Out of Bounds

by Gray, Mackenzie

Tommy spends the next twenty minutes giving Christian pointers. As they work, I scan the field, looking for a head of dark hair, wicked speed. I spot Logan on the opposite side of the field. There’s a lot of distance between us, but I wonder if he can feel my gaze, because he turns and waves to me. I smile and wave back.

  Then it’s my turn.

  I’m king when it comes to close blocks. My long blocks aren’t half bad. They’re very good, actually. But depending on which way the ball is heading affects the likelihood that I’ll stop it. Since I’m tall, I get the high corner shots no problem. It’s the lower corner shots I struggle with—my long limbs sometimes don’t cooperate.

  As he did with Christian, Tommy starts off with long shots while my teammate watches from the side. My knees are bent, my body braced. I don’t know how to explain it, but right before his foot makes contact, it’s like my mind takes a snapshot of the picture and processes everything in less than a second: his foot placement, the angle of his hips, how far over the ball he leans, what part of his foot he uses to kick the ball. Then the trajectory starts, and it’s another second before my body has to decide which direction to leap. The ball goes right. High in the corner. A slight curve, from the way he kicked it. I’m already moving, arms reaching, flying toward it. I block it with the flat of my palms. First save. And from a pro player, no less. It might be a dream come true.

  “Nice.” He nods in approval, and I toss the ball back to him. “Great instincts. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” I nod to him, already back in the zone.

  I don’t know if it’s the post-sex high I feel from waking up next to Logan, but I stop every single shot. When he switches to close shots, I only let in one. It’s a personal best.

  Christian whistles low. “Nice, man. You’re killing it.”

  Tommy nods, seeming to contemplate something. “He is.”

  That’s when Coach Romero blows his whistle, signaling the end of our morning practice. Christian and I shake hands with Tommy, who says he’ll be in touch.

  My teammate slaps my shoulder at the end of it. “How sick was that? Getting pointers from Tommy Buchanan? I’m never going to forget this day.” He stares at his hand. “And I’m never washing this hand again.”

  I snort. “Gross, man.”

  “Serious question: Do you think people will pay money to shake my hand if I told them I shook Tommy Buchanan’s hand as well?”

  I just roll my eyes.

  With the end of our morning practice, we have time to kill until five, when our evening practice starts. Another two hours of drills, scrimmages, and sweating buckets. But I know the practice is needed. We have a game next weekend against another summer institute. It will be interesting to see how well we work as a team.

  I don’t know where Logan went to. Maybe to take a shower. I mean, I know what’s on my mind to do during our break. Banging my friend. But that’s basically all I think about these days. I’m not sure what exactly this is. Hooking up? Sure. But when we sleep in the same bed, shower together, laugh, talk to each other about our lives? I don’t know. It feels like more.

  And that’s the problem. It can’t be more. My life is fucked up enough, and I don’t want to pull Logan into that.

  Once this summer is over, it’s best to go our separate ways. Because being with me, if Logan even wants that, wouldn’t end well for anyone. He’d grow tired of my mother’s alcohol addiction. Grow tired of being with someone who can’t give him everything. I know it’s my own fear getting in the way, but some things can’t be helped.

  Since I don’t see Logan, I head to the locker rooms for a quick shower. I haven’t talked to Lydia in a while, so I call her while I’m heading back to my room. It’s evening there.

  She picks up on the third ring. “Hello, brother.”

  I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “Hey, Lydia. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “For you? I can give you ten.”

  We both laugh at that. “I just wanted to make sure your plans haven’t changed for coming to visit in a few weeks.” Lydia, who’s never visited outside the US, same as me, jumped at the chance once I told her she’d have a place to stay with Logan and I. “Is it still a go?”

  “Um.”

  Her hesitation makes my heart jerk. “Is that a good ‘um’ or a bad ‘um’?” I sincerely hope Lydia is still planning on visiting. I’ve never gone this long without seeing her, and I was looking forward to spending time with her in Paris. The last week of the academy, relatives are invited to stay, all expenses paid for.

  “I guess that’s for you to decide. I’m still coming, but is it okay if I bring a guest?”

  Her tone is off. I can’t read it. “I guess that depends on who the guest is.” I’m leery now. I’m not looking forward to housing her new boyfriend when I’ve never even met the guy.

  “Well, considering he’s one of your best friends, I’d say there’s no need to worry.”

  At this, I perk up. Rounding a corner, I pass by a fountain, a warm breeze pushing the spray into my face. The weather is too nice to be inside, so I take a detour from the dorms to wander some more around the beautiful campus. “Mitchell’s coming with you?” I haven’t seen my former roommate in six months. We talk on the phone every once in a while, but he’s been so busy with his new career—and his girlfriend, Rebecca—that his free time has been limited.

  “Not that friend. Your other best friend.” She clears her throat. “Also known as your current roommate?”

  I stop dead. “Casey’s coming with you?” I don’t know whether to be surprised or appalled. Not that Casey isn’t a good friend, but he’s the last person I would ever expect Lydia to travel with. I’m pretty sure they’re still firmly in enemy territory.

  Unless something happened while I was gone.

  I shake my head. No. If there’s anything Lydia hates more than Casey, it’s being proved wrong. She will most likely deny her attraction to my friend just for spite.

  “Well, sort of. He helped me with Mom the other day, and we got to talking. When I told him I was coming to visit, he basically invited himself along.”

  Yeah, that sounds like Casey.

  Of course Casey’s welcome here. But before I can tell Lydia that, I backtrack to something she said. “Did something happen to Mom?”

  “It wasn’t anything serious. Just another bad day. That was a few days ago. She’s feeling much better now.”

  My grip tightens on the phone in worry. Moving past one of the tidy courtyards, I circle back to the now-deserted field. It’s times like these that make me feel guilty for not being home when my family needs me. It’s not fair to Lydia to always be the one to deal with our mother, though she says she doesn’t mind. Lydia, someone who is very close to family, has no interest in leaving North Carolina, and I respect her for that.

  “Okay,” I tell her, “but if something else comes up, call me, all right?”

  “Will do, brother.”

  “I love you, Lydia.”

  “I love you too.”

  Chapter 18

  Logan

  It’s Saturday morning and the weather couldn’t be more beautiful. Cool breeze. Clear skies and sun. I’m ready to play.

  The field is empty when our team arrives. Our opponent? Our sister institute, Academy Roma. Like Academy Paris, most of the guys who were accepted to Academy Roma are already on their way to a team come fall. But for the few that don’t have the promise of a contract, this game is everyone’s chance to shine. Christian doesn’t yet have a team to call home, so I hope for his sake someone wants him.

  The guys laugh and joke around, their spirits high. Everything we’ve worked toward will now come into play in this match. It’s not a championship, but it’s competition. That’s good enough for me, and for all the guys here. It’s what we live for.

  Greg and a few others head onto the field
to stretch. Christian heads to one of the goals with some forwards. Austin sits next to me on the bench, our shoulders touching.

  “Want to practice shots?” I ask, and take a swig of my Gatorade.

  “Sure. If you think you can get one by me.” He’s casual about it, but the look he sends me from the corner of his eye is playful.

  My grin is wide enough to split my face. I love it when he’s like this: carefree and alive. “Let’s go.”

  One of my favorite things is watching Austin work the goal. His presence tugs at something in me, and for a moment, I imagine the field dark and deserted, my friend bending me over and pounding into me from behind. My body tightens in a visceral reaction. As the weeks have passed, I’ve been getting more curious about anal. We do all sorts of oral, hand jobs, even some kink thrown in there. Every time I feel the burn against my prostate I beg him to fuck me in the ass, and he always says I’m not ready. But I am ready. I’m so ready to feel him inside me. It makes me wonder if perhaps he doesn’t feel ready. Though I have no idea why that would be.

  Maybe tonight he’ll finally relent. I’ve been wearing him down slowly. The guttural groans I pull from him. The hot brand of his hands. And then, when we’re done, the security of settling in each other’s arms, silent and sated and whole. It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before, with anyone. A part of me wants to tell him that what I’ve felt these past weeks go beyond friendship, but I’m not sure Austin wants to hear that. My favorite part of the day is waking up with him. We haven’t discussed the next step. That worries me.

  “Are you going to stand there or are you going to shoot?” he calls, and I realize I’ve been staring off into space.

  “Oh, I’ll shoot,” I murmur.

  Yeah, I have a dirty mind.

  I practice my left-footed shots first. It’s not my dominant foot, but it’s always good to practice your weaknesses.

  I aim for the bottom left corner, making sure my chest leans over the ball to keep it low. I guess I’m not leaning over far enough though, because while the ball goes left, it’s at the level of Austin’s waist. He blocks it easily.

  “You were leaning too far back,” he says, tossing the ball to me. Those keen goalie eyes of his miss nothing. “Try again.”

  Positioning himself in the center of the goal, he braces for my shot. Instead, I just look at him. Sticky with sweat, blond curls pulled back by a headband, tats snaking out from the bottom of his jersey sleeve. It’s no wonder Austin gets attention wherever he goes. He’s fucking hot as hell.

  He straightens when I don’t take the shot. “What?”

  I glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone, then drop my voice so it doesn’t carry. “One of these days, I want to take you in just your jersey.” I tilt my head, my gaze slowly moving down his body. “And your socks,” I add. Because his calves look great in them.

  He darts a look over my shoulder. His face is already flushed, but I swear it reddens further. “Are you really talking about this right now?”

  “When else would I talk about it?” I grin. Austin’s shyness always gets to me. “Maybe we could play out that scenario after the game.”

  Oh, he wants that. He caves like a paper bag in the wind. “Fine, but if we’re living out your fantasy, then you’re going to have to return the favor.”

  Now my curiosity is piqued. “And what’s your fantasy?” I roll the ball beneath my cleat, the blood thrumming in my ears.

  “I don’t think that’s appropriate for anyone’s ears.” His gaze drops to my shorts, which are beginning to tent as my cock stirs with arousal. My mouth goes dry. I try to think of boring things. Paint drying. Barbie dolls. My grandmother’s meatloaf. It does the trick.

  Austin smiles, his eyes glittering with desire. I step back to take another shot when I hear laughter coming from the other side of the field, where the Academy Roma team sits. I turn, seeking the person whose voice I hear. It sounds so familiar.

  Then I spot him. The quick smile. Keen gaze. Blond hair.

  Jaden, the guy I met at the gay bar.

  My body goes cold. Holy shit. He’s a soccer player too?

  You a fan?

  “Are you going to shoot or what?” He takes in my frozen expression, my deer-in-the-headlights look. He walks over, concern on his face. “Hey. Are you all right?” He touches my back. It’s not a sexual gesture. Hell, the guys slap each other’s asses more times than not. But I flinch away from his touch, still looking at Jaden, afraid he’ll spot me on the field.

  Austin’s eyes flash with hurt before they shutter, and he drops his hand.

  Shit. I didn’t mean to do that. He just took me off guard. I’m not sure how to approach the whole Jaden situation. I mean, obviously we’re both into guys, but I didn’t think he was someone I’d ever see again, much less compete with on the field. No one knows about my sexuality at this camp besides Austin. It’s not that I’m trying to hide it. I just haven’t worked out all the details as to what I want. Call me a coward, but I don’t want to make enemies. My career hasn’t even started yet.

  “You know that guy I told you about, the one I met at the gay bar?” I say to Austin, still watching Jaden as he pulls on his cleats.

  “Yes.” His face is stoic, showing me nothing of what he’s feeling. Yet anger radiates from him. It makes my stomach turn. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced Austin’s anger toward me before.

  Then Jaden turns, and his eyes lock onto mine. Shock ripples through me. “Shit. He’s looking over here.”

  “Who?” He starts to turn when I snatch his arm, stopping him. I don’t want Jaden to know I notice him. It’s only when he turns away that I release Austin’s arm.

  “That’s him.” I jerk my chin in Jaden’s direction. “Jaden. Number three.”

  He looks at him. “Jaden.” A curt nod. “Got it.”

  As Austin begins to turn away, I grab his hand. “Whoa there.” I laugh. “What’s the deal?”

  “No deal.” He shrugs me off.

  No deal. Yeah, right.

  “You’re jealous,” I say. “About Jaden.”

  He scoffs at that. “Why would I be jealous about a guy you met at a bar?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, growing impatient. “Maybe because I was with someone else and not you?”

  The glare he gives me is cutting, and I suddenly wish I could take back what I said. “I’m going to get back to warming up.”

  Without a backward glance, Austin leaves. I let him go.

  It’s twenty minutes into the first half, and we’re up by one. Not bad, not bad. It’s obvious to me now that, over the course of the summer, my teammates have finally built something resembling a team. We know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. We trust in one another. We offer support. It’s a beautiful thing, this seamlessness.

  I jog back to mid-field, as Academy Roma is now in possession of the ball. Jaden’s presence burns at my back. He plays defense. The first time we scuffle for the ball, I don’t know what to do. An awkward look passes between us, one of knowing and confusion. The fact that both of us were at that gay bar, having left with the assumption that we wouldn’t see one another again. He hadn’t mentioned he was a soccer player. I hadn’t either. I do my best to ignore the thoughts as I focus on the game. God, this is awkward.

  One of their players throws in. Number seven. He’s big and he’s aggressive. He flattened one of our men earlier while the referee looked the other way. Our guy got a broken leg and had to be taken to the hospital. Don’t get me wrong, men’s soccer is extremely aggressive, but this guy’s in a whole other ballpark. He’s being unnecessarily dangerous. I make sure to keep an eye on him.

  For the next ten minutes, our team struggles to break through their defense. They’re like a brick wall whose pieces shift depending on where our players go. Every time I try to slip around them, they steal t
he ball back. Jaden intercepts two of my passes. I avoid his eye. My muscles scream with exertion. It means my body’s working hard. You can’t make progress without pain.

  Shit. They steal back the ball again. At this rate, we won’t be getting another goal.

  We stream back to our side of the field, the forwards trailing. I make sure I’m in front of their defensemen so the ref doesn’t call offsides. Austin gears up to make a save. I blow out a relieved breath when he stops the shot. He kicks the ball to mid-field, and I watch it fall toward me.

  In my peripheral vision, I notice a guy sprinting toward me, and he’s not stopping. He’s big. Twice my size.

  “Logan!” A shout. That’s Austin’s voice.

  I’m slammed from the side with the force of a truck, my neck snapping backward with a sharp crack. I feel nothing but agony as I go down, my legs swept out from under me. Everything goes dark, and I wonder if I’m blind, if I’m dying a slow death. I blink but can’t see anything beyond blurry shapes. As if from a distance, I hear Austin screaming, a whistle blowing. I groan, in too much pain to move. My head throbs.

  Then, the sickening crack of flesh meeting flesh, ruptured cartilage. The stands scream in horror that causes an oily sensation to writhe through me. What the hell is going on? The grass tickles my cheek. When I try to move my neck, fire streaks through my head and shoulders.

  Fuck. If it’s a neck injury, that’s serious. What if I’m paralyzed? I try wiggling my toes, but I’m not sure if they’re moving or not. Are my arms working?

  When I focus my attention on the sounds in the background, it sounds like two guys throwing punches. A grunt—as if a body hits the ground.

  The referees are going crazy with those whistles. I hear slapping skin, more shouting. It sounds like a wave crashing over me. The darkness around my vision begins to lift.

  I hear someone crouch by my side. “Logan. Logan!” Austin’s terrified voice. He doesn’t touch me. You’re not supposed to touch a downed player in case of serious injury. I try to tell him that I’m fine, that everything’s fine, but I know it’s not. I can’t move my mouth. Can’t move anything.