by Eden Finley
Chapter Twenty-Two
Noah
He’s nothing more than my ticket back into the NFL.
I pretend I didn’t overhear their conversation and tell myself to ignore what Matt said. He’s putting up a front for his brother.
Still doesn’t take away the sucker punch to the gut every time I hear those same words in my head over and over, because let’s face it, I’ve never been good at following anyone else’s instructions so I sure as fuck won’t listen to myself.
I hear the words when I sit on the couch next to him and he claims to be thirsty and disappears into the kitchen. I hear them when I join him in the shower after his workout and he claims to be finished and leaves me in there by myself. I hear them when he says he’s too tired and stressed about the move for sex.
In the three days since I overheard that conversation, Matt’s done nothing but pull away from me.
We still share a bed at night, but he’s checked out. He’s not really here.
He finds any excuse to leave a room when I walk into it. He’s hungry and he needs to take a leak are his favorites. To need to pee so much, he must be drinking six gallons of water.
He’s also pulling longer training sessions in the basement. Jet notices it too and shakes his head every time it happens.
Deep down, I get it. I understand. But damn, if it doesn’t hurt.
He’s doing the exact thing I asked him to do when we started this. To keep it simple.
Yet, when I wake up to a cold bed, I miss his warmth and his stupid thick arms that like to cling to me when we sleep.
I roll over and look at the time on my screen. The bright light blinds me in the dark hour of four a.m.
For a crushing moment, I think he’s gone—that he’s snuck out in the middle of the night and isn’t coming back, but once my eyes adjust, I know that’s not true. His clothes are still strewn around my room, and his phone is plugged into the charger on his bedside table.
I amble out of bed and find a pair of sweats. There’s only one place he could be, and it’s too damn early to be working out.
As suspected, I find him in the basement. He sits on the bench in the middle of the room, all sweaty and panting while he chugs a bottle of water. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I lean against the doorway with my arms folded. When he’s done with his drink, he hangs his head in his hands.
“Isn’t it too middle of the night for a work out?” I ask.
Matt startles at my voice and raises his head. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“I know the feeling.”
We stare each other down, neither one of us willing to talk or tell each other what we’re thinking. I don’t know if I want to know what he’s thinking. I sure as fuck don’t want to ask him the real reason he’s down here at stupid o’clock.
With an outstretched hand, Matt beckons me over to him. “Come here.”
His serious tone makes me do it without hesitation, but as I get close, he reaches for me and brings me down on top of him so I’m straddling him on the narrow bench.
My hand tangles in his sweaty hair, and his perspiration covers my bare chest. Some would find that gross, but a hot, sweaty Matt is what I’ve come to live for since meeting him.
Despite our wobbly balance, Matt takes my mouth with punishing force. He teases me with his tongue and nips at my bottom lip.
All this guy has to do is kiss me and I’m as hard as granite. I try to grind against him, but on this ridiculously small space, it’s impossible without toppling over.
“Fuck this,” Matt says and pushes me to the floor.
I land on my back with a thud, and then he’s right there, blanketing my body with his.
“I need you.” His lips trail my cheek, my jaw, down my neck.
“Have me,” I rasp.
He backs off for a split second to stare up at me. “There’s no time to fuck. I need fast, and I need it right now.”
Maybe I’m telepathic, because I swear I hear the “before I change my mind” on the end of that sentence.
There’s no finesse in the way we lose our clothes or in the way he flips ’round so we’re on our sides and he can wrap his lips around my cock, while his is right there for me to take.
Unlike him, I’m not in the mood for fast and dirty, even though my hips have other ideas. They buck and squirm as Matt takes me to the back of his mouth, and his hand squeezes my ass cheek to keep me from being able to retreat. Not that I could right now anyway.
I use my hand to jack him, while my tongue teases his balls. There’s a reason I usually don’t like this position. I like to focus on giving everything to my partner, but I can’t when he’s determined to get me off as fast as possible. I can’t concentrate with the familiar tightening of my balls and warmth rushing through me, continuously building and building to the point I can’t even think, let alone remember how to suck a dick.
Matt moans around my cock, and it sounds like he’s trying to say Noah. It brings me back from the ledge and snaps me out of my selfish focus. Before I get to work, I cover my finger in saliva and reach around to Matt’s ass.
He practically whimpers when I take him into my mouth and breach his hole at the same time.
The whole thing becomes sloppy on both sides. We’re unable to focus but can’t stop. We mindlessly fuck each other’s mouths and lose ourselves until I don’t even know which one of us comes first.
The orgasm hits hard but lasts so long I lose the ability to swallow. The rest of Matt’s release lands on my neck and chest, but Matt takes all of me until I forcibly have to remove my cock from his mouth.
Catching my breath takes longer than usual, and by the time I snap back to reality, I’m cold and covered in Matt’s cum, sweat, and saliva. Definitely something worth waking up at four a.m. for. But something’s wrong. Matt’s no longer touching me, and when I sit up, he has his arm over his eyes, refusing to look at me.
“Matt …” I reach for his towel beside me and wipe myself down before I climb on top of him.
He doesn’t remove his arm from his eyes. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“I … I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers. He grabs me around my waist and moves me off him and then sits up so we’re side by side. “I’m sorry. You told me not to fall for you, and I promised I wouldn’t, but if we keep going like this, there’s no way I’m going to be able to walk away from you.”
My throat constricts.
“I don’t want to put you in the same position you were in with Aron, so I’m bowing out now. I’m already too far gone, and I’m sorry I broke my promise. Football is my life, but when I’m with you, it’s insignificant. It’s a silly game I get a lot of money to play. If you’d let me, I’d give it all up, but I know it’s not what you want.” He pauses and waits for a reaction I can’t bring myself to give. “Please let me off the hook. Let me go now before it gets worse.”
Let him go before you can hurt him more.
“I’m sorry” is all I manage to say.
“You don’t need to be sorry. You did nothing wrong here. I did.”
We both did. This is so much more than I’ve ever had—than I’ve ever wanted.
“I’m gonna head back to PA today, clean up some loose ends, and then go to Chicago early before I need to report to Milwaukee. I found a place yesterday, and it’s available now.”
“Yesterday,” I murmur. “You decided yesterday you were leaving.” I grit my teeth, my jaw hardening. “So that’s what this was? A goodbye?”
“I didn’t … I shouldn’t have … I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.”
When he gets off the floor and stands, he holds out his hand to help me up. I move in a stupor and can’t seem to be able to do anything for myself. Matt throws me my sweats, while he slips on his gym shorts, but I remain frozen, staring at a room I barely use as it is. Now it’ll always remind me of the time the guy I loved begged me not to hurt him. Again, I find myself on the edge of asking
him to stay—to choose me. All I have to do is say the words, and he’ll do it.
But I can’t do it to him. He’ll end up resenting me or leaving me. Probably both.
I won’t do that to him.
The thought of moving to Chicago’s been niggling at me, but the last time I gave up everything for a guy, he left me anyway. It’d only be a matter of time before Matt did the same thing.
I won’t do that to me again.
Matt is football. Asking him to give it up would be like asking him to breathe without oxygen. I thought he didn’t know what he truly wanted because he was forced into football, but part of me now knows that was the beginning of me falling for him. It was wishful thinking that he’d give it up willingly and choose me instead. Now that it’s a possibility, I don’t have it in me to ask him to do it, just like I don’t expect him to ask me to give up my life here.
And I hate that I can’t let myself do it—that I’m letting a past relationship from when I was a fucking kid get to me so much that I can’t see myself having a future with anyone, let alone the only guy I’ve ever truly wanted in years.
I want to go back to before I ever met Matt, because back then I had nothing, and I loved it. I did whatever I wanted when I wanted, and I didn’t give a shit about anything. I want to go back to before I knew what love is because I was blissfully unaware of how unhappy I was.
Now, losing the guy who made me feel again, that familiar numbness and entitled asshole mask I’ve always worn before him slips back into place.
This is the end, so I do what Noah does best. I let Matt go and pretend I’m not dying on the inside.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Matt
Talon: First night in town. Drinks?
I groan. That’s the last thing I want. My new apartment may have a decent view of Chicago outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, but it’s full of boxes. I’ve literally just arrived, so I have to psych myself up to face a brand-new team, the upcoming press conferences, and then training camp. Not to mention I’m completely heartbroken. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but the last few days have been hell. Jet came back to PA with me to finish packing all my shit in the now empty loft that’s in escrow. It gutted me that when I left to drive across the country, my brother went back to New York—where my heart still is.
Matt: Not tonight.
The knock at the door comes immediately and confuses me. I stare down at my phone and then at the door. It better not be—
“I know you’re in there,” Talon calls out. “And we’re not leaving until you let us in.”
Us?
I swing the door open, and Talon pushes his way in with a huge smile on his face. Shane Miller, offensive tackle for the Warriors, follows him. The giant takes up the entire foyer. People think I’m intimidating, but Miller is mythical creature-like huge. Six foot five, at least. Muscles the size of Tennessee.
He claps me on the shoulder, and even that hurts. “Welcome to the fold, Jackson.”
“How did you guys know where I live?”
“Called your agent,” Talon says.
“And he gave it to you? That doesn’t sound like something Damon would do.”
“Nope. Refused to. Client confidentiality plus needing to prove I’m me and all that. Then his boyfriend grabbed the phone and gave it to me. Had me answer some bullshit question to prove I was me. Any football fan would know my stats, but hey, not gonna complain.”
Fucking Maddox.
“Well, you two are welcome to help me unpack, but I’m not going out.”
Miller laughs. “Ooh, new kid doesn’t know the game yet, does he?”
“Game?” I ask.
“It’s not so much of a game but more of a lifestyle,” Miller says. “Always do what Talon says.”
“That doesn’t sound like a fun game. Or lifestyle,” I say.
“I’m thinking of turning it into a franchise opportunity,” Talon says. “Come on. One drink with your new teammates. I read that article. The one that said your last team thought you weren’t a team player. So, time to right wrongs or whatever.”
“W-who … who else will be there?” I hate my voice cracks.
Talon’s brow furrows. “A few guys from the team. It’s not like the whole ninety-man roster will be there.”
A knowing smile crosses Miller’s face. “Ah. I think someone’s worried how the team’s going to react to bringing the gay guy along. Am I right?” There’s no malice in his words, only fact, and he’s hit the nail on the head.
“Want to know what happened when I was outed with my old team? One of the captains turned up on my doorstep, and I thought he was there to support me for some reason I can’t even comprehend now. Instead, he verbally abused me and tried to take a swing.”
“What the fuck?” Talon asks.
I nod because that was pretty much my reaction when it happened.
“What did he say?” Miller asks.
“The same old homophobic shit. That I was no doubt perving on the entire team, blah, blah, blah. It’s his job to protect the others from guys like me, blah blah blah.”
“Did you report it?” Miller asks. “Because that’s not okay.”
“Report what? My contract was done, and he never touched me. I saw it in his face—the moment he realized what he was doing. The end of his career flashed before his eyes, so he backed off before any punches were thrown, but I knew he wanted to. And I’m not stupid enough to think I won’t get more of that.”
Miller and Talon share an undecipherable glance. “You know the team better than either of us,” Talon says to him. “Who do we have to watch out for?”
Miller shrugs. “It’s not like we run into a parade of gay guys whenever we’re out, and I haven’t seen any of the team since Jackson’s news leaked. I doubt any of them will make noise. At least, not at training. No one wants to get cut for running their mouth.”
“So, I just have to wait until the season starts. Great,” I say.
“Maybe going out tonight is an even better idea than I originally thought,” Talon says. “We can scope out if there’s going to be any issues before preseason starts and the media breathes down our necks.”
He has a point. This could be used as a warm-up for what I’m going to face in a few weeks, and it’ll be without anyone watching over us—the media or team management. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Okay, I’m out,” I say as we arrive at Intelligence near Grant Park. Talon and Miller ignore me.
The name of this place matches the uppity vibe coming from the bar. This isn’t the type of nightclub I’m used to, but that’s a good thing. This place has a dress code, for one. Always have to be wearing a shirt. Never seen that rule before.
There’s no flashing lights or deafening EDM either. The mood lighting is dim, and the one bar has a bright blue LED light illuminating it from underneath. It’s upscale and less tacky than my old hangouts.
It doesn’t take long to find the rest of the team. Football players are rowdy at the best of times. Give them alcohol and all you have to do is follow the manly grunts and shouting.
The closer we get to the VIP area that’s filled with muscular bodies surrounded by scantily-clad women trying to get close to the players, the harder my heart pounds.
Security guards send the girls away, but we all know it’s a futile act. They’ll be back. And while I step aside to watch them pass, a voice cuts through the club.
“Holy. Shit.”
I don’t know which one of my new teammates it belongs to, but my stomach drops. All eyes turn to the three of us as we approach the long table.
“It’s true?” Scott Bell, a linebacker I’ve come head to head with on the field many times, asks me. “You signed with us?”
I manage a nod but avoid eye contact at the same time.
The silence drags on a beat too long for being in a loud nightclub, but an echoing whoop fills the space. My eyes travel over the group and land on DeShawn Jenkins, a runni
ng back, smiling at me.
“We’re going all the way this year, boys. Jackson, drinks on the new guy.”
“Guess drinks are on Talon then,” I say.
A round of laughs and oohs breaks out.
“Besides, he earns more than all of us. He can afford it,” I add.
The ice breaks, and the guys make room for Miller and me while Talon heads to the bar but not before he flips me off on the way.
Drinks flow, and even though the conversation is easy—it’s mostly about the upcoming season and then ribbing one of the guys about getting married next week—I sit back and laugh at the right moments and pretend I’m invested. The truth is, the unease doesn’t leave me. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe that’s what my first season as an openly gay player will be. Constant waiting for the remarks. Passive-aggressiveness. Slurs. I hope to God it’s not, because sitting here right now, it’s impossible to fully relax. I can’t be this uptight on the field or I’ll fumble more than Brett Favre.
At one point, Miller leans in. “How you holding up?”
I fake a smile. “So far, so good.” Could be worse, but it only takes a few more minutes for my fears to become a reality.
“Okay,” Bell says and throws himself in the spare seat opposite us. “I’m just gonna ask it. Because everyone here knows we’re all thinking it.”
Miller stiffens beside me and goes to get out of his seat—presumably to go for Bell—but I hold him back. I want to know what kinda shit this guy is going to say first, and I won’t let Miller get into trouble for me.
“You’re dating that Huntington guy, right?” Bell asks.
Fuck, it’s even worse than I thought. I was prepared to answer questions about being gay. But Noah? It hurts to even think about him, yet we still have to pretend to be together for the public’s sake.
I take a large gulp of my beer to wet my dry mouth. “Yeah.”
