Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (13 page)

Zillo does okay in my spot, though several times I yell at him through the TV to get up to the play faster. Pike isn’t as quick as Fisher, but when they run around him, Gerrard is there waiting. We hold ’em scoreless, even with the penalty. Final score: 21-0.

The locker room is hopping, afterwards. We’re talking about Jaws’ two TDs, the second a brilliant 57-yard run through three tackles. The defense didn’t score, but we got our shutout, and even against a team starting a lousy quarterback with no receiving corps to speak of, that’s an accomplishment. Coach gives out game balls, to Jaws on offense, and to Fisher on defense—some of it is sympathy, but he did have two tackles for loss and five tackles overall before he was injured.

“
Even our oldest vet can still bring it,” Coach says. “This team is gonna go far because on any given day, someone steps up. It won’t be the same one every day, but there’s always gonna be someone.”

“
Yeah,” we all murmur. Smiles come my way from all around the room. I give them a tight smile back.

“
You guys have earned the week off,” he says. “Let’s get back here on Friday refreshed and ready to go. The next game won’t be easy. Gateway’s tough. But we’re 4-2. This is our year!”

We cheer. He puts his fist out into the center of the room. We crowd around to put ours in next to it. All of us chant together. “One...two...three...Firebirds!”

Most of the team starts to get out of their uniforms. Gerrard, Carson, Charm, and I go to the training room to see Fisher. To my surprise, Pike lumbers along behind us, Kodi tagging along behind him.

Fisher’s right thigh is wound up in a tight white bandage that’s showing spots of red. We can all smell the blood in the room. No matter how many times you see or smell it, it still makes you flinch.

“
Hey, guys,” Fisher says. He lifts a paw, slowly, and his eyes look just a little unfocused. The team doc, a quick otter, slides over to us and says something softly about painkillers and taking him to the hospital, then slips back to taking care of Jaws, who’s just come in from the interviews to get one of his legs worked on. Typical stuff, especially for a running back. Jaws probably has about six or seven good years left, barring injury, but of course, most running backs retire due to injury before they get too old to run. There are three or four other guys on tables, just usual nicks and dings. No other injuries as major as Fisher’s.

“
How’s it feeling?” Charm asks. “Y’know, guys your age don’t heal so fast.”

Muscles stabbed and cut. Nobody heals fast from that. I straighten and bend my leg, appreciating the working muscles.

“
Oh, it’s fine now.” Fisher lifts the leg tentatively. “I’ll be out a week...or two...that’s what Doc says.” He doesn’t respond at all to Charm’s joking tone. The stallion looks at me, a bit worried.

“
Did you call his wife?” I ask the trainer. He shakes his head.

The other guys stay around Fisher while I call Gena and tell her Fisher’s okay, just going to the hospital to get his leg worked on. By the time I hang up, the team driver’s arrived along with a paramedic. We tell Fisher we’ll see him soon.

I go to my locker and strip most of my uniform off, unable to get the image of Fisher’s vacant eyes out of my head. A lot of the guys are just getting out of the shower, but there are some still in there. Colin and one of his friends give me a look, walking back to their lockers. I see them muttering, and there’s no Fisher to stand up for me. Loneliness washes over me like a wave, in combination with the exhaustion from the game. I lean against the locker, pulling out my phone to text Lee. White fur crowds my vision, and I look up at Pike.

The big bear’s heading for the shower, naked with a towel draped casually over his arm. “Hey,” he says. “Just wanted to say, uh...you looked good out there.”

“
You too.” I nod to him.

He tilts his head. “You’re gonna get that every game.”

“
Probably.”

His eyes flick across the room, to where Brick is dressing. “I wouldn’ta done it,” he says. “I mean, it ain’t anyone’s biz, right?”

I shrug. “Some people make it their biz.” I type to Lee,
Pike talking dunno Y
.

He thinks about that. “I guess there’s nothin’ you can do then. Just makes it harder for all of us.”

“
Steez says if they’re focused on getting me, it makes them weak somewhere else. We gotta hit that.”

“
Oh.” He rubs his whiskers. “Yeah, I see that. So maybe it’s a good thing.”

Lee texts back,
Say you support team.
I grin and say, “I just want the team to win.”

He looks like he knows that’s a stock answer. I go on, to show him that I mean it. “It sucks about Fisher, but I’m glad we’ve got you to fill in.”

His expression darkens. “Glad you stood up for him. Those fuckers—”

“
Miski!” Coach barks. Pike gives me a nod and heads for the shower as I turn. Coach is striding toward me. “There’s reporters waiting to talk to ya.”

“
Me?” My phone has a few text messages, but nobody said they were waiting, and—oh, the fight.

“
Hit the shower and get out there or it’s twenty-five K for avoiding the media.” He growls to show what he thinks of the media fine.

“
I’ll hurry up.” I strip off my jock and grab a towel, hurrying for the shower. On his way out, Gerrard reminds me the defense is going out for drinks and dinner, and I tell him I’ll join if I can.

Ten minutes later, I walk out into a group of fifteen reporters and camera crew, just finishing up with Brick, all wanting to know what happened with the boar. When Brick sees me, he holds up a hand and says, “Give us a minute.”

“
What’s up?” I say.

He looks angry, but not at me. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“
Bout what?” I snort.

He glances back at the media guys, who are all watching us avidly, the canids perking their ears. He whispers. “What I said. Old habit. Don’t mean nothin’.”

I’m genuinely puzzled. Is he apologizing for knocking down the guy who gored Fisher and taunted me? Then I play it back in my head and realize he must be apologizing for calling the guy a ‘faggot.’ “Oh, hey,” I say, “if you knock down an asshole every time you do that, I’m cool with it.”

He flashes me a bear’s wide grin. “Deal.” Then he walks back to the locker room, leaving me to deal with the reporters.

It’s not as big as the other press conference, I tell myself. Even so, I’m not prepared for their first question. It’s about the boar, of course, but not the thing with Fisher. It’s about the fight he and I had, the mouthing off. Was it homophobic?

Really, I think? They want to hear about that, not about the goring? “Yeah, it was,” I say, and they love that, but then I think about what Brick said.

“
Did that make you angry?”

“
It’s no big deal,” I say. “Guys say stuff, in the game. It doesn’t really mean anything.”

They keep pressing, making it out like the boar is some kind of gay-bashing foaming-at-the-muzzle rapist. By this time, I’ve remembered the training we got about media exposure, which was to never talk crap in public about other players. The last thing you need is to give them motivation to come after you. In this case, it probably doesn’t matter because the asshole hates me anyway, but I still limit myself to calling him ‘unprofessional.’ I try to make it sound dirty, but I’m not sure I succeed.

Coach comes to get me after about fifteen minutes, saying, “Okay, boys, that’s all the time we got. Miski’s got a week off, starting now.”

The reporters don’t argue too much. Coach keeps me in the room as it empties, one strong paw on my arm. “It’s gonna be like that every game,” he says. “You’re gonna have to keep it together.”

His yellow eyes search mine. I feel exposed, vulnerable. I have to resist the urge to turn my head and expose my throat. “I know.”

“
Can you do that?”

He has a way of asking that isn’t really asking. What he’s really saying is, “I know you can do it and I want you to tell me you can do it.” So I nod my head and tell him I can.

“
During the week? Can you respect your teammates? Leave the media crap where it belongs?”

My first nod is hesitant, the second more firm. “Yeah.”

He smiles a long, wide smile. “Good,” he says. “You’re a football player. Don’t lose sight of that.”

I’ve got a warm glow in my chest as I walk out of the building, glancing across the parking lot to where Charm, Pike, Kodi, and three or four other guys are standing talking to a bunch of girls. I get my phone out to tell Lee I’m on my way home, but before I can dial, Charm yells, “Hey! Gramps!”

I like that he hasn’t changed my nickname. I turn, expecting him to be asking me to choose between two girls for him. He’s got three around him now, a sleek brown rat, a stocky lioness, and a tall hare, all three with chests the size of watermelons. I’m sizing them up as I walk toward him, but he points me over to two flat-chested girls, a vixen and a leopardess, leaning against a fence. They perk up as they see me coming towards them.

“
You got your own groupies.” Charm’s grinning fit to bust. He’s got one arm around the hare and one around the lioness, but he’s looking right at me.

That’s silly, I think, didn’t they hear? But then I get closer and I see they’re both boys, just dressed in tight tops and slim-fitting pants, and the fox has some kind of pink scarf knotted around his neck. Somehow they look like women even though they’re not really wearing women’s clothes. Must be the way they carry themselves. I raise a paw. “Hi. Uh, you want autographs?”

“
No,” the fox says, “but I’d love to hold your pen.”

He sidles up to me while the leopard hurries to get just as close. “If you need to unwind after the game,” he says, flexing his arm so I can see the rippling of his muscles, “I can help you relax.”

I step back and hold up my paws. “Look,” I say, “thanks, but, uh, I’m heading home.”

“
He’s taken.” Charm’s come up behind me, all three girls in tow. “Got a boyfriend.”

“
Not a problem,” the leopard says. “I’ll do you both.”

“
Slut,” the fox hisses.

“
Hey,” I say. “Why don’t you two go off together and have fun?”

They look at each other and laugh. “You don’t get how this works. That’s so cute.” The fox grins, sharp green eyes reminding me almost of Lee. Almost. But the scent is all wrong. It’s more desperate, less sophisticated. He’s not younger, just less mature.

The leopard, now, he is younger. I can smell his arousal much more strongly. Maybe it’s a feline thing. Part of me wonders, for a brief second,
what would that be like
? But it’s not a big part of me, and it’s squashed by the part that wants to get home to Lee as soon as possible.

“
I know how this works,” I tell the leopard, ignoring the fox. “How this works is, I go home to my boyfriend, and you guys go chase someone else’s tail.”

When I turn, I see Pike chatting with a big-breasted horse—do all the girls who hang out here have big tits? When he sees me looking, his expression turns sour. I roll my eyes, like,
I know, can you believe it?
He shrugs minutely and goes back to his horse.

“
I’ve sucked off football players before.” The fox hasn’t given up, following me across the parking lot. The leopard is strolling away, his tail flicking from side to side.

“
Lion Christ, kid, take your pink scarf, go home, and wait for puberty.” I really hope that’ll do it.

It doesn’t. He follows me all the way to my car, and there he grabs my arm. “My name’s Argonne,” he says, drawing himself up. He’s a half-foot taller than Lee, but he still can’t look me in the eye. “And this is an ascot, and it’s pamplemousse, not
pink
. It’s fashionable. To those of us who’ve moved beyond puberty.” His eyes flash. “I’m offering you a no-strings-attached blow job. And I’m really good.”

He flattens his ears at the look on my muzzle. “So am I,” I say, as quietly and dangerously as I can manage. “And I don’t want to be in the paper again for assaulting someone,”

Finally, he gets it. He lifts his paw and backs away with a haughty expression. “Your loss.”

Is this what I have to look forward to after every game now? I didn’t even know there were gay groupies. Though, come to think of it, I remember now a guy talking about getting head, and being really vague about the ‘girl.’ It was when I first joined the Firebirds, almost a year ago. Who was it? A fox, maybe? And some feline? It wasn’t Fisher, I know that much. He said he gave up the girls on the road back in ’05.

Poor Fisher. I pull out of the lot, seeing in my head the confused look in his eyes from the painkillers, the blood along his leg and on the boar’s tusk. As much as I want him to come back, I don’t see it. Not this season. Maybe for the playoffs, if we make it, but it depends how much of his muscle the tusk dug into. It was still bleeding, through all those bandages. That’s not good.

Nothing I can do but wait. I can call Gena when I get home, but she’s probably already at the hospital. I turn onto Main and pass a slowpoke, ducking back into the right lane to make my turn. Lee’ll be waiting for me, or will be there soon, and then tomorrow we fly up to see my family. My palms sweat on the steering wheel. It’s going to be fine. They’ll love Lee. I’ll talk to my dad. He won’t like it, but at least he’ll talk to me again. We can work on them slowly. Then maybe tackle Lee’s parents.