Chapter 19 (Landon)
I look around the library and frown when I don't see him. Asher was supposed to meet me after football practice today and he's not usually late. At least not this late.
Annoyance flares deep in my gut—he's probably hooking up with his latest campus fling.
I freeze...wondering why the thought has me so on edge.
Because it shouldn't.
And yet...it does.
My phone rings and I'm relieved to see his name flash across the screen. “It's about time,” I answer. “I only called you like 10 times in the last 30 minutes.”
I expect him to make a joke about my phone issues, but he doesn't, instead he clears his throat and says, “Sorry. I—um. I don't think I'm gonna be able to make it today.”
There's no laughter in his tone, no hint of a distraction either. If anything, he sounds panicked.
I stand up. “Why?”
“Something happened during practice.” There's a sharp intake of breath. “I can't—”
There's muffling on the other line, almost like he's holding the phone away, before he grunts in pain.
My stomach recoils. “Where are you?”
“Still in the locker room. Haven't been able to make it out of here yet,” he grinds out in agony. “But don't come here. I can handle this myself.”
“Don't be stupid—” I start to protest but the line goes dead.
I roll my eyes and gather my things. Asher's talking crazy right now and it doesn't make a lick of sense. He's obviously in excruciating pain, why wouldn't he want anyone to help him?
I make my way across campus and into the locker room. Practice ended an hour ago so there's no one around when I push past the doors.
And that's where I find Asher sitting on a bench wearing a towel, hunched over in agony.
“I told you not to come,” he says when he looks up.
I walk over to him. “You sounded like you were dying.”
“Nope, not dying.” His gaze is drawn inward and he scowls. “I'm pretty sure death would be sweeter.”
I put my backpack down on the bench beside him. “You gonna tell me what happened here?”
His mouth tightens and he clutches his towel. “Nope.”
“Fine. Can I at least take you to the hospital?”
He glares at me. “Hell no.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Dealing with him right now is like dealing with a toddler. “Dude, you're in pain. You can't just sit here and do nothing.”
He lifts his chin. “Sure I can.”
When he winces in pain a moment later, I've had about all I can take.
I reach for the towel. “Let me see.”
He pulls the towel back. “Trust me, you don't want to.”
“Nothing I haven't seen before.” I yank the towel harder. “We have the same equipment.”
“Not right now we don't.”
“Huh—” My words fall when he moves his towel down. “Holy—man, you have to get that checked out. Your testicle is the size of a planet right now.”
He winces again and I ignore the heavy length of his cock hanging between his legs, because all I can focus on is the way his balls—or rather ball—looks like it's about to pop out of his body.
It's huge, inflamed. Way bigger than it should be... and it's angry. Hell, my own balls are screaming in protest and crying for him.
When I take out my phone, he looks like a deer in headlights. “Don't you dare take a picture of this, Landon.”
“I'm not,” I assure him. “I'm texting Coach.”
When he opens his mouth to object, I say, “You need to see a doctor—a nurse. Someone, Asher. Unless you want it to fall off.”
He grumbles and I take the opportunity to shoot a text to Coach Crane before I look around for a first aid kit.
I hand him an ice pack. “Lift your...yeah. And put it on the...you know.”
The vein in his neck bulges, he lets out a slew of curses, and sweat runs down his well-defined abs as he maneuvers himself and places the ice pack over him.
“Do you know what caused this?”
I'm about to make a joke about his sex life to lighten the mood, but he clenches his hand into a fist. “Fucking, O' Conner.”
“What?”
“His girlfriend tracked me down before practice today and told me she came clean to him.” He shrugs. “I figured we'd brawl again...but no. The fucker did something much worse.” He blanches. “I found a spider chilling in my protective cup when I was getting ready to hit the showers. O' Conner must have snuck into my locker before practice started and put it there. Didn't think much of it until pain like you can't even imagine fired through my balls and he flipped me the bird before he left.”
It's my turn to wince. “Talk about hitting below the belt.” I think about this for a moment. “I thought football players don't wear cups?”
“We don't,” he says. “But apparently, some jerk tried suing the school last year because he took a ball to the groin during practice and now we're all forced to wear them.” He tips his head back and blows out a breath. “I can't even fucking walk. And google—” He shudders. “Google is the fucking devil right now.”
I give his shoulder a squeeze. “You're gonna be okay.”
He nods and I look down again. Only it's not his over-sized testicle that snags my attention this time.
Because I'm watching his dick grow harder and firmer against his thigh.
He sucks in a breath and I hold mine. I'm not exactly sure why I'm staring at his cock right now. Sure, he's big…but hell, so am I. It's almost like the logic and reasoning switch has been turned off in my brain, forbidding me to think about the next possible action that might transcend in this moment between us.
I look at him and our gazes clash. Those dimples of his peek for a brief moment when he licks his lips and visibly swallows.
His cock jerks and a small shutter runs through his body. I take a step forward, unsure of why or what my intention is, because the only thing I can think about is what he's thinking about right now.
I want to know the reason for that heated look in his eyes and his throbbing erection.
“Landon,” he rasps. His voice is strangled, almost pleading. And suddenly...I want to be the one to soothe the ache for him.
His chest rises and falls with quick, sharp breaths, and his lower abs constrict. He grunts in pain and I realize what I've done—that I've only made this situation worse for him.
I back up. “I um—sorry.”
Just then the doors swing open and in walk the coach and two people wearing scrubs. One I recognize as the school nurse.
Asher quickly fixes his towel and adjusts the ice pack.
A few moments and a few obscenities later, they declare he'll be fine, but to elevate the area and keep a close eye on it for the next 48 hours in case it turns necrotic. That particular tidbit earned a scream out of Asher.
Coach Crane hangs back when they leave. “Christ, talk about dumb luck that a spider sucked his fangs into your balls.” He rubs his forehead. “You're cleared from practice for the next 48 hours. Let me know if you need anything.”
“It wasn't dumb luck. O'—” I start to say, but Asher gives me a look.
Coach crosses his arms over his chest. “Is there something I should know about?”
“Yes—”
“No,” Asher grinds out, silencing me. “Everything is fine, Coach.”
He nods. “Alright then.” His eyes swivel to me. “Thanks for contacting me, Landon.” He looks between the both of us and something passes in his gaze before he walks out.
I turn to Asher. “Why didn't you tell him about O' Conner?”
“Because,” he says, attempting to stand up. “That would only make things worse. Besides, I have no proof. And last time I checked, placing a spider in a protective cup wasn't a crime.”
“If the spider was poisonous it could have killed you,” I say, anger flaring in my gut again. “Hell, as it stands now you might lose your balls over this.” I hold up my hands. “But, hey. Not my problem.”
He hobbles over to his locker and starts getting dressed. “I'll deal with O' Conner.” He mutters a curse under his breath when he slides up his shorts. “Think you can give me a lift to the store so I can grab some things for this?”
“Sure.”
He braces his arm against the locker. “Man, it's gonna suck trying to walk out of here.”
I stand beside him and hold him upright. “I've got you.”
It takes almost triple the time to walk out to the parking lot, but somehow, we finally manage to make it to my car.
Which just so happens to be parked next to O' Conner's car.
Asher's entire body goes rigid as we watch him make his way across the parking lot. “Well, isn't that cute,” he drawls. “The fag and his little faggot.”
“Yeah, a fag who fucked your girl better than you ever will,” Asher growls.
He bares his teeth and lunges for him but O' Conner backs up. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” He points to the fading bruise on his cheek. “You see, I had a little discussion with the Dean, and she told me the next time you attack me, you and your scholarship are as good as gone.” He takes a step towards us. “So go ahead, fudge-packer. Hit me.”
Fucking hell—O' Conner's an even bigger homophobic asshole than I thought. It's clear this shit is only going to get worse and he's not going to stop provoking Asher until he gets him expelled.
Although different circumstances entirely, I've faced assholes like this my whole life. And unfortunately, some people never grow out of the high school stage and can only be dealt with one way.
Violence doesn't solve problems...but sometimes it's all you have at your disposal. Sometimes it's the only way you can put someone in their place.
Asher lunges at him again but I take advantage of his injured state and shove him back.
Adrenaline and rage is burning through me like an inferno, and before I can stop myself, I cock my fist back and launch it into O' Conner's face.
And watch in sick fascination as he falls and passes out cold against the concrete.
“Jesus—Landon,” Asher screams. “That was fucking awesome.”
I ignore the throbbing in my hand and kneel down beside O' Conner. I breathe a sigh of relief that he has a pulse and then pull out my phone.
“Whoa, what are you doing? At least wait until we drive away to call an ambulance.”
I shake my head. “Not calling an ambulance right now.” I bring the phone to my ear and leave a voice mail. “Hey, Dean Crane. It's Landon Parker.”
Asher's eyes practically bug out of his head and he tries taking the phone away from me.
'Please call me back at your earliest convenience. I was attacked in the parking lot today and I'd like to report a bias crime on campus,” I finish before I hang up.
“What the actual fuck, dude?” Asher starts to say before I cut him off. “I need you to hit me.”
He looks at me like I've lost my mind. “What? Why? No—”
“Because it's going to look really strange when I go into the Dean's office tomorrow and claim self-defense after pleading my case about him assaulting me because he thinks I'm gay.” I gesture to O' Conner who's coming out of his haze. “This way, O' Conner gets expelled for good. Because he's going to keep pushing you until you either break or the Dean expels you. And you have to stay here in order to win the championship, otherwise Dragoni and his goons will strike, and I can't let that happen.” I point to my face. “So quit being a pussy and fucking hit me.”
He stares at me. “You're fucking crazy, you know that?”
“Do it, before he wakes up and other people walk out and see us. Right now you're the only witness and I'd like to keep it that way.”
“Motherfucker,” I yell when his fist goes crashing into my cheekbone.
“You told me to hit you,” Asher yells back.
I spit blood on the ground and glare at him. “You could have used a little more finesse.”
He snorts. “Dude, I don't know how many fights you've been in…but there's no finesse in a punch.”
I slide into the driver's seat and start the engine. “This was my first fight.”
He gapes at me. “Seriously? Well, shit, Muhammad Ali. Not bad, considering you just managed to take out a 225 lb. wide-receiver with a single punch.”
I peel out of the parking lot and shake my hand out. “Yeah, but my hand hurts like hell. I hope I'm able to play on Saturday.”
He turns ashen. “Shit, I didn't even think about that. Fuck, Landon. You should have let me handle him.”
“It's fine.” I pull up to a pharmacy. “I'm gonna run in and grab some ice.” I make a face. “And a pillow for your junk.”
“A pillow?”
I step out of the car. “You can barely move right now, so you might as well stay at my place for the night. But I'm sure as shit not letting you rest your balls on my pillow.”
He laughs, those deep dimples of his on display. “Duly noted.”
“Thanks,” Asher says, taking the plate from me.
He's currently sitting on the couch with both a pillow and an ice pack between his legs. It's only been a few hours, so the swelling hasn't gone down; but according to him the pain is a little better.
I sit down next to him and take a swig of my soda before I scarf down my third slice of pizza.
He eyes the glass in my hand for a second too long. He opens his mouth but quickly slams it shut, almost like he's wagering a war within himself.
Finally, he speaks. “Are you sure you should be drinking that?”
I turn and face him, expecting to see the condescending judgment in his eyes, like most people; but to my surprise, I see something else entirely. Concern.
I open my mouth to answer but then he says, “I'm not trying to get on your case, it's just that everything I've read lately regarding diabetes says that you shouldn't.”
“You read up about diabetes?”
Asher hates to read, it's part of the reason why I'm tutoring him.
He shrugs and takes a sip of his water. “Well, yeah. I mean, I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help. Make sure you do what you're supposed to and shit.”
He looks around the room. “Besides, I know a lot about diet and exercise. I could probably help make things simpler for you. Come up with meal plans and stuff. We can do it together so it's easier.” He gestures to his phone. “I don't know your schedule but I can set alarms on my phone for when you should test yourself. I can shoot you a text to remind you. I know it's annoying, but maybe this way it won't be so bad.”
To say I'm stunned would be an understatement. There are times when this guy is downright narcissistic and yet, he took the time to research my disease, intending to help me. “You—”
“Look,” he bites out, cutting me off again. “I don't have many people in my life anymore. So I'd like to keep the ones that I do have around.” He fidgets with the wrapper of his water bottle. “You need to start taking better care of yourself, man. I know it's a high maintenance disease, and I'm not gonna sit here and nag you. But if we're going to be friends, then I'm looking out for you. If that's an issue for you, I suggest you get over it, because there's no room for compromise about it.”
He folds his arms across his chest, like he's waiting for me to argue with him.
And part of me wants to, but the other part of me is still floored that he cares. I've seen how he interacts with most people. I know he doesn't give a shit about much, only the things that concern him directly.
And while we're similar in some ways, we differ in that sense, because although I don't let the opinions of those who aren't close to me phase me; it doesn't stop me from going out of my way and being a good person to people anyway. Whether or not they deserve it.
Asher puts up walls, though. He acts like an asshole and pushes people away before they even have a chance to get to know him. Almost like he's testing people and intentionally getting under their skin...purposely seeing who cares enough to break through those walls of his. And while I don't agree with his method—I understand it. I know it's because everyone he's ever cared about has either used him or turned their backs on him.
I put my glass down on the table and push it away. “Okay.”
I pull out my meter and insulin and take care of business. I don't miss the hint of a smile on his face before he takes a bite of his food.
My hand spasms and I lift the ice pack I have wrapped around it to assess the damage. It's sore, but I can move it, which means I'll be able to play in two more days.
Asher puts down his plate and looks at my hand. “Can't believe you punched him for me.”
“O' Conner deserved it.” I shrug. “I'm sure you would have done the same for me.”
I chance a glance at him, purposely gauging his reaction, because the thing is— I'm not so sure that he would have done the same for me. But for some reason I can't pinpoint...I want to know that he would.
I want to know I'm not the only one who feels this shift between us.
“Yeah,” he says, looking me in the eyes. “Yeah, I would have.”
I pivot, facing him and his stare lands on the bruise coloring my cheekbone. “I got you good, huh?”
I roll my eyes. “I barely even feel it.”
It's a lie, I do feel it. I'm pretty sure he even cracked a tooth. But it will be worth it when I sit down in a meeting with the Dean and get that asshole kicked out of school for good.
He lifts his hand, almost like he wanted to touch me, before he drops it.
And then before I can stop myself, I'm the one touching him. I lightly graze the scar above his eyebrow with my thumb. The scar he got from his asshole father. Little bolts of rage shoot through my veins and my chest tightens. I hate that scar on his otherwise flawless face. But even more than that—I hate that someone hurt him.
His shoulders rise and fall with a sharp intake of breath. He looks about as surprised as I feel over the contact, but we don't say a word as I continue running my thumb back and forth over his scar. It just hangs in the silence between us. The silence that seems to say more than words ever will.
Neither of us have talked about what happened earlier, which is something I'm thankful for because I'm still trying to make sense of it.
I've always identified myself as straight. I mean, I'm attracted to women...always have been. But today...for that brief moment in that locker room...lines got blurred and I'm not sure what to do about it.
Not to mention one very important factor—one that's like a record skipping inside my heart, preventing me from examining these potential feelings that are brewing for the person sitting across from me.
Breslin.
She's a loose end. Actually, that's wrong. She's so much more than a loose end...because I still want her. I'm angry as hell with her currently...but I still care about her. I still love her.
And just because you start developing feelings for someone else...it doesn't mean they automatically disappear for the other party. That's not the way love works. It's not a 'here today, gone tomorrow' thing.
It's how I know Breslin is the real thing.
But I can't help but feel that Asher might be the real thing, too.
Therefore, I have a lot of stuff I need to figure out in regards to my feelings. And there's only one way to clear my head.
The studio.
I drop my hand and stand up. “I'm finally making some leeway on that song I've been working on, so I'm probably going to be in the studio for the rest of the night. Is that cool?”
He nods and reaches for the remote. “Sure.”
He straightens himself and focuses on the television, completely detached. There's something going on behind those eyes of his, but I know better than to push him right now.
Plus, I need to get my own shit together and figure out exactly where I stand before I even think about navigating these murky and uncharted waters.