Page 14 of The Brotherly Shove

"C'mon, let's get you in a car before you change your mind. There is a meat lovers deep dish pie somewhere in this city that is calling my name." He pushes me to the door, and I try to laugh at the accuracy of my earlier prediction, but my mouth is dry.

I fucked up. I let myself picture Lennon as anything more than a friend.

I let myself indulge in the fantasy of being with him in an intimate way, even for a moment, and now that indulgence is going to screw me up forever.

CHAPTER 9

LENNON

Four Years Ago

Penwood University

I swipe the key card to my dorm room and shove the door open, dragging a tired and laggy Breaker over my shoulder like a fireman rescuing a housewife. He barely made it out of the locker room before he started complaining.

"My legs aren't made of legs anymore! All the leg is gone. No muscles. No bones. No body juice, not one of the four humors. It's all Jell-O" he whined, dropping to the ground and crawling behind me for a few steps before I took pity on him and picked him up.

It's not like my body isn't also absolutely wrecked at the moment, but after only two weeks of practice, I've got a serious soft spot for Breaker. Especially when he makes obscure references to Hippocrates when complaining that he's feeling a little sore. I can't explain it, but I get the distinct feeling that if Breaker Lawson asked me to walk through fire, I wouldn't think twice before submerging myself in the flames. Carrying his 200 pound self a few blocks from the practice fields to my dorm building ain't no thang, relatively speaking.

I cross through the living room that I share with my two other roommates and make my way to my bedroom. Breaker's dorm is technically closer to the field, since he's still in underclassmen housing on campus, but since I have a private room and he shares with some goth kid who I'm pretty sure is planning to cast some evil spell on me at any moment, we've taken to hanging out here at my place after practice everyday for two weeks. It helps that my roommates are both relatively chill and very rarely home.

My room isn't big by any means, but it's got enough space for a full size bed, a small desk and chair, as well as a knockoff Love Sac bean bag thing that I use for gaming. That's where Breaker has been sitting most days, whether we're playing Zelda or he's attempting to explain Aristotle to me for my philosophy homework, it's always the same. Today though, I flop him right onto the center of my unmade bed, and he wastes no time curling up under my blanket and snuggling his face against my pillow. I chuckle to myself, unable to squash the thoughts that creep in. The ones that say that the way this muscled, athletic, manly quarterback melts into a puddle so easily in my presence is just so…

Fuck it. It's so goddamn cute.

I squat down to pull out the plastic tote that contains my snacks from underneath my bed. Most of my food resides in the shared kitchen, but I do not trust my roommates around my cookie stash. I keep that shit hidden. I pull out a pack of Oreos—the six pack made for lunch boxes—and grab two waters out of my mini fridge while kicking the tote back under my bed. I shove the excess blanket out of the way and then climb into my bed, propping my spare pillows up against the wall so that I can lean against it. Breaker stirs, and I realize he must've fallen asleep. I nudge him with my elbow.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. You've got reading for Anthropology to get through. I can't explain 'Body Rituals of the Nacirema' if you're off in dream land," I say, and he turns, looking up at me. It's subtle, what happens next, but I clock it. As he turns to face me, he also inches himself further away, like he's trying to put as much distance between us without falling off the side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and my eyebrows bunch as I peer down at him.

"I'm sitting in my bed. Please don't tell me you're one of those dudes who can't share proximity with another man, because I can't handle that kind of toxic masculinity in real life. It's runs rampant enough in our sport. I just want to sit here and eat some cookies with you," I say, shrugging as I tear open the plastic package and hold it out as an offering to him.

"No, I'm definitely not one of those guys," he says, sitting up so that we're sitting next to each other, backs against the headboard. "I just didn't think you'd be okay with sitting in a bed with me."

"Why? Do I give off douchebro vibes? What is it about me cause I gotta change that shit," I say.

"No, Lennon. It's not you. It's just…" he takes a long breath, and I brace myself for whatever he's going to say next. His body language is telling me it can't be good.

"Len, I'm bisexual," he says with the same trepidation as if he were admitting to being a serial killer who eats livers and wears his victims skin.

"Cool," I tell him, popping a cookie into my mouth. "Are you not out or something? Because don't worry, I'm an excellent secret keeper."

He looks at me in awe, and I can't suppress my smile.

"Dude, relax. I'm good. The way you were talking, I was prepared for you to tell me you have a belt made out of human nipples. You're bi, that's cool. You don't have to worry aboutme outing you or anything. I'm a steel vault," I tell him, again holding out the package to offer him a cookie.

"I'm not…I mean. I'm not technically closeted, but I do have one foot still in there. I'm not out to the team, obviously, or else you would have known. I just…Len are you sure you're okay sitting in bed with a guy who likes guys? I don't want to make you uncomfortable seeing as you didn't know when you put me down here," his voice is shaking, and my heart aches for him. Personally I couldn't care less what anyone's sexual orientation is, but I can only imagine how hard it must be to be a not-so-straight athlete constantly worrying about making people uncomfortable.

"B, the only thing making me uncomfortable is that I'm eating Oreos and you haven't taken one yet," I wave the package in his face, trying to lighten the mood. It seems to work, because he giggles and swats my hand away.

"Okay, bisexual I can deal with, but if you tell me you don't like Oreos…" I tease, and this time he laughs out loud. Breaker pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them.

"It's the opposite problem. I love Oreos. I love all cookies. They're my kryptonite. If I eat one of those right now, I'll black out. I won't stop until there's no cookies left in the general vicinity, and I really don't think my Jell-O legs can take the extra treadmill time it would take to run all that creme filled deliciousness off tomorrow."

Okay, maybe that's a bit of an overreaction to someone offering you a snack, but honestly I find it relatable. There's so much we're not supposed to have or do or eat during the season, I can see how a little indulgence could lead to overdoing it. Still, Breaker says he loves Oreos, and now I feel the overwhelming need to feed him Oreos. I think for a second, and then I have a solution.

"How about this…" I say, twisting my torso towards him. "You take three Oreos. That's the suggested serving size. As soon as you have them in your hand, I'll shove the rest in my mouth. Then there will be no more temptation. You can enjoy your modest amount of cookies knowing that there's none left for you to go crazy over. Deal?"

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