Chapter 9

King was already sitting down pulling on his sneakers when Sam came out of the showers. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and King stared in amazement. Sam always wore a shirt in the locker room. He didn’t like people to see the scars on his back and ask questions. King saw several players stop and stare at Sam as he walked past them. Sam was oblivious, drying his hair with a towel. He already had his jeans on, but no shoes.

He looked fucking hot.

King looked away quickly, before Sam could see how turned-on King was. Sam wasn’t ready for that yet. Maybe he never would be, and that was okay. King wasn’t going to jeopardize their friendship over an inappropriate case of lust for his best friend. He’d found guys attractive before, even made out with one or two when he was younger, but he liked pussy plenty, too, so he’d been happy to choose women as he got older. Less stress and strife in this business, right? Until Sam. It had made the last couple of months hell. Sam was practically a part of King’s family now. His mother called him atali’i, son. His sister Lelei’s son Mikaele shadowed Sam whenever he was around. How would they react if King let his emotions destroy their friendship?

“What has you thinking so hard?” Sam asked, snapping him in the shoulder with a towel.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” King blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind. “I was surprised, that’s all.”

Sam shrugged, not looking at him. “I’ve been talking to Mark the last couple of weeks, you know. He said I was making more of a big deal out of it than everyone else would. It happened, move on. So I’m trying to move on and act normal.”

“Good,” King said. He realized that might sound like he didn’t think Sam was normal. “I mean, good that you like the doctor. I don’t really know him well, but he seems like a good guy.”

“That’s what he said about you,” Sam told him. “He mentioned it might be helpful to talk to you—I mean, for him to talk to you—about me. Because, you know, you know me better than anyone else.”

“Do I?” King asked, his heart pounding. Could the doctor tell how he felt about Sam?

“I suppose so,” Sam said. “Everyone else who knew me better is dead or too far away. Except De La Cruz, and she doesn’t like to talk to anyone.” He tugged his shirt off the shelf of his locker.

“We’ve got to do something about that, too,” King said firmly, getting a grip on himself. “Are you taking her to the VA again?”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a sigh. “She might not admit it, but I could tell that sitting in on that group session helped her. She listened to every word they were saying.”

“What about you?”

“I listened, too.” Sam tugged his shirt over his head and King knew the discussion was closed.

“Whose picture is this?” Kitt Doyle asked from behind them. King turned to see him looking down at Sam’s picture, which he was holding in his hand.

Sam spun around and ripped it out of Doyle’s hand. “What the hell are you doing with that?” Sam snapped. He shoved Doyle hard into the lockers opposite them and climbed over the bench, murder in his eyes. King jumped up and grabbed him around the chest, hauling him back.

“He found it on the floor, Sammy,” King said calmly. “He didn’t take it. It must have fallen out of your locker when you pulled your shirt out.” King could feel Sam panting and sweating.

“Don’t touch my fucking stuff,” he told Doyle breathlessly. “Let go,” he tried to snarl at King, but King could tell he was having trouble breathing.

“I didn’t do anything,” Doyle said, his eyes wide. “I just found it lying on the floor, I swear.” Doyle was a good kid, in his third NFL season. A big Irish guy, with blond hair and freckles. He’d tanked with the Titans last season, but he was turning it around with the Rebels.

“King,” Sam said, reaching out a hand blindly as he sat down hard on the bench.

“Put your head between your knees,” King told him, sitting down beside him. They’d gathered an audience.

“What the hell,” Sam mumbled, his voice muffled from his knees. “So much for being normal.”

Doyle looked confused, but King shook his head before he could say something. By now, Cass and Beau and Ty Oakes, the quarterback, had made their way over. King could see All Pro running back Danny Smith leaning against the corner of the lockers, frowning as he watched them. King wasn’t sure what to make of Smith yet. When he’d arrived at minicamp a few months ago, he’d been one of the most hated players in the NFL. But so far in Birmingham, he was working hard and loosening up. It helped that assistant coach Marian Treadwell was one of his oldest friends. Smith suddenly straightened.

“I ain’t worked hard enough yet,” he declared to no one in particular. “I’m going to hit the weight room. Anyone want to join me?”

Sam sat up, doing that deep breathing thing he liked to do. “Yeah,” he said, his voice shaky. “Me. Just give me a minute.” He held his hand out to Doyle. “Sorry I freaked. That’s a picture of my unit in Afghanistan. Most of them are dead. I carry it around and…anyway, I’m sorry I lost it.”

Doyle shook his hand. “No problem. Better be careful with it.”

Sam laughed. “That’s a copy. King has the original in a safe-deposit box. I’m so fucked in the head he had to make, like, a hundred copies for me. And I still freak out.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Kids, don’t be like me,” he joked. He yanked his shirt off and used it to dry the nervous sweat off his face. King could tell he was using it to hide, too. Sam stood and grabbed a workout shirt from his locker. “I’ll be there in a minute, Smith,” he said, turning his back to the room. Doyle’s eyes got big when he saw Sam’s back.

“I need to do some weights,” Cass declared. “I think King almost knocked me over at practice today. Fuck that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ty said. “If I want to be in next year’s ESPN The Magazine’s Body Issue, I have to get as big as King.”

King blushed. “I never should have done that. You guys give me too much shit.”

“Bestselling cover last year,” Sam teased him, his voice back to normal.

When they finally hit the weight room, half the team was in there. Sam quietly lifted weights while King spotted him, letting the ebb and flow of all the smack talk and conversation flow around them. It was the sort of solidarity King had always wanted in a team: supporting one another when they needed it, and Sam needed it. He might not know it, but Sam was one of the elements that held this team together. The team all knew he’d had it rough and he was trying to come back into a tough sport and live the dream. They all wanted him to succeed. King had seen one example after another of the guys going out of their way for Sam. If Sam knew how they felt, he didn’t let on. He didn’t like to be the center of attention. But King was convinced that Sam had given this team heart.

The guys were currently discussing slang for vagina. Rookie running back Tom Kelly had asked, of course. That boy loved to stir up a hornet’s nest.

“In bed I always say cunt,” Tom said. “I’ve had women take objection to that one.”

“Honeypot,” Jo Jo said. “They love that. Sounds all sweet and shit.”

“Fanny,” Nigel said. Everyone turned to look at him.

“That’s ass, man,” Darius told him.

“No, now see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Nigel said, sitting up and resting his wrists on his knees. He’d been doing crunches on the mat. “Back home, that’s what we call it. Fanny. So if you see me snickering like a little boy when someone says ‘fanny pack,’ you’ll know why.” He lay down and went back to his crunches while everyone else laughed.

“Pepa,” placekicker Ricardo Rivera said. He growled and licked his lips.

“Si,” Javier Arias, the punter and Ricardo’s best friend, agreed. “Conejo.” He kissed his fingers like a Frenchman and they all laughed again.

When his phone rang, King waited for a nod from Sam before he stepped back and checked the screen. It was his sister. “Malo, Tali,” he said, watching Sam lift. “ ’Ua a?”

“Not good,” she answered tearfully. “Mika fell and I think he broke his arm.” She hiccupped as she cried. “He cut it, too, and hit his head. We’re at the hospital. Lelei doesn’t know what to do and mother is upset. Mika wants Sam.”

“What hospital?” King asked, motioning for Sam to stop. He tucked the phone between his chin and shoulder as he helped Sam cradle the barbell.

“Grandview,” Talia said.

“We’re on our way,” King told her. “It may be half an hour.”

“They took him for X-rays,” Talia said. “Lelei went with him. I’m supposed to be filling out this paperwork, but I don’t know anything.”

“Okay, okay,” King said. “On our way. No worries.”

“Thanks, King,” Talia said with relief. “Just tell them you’re with us when you get here.”

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, sitting up and grabbing his towel.

“Mika may have broken his arm,” King said. “They’re at the hospital and he’s crying for you.”

“Shit,” Sam said, standing. “Let’s go. Poor kid.”

While King was worried about his family, he couldn’t help but think how nice it was to have Sam act like part of it this way, rushing off to comfort Mika when he was hurt. He couldn’t risk that by forcing his feelings on Sam. Sharing the good times and the bad like this helped King feel they had a life together as friends, if nothing else. Too bad they couldn’t find a woman like Jane for more than one night. A situation like that would be perfect, for him and for Sam.