“It did not!”
“Oscar, you used the second-floor bathroom in my house instead of the one down the hall from the living room…and sound carries.”
I brush my knuckles under my nose and sniff haughtily, my face flaming red. “I was snooping.”
“You werepooping.”
“Fine. No Greek. How about Indian tonight?” Brandon nearly chokes on his own tongue, his expression incredulous and clearly thinking I must be crazy.
Join the club, buddy.
“What the fuck is going on in here? Why are you in my locker room, Mr. Kusner? Are you lost? Are you harassing my assistant coach? Trying to turn him?”
“Turn him?” I ask, out of everything he just said, that’s the one that seemed most important.
“Beiler is a football coach, a man, and doesn’t need you prancing around distracting him with frou-frou shit.”
“Heacock.” I’ve never heard Brandon sound like that before. A rush of arousal skitters down my spine at the lethal tone coming from his plush mouth. “You are out of line.”
“I’m out of line?!?” Heacock’s face reddens at an alarming rate, and I stand in case he has a heart attack. There’s nothing I can do if he does, but I don’t want to be sitting at any rate as he lets vitriol fly. “You’re the one parading around town with a known gay, begging for speculation, and bringing shame to the team!” I step back when Heacock takes a quick step closer, his hand swiping at me, his nails catching on my arm. My back smacks into the lockers. I know I can defend myself, but I shouldn’t have to. His anger is disproportionate to the situation and I’m not sure what he’s capable of. Brandon moves in front of me, blocking me from Heacock.
Brandon tilts his head slightly. “Oscar, get your things and go to practice.”
“Brandon, I don’t want—”
“Go. Please.” Shit. I’m not hallucinating, this isn’t psychosis, this is real life, and it sucks. I should have kept my distance from Brandon. I did it well for a year. Football is riddled with toxic masculinity, and I know better than to invite that kind of shit into my life, let alone compromise someone’s job and reputation. Being gay isn’t a big deal anymore in most places, but sports is still a touchy arena…except for women’s soccer. Go figure!
I sigh in defeat, quickly stuff my bag with my dirty workout clothes and toiletries, then step out from behind him. I feelHeacock’s glare and the heat of Brandon’s gaze on my back as I leave the locker room and head through the athletic complex. Band practice is starting in less than half an hour, but my mind is in that locker room fervently hoping that Beiler doesn’t do something stupid to jeopardize his career. I’m not worth all that.
Brandon 5.
The locker room door swings shut, and a heavy moment of silence descends, oppressive and constrictive. I don’t think I have ever been this furious before. In 43 years on earth, the raging inferno that is threatening to consume me from the inside out is completely foreign to me, but I welcome it.
The first syllable out of Heacock’s fucking mouth was more than I cared to hear from that man. And every word after only stoked that fire until it blazes out of control. Oscar is confident in who he is, intelligent, and capable. Heacock advanced, though, and Oscar backed up, his back against the lockers, and this protective instinct came over me. I needed him gone ASAP; I needed him safe.
And now, like the predatory animal that serves as mascot for our university, I stalk my prey across the locker room until Heacock is trapped against the wall, his hands lifted in the air in front of him, as if that will save him from me.
“Brandon, son, calm down, I only meant to preserve—” I cut him off with my forearm pressing firmly across his throat. His eyes widen in fear and sadistic pleasure drips like syrup inside me as he struggles against my hold. He’s old, I’m young. He’s overweight and out of shape, and I’m benching more than half the team. He knows he stands no chance of escaping me. His mouth moves, probably pleading with me to let go, but no soundcomes out. I press a little harder on his windpipe, and lean closer to his ear.
“Your time at this university is coming to an end, Fred. It’s up to you whether you walk away or leave in a fucking body bag.” I stand up and stare him in the eye. “I know which I’d prefer.” His eyes flare but he remains quiet. “Oscar Kusner is off limits. You see him around, keep your head down and your mouth firmly shut. I find out you haven’t, I’ll be happy to shut it for you.”
I step back and drop my arm from his throat. He sucks in oxygen, bending slightly as he catches his breath. He looks up at me and sneers. “I will have you arrested!”
I smirk, smooth out my t-shirt, and give him my back as I walk over to shut and lock my locker, practice will be starting soon, and the players should arrive any moment. “Oh, yeah?” I question mockingly; he nods as his jowls shake. “Who’s gonna believe you? I’m the nicest guy on campus, everyone’s friend. You are a fucking asshole and enemy number one.” I pat him on the shoulder as I pass him to leave. “Who’s house? My house.”
Oscar 6.
Band practice was long. It’s hot and exhausting and neither my head, nor my heart, are in it. The confrontation with Heacock, though brief, has rattled me. I’ve thought of little else all day. In between the moments of need, remembering Brandon is all his menacing glory, standing between me and “harm”, my heart hurts knowing he and I shouldn’t be friends. He’s an incredible coach, and an exceptional human being. He doesn’t deserve ridicule and harassment simply for being friends with someone. I know the problem lies with people like Heacock, unfortunately, they often have the loudest voice and in Heacock’s case, some serious clout. I would hate myself if his friendship with me was the reason his career stalled or worse.
Logical? Maybe not. But that’s where I’m at with it all right now as I lay on my couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching sappy romantic comedies. Normally, after practice, I take another shower at the complex, and tonight is one of our usual dinner nights. My heart hurt with every hasty step I took away from the complex, away from Brandon.
I’m throwing a pity party, and I’ll cry if I want to. The bright side is at least I won’t have to continue to wonder if I’m losing my mind. Whatever relationship we may have had is dead in the water.
Bang! Bang! Bang!“Oscar! Open up! Please, please answer the door! You aren’t answering your phone, and I need to see you.” I sigh, my eyes closing, inching the blanket slowly over my head. “Open the door or I’m going to break it down, Oscar! And you’re going to lose your deposit!”
Damn him.
I throw off the blanket, and stomp over to the door. Unlocking it, I throw it open, my glare in place. It drops a second later at the desperation and worry etched in every line of Brandon’s handsome face. His arms dart out, hands gripping my upper arms as he pushes his way into my apartment, forcing me to back up as he kicks the door shut.
