Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center (4 page)

No slow learning from the master. No getting used to pro football. No more anonymity. And above all, no true confessions. Xavier was right. How do you walk up to the coach who just let the best center in football go because he wanted to come out and say “Oh, by the way, I’m pretty much gay too”? Answer: you didn’t if you ever wanted to play football again.

He fell onto the bedspread and set Ferd on his stomach. He should be ecstatic. Dancing around and telling the world. After the initial shock back in Hartford’s suite, everyone had shaken his hand and congratulated him. Even Shields and finally Arondel.

He tossed Ferd onto the pillow. He felt cheated because he wasn’t happy. Or maybe this was what happy felt like.

The knock on his door brought him up like a mummy from its tomb.
Who the hell?
He got up and walked to the door, then peered out through the spy hole.
Oh great
. He opened the door to a solid wall of humans. Johnson, Winston, and Matoa. Boogaloo had a smile plastered from ear to ear. “Just heard the news, my man.” He pulled a nearly full bottle of scotch from behind his back. “Welcome to the offensive line.”

What do you do?
Jamal stepped back and let the men in. Instant claustrophobia. His room was just standard hotel issue with a table and chairs under the window and a queen-size bed in the middle. Boogaloo and Adolphus, who everyone called Ado, took the chairs. Matoa balanced on the bed. Johnson held up the scotch. “You got ice?”

Jamal nodded. He’d gotten some earlier for his omnipresent root beer. It took some sorting, but he managed to find enough glasses and coffee cups for the four of them. Finally he juggled the two glasses and two cups over to the table. Boogaloo filled them with scotch, but as he got to the fourth, Jamal held up a hand. “I’m not much of a drinker.” He got a bottle of root beer from the minifridge and twisted the cap. In the teeny cup, it bubbled and frothed.

Boogaloo stuck out the bottle and splashed a little into the cup with the brown liquid. “That’s probably not what they mean by scotch and beer, but what the hell.” He raised his glass. “To the offensive line.”

They all toasted, and Jamal took a sip.
Keee-rap,
was that awful.

Boogaloo clearly led the group. “So what happened?”

Jamal shrugged. “Shields took one too many hits. He pulled out. Or maybe somebody made him quit. I don’t know. By the time I got there, it was a done deal.”

“Yeah, well, I’m betting my ass there’s more to the story.”

That guy was way too curious. Jamal perched on the edge of the bed and took a sip. “Yeah? Why do you think that?”

“Shields is a weird dude, you know?”

Winston nodded, but Matoa seemed a man of few words.

Jamal shrugged. “I don’t know him at all. He’s a great center.”

Boogaloo leaned back in his chair, and the poor pseudomodern thing creaked in protest. “I always thought he liked having Jet on his ass a shitload too much, ya feel me?” Boogie reached in his pocket, pulled out a plastic bottle, and popped a pill with his scotch.

Nobody said anything about Boogie’s comment. At least it seemed like that was his theory alone.
Good
.

Jamal slapped on a smile. “So you guys gonna show me how it’s done tomorrow?”

Winston leaned forward and gave him a hammer on the knee. “Yeah, man.”

Boogaloo looked over the edge of his bathroom glass. “You got a woman?”

Whiplash change of subject
. Jamal looked around with big eyes. “None, unless you count the one in the bathroom and the one under the bed.”

Boogaloo grinned, but he wasn’t giving up that easy. “You got a girlfriend?”

Jamal shrugged. “Had one in college but we broke up. No time since then.”

“Good. You can meet my sister. She’d love a handsome, college fly-guy like you.”

Winston looked at him sideways. “Iz you crazy?” He looked at Jamal. “This brother lets no man touch his sister or he goes whalin’ on their ass.”

Well, hell. What could he say? “I’d be honored.”

Boogie nodded. “See what I mean? Class.”

It took another ten minutes to get the guys out of his room and toss the root beer and scotch down the drain. He stared after it. He had not—repeat
had not
—actually said he’d be honored to go out with Boogaloo Johnson’s sister.
Shit
. He’d lost his fucking mind. Going out with a teammate’s sister? Especially Boogaloo? An invitation to get killed. He needed sex, but not that bad. Had he never heard the words “I’m in a relationship?” But he hated lying, and that felt like all he was doing.

It was now officially late, and he had practice in the morning. Big practice. He brushed his teeth, pulled off his clothes, and sent off a quick text to his dad. The man was going to be thrilled. Jamal crawled into bed.

Crap, how could so much shit have hit so many fans in so few hours? Tucking Ferd against his chest, he switched off the lights. A lot to worry about—but all he saw against the movie screen of his eyelids was Trixie LaRue.

That was one fan he did not have to hit. So she was beautiful. So what? He liked Andreja Pejic too, but he wasn’t flying to Paris to meet her.

Go to sleep. Forget Trixie LaRue. Forget that queen. She could lose you a job you worked your whole life to have. Jeopardize all the good you can do with your salary.

He punched his pillow and turned on his side.

In his head, those vivid eyes stared at him. “Can’t help it.”

Chapter 3

“S
EVENTY
-
SIX
.
Seventy-six.”

Wow, what color were Trixie’s eyes? I couldn’t quite tell—

“Z-stop. On three.”

It felt like she was singing to me. Just to me. Surely everyone must have felt the same way. Still—

“Hut, hut, hut.”

What? Shit!
Jamal snapped the ball, but the timing felt one second off. He sensed West catch it, heard a soft “Fuck,” then fell back to protect his quarterback. One of their big linebackers dove at him, but he blocked the guy and managed to stay on his feet as three guys landed in a pile.

Whistle.

He sighed and turned to West. “Sorry, Jet. I got distracted.”

West hammered his shoulder. “No problem, man. It happens.”

“Thanks.” Still, he needed to get his head in the game.

They ran the play again, and this time he got it right. Izzy called the practice, and he started toward the locker room.

“Jones.”

“Yeah, Coach.” He walked over to where Hartford was sitting with the defensive coach beside him.

“What the hell were you doing out there, rook?”

“Sorry, sir. Timing was off. I let my mind wander.”

“You got something more important to think about?”

There was a question
. “No, sir.”

“Okay. Keep your brain in the game. You’ve got a lot to learn and not much time to do it.”

Jamal nodded. That was sure as hell true.

“Since we’re light a center, I’m going to have to put you in more than I want for the preseason games. I’ve got Boogaloo training to back you up, but we can’t do without him at guard most of the time, and I don’t want to dress too many offensive linemen.”

Hard not to think he just should have kept Shields the fuck in the game. “Happy to play.” Which was still true.

“Good man.”

Jamal trotted toward the showers. Only two days until the preseason opener. Two days until his life wasn’t really his own anymore. Not that it was now. But still, was there any chance Trixie would be there two nights in a row?

As he opened the locker, his phone rang. On cue. He glanced at the screen. “Hi, Dad.”

“So how was your first day as a starting center?”

“Good. West’s as great as they say. His style’s a lot like Will’s. He’s a big passer, but he can run if he has to.”

“They’re lucky to have you.”

Jamal glanced around the busy locker room and grinned. “You wouldn’t be at all biased, right?”

“Course not. So how did this happen? I thought Shields had another year.”

“Hang on.” He walked quickly out of the locker room and down the hall until he was back on the practice field. He slid into a row of empty bleachers. “Sorry. Had to get away from the crowd. Okay, you ready? Shields told the coach if he stayed he was coming out as gay.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. What are the chances? They told me Hartford didn’t want any distraction, but my guess is that Arondel freaked. Hard to say. I don’t know the man at all, but I doubt his political leanings involve Gay Pride parades.”

His dad was quiet for a minute, but Jamal knew what was coming. “Where does this leave you, son?”

He wiped a hand over his face. “Good question. I pretty much decided I was going to come out as bi to Hartford. That way if something happened, I’d have told someone. Not lied. I still might.”

“You think he’d keep it to himself? Obviously he told Arondel about Shields.”

“Yeah. Not a good sign.”

“You know I don’t like you having to lie. In college, you were dating Stephanie, so we all left well enough alone, and nobody asked. Now’s a different story.”

“At least it’s a lie of omission.”

“Yes, but knowing about Shields makes that a pretty big omission.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to play football, Jamal.”

“What?” His stomach knotted.

“I know I practically dragged you into the sport, but you have a degree from SCU. You’re a hard-working man. You can do other things.”

“I signed a contract.” God, his hands were shaking.

“Contracts can be broken. Money can be returned.”

“Crap, Dad, don’t you want me to play?”

His father chuckled. “Did I ever let you do anything else? Of course I want my son to be the starting center for the Los Angeles Diablos. It’s like my dream come true. I feel like I’ve spent all these years keeping the stadium grounds immaculate so you can run on them. But I want to make sure it’s your dream, Jamal. I don’t want to be like Will’s father.”

“You could never be. Of course it’s my dream.” He stared at his feet. “The idea of not playing kind of makes me sick. I won’t lie, it’s scary being here. It’s really different and you know what a homebody I am, but I love it.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes.” Son of a bitch, he really was. “I’m not going to let all the crap and the change and the stuff with Shields get in the way of the fact that I’m the starting center for the Diablos and that’s great. I’ll find a way to make it work.”

“I know you can.”

“Thanks, Dad. I need to go. I’ll see you for the first exhibition game at the stadium, right? Anybody else want to come?”

“You kidding? The whole family wants to see your first time dressed as a Diablo.”

“I’ll get tickets for them. Love you.”

“Love you too. But remember, every day you don’t say anything makes it harder to go back. I trust your good judgment.”

Shit, I wish I did
. Jamal hung up and walked back toward the locker room. Good judgment did not involve trips to drag clubs when he hadn’t come out to his coach. But in two f-ing days, whatever anonymity he had left went away—kind of. Hell, it wasn’t like a center earned rock-star status like a quarterback or a running back. Who really cared what he did? Yeah, and who was he kidding?

At the locker, he stripped and grabbed a towel. Maybe he could get over there early and hang out. Maybe she’d come in. He could see her. Maybe she’d see him.
Hell
.

He hurried through his shower, dried off, and then wrapped the damp towel around his waist and made a beeline for the locker. Just thinking about Trixie LaRue got him hot and bothered. It took a couple of deep breaths to get his cock to return to a laid-back condition before he pulled on his boxer briefs and slid his black jeans over them. The jeans were great and made his ass look good. That’s what he needed. Plus a nice white sweater that showed off his permanent suntan to good effect.

He glanced at his watch.

“Jamal.”

He looked up. “Yeah, Boogaloo, hi. Hear you’re gonna be my backup center. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Yeah, well, man, I can front it, but don’t get your ass hurt.”

Jamal grinned. “You can help with that.”

“So you ready?”

“For what?”

“We’re goin’ downtown and I’ve got Lavinda lined up to meet us at the Oyster for dinner.”

“Uh, I didn’t know—” Crap. “Lavinda. Your sister?”

“I texted you before practice.”

“Damn, I’m so sorry. I didn’t check my phone.” He pulled it out. Five texts. He’d turned his ringer off last night at the Cellar and forgot to reset it.

Boogaloo shrugged his massive shoulders. “We’re straight, not late. Come on, we’ll meet Lavinda and I’ve got a honey of my own lined up. We’ll get back early, so coach won’t be on our asses, a’ight?”

Could he scream? Hammer on the wall or stomp his feet like a little kid?
No, I don’t want to go, no, no, no.
“Shall I follow you?”

“Nah, ride with me. You won’t be gettin’ too friendly with my sistah on a first date, anyway, you feel me?” He smiled with his big teeth.