’s not been easy. But I will tell you after an initial flurry of cancelled season tickets, I’m told sales are up, beating expectations, thanks to Nicco’s willingness to be the media darling, or whipping boy, whichever side you believe.” Metin shrugged then smiled at his daughter who had started making baby noises. “There was a time in my life when I would never have accepted playing with a known homosexual on my team. But I used to be a young, foolish guy. I want him on the Black Jacks. I don’t care how he takes his jollies.” Metin leveled a serious stare at Parker. “I want you on the Black Jacks too though, Rollings. So I suggest you and Nicco get past this … whatever it is you’re going through and come to some sort of resolution.”
Rafe picked up his boy who’d started to shake the sides of his confined space and whine. “We’ve all seen the hater bullshit. The name-calling, the conservative talk show nonsense. I think we’re past the worst of it, although if you guys…ah….” He gestured to Parker, then frowned. “If you guys decide you are a couple, which I understand is possibly the case, please let us know. We have to make sure the marketing folks don’t try to make hay with it any further. I don’t want any more media attention. And you men deserve your privacy. Thank God the new legal department agrees with me.”
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 non-stop 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, ke
eping 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…stopped…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.
