Other than needing to be back in Birmingham for Hunter’s home games, there was nothing anchoring me to this city anymore. No one would fault me for getting out of town long enough to figure out my next step in life, and there was no place better to do that than at the beach.
“Pops, the guys are going to be here soon,” Hunter hollered up the stairs. I groaned as I swung my feet over the edge of the bed. “Want me to make you something to eat while you shower?”
It annoyed me when he yelled through the house rather than walking up the stairs. He knew this, which was why I felt certain he’d done it on purpose to annoy me. I shuffled out of the room, feeling all of my forty-four years in every popping joint and aching muscle, to the top of the stairs. “Sounds great, thanks.”
Hunter smirked as he eyed me. “Damn, Pops, you sure you’re not too old to pull back to back game days?”
I glared at him and retreated to the bathroom without response. The truth was, yeah, I was getting too old for football weekends.
Mornings like this made me want to beg Hunter to finish out his degree and at least consider not following in my footsteps. There was nothing glamorous about waking every morning and downing medicine to coax your body into functioning.
And I was one of the lucky ones. There were plenty of guys out there who were battling much larger demons, like Patrick, who was supposed to go to the game with us but called last night to cancel because he was having a bad weekend.
As I played with the taps in the shower, trying to get the temperature just right, I briefly wondered if he’d do it all over again if he knew this was the way his life was going to play out.
Who was I kidding? Of course he would.
As I stepped into the shower, I pushed those somber thoughts away, along with worrying about my stubborn-as-hell son who seemed determined to leave college without a degree despite the obvious risks. Hunter was going to make his own decisions, and I needed to trust the league was taking the appropriate actions to help prevent the recurrent concussions that plagued so many players from when I was on the field.
That was something I’d ask Nixon about when I saw him.
Today.
I was going to see Nixon today. It felt deceitful to conspire with Teddy for a bit of time with Nix after today’s game, but I was a desperate man. He’d promised to call, but he hadn’t. I knew him well enough to know that every day he didn’t call would make it that much more likely that my phone would never ring.
I’d let him get away with slinking into the background once before; I wasn’t going to make the same mistake this time. If there was any chance for us to see if there was more than just chemistry between us, I needed to be willing to fight for it.
I resisted the urge to reach down and relieve a bit of the pressure filling my dick as I soaped my body. Pushed away thoughts of what it’d feel like to have Nix here with me, feel his hands wrapping around me from behind, trailing down my body.
“Breakfast, Pops!” Hunter yelled, jolting me back into the here and now. My eyes snapped open and I realized that my hand was less than an inch away from stroking one out while I thought of Nix. Although I’d done it plenty of times in the past, this morning it felt wrong. I couldn’t get my hopes up, no matter how badly I wanted him. I couldn’t get off on dreams that may never come to fruition.
“I’ll be right down,” I called back as I reached for a towel from the rack. The doorbell rang, letting me know the first of Hunter’s friends had arrived. Soon, the house would be filled with guys eager to get to the stadium. I quickly took in my reflection in the mirror and decided against shaving today. Sure, I looked a bit scruffy, but there was something to be said for making it look as though I wasn’t going out of my way to impress Nix.
* * *
A few hours later,I led a crew of coed boys to our seats, shaking my head at their banter. Was I ever that young and carefree? No, I wasn’t. When I was their age, I was so determined to keep my secrets hidden that I really didn’t enjoy the college experience. Like my son, I was on my way to the NAFL draft. If anything, I’d felt as though I was drowning when I was Hunter’s age.
The game was a good one. Both the offense and defense looked like seasoned veterans rather than a bunch of third- and fourth-string players trying to prove their worth before tomorrow morning’s cuts.
I was impressed by the team Teddy had put together and felt bad that so many of them would be out of jobs within twenty-four hours. It wasn’t fair, but it was the nature of the game. Every team only had so many slots on the roster, so people had to go home and figure out what they could do next year to ensure their safety.
Then again, if any of the other teams had scouts in the stands, I had no doubt some of these guys would be picked up during the season.
“Man, can you believe Kendricks is a queer?” I stiffened at the disgust in one of Hunter’s friend’s voices. I gripped my cup tighter, waiting to see how my son would react. I hoped he’d put the kid in his place, but then again, I couldn’t forget his admission that he wasn’t sure how he’d feel if he was in the locker room with a gay player.
“Who fucking cares?” Hunter shot back. I smirked, keeping my focus on the sidelines rather than turning to make sure my son wasn’t about to get into a fight. I closed my eyes, offering up a silent prayer that that would be the end of it.
Unfortunately, his buddy, Brandon, had started drinking while we tailgated and was already well buzzed. “Uh, anyone who has to be around him should care, you idiot. Seriously, it ain’t even just about his teammates and sharing the showers. How can anyone on that field feel safe, knowing he might grind up against them or try for a little poke while they’re on the ground? It ain’t right.”
“You know what?” Hunter’s voice rose and I turned to shoot him a warning glare. In the age of cell phones, you had to be careful about what you did and said, because there was no doubt that a group of college standout players getting into a scuffle in the stands would wind up on social media before the end of the quarter. “You’re fucking sick if you think he’s any different now that he’s out. Have you thought, for one minute, about how hard it had to be for him to tell the world he’s gay, knowing assholes like you are out there? Seriously, I should be pissed at you for saying shit like that. No one thought anything last year, but suddenly, it’s this major scandal that he likes dick.”
Never had I been prouder of my son than I was in that moment.
Not when he broke the school’s receiving record.
Not when he graduated from high school with a perfect GPA.
Not when he’d made the varsity football team as a freshman in high school.
