Chapter Seventeen
Adrián
The vibe in the locker room hadn’t been this bad since a game back in ’14 when we’d lost Billings, our quarterback, and his backup to injury in the first quarter of the game. But it was our second time on the field with the Barons this season (no one was talking about the embarrassment of our preseason game anymore), and once again they were whupping our asses.
It stung. I couldn’t deny it stung. The rivalry had become a running joke with every loss, especially since my boys talked so much shit. But fans had caught on, and “#SonthePredators” had been the number one trending hashtag on Twitter for three days. Everyone was pissed, especially Rocky. But I could not deny some of those memes were funny as hell, and Gavin Brawley had definitely sonned Rocky during the first game of the season.
Not to mention . . . Simeon’s arm was golden tonight. My dude had thrown a fifty-three-yard pass just before halftime. I was going to fuck his brains out later. Just thinking about his delicious ass rocking as he bounced reverse cowboy was heaven. And probably inappropriate to be fantasizing about while our coach was reaming us.
We trooped back out to the field, but instead of feeling energized, everyone already looked bummed out and defeated. Except Rocky, of course.
“I’m gonna get that motherfucker.”
I followed his gaze and saw him staring at the screen of the Jumbotron. A camera was aimed at the Barons’ sideline huddle, but mostly on Simeon. He was grinning as their corner, Wyatt Dawson, gave some pump-up speech. I’d met Dawson enough times to know he was an aggressive bastard who played like he was marching across a battlefield even though his biker gang-looking ass was likely looking to retire in a couple of years.
“C’mon, man,” I said, nudging Rocky and putting my helmet on. “Just try to have some fun.”
Rocky’s head snapped to the side so he could pin me with a look so lethal I thought his eyeballs were going to emit lasers.
“All right, have a real bad fucking time then. But it’s not Simeon’s fault he has a golden arm.”
He didn’t find it funny. In fact, he just kept staring me down like. . . things were clicking together and everything was about to make sense. Like he knew.
“You think I’m stupid, Bravo?” Rocky thumped me in the middle of my chest. “He has you acting all soft and brand new just because you spent a few months letting him suck your dick. I knew it was going to happen as soon as you told me you had to work with him.”
I rolled my eyes, and all of a sudden . . . I didn’t care. I wanted to tell him. “Okay, good. So, you know. And what? We can’t watch Game of Thrones together anymore? Or Harry Potter marathons on ABC Family?”
His eyes went so wide I could see the whites, and his jaw dropped. Which was odd since he’d just said he’d known, but nothing in his expression indicated he’d expected me to cop to it. “Wow. So you’re joining the Barons’ queer brigade?”
“Nah, I’m starting one right here in the Predators,” I said sarcastically. “If you stop being such an asshole, I’ll let you join.”
A spasm went through him, an aborted movement, and I knew he’d been about to hit me. “I’m not gay. Don’t you ever say that. Ever.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Uh, okay, bro.”
I started to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and hauled me back until he was right in my face. “Do you understand me, Bravo? Never say it again. Don’t even think it. Just because you think it’s time to fucking help queer up the NFL doesn’t mean anyone else wants to join in.”
“So, if we left the NFL alone and queered it up on the down low, you’d want in?”
His expression went from angry to flaming with rage. “Shut the fuck up and mark my words, Bravo. Before the end of this game? I’m gonna get your motherfucker. Then you’ll know what happens when you try to be all out-and-proud when surrounded by people who fucking hate you in a game where they’re paid to hit you.”
I watched him storm onto the field, and the sight left me cold. The rock forming in the pit of my stomach had nothing to do with whether or not we got creamed in the second half, and everything to do with Rocky’s mean streak turning straight up sociopathic just to prove a point. And right now, he seemed to want to prove a point by humiliating Simeon.
The second half started with the Barons calmly murdering us in front of the entire country. I couldn’t even blame the slaughter on our skills—we had some pretty fucking athletic guys on the team. Myself included. But like I always said—the failure was getting to us. Psychologically. Instead of keeping our eyes on the field and our heads clear, everyone was pissed off and racking up one penalty after another. And it didn’t matter.
Simeon was relaxed and tossing the ball for Marcus to drive forward, and their entire offense just moved with well-practiced precision. They were a well-oiled machine, and we were made up of multiple hydras with heads that didn’t talk to one another. It didn’t help that the defensive coach was snarling at us from the sidelines.
After their second down, Rocky was a ball of rage. I heard fucking faggot leave his mouth at least twice, and I knew exactly who it was directed at. Everyone else looked uneasy, but I stared him dead in the face. Once the game was over, me and him were going to have some serious words. There was something off about his vehemence. About how desperate he was to prove that being out and queer was a bad idea. And like Simeon was a bad influence for putting it in my head. Yeah, we needed to talk. And I had a funny feeling it was going to lead to me realizing he was protesting a little too much.
On the next series, we loaded up against their run with the intention of preventing Simeon from throwing the ball anywhere. There were open receivers in good spots, but we had him so pressed he’d have to throw another bomb-ass Hail Mary to get that ball across the field.
And what do you know? He fucking did it.
Which is when Rocky mimicked my preseason dick move of barreling into him after the ball had already left his hands. Except this time, he went full helmet-to-helmet. Laid Simeon down flat.
The rest of the game disappeared around me as my heart stopped. Simeon was completely motionless on the field. The terror gripped me so absolutely that all I could do was stand there with my arms dangling and my mouth open.
A lot was happening all at once. Marcus running to kneel by Simeon, trainers rushing around him, and the game coming to a grinding halt. My ability to move returned with a shrill collective shout from the crowd, and then a louder boo. Aimed at Rocky Swoops.
I turned to him just in time to see Gavin charging at him like an enraged bull. Rocky tossed his helmet to the side, looking a little frantic and putting his hands up. I did the only natural thing—intercepted Gavin to clock Rocky myself.
The booing had become excited shrieking, but I didn’t give a shit. The image of Simeon motionless behind me was burned into my corneas, and the anger was all-consuming.
“Motherfucker,” I shouted so loud my voice cracked. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Rocky wiped a hand over his busted lip, blood smeared across his face. “If this is how you’re gonna act every time someone touches your man, you’ll see real quickly why the shit he put in your head is a bad fucking idea. Consider this a lesson learned, Bravo!”
He didn’t have his hands up this time, but I hit him again. This time, it was him laid out on the field with me on top of him with my fist cocked back to put his lights out. The rage in me was unraveling into violence that would get me more than suspended for a few games, but strong arms encircled me. Someone huge jerked me back, holding me in a bear hug.
“Calm the fuck down.”
Brawley’s voice. Gavin held me from behind, which was amazing since my own teammates appeared to have gathered around to watch without lending a hand. A member of the Barons was putting a stop to this shitshow. Of course.
“You’re gonna kill his ass. That’s what you want?”
I stared down at Rocky, the breath ripping out of me and my eyes burning. “Simeon—”
“The doc is looking at him.”
My heart sank. Gavin let go of me just long enough for me to spin around and search for Simeon. He was being carted off the field on a stretcher.
This couldn’t be happening.
I threw my helmet to the side and sprinted after the trainers. People were shouting at me, but their words, the screams of the fans, and the announcers all blended together in my head. It was just a rush of white noise that did nothing to muffle the fear cutting its way through me, or to distract me from the tears streaking down my face.
By the time I stopped running, they were already off the field and in their locker room. And everyone was looking at me. The lights were bright around me, the Jumbotron trained on my face. I could barely see it through the glare of the lights and the dampness of my eyes.
And then, before I could steel myself for the onslaught, reporters swarmed me.
“How do you feel about Simeon’s injury?”
“Do you think he’ll be back on the field?”
“Will you be suspended for the rest of the season?
“Adrián, why did you hit your own teammate?”
I looked up at them, barking out an ugly laugh. “Because that homophobic motherfucker planned to hurt Simeon.”
“What’s Simeon to you, Bravo?” Another reporter shouted through the fray.
“I love him. And whoever doesn’t like it can go straight to hell.”
Simeon
“I don’t need to go to the hospital, Dan.”
“Yeah, you do. You were immobile for a few solid seconds, kiddo. Gotta get that skull scanned.”
If my head wasn’t throbbing, I’d have given him one of Adrián’s big eye rolls. The ones that reminded me of an insolent kid sassing his teacher over being disruptive in class. A laugh welled in my throat, but the motion made my head hurt so bad my eyes teared.
“Lord. That fucker really smacked me, yeah?”
“Uh-huh.”
Dan, my favorite trainer in the world, avoided my eyes. My first tip-off that something was going on, but I was a little slow on the uptake given my processing speed was down by half. Instead of interrogating him or my coach, or any of the other annoying people lingering around my prone body, I shut my eyes.
The best-case scenario was that there was no real damage, and he’d just knocked the wind out of me. I’d never lost consciousness. I didn’t think so, anyway. All of it had happened in one big blink. One minute I’d been throwing the ball across the field like a dart, and the next . . . I was staring up at the night sky. Shit, maybe I had been out.
Fear took hold of me faster than it ever had before. What if I had a real concussion? The real deal, where they told me another hit would kill me. It’d happened to other guys I knew, even rookies who’d only gone through training, but I’d never thought it would to me.
Or what if it was a neck injury? What if I ended up like Ricardo Lockette—retiring after suffering a career-ending injury from a single hit? Seeing him drop to the turf had been one of the most terrifying moments in my career, and I’d only been a spectator. After watching someone go down like that, you never stop asking yourself when your turn will come.
A gasp tore out of me. Fuck, I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, everything felt wrong. My neck, I was light-headed, every symptom of every tragic thing manifesting all at once. I was going to lose my mind before we even got to the hospital.
“Simeon?”
His voice snapped me out of it. Mostly because he was definitely not supposed to be here.
My eyes tore open to the sight of Adrián Bravo looming over my stretcher with red eyes and wet cheeks. I instantly tried to reach up to touch his damp face, forgetting I was strapped down.
“What the hell are you doing back here?” I hissed. “Someone will see you!”
He laughed, sardonic and with a tinge of hysteria. “A little late for that.”
“What—” I strained to look around as I was carted out to the ambulance. No one was looking at Adrián, and he was keeping pace. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the hospital with you. Duh.”
He’d lost it. He’d really lost it.
“Love, you are in the middle of a football game.”
“It’s not like I’ll be back in the game, man. And after that shit, I’m probably in the middle of my release from the Predators by Monday. At the very least, I’ll be suspended rest of the season, and they’ll fine the hell out of me.”
“Wha—”
I was loaded into the ambulance before I could finish my question. Frustration filled me, but before I could shout, Adrián was at the foot of the vehicle arguing with the EMT.
“Please? I’m begging you. Is that what you want?”
The EMT was speaking in lower, calmer tones than Adrián’s surround-sound voice, so I couldn’t hear his end. I did, however, nearly have a heart attack when Adrián exclaimed: “Whatever, son. We’re about to move in together. Does that count for shit?”
He’d lost his mind. It was the only explanation. I’d taken a hit to the head and somehow, maybe because he spent so much time with our bodies locked together and connected, he was feeling the aftermath.
Adrián appeared at my side, holding my hand and grinning his little-boy grin. It was even more absurdly charming with him sweaty and bloody and wearing all his pads.
“You—” The words jumbled in my mouth. I took another deep breath. “Adrián, you’re going to ruin everything.”
“No. I’m not.”
“You think—” I glanced at the EMT, feeling the burn of an audience. “Adrián, please.”
He smiled again and leaned down to kiss my hand. The touch was so goddamn gentle, and the exact thing I needed, that I couldn’t argue anymore. I just stared in wonder.
“What did you do?”
“Beat the shit out of my own teammate, and then told a reporter that I love you.”
The EMT’s eyes bugged out of his head. I ignored him and kept my eyes on Adrián, wondering . . . how much of this was real. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe this was a symptom of whatever was wrong with me.
“Don’t worry,” Adrián said, stroking my hand. “Like I said, they’ll fine me or they’ll release me, and I’ll go free agent. To be honest, I hope they go that route. Fuck them. All of them.”
“But—you told . . . How . . . ?”
“Because I’m tired of lying and hiding. And if they don’t want me back because I’m a big bisexual linebacker, then fuck ’em.” Adrián winked. “’Sides, like I said, I’m about to move in with you. You can be my sugar daddy.”
This time it was my laugh bordering on hysteria. “You crazy bastard.”
“I know, right? But Rocky had it coming. He was gunning for you.”
“Yeah. I believe it.”
Adrián held my gaze, his sweaty hand still holding mine.
“They said you’ll be fine, Simeon. You answered all their questions, counted all the right numbers, and you never once showed any confusion. This is just precaution.”
It was exactly what I needed to hear, and it was exactly what the trainers had been saying for the past several minutes, but somehow coming from him . . . I believed it. Because Adrián, my beautiful brash asshole of a lover, wouldn’t lie to me. He’d mock me, tease me, and challenge me, but he wouldn’t lie to me. And I knew there was no way he would be able to smile right now if my career was about to end with an illegal hit from a homophobe with a weird vendetta.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered. “Even though you’re giving them a reality TV show right now.”
Adrián looked up at the EMT. He turned his face sideways, suspicious. “You filming?”
“Uh. No.” The guy looked at us both and scooted towards the front.
“Good looking out,” Adrián said to his back.
“Don’t be a pain in the ass,” I muttered. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”
“I know, but I have to be here. I wouldn’t have been able to function without knowing you were okay.” Adrián squeezed my hand tighter. “I was scared. Really scared. So if I’m able to say you’re fine, it’s because the trainers managed to convince me. And I was a wreck.”
“A wreck how?”
“Crying. Shaking. Like . . . in front of the country and probably on twenty thousand GIFs by now. We better be trending.”
“Oh shit.”
“Right?” Adrián rolled his eyes at himself, grinning wryly. “But guess what the good news is?”
“How is there any kind of good news?”
“Gavin Brawley probably thinks I’m pretty cool. Considering how he stonewalled me on Thanksgiving, I think that’s a step up.”
He’d declared his love for me on national television, and now he was worrying about what Gavin thought. This had to be a fever dream.
“This isn’t a real conversation. Can’t be.”
“It is.” Adrián rubbed my hand, grinning down at me. “And you know what else is gonna be real? Me getting you home in one piece so I can play Nurse Bravo.”
“Kinky-sounding. Maybe take it easy tonight since I’m down for the count.”
His face clouded over at that, red eyes narrowing at me. “Don’t joke. If your trainers say you’re fine, then you’re fine. Above anyone, those guys are the only people I trust with your life. Well, and Gavin and Marcus. And your mom.”
My mother. Fuck. She’d gone home and must have been freaking out.
“I need to call—”
“I texted her as soon as I talked to the trainers and right before I conned my way onto this ambulance.”
I relaxed on the stretcher. Tension I hadn’t even realized was still inhabiting my aching body released, and the pain eased up a little more.
“Thank you. You’re scoring all the brownie points with my loved ones today, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but what about with you?” He went back to stroking my hand as his voice dropped lower. “Are you pissed about all this? I know I just took matters into my own hands, went full speed ahead with my mouthing off and rage, but I couldn’t help it.”
“Why?” I asked softly. “All I’m worried about is how this will affect you.”
“I know.” Adrián sighed. He wiped his eyes, but his eyelashes were still clumped together from moisture. “This just matters to me more, Simeon. Being here with you. At the end of the day, there’s only one of you. I needed to know you were okay. And not because of a tweet or a news report or a rumor. I needed to see it. To see you.”
How was this real? So much of it seemed like a dream, but there was no way the feel of those rough, callused hands was anything but reality.
“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Please?”
Adrián leaned down to brush his lips to my forehead then to my lips. It was brief, chaste really, but he managed to pour every ounce of affection into that touch. I sighed when he pulled away.
“Besides,” Adrián said, holding my hand tighter. “I’m not even mad. I’m kind of happy it went down that way.”
“Because you’ll be the subject of every single newsroom for weeks?”
“Hells yeah. And a Lifetime movie. Shit, they better find someone fine to play me.”
This time I didn’t try to hold in a laugh.
“God, Adrián. You damn lovable fool man. I fucking love you.”
“And I fucking love you too.”
I closed my eyes again. The pressure that had been building inside me and manifesting in phantom injuries began to dissipate. There was nothing but the sound of the sirens, the radio, the low voices of the EMTs, and the comforting weight of Adrián’s hand. His presence by my side.
I couldn’t imagine what would happen because of his actions—with the media, his fans, or the League. All I could imagine about the future was that we would be going through whatever came our way together. And with him by my side, we could take on the entire world.