SEVENTEEN

 

 

Even if it took him away from the homework, which he knew was piling up in his absence, it was actually sort of a relief when Grant and the rest of the team had an away game. The atmosphere back home had become harder than ever to tolerate, a sort of uneasy haze, it seemed to him, having settled over the whole fraternity and all of the men in it.

It was good to be away from that. Good to be away from Warren, because as soon as they were, everything relaxed. Even though most of the guys on the team were in the same frat, without Warren’s influence they seemed to become more open and friendly once more, and it was like some weight that Grant hadn’t even fully realized was there and was holding him down was lifted away from him.

The game had suffered a bit, Grant thought, because of Warren’s influence, but without him around, it seemed like everything was fine again. Everyone was playing better than ever, and Grant was pretty sure that he wasn’t the only guy on the team who saw it.

“Stephens, you got a minute?”

It was after their last away game, and Grant wasn’t looking forward to going back. He sort of got the impression that no one was, though no one more, he thought, than himself. What did he have back at college, other than a variety of classes in which he was only more or less successful, an ex-boyfriend who seemed to hate him, and someone who seemed to be willing to do anything he could to destroy Grant’s life? Despite the fact that he had already taken so much.

“What’s up, Coach?” Grant asked, glancing around the locker room, which had cleared out most of the way as he had been lost in thoughts of his own. Which generally, he had to admit, still tended to revolve around Tristan. How pathetic was that? Was he ever going to get over the first and only man that he had ever loved?

When he closed his eyes, he could still swear that he saw Tristan’s gaze burning into his own, as though it had been etched there the day that Grant had broken up with him. And yet, even with how miserable he was, could he really do anything else? Tristan was already with Warren.

Though oddly, he hadn’t seen any sign of that. Nor had Warren seemed to be any more happy than he had before. Maybe …

But wherever that thought might have gone, it was cut off by his coach’s voice, still rough and brusque as ever, but with notes of real concern in it, too. It might have been intolerable, coming from anyone but this man who undoubtedly had Grant’s respect.

“Is everything okay?” the coach asked, like he wasn’t entirely used to saying things like that but thought it was important.

“Not really,” Grant found himself admitting, though he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t have done so for anyone else. Or maybe he was just that desperate for someone to talk to, though he knew that he had to be careful. He had no idea how his coach would take it if Grant came out. His impression had always been that that wouldn’t be particularly welcome news, even in this day and age, for someone on the football team.

“I think I have some idea what this is about,” the coach admitted, and Grant let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t have to think about how much to say, how much would be too much, if the coach already had his own ideas.

“Things have been challenging,” he admitted, just a little bit cautious still, and the coach shook his head with a rueful little smile.

“I’ve seen lots of talented kids crash and burn once they were in college, away from the safety of high school. I’ve seen lots of people realize that they really aren’t the big deal that they always thought they were.”

Grant narrowed his eyes, looking into the older man’s dark eyes, trying to figure out exactly what he was saying there.

“So you think that I’m one of them?” Grant asked, and he couldn’t even get angry about that, because it wasn’t like the man was wrong. Grant was already planning to take off after this semester, so it just felt like a validation of that choice.

“No.” The word came out with an emphatic tone that Grant had most definitely not expected. “No, I don’t think that you’re one of them. I haven’t seen anyone with a focus like yours. Not anyone, of any age.”

“You’re wrong about me,” Grant protested. “I barely even got into Sigma Pi Theta. I don’t have what it takes. I’m barely holding onto the grades I need to have any hope of an academic scholarship at all, and I don’t think I can handle another semester slinging burgers.”

It all came out of him in a rush, the sort of thing that he hadn’t felt comfortable talking about with anyone else. He was the only guy in the fraternity who had a job at all, and even Tristan, who might have been sympathetic, would have a hard time truly understanding. Grant had surrounded himself with people who had never had to focus on anything but school, or football.

“What’s the damn fraternity got to do with anything?” The coach demanded, which left Grant flabbergasted. He had been so sure, had been told by so many people, that it was crucial that he be in this fraternity if he wanted to be anyone, if he wanted to have a chance, and with a few words that certainty all vanished.

“Okay, kiddo, let’s make this all perfectly clear. Lay it out on the line. I don’t give a shit if you are in the best fraternity, the worst fraternity, or none. It makes no difference to me, and I doubt it makes much difference to any of your teachers, either.”

Grant froze in place. He couldn’t have been more surprised if his coach had informed him that the sky was red and burning rain fell up from the earth toward the sky. Only with those things, he could at least call upon his own experience to tell him that was nonsense. With those words, he couldn’t quite be sure.

“Did you really think that’s why you’re on the team?” There was an incredulous note to the older man’s voice which made Grant want to shrink back sheepishly. “You got into this team because of your performance on your high school team.”

Grant took a deep breath and struggled to pull his thoughts together. It wasn’t easy. They were scattered all over the place, and he only pulled himself together through an exertion of pure will.

“Maybe it’s not why I’m on the team, but I figure there’s probably a reason that you chose me to replace Warren when he got hurt,” Grant commented, but his voice came out much more uncertain than he would have liked. He had been so sure. Had he done nothing more than fallen for the hype? Cheapened himself for nothing?

“Yeah. Damn straight there’s a reason,” the coach replied, his gaze firm and direct and unflinching. “And I’m looking right at him. You earned that spot, kiddo. You outperformed people two years older than you. I picked you because of your skill, not because of where you sleep at night.”

Grant searched those dark eyes for any hint of mockery, but he didn’t find any. And he could think of literally no reason that his coach would lie to him. What would be in it for him? All logic pointed to it being the truth that the older man was speaking, and Grant found his legs giving out. He sunk down to the bench just in time to keep from falling.

“This whole time, you thought that anyone that really mattered gave a damn what frat house you joined?” his coach asked, and Grant smiled ruefully and gave another sheepish little shrug. He had thought so, and he wouldn’t deny otherwise, even if it seemed so stupid now.

“Look, I don’t know what that spoiled little bastard has on you, but I do know how he is. Showboating, egotistical, and spoiled. I would have had him off the team years ago if I’d been able to find anyone half as good as he is. And now I have.” The coach reached down and squeezed his shoulder. “Whatever he has on you, whatever he’s blackmailing you with, don’t let it work.”

“He could get me kicked off the team …?” Grant didn’t mean for it to turn into a question, but it did anyway. He found that he was no longer anywhere near certain that that was true. If his coach found out that Grant was gay, the impression that Grant got was that the man wouldn’t really care.

“I’m in charge of who gets kicked off the team,” came the calm, measured reply. “And you’re not at risk.”

The coach pulled his hand away and took a step back, toward the door. He looked at Grant thoroughly once more, deep into his eyes, and then turned as if to go, which was just as well. Grant had a hell of a lot to think about, no doubt about it.

“And as for you being worried about having to work next semester, don’t be. I’m gonna go put through the paperwork right this second. As of right now, you officially have a full athletic scholarship. Congratulations.”

With that final bombshell dropped into Grant’s almost disbelieving ears, the coach did turn and leave. Grant watched him go, his eyes, he knew, ludicrously wide. It was probably good that there was no one around to see him gaping like a fish out of water, which was sort of honestly how he felt.

Not that it mattered. He was still planning on leaving, wasn’t he? The situation with Tristan hadn’t improved, and it never would. But if he left the fraternity, which he could apparently do without any repercussions whatsoever. There had to be some sort of process for leaving the frat without leaving the school, right?

He would never run into Tristan if Grant moved into a normal dorm. And without money being an issue, with a full athletic scholarship, things were looking possible again. He could quit his job, focus on football and school and really do his best at both.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, taking a deep breath as he collected his things together into his gym bag and slung it over his shoulder, his mind whirling. All of this meant that he didn’t really need to go to that party anymore. If the coach had set his mind at rest about anything, it was that, because Warren’s threat, his blackmail attempt, only worked if Grant allowed it to work.

The Tristan issue, that was a whole other thing. Tristan should have the freedom to come out if and when he was ready, like everyone. It was a damn shame that Warren was taking that away from him, or threatening to, anyway.

Could he possibly count on Warren’s stated feelings for Tristan to keep Tristan safe? Grant groaned and shook his head. No, he couldn’t count on anything, other than for Warren to be cruel and petty and vindictive. And if Grant didn’t go to this party, if he didn’t play Grant’s game, then that would only add fuel to the fire.

And yet, Grant knew now that he couldn’t keep living in fear of Warren. If he bowed to this pressure, Warren would know that he could have Grant doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

So he would go to the party, he decided, and he would even dress up in costume and try to get into the spirit of it. He would try to have a good time, and meanwhile, he would pull Tristan aside and try to explain to him why Grant couldn’t do as Warren demanded. At least give him some warning.

It was the best of a terrible set of options, and even just having made a decision helped him. All he could hope was that Tristan understood, and wouldn’t hate him too much for what he had to do. And maybe, if they called Warren’s bluff, everything would somehow work out.

Sure, it was desperate, magical thinking, but it was all Grant had, and it helped. His heart felt lighter as he left the locker room, and in some strange way, he found himself looking forward to the party.