chapter
twenty-four
jay
Something is wrong. The hair on my arms prickles, like a glitch in the matrix. Then I hear it. A whimper. Almost inaudible, yet achingly familiar. The hollow, broken sound builds like the opposing crowd after an overtime loss.
I turn over in the dark and run my hand over Loren's shoulder. "Hey." When he doesn't answer, I jostle him a little. "
Loren.
"
I flick the lamp on.
"
Loren.
Wake up."
Loren's back and arms are tense as he screams into the pillow. I pry him away and force him on his back. His red face is tear-soaked.
I roll on top of him. "
Loren!
"
His eyes flutter open, but he can't catch a breath.
I cup his face. "C'mon Loren. Wake up. Look at me. Look at my face."
His eyes, the ones I've looked into countless times, are empty. I pat his cheek, coaxing him back, then take his hand and press it to the back of my neck. "Feel it," I demand. I move his hand along the back of my neck, pressing his limp fingertips to each and every vertebra.
I open my eyes when I hear his breathing change. Waves of confusion and hesitation wash over his face like a flip book. I stay still, waiting for him to come to reality.
"Jay?"
I caress his face. "Yeah, it's me. I'm here. I'm fine."
The confusion and hesitation wanes. Loren touches my hips as he stares at me, then slowly his hands make their way up my body until they're cupping my neck in the familiar way he does.
"
Oh fuck
," he cries when he finishes his count. He shoves me off him and bolts to the bathroom, where I find him bent over, retching his guts into the toilet.
I squat down and rub his back.
It started a year ago. A frantic phone call in the middle of the night, a few hours before I was to play the first game of the season. The man I love was absolutely inconsolable, all because of a nightmare. After bolting to his room, he spent the next five minutes with his hands desperately roving my body, checking that everything was intact.
A habit that has since become a post-game ritual.
The nightmare itself had been a partial premonition of the year to come, I know now.
I may not have died, but I hyper-extended my knee the following game and was on the IR for six weeks while I recovered. Two games after they cleared me to play again, I tore my MCL. It was minor, but I was out for three more games. Overall, it was a terrible season. Not the way I wanted to end my career.
I pull Loren off the toilet and get him cleaned up. He's had this dream a few times and it always takes a while to recover. I make sure he's tucked in close when we go back to bed.
****
I stack our bags into the back of my SUV and close the hatch.
Loren leans against the stone column with his phone in hand.
Text, text, text
.
We have to leave now. I should tell him to get his butt in the SUV but I savor the moment, instead. It's usually me who's decked out in his stuff. It's not often, only on game days, that he's decked out in mine. He's hot in a backward cap with 99 embroidered on it.
"Ready?" I ask. Someone has to be responsible after all.
His fingers fly across the screen. Finally, he stows his phone and looks at me with a cocky smile before pushing off the column and getting in the SUV. He loves to keep me waiting.
I hold his hand on the way to the airport, keeping close tabs on his body language. He smiles and lip syncs to whatever song is playing, while texting with his free hand.
He glances at me then rolls his eyes. "Stop worrying."
I rub my thumb over his to make him feel better. To make myself feel better. I seem more stressed about his dreams than he does. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
"I worried about you before the Benadryl induced nightmares, and I'll worry about you despite the Benadryl induced nightmares."
"Why do you keep taking Benadryl if this is what happens?"
"The nightmares suck, but not as bad as allergies. And I'll let you in on a little secret that helps me handle it all--" he lean across the console until his lips brush against my ear. "One of them is real and one of them is fake. Now shut up and let me work."
I smile and put both hands on the steering wheel.
He huffs beside me. "I didn't say to stop holding my hand, Asshole."
****
I was hesitant about the extension, but maybe Loren was on to something when he insisted on it. Eight games in to my redemption season and I'm having the time of my life. It's a vibe thing. Loren is part of the team. During away games, he flies with us on the team jet. I sit back and watch some of my attention-whore teammates eat out of Loren's hands. They're desperate for any scraps he's willing to spare.
Plus, no injuries.
Does he still check my spine after every game? Yes. But I like it and I think he does too.
I sneak away to see my parents for a weekend but spend the BYE week in Denver. Seamus's in-laws are still playing hardball, but we think they're close to breaking. It's been a long and painfully slow process and the court keeps getting pushed back‌.
All the publicity from Loren's fanbase is wreaking havoc on his in-laws' social life. They either concede or commit social suicide. I should feel bad for them, that their hatred and jealousy towards Seamus have reduced them to such desperate depths of despair.
Almost. But I don't.
Then there's Loren's impact with the team. He took the job and turned it into something no one ever expected. Like most things, Loren doesn't live by the rule book. The job has grown bigger than bringing fans to the games. He's essentially the organization's primary promotional consultant. Unofficially, of course.
It's a temporary thing. They know it. When I walk off the field for the last time, so does he. When we leave the team, we leave together.
****
What are you doing on--
Loren snatches my phone mid-text and plops down like he didn't just do what he just did. "Don't make plans for Thursday."
I was, in fact, just making plans for Thursday and he knows this. "The whole point of Thursday is that I need to have plans," I remind him.
"I have it covered."
I cross my arms. "You made plans for my day with the Lombardi?"
"I did, and it will be fun." As if this conversation is old news, he kisses me, then stands and pockets my phone.
Nuh-uh.
I hook my finger in his back pocket and yank him back. With him secured between my legs, I wrap my arms around him. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
"It's a need-to-know thing and you don't need to know."
"It's my day!" I cry. "I played on the team that won it."
"And I blow the guy that won it, so I win."
I grip his ass and pull him against me. "The math doesn't add up because I definitely blow you more than you blow me."
He scoffs. "How do you figure?"
Keeping eye contact, I pop the button on his pants. I push them down his thighs and lift him so he's sitting on the kitchen island. With a cheery grin, Loren leans back on his elbows and spreads his legs.
We've never done this; sex in the kitchen. It's kind of kinky. I hold his eye as I go down on him, teasing him with my tongue. He lets out a moan and drops his head back. I lick around his tip, then trace up and down his shaft before taking him in my mouth.
"Fuck me," he moans. "Your mouth feels amazing." His dark eyes are cloudy with lust. I continue to go slow until he gets impatient and grabs my hair, forcing me a little deeper and a little faster.
He flexes and shakes under me. There's something about making the person you love lose their marbles. It's a heady feeling.
"
Surprise!
--
oh my god!
Ohmygod! I'm so sorry!
Robert
!" Mom screams. With her eyes covered, she tries to leave the kitchen but bumps into my dad, who still hasn't realized what the commotion is about.
His eyes widen. "Oh my." He takes mom by the shoulder and ushers her out of the kitchen. "Let's wait in the living room, okay dear?"
I scramble to my feet while Loren jumps off the counter and pulls his pants up. My heart races and dread courses through my veins. The only thing worse than walking in on your parents having sex is your parents walking in on you.
"Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?" I ask as I chase after them. Really, I just want to keep them away from Loren, who looked about ready to pass out. My face feels hot from embarrassment. I try to look at them but chicken out. Neither of them are looking at me, either, too embarrassed that they saw me with Loren's dick down my throat.
"You said you weren't busy, so we decided to surprise you."
"Well, consider me surprised."
My dad groans and walks away.
Mom busies herself with the buttons on her shirt. "We should've called."
I sigh. "No, you never need to call. Maybe knock at the door next time?"
A crimson flush creeps up her neck. "We did."
Okay then...
The soft hum of the garage door echoes. I look outside in time to see his tan van speeding off like a get-away car. Mom and Dad see it, too, and look absolutely stricken about it.
"Don't worry," I tell them to simmer their guilt. "He's just embarrassed."
Dad throws himself back on the sofa and grumbles. "Aren't we all..."
****
Are you ever coming back?
I text. It's been twenty-four awkward hours and I haven't seen or heard from Loren. It's still another hour before he responds.
I now call Mexico my home. I've befriended the street dog. Kado. I cannot leave him to forage on the streets alone. I will cherish our memories. Adios.
Stealing a moment while my parents are downstairs watching TV. I laugh and dial his number.
"Hola," he greets, his voice is sickly sweet and fake as hell.
"How's Mexico?"
