I’d met him on a hookup app, which was pretty much the least Jesse kind of thing I’d ever done. I still can’t say what spurred me to do it—the closest I can get is that an ex of mine had gotten engaged, and it set off something in me. Or maybe it just made my fear go dormant for a while. Either way, a friend recommended an app, and off to the world of online dating I went.

  In a slew of abs and asses, the profile pic of a cherry tree intrigued me. I messaged him a few times and he was nice, if vague. Vague, I could work with. It was certainly better than the other guy I’d messaged, who spent the first five minutes of our conversation telling me how hard he wanted to pound my hole. Cherry tree guy won over that douche in a landslide.

  So I agreed to meet up with him at a hotel bar.

  I showed up with lowered expectations and a can of mace in my pocket…as you do. I was prepared for a balding jobless guy who lived in his mom’s basement. You could’ve scraped my jaw off the bar top when Trace sat across from me. He was six foot six and built, dark-skinned, brown-eyed, and sporting a shy, nervous grin. I was almost tempted to splash myself in the face with my sour amaretto.

  Almost.

  I sipped it instead as we had good conversation, food, and more drinks. He was smart and made me laugh, and that was all it took. I was thoroughly charmed. Eventually, we went up to a hotel room. He’d told me hesitantly that this had to be a secret because he wasn’t out. By that time, I would’ve agreed to pretty much anything.

  A one-night thing turned into every Saturday, which smoothly segued into us dating. It wasn’t long before the laser-focused Trace wanted the rest of that time I’d squirreled away. I’d been hesitant at first, scared to trust enough to let him in my life in a real way. Trusting him went against everything I’d come to know about life in general. In my experience, everyone looked out for themselves and if they could take advantage of you, they would. Cynicism wasn’t a bad thing in the streets—it was the thing that kept me alive for so long.

  What are you so scared of? I could still see his face, earnest and caring, his hand firm on my chin. I love you, and I just want what’s best for you. The words had been seductive and wrong as they made their way through my brain. But I needed that love more than self-preservation, and I’d fallen into the lie headfirst.

  He began to systematically show me that I wasn’t good enough. Could never be good enough. I hadn’t gone to the right schools and I didn’t know the right people. My job wasn’t impressive enough. My car was a piece of crap. I spent too much time down at the center and not enough time with him. When I made the mistake of telling him about my past, it was fucking open season. Sometimes it seemed like Trace’s favorite hobby, other than collecting expensive watches, was criticizing my everything.

  I wish I could say I was the one who broke it off. That I delivered a speech that left his ears ringing, his pleas of forgiveness a glorious soundtrack as I stormed out the door. None of that Gloria Gaynor “I Will Survive” shit happened. Instead, I found out about his engagement at his grandmother’s funeral and lived to regret demanding an explanation.

  Helena had all the right connections and perfect lineage. She wanted a lot of kids and his mother adored her—I’m sure the promised grandchildren didn’t hurt. Then he told me, not unkindly, that it was over. No yelling. No histrionics. Just…we’re done. When I stuttered in confusion that I thought he loved me, he barked out a disbelieving laugh.

  “Of course I do. I love you in a way I’ll never love Helena.”

  I searched his eyes and I could see that he meant every word…which only added to my confusion. “Then why are you doing this?” I asked slowly.

  “Because I can’t be gay, Jesse. You know that.” He sounded angry. “My team would have a fucking fit. My coach would kill me. And then my family would come along and finish the job.”

  I scoffed. From what he’d told me about his family, I knew they were well-connected and stuffy, but not dangerous. They might not approve, but they wouldn’t harm him physically. His parents were both doctors and his older brother and sister had followed suit. Trace was the only one who was athletically gifted, and they sometimes treated him like a dumb jock.

  I thought their main problem with him was jealousy. He was the youngest, the kid who’d spent most of his life on academic probation, and he’d achieved financial and professional success beyond theirs. When I suggested as much, Trace had blown up at me and we hadn’t spoken for a good week.

  “Forget what they want,” I shot back. “What about us?”

  “There is no us.”

  His voice was hard and final. My brain told me to just leave it at that. Hang on to what’s left of your fucking dignity. But my heart wanted to give it another try.

  “We can talk to management. If they’re on board, your team and your coach have to fall in line. It wouldn’t be easy, but…we can do this together,” I said patiently. “And I’ll be by your side.”

  “Which is a problem in and of itself, isn’t it?”

  A sneer pulled at his lips as I looked at him warily. I knew that sneer. Words designed to hurt always followed. I’d boxed him in the proverbial corner and now he had to claw his way out. Every fiber of my being ached to head for the door, but I just stood there, my feet rooted in place, watching him hurtle towards me in a semi made of pain.

  “Do you think I could bring someone like you home to my family?” His eyes were so cold, I should’ve been reduced to a pile of snow. “You were a goddamned prostitute for crying out loud. How would that look in the news?”

  My hand started to hurt and it took me a few seconds to realize that I was clenching my fist so tightly it was starting to ache. I relaxed my hand with effort, blowing out a slow, unsteady breath. I reminded myself that Trace King was nothing but a memory. I never had to let him or his harmful ways in my life ever again.

  It hadn’t been all wasted time, though. He’d taught me more than just how to dress better and cook a perfect meal. He’d taught me that people couldn’t be trusted, especially not with your heart. I planned to remember all the lessons he’d never meant to teach me.

  I swept the flowers off the counter and into the trash…where everything Trace King belonged.

  9

  ANDREW

  Foxy: Why are there two subzero fridges in our kitchen

  Me: Is this some sort of riddle

  Me: Wait, I’m on an elliptical. I need to get off to think

  Foxy: Don’t pretend you didn’t order them

  Me: You said you wanted to do more

  Me: Let’s do more

  Foxy: You can’t just

  Me: ….

  Foxy: You just can’t

  Me: ….

  Me: Just so you know, I’m waiting patiently

  Foxy: Just so you know, I just sighed so loudly that a paper flew off my desk

  Me: LOL

  Me: Did I mention I’m busy

  Foxy: Fine. On behalf of the center, the future families we will feed, and the staff

  Me: Yes

  Foxy: Joshua Knox and the community at large

  Me: Get to it

  Foxy: Thank you ::grimace emoji::

  Me: Was that so effing hard

  Foxy: Yes. I think it took years off my life, AJ.

  Foxy: Years.

  Me: Rofl

  My time at the Harbor was flying by, and I was enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would. So much so that my usual PT session on Wednesday with Reggie was almost an intrusion. I usually looked forward to conditioning—today, I kind of resented it.

  I silently instructed myself to get a grip. This was my real life. My time at the Harbor was very temporary and I needed to stay focused…even though they were starting knitting class today. Netta, one of the grandmothers of the kids, had volunteered to instruct the class once a week if there was enough interest. There was so much interest, she’d added a second class. I wasn’t sure how many signups were due to knitting fever and how many stemmed from a desire to meet the TA, her corgi named Ollie, but either way, I’d snagged the last spot.

  I sighed wistfully.

  At least Camilla had promised to make me something. My guess was a scarf. Jesse heard rumors that it was going to be a thong, and promised to try and deter her. I’d only shrugged. Either way, I was stoked.

  “Fifteen minutes, AJ,” Reggie said as she checked my stats transmitting from the treadmill. She would’ve preferred me in the HydroWorx, but my SCRAM bracelet made that impossible. “Stretches next.”

  Reggie was blond and blue-eyed with a body that got her the moniker PT Barbie. She was used to the attention—working in the sports industry, she’d better be—but I could see the low-key exasperation in her eyes when she had to deal with the antics of the players and their over-the-top flirting.

  She had nothing to worry about from me. She wasn’t the person occupying the majority of my thoughts. No, that dubious honor belonged to a certain center coordinator who still wouldn’t go out with me. It was maddening because I knew he wanted to. It was also a relief because I had no idea what I’d do if he accepted. I wasn’t a date kind of guy. Usually. But for him, I thought it would be worth the effort.

  I checked my watch and realized I had another ten minutes to go. “Dear sweet Regan,” I began, and she shook her head with a grin.

  “Let’s not make it twenty, huh?”

  “It’s pizza day.” My voice was close to a whine. “You know the pepperoni and sausage go first.”

  She readjusted the incline on my machine without looking up. “Then I guess you’d better get a move on.”

  I appreciated her frank honesty regarding my care—she was determined to make me toe the line to optimize my recovery. She briefly rubbed the back of my neck in encouragement, reminding me that her three girls were so lucky to have her.

  “But—”

  “Get after it,” she barked, reminding me that she was also a black belt with zero dollars in her fucks given account.

  I got after it.

  My mind drifted as I jogged, and an evil grin crossed my face as I wondered if Jesse had gotten the grocery delivery yet. It was a standing order for a year, and he would be able to add and remove items at will until twenty-four hours before delivery. Surely he didn’t think I would just put two big-ass commercial fridges in their kitchen without putting food in ’em.

  He would probably yell, I thought gleefully. I sensed many, many epithets blistering the air, all surrounding my name.

  I was going to leave a mark at Rainbow Harbor. I didn’t believe in doing anything without doing it well, and I was unexpectedly good with those kids. Kids loved me in general, which was no surprise—I was a big kid at heart. I was also big enough for them to jump on and ride, which apparently little people enjoyed. But I never expected I could make a difference in their lives. It was quickly becoming my addiction.

  So was Jesse.

  I’d already been attracted to him. Now after working together at the Harbor, I liked him as a person—a prickly, little person with an ass that wouldn’t quit and a mouth that probably should. I admired his work ethic. His dedication seemed endless. I had a new appreciation for the things that Jesse was responsible for…which was pretty much everything.

  “Yo. A.J.” I blinked to see Reggie in front of me, a slight smile on her face. “You still with me, dude?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” I cleared my throat. “Just in the zone, you know?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Let’s get after those stretches.”

  As I stepped off the machine, my legs felt like noodles. I waited a few seconds to find my equilibrium, then headed for the mats. Reggie joined me a few seconds later, and we sat on the floor doing stretches. Well, I did anyway. Reggie sat on the floor in front of me, legs folded, watching and commenting on my form.

  “How does it feel?” she asked after a particularly deep stretch.

  I didn’t look her way, resting my eyes as I leaned into it, both hands wrapped around my calf as I rested my face on my leg. “My range of motion isn’t bad. It only twinges when I push too hard.”

  “That would probably be because I told you not to push too hard.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s going to get even better still. As long as you do exactly as I say.”

  I glanced over at her. I wasn’t quite as optimistic, especially seeing my stats during training, which were nowhere near where they needed to be. “You think I can come back?”

  “If you want it enough,” she said simply.

  Did I? I ignored the voice inside of me asking all those insidious questions. Truthfully, I’d been on autopilot for a little while. I’d achieved the dream my father and I had dreamed, and I was living the future we’d imagined together. But I’d been pushing so hard to get here that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay.

  I’d gotten sidelined by a rookie trying to make his mark. I’d been a few short steps of the endzone when Marchon Crowder of the Bengals headed for me like a bus with no brakes. Just one of those things, the announcers said. You couldn’t expect to play a contact sport like we did and not get injured. But it felt more personal than that.

  When he was a freshman in college, Crowder had posted some off-color shit when Blue came out as bisexual. By the time they’d drafted Crowder, it had all been swept under the rug—if you were good enough, an organization could be motivated to make nearly anything disappear. But screenshots were a son-of-a-bitch and the never forgot.

  That game, I’d been trying to shake Crowder like a bad fucking rash. And when he finally plowed into me, 330 pounds of super-charged muscle, I went down like a sack of potatoes. It felt like my body went one way and my knee went the other. I screamed in pain…which was a joy to do in front of thirty thousand screaming fans who hadn’t understood—or cared—that shit just got real. Crowder stood over me, a blur of orange and black with his hands on his hips, looking properly concerned as I writhed on the field.

  But I wondered.

  As he popped out his mouthguard, I saw his mouth lift, so briefly that I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t been staring. My wonder morphed into fury. I wished I wasn’t about to be carted off the field into the Hall of Obscurity. I wished I could get up on my own. I wished I could even move without agony, but not so I could play. Fuck the game. Fuck the win. I just wanted another shot to rip that motherfucker’s head off.

  And there was the rub, right? I’d come out on my terms, determined to live my life out loud, the way I wanted to. But there was a cost to that. I looked down at my knee. I would heal and I would play again…this time. What about the next, though?

  Luckily, I didn’t have to answer that question today. And whatever future I decided, I planned to do it with a nicely rehabbed knee.

  “Yo!”

  I looked up to see Everett with his face against the glass insert of the door, looking like one of the kids in grade school who weaseled their way out of class and ran the halls. And like that kid, he proceeded to blow hot air on the glass and drew a smiley with Xs for eyes. I chuckled as he added a circle for a mouth and stuck his tongue in it a few times.

  I wondered at his maturity level that he’d do such a thing. I lamented at mine because I found it hilarious.

  When he opened the door and poked his head through the crack, I grinned. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  “I’m headed to the weight room.” He flexed a few times. At least he didn’t follow that up with welcome to the gun show, which was a fucking first. “Thought I’d stop by and cheer you up.”

  “It’s going to take more than that weird-ass smiley face.”

  He tsked. “And to think I saved you some pizza. I asked Sandy in the cafeteria to set some aside for you.”

  Now that was the kind of shit that got you on the top of a best friend list. “Bro,” I breathed. And he grinned because ’nuff said.

  Maybe things were looking up.

  “Oh.” He snapped his fingers. “And Coach wants to see you.”

  “Bro,” I said as my face fell.

  Maybe not.

  I expected the ass chewing. And the reminders about Texas’s preseason performance. I did not expect to be introduced to the new assistant coach. I groaned as he strolled into Coach’s office.

  “Oh God,” I greeted Blue Montgomery. I’m fairly certain that’s what you say to the bane of your existence.

  Blond and blue-eyed and well-built, he was the very picture of the all-American football guy. Like someone had just snatched him from a pack of Tops playing cards and wished him into 3D existence. Except instead of marrying the head cheerleader, he’d bucked convention and snagged a mouthy, sarcastic professor who was practically a genius but still had trouble keeping the rules of the game straight.

  Somewhere between Blue’s shower and his closet, Nike had thrown up on him. His navy sweatpants, gray shirt, and white sneakers all had the trademark swoosh. Guess he was fulfilling his contract to the letter. I was tempted to put a kick me if you love Adidas sticker on his back.

  “You’re supposed to be retired,” I accused.

  “I am.” He gave me a little grin. “What up, tho?”

  I turned to Coach Maxwell and demanded, “Is that appropriate language for a coach?”

  “He used it, so I guess it is.” He shrugged. “We’re going to let PT handle your knee. He’s here to get you back where you need to be. Who better to understand the pressure?”

  “I’m here to help,” Blue said with absolutely zero undercurrents that I could discern. When I narrowed my eyes, he held up his hands. “No ulterior motive. I’m not coming back.”

  “No matter how much money we threw at him,” Coach muttered a tad resentfully.

  “I thought you were sick of football,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I thought I was. Turns out when I’m not using my body like a battering ram on the field, I started loving it again.”

  “What does Kelly say about all this?” I asked. “He’s been looking forward to your retirement for a long time.”