“He’s gay—or bi, maybe.”
I let out a curious hum at that. “No shit? Good for him.”
“No, because get this.” He points aggressively at his phone screen, where an article is displayed. “He came out during the Miami game yesterday.”
“During the game?”
Aleks nods with stilted movements. “So, apparently, the long snapper completely bailed on a play, their kicker got fucking wrecked, and Kennedy ran out on the field and told everyone they’re engaged.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Shit, for real? Is the kicker okay?” I can’t remember his name for the life of me. Pretty sure he’s a rookie this season. “Who is it?”
He searches, having also forgotten the name. “Laken Berry,” he reads off. “Neither were out before this, but there was already some speculation about Berry from college. The latest update says he is in the hospital with a concussion. All things considered, he is lucky. Look at this.” Turning the phone to face me, he plays a clip of the hit and—
“Ouch! Why the fuck did Adams let that defender through?” I demand. It’s clear as day that he sabotaged the play. What was he thinking? Adams has been in the game a long time, so it is surprising he would do something like that.
“Should we reach out?” he asks, ignoring me. “I should reach out, right? They probably need some support.”
I place a reassuring hand on his shoulder because he is clearly very concerned. Considering Aleks was blindsided by a news article outing him before he was ready, I understand his distress. He knows how badly it can hurt. “Yeah, man. We’ll reach out, okay? Send them a request to join that Facebook group you’ve got going,” I suggest. There are only a few of us on it, but he created it for league players who are queer to have a place to chat or plan get-togethers. Which he plans to do more of since the party with the Treasures’ allies went well enough. “We’ll be here for them,” I promise.
The tension in his shoulders doesn’t let up.
CHAPTER 23
HENDRIX AVERY
Run!
Fuck, no. I can’t.
It’s the only damn thing you have ever been good at in your entire miserable life, asshole. Run! Now!
But my feet are frozen to the ground, heavy as lead. My veins are made of concrete, clogging my heart until the beats feel like a shaken can of soda one puncture from bursting. Nausea curls in my belly as I stand here, helpless.
Coward!
It’s too late. The medical team is already surrounding him, and Aleks is already there, holding his hand in the exact place I should be. But while Aleks had fucking sprinted across the field, I’d stayed rooted to the spot like I had magically turned into a tree, embedded into the earth.
Everything happened so quickly. One minute, I was running passing drills with Aleks while the defensive line practiced . . . something—I don’t know—and in the next, he was screaming.
Tahegin.
It wasn’t so much a scream, now that I think about it. More like a long shout, followed by a lot of groaning as Aleks raced over to grab his hand, instructing him to stay still. Then, as the medical staff closed in around him, he began whimpering.
Before the gathered crowd closes in and I lose sight, I notice him clutching the back of his thigh. He must have injured it doing . . . whatever it was he had been doing. Shit, I wasn’t paying attention. I was too focused on making sure I caught every pass sent my way.
When I heard his cry and looked over to see him down on the ground, I wanted to run straight to him, but our teammates would have had questions. It was no problem for Aleks, who is too personal with everyone most of the time. They expect that kind of close comfort to come from him, not me. They’d talk. They’d wonder. They’d put two and two together.
So, I couldn’t go over there at first, and now it is too late. The crowd around Tahegin grows every second, hiding him where he still lies on the grass of our practice field. Through a small gap between the pairs of legs and knees and feet, my gaze lands on his face. Head thrown back on the ground, hair flecked with grass, eyes pinched closed, and teeth bared and gritted in pain.
My already heavy heart sinks lower in my gut, an anvil weighing me down even more.
I want to be with him, want to hold his hand and tell him everything will be okay. He’s young and healthy and tough. It’s only a muscle cramp.
Minutes pass. Our coaches tell us to get back to work, but I am useless with worry. The only thing I’m good for is gnawing at the inside of my cheek until I taste copper.
Shit, shit, shit. Why isn’t he getting up? It’s just a leg cramp.
Come on, T. Get up.
As if hearing my mental plea, the group of medical staff stands as one, Tahegin in the center. Relief floods through me, but it only lasts as long as it takes to realize everyone is standing with him because he can’t do it on his own. Aleks ducks beneath one arm while one of the trainers supports his other side. The trio hobbles to the sideline, and by the time I can finally move my legs again, they have disappeared to the medical bay inside the facility. The entire time, Tahegin doesn’t put any weight on his left leg.
I’m a mess throughout the rest of practice, but so are some of the other guys—and Aleks once he returns. It makes for a long practice, and as soon as we’re dismissed, I dart for Tahegin, wherever he is.
Optimistically, I check the locker room first. When he is nowhere to be seen, I burst into the medical bay to find him under the hands of a physical therapist. Ice packs, hot pads, and tension tape are scattered about, but their attention is on a scan. The doctor is pointing and explaining, and when Tahegin’s sorrowful eyes meet mine above the edge of the semi-opaque page, he softly shakes his head at me.
Dry swallowing against the lump in my throat, I turn and exit the room.
“Hey, where are you going?”
My gaze snaps from the floor to the man in front of me, his haggard appearance matching my own. “He doesn’t want me in there,” I tell Aleks.
His mouth twists to the side as he considers. “Maybe not right now, but he’ll need us once he’s ready. I know he can be a little prideful in the moment, but it’ll pass. Stubborn ass wanted to walk himself off the field at first despite the pain he was in. Eventually, he allowed us to help.”
“I hoped maybe it was a cramp.”
Wishful thinking.
“We’ll be lucky if he didn’t tear his hamstring,” he admits, expression carefully guarded.
