“You okay?” I finally ask, but my voice comes out rough.
He blinks up at me. In the dim light, his eyes look darker than usual. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
We still don’t move. My heart is beating so fast I can’t think straight. Then I feel something and realize it’s his cock. Nico’s hard.
“Pack?” His voice is barely a whisper.
My dick starts coming to life, and I scramble backward so fast I get dizzy.
“Sorry,” I say. “Got the wind knocked out of me.”
The lie is too easy for someone who doesn’t lie, a sure sign of panic.
“You good to keep playing?” I ask.
He sits up slowly. His eyes are dazed, and his cheeks are too red. “Sure. Let’s go.”
We play for another hour, but it isn’t the same. When we call it a night, I leave plenty of space between us on the way back to the dorm.
Now, sitting at my kitchen counter, I could still feel the phantom weight of that moment. My entire body had reacted in a way that didn’t make sense. Or did it?
I’d noticed all kinds of little things, like a weird spark where our shoulders brushed. Or how good it felt when we undressed at night before going to bed and talking for hours. Sometimes I’d watch him do something I’d never be able to do and realize how special he was. I’d wonder how I was lucky enough to have him as my best buddy.
Over the years, I’d buried those memories, pushing them so far down I almost forgot them. But our time in Atlanta and Houston was bringing everything to the surface, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“Fuck,” I yelled.
The room didn’t answer.
After a restless night, I went for a run, then worked out in my home gym. Pushing myself physically always quieted my mind, so I kept going until my muscles ached.
It didn’t work this time, so I thought maybe a talk with Harpy would help put things in perspective. I decided to ask him to lunch, so I picked up my phone, typed a few words, and then erased them. There was no version of that conversation that would make sense. How could I explain things to Harpy when I didn’t know what to explain? I put the phone down and let the silence close back in.
While I showered, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything. When I was going through the divorce, my therapist said that if I stopped fighting my feelings and let them exist, they’d lose their power. It had worked then, so maybe it would again. I didn’t push the thoughts of Nico away when more came. This time, the memories were about the week my dad had his heart attack.
The call had come right after practice. Nico drove me to the airport, and I spent the next day in the cardiac ICU waiting room. Mom had died a couple of years before then, so I sat with my brothers, listening to machines beep. I’d never been close to my brothers. They were years older than me, and I’d been in elementary school when they left for college.
Nico was a lifesaver that week. Every two hours, as if he’d set a timer, he would text for an update. He’d tell me how strong I was and ask if I wanted him to come and be with me. I would’ve liked that very much, but the team had a road trip. Leaving them without two starting forwards would have been too much.
Dad died, and I went back to school broken. I couldn’t focus on classes and played like shit. Away from the arena, I did little except stare at the walls.
Nico noticed, of course. In his quiet way, he got me through it. He didn’t make a big deal about it the way some guys did, and he didn’t ask a bunch of questions I couldn’t answer. He was simply there, taking care of me.
Every morning, he brought me coffee because he knew I wasn’t sleeping. Though he wasn’t much of a student, he took careful notes in class and left them on my desk. One day, when I couldn’t bring myself to go to practice, he told the coach I had food poisoning and covered for me during drills.
Eventually, I broke down. I sat on my bed, head in my hands, and cried like I was a kid. Nico sat next to me. Instead of saying something stupid like “It’ll be okay,” he put his arm around me and held on until I ran out of tears.
When I got quiet, he squeezed my shoulder, let me go, and offered a gentle smile.
“Thanks,” I managed. “Sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“Fuck that.” His voice was quiet. “I care about you, Pack. I’m here for you anytime. All the time.”
After that, I started getting better. Nico helped me in a way no one else ever had, giving me the support I needed to recover.
I turned off the shower and stood there dripping, trying to figure out what the hell to do with all these memories I’d spent years trying to forget. Would they really go away if I let myself feel the emotions they brought back?
