Page 48 of Tumbling the Cornerback

"Fuck off, Howard. Go to your little boy toy and have fun with him, but don't get too attached. You're the golden boy right now, but people won't put up with that nonsense for long." The bartender set another drink down in front of him, eyeing him warily. "I'm good, doll. I've got a room upstairs. I ain't drivin'." Reluctantly, she moved away. That was going to be his last drink of the night, whether he liked it or not. "Look, you're young. You've only been in the big time for a few years now." He winked sloppily. "I follow your career, you know? You're good. Better than good, if someone was gonna press me on it," he added with a chuckle.

"Thanks..."

"But it's not all about how you play. You need to have your image, right? Cultivate that shit. And when it got out that I'm gay, people had some real strong things to say. I had to show 'em. It's not all that shit they see on TV and the internet." He waved one hand lazily, a mix of a derogatory gesture and a floppy whatever sort of motion. "So, I made sure Lucas couldn't run his mouth, you know? Had the papers drawn up and all. And he signed 'em and stayed shut up."

So aware of those cameras on me, knowing it was going to be all over socials soon, I pushed my drink aside and leaned in close. I had not only myself to think about here, not only Lucas, but Queering Sports and everyone involved there too. The team. My family...

"What I don't get," I said quietly, "is why you're suddenly so all fired up to help a queer youth sports organization when you've done your damnedest to distanceyourself from the community for years now. You insist there needs to be a whole separate league to appease the bigots. Playing respectability politics. Why are you throwing time and money at Queering Sports now? Why hurt Lucas like this?"

Creel stared at me for a long moment, the scent of juniper berries and citrus strong on his breath, eyes red and watery. "Maybe I'm growing as a person," he offered lazily, his smile slow and sharp.

"Bullshit."

He chuckled. "Maybe my agent told me to cultivate a friendlier image if I expect to keep getting sponsorships and all that jazz. It's been thin on the ground lately, and the queer-friendly sports leagues thing is really hitting in a big way. More out players in all of 'em," he sighed, frustrated.

"So you don't believe in the organization, but you want to boost yourself. Why am I not surprised?" I muttered, pushing away from the bar. "You know, I was going to kick your ass for hurting Lucas—you cost him his job, his reputation. Hell, he might even lose his volunteer spot with Queering Sports because of you. But I'm not going to. Because I give a damn about him, Creel. And about myself. I know who I am. He knows who he is. You..."

I shook my head, suddenly exhausted by him, by everything he'd set into motion. "You're just a sad sack of shit who's afraid of himself. No one should judge you for being in the closet, but we're gonna judge the hell out of you for hurting people to make yourself feel better."

Creel waited until I was halfway to the door before calling out, "You could never kick my ass, Coppertop."

"You're right. You're doing a good enough job for the both of us."

I stopped in the restroom to splash cold water on my face and breathe. It had been close, the urge to plant my fist in his face. He'd have deserved it, a small part of me reasoned, even while more of me pointed out that would've only made him the victim, giving him more fuel for his fire. "Let him burn out," I muttered to myself, scrubbing my hands over my face. I needed to get to Lucas, to make sure he was doing okay. If he even wanted to talk. I had no idea how things had gone with his friends, if he let them stay. I hoped he had, for his sake—he needed someone at his side, and if it couldn't be me, it should be chosen family.

When I reached the valet stand, Donny was gone, and the new guy didn't seem to recognize me at all, which suited me just fine. With the exception of a couple stopping to take a not very discreet selfie with me in the background, people flowed past me going and coming. I stood in silence, half waiting for Creel to stumble out after me.

As they pulled up with my truck, I thought to check my phone and saw a text from Phil. He'd attached a picture from someone's twitter and added Do Not Fuck This Up!

In the picture, I was leaning in towards Creel. We looked like we were just having a chat. It had been taken too far away to make out his expression clearly, but he'd been glaring at me, pissed to high heaven.

I sent back a quick assurance that I was already on my way home and shoved my phone in my pocket to accept the keys from the driver.

Pulling out onto the road, I had a decision to make: left towards my place, right towards Lucas.

That was a no-brainer.

CHAPTER 17

LUCAS

Around midnight, my buzzing phone dragged me out of a drowse. Marisol and Liz were curled up on the sofa, one on each end, and Tori sprawled in Renata's favorite recliner. The TV quietly played some teen vampire show we'd decided to binge around the time we got my life sorted out for the third time since dinner. It took a minute for me to realize the sound was my phone and not some new power the square-jawed, very blond, very bland male lead was manifesting along with his sudden ability to fly, read minds, tame any animal, and make the perfect souffle.

Okay that last one wasn't one of his powers, but he'd made a souffle in three episodes out of ten. I was suspecting it was either some vampiric evil, or the writers were really into souffles.

Cooper's name flashed on my screen. The last traces of sleep fleeing, I fumbled the phone to answer. "Hello?" I hissed. "Cooper? What's going on? Where are you?"

"Downstairs," he said, sounding both tired and amused. "Ah, can I... can I come up?"

I looked around my living room and sighed. "Maybe. No? I don't know. I've got company."

He hummed in acceptance. "Okay. It was kind of an impulsive idea to come over anyway. I just thought..."

"I'll come down."

I hung up before he could try and stop me. Quietly, I slipped my shoes on and grabbed my keys. As I padded to the door, Marisol raised her head. "Hey," I whispered. "Um..."

"Don't get arrested," she grumbled. "I'm too comfy to come bail you out." She dropped her head again and was out like a light.

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