Safety Net (23 page)

“There’s a reason why I’ve spent
most of my life out of the house, playing football, bro,” Erick said. He wasn’t
inclined to be charitable to his mother, but after another moment of silence he
relented. “She fought Daddy tooth-and-nail about taking the job in Virginia,
even though it was a huge promotion for him, more money, everything. Because
she didn’t want to take me out of school and away from my team. It’s easy to
see her motivations as twisted -- I mean, I love my Mama, but sometimes I wish
she’d leave me the hell alone -- but seriously? Moving away from my team would’ve
killed me. She’s the one who convinced Daddy to let me move in with Meemaw.

“And after they moved, she drove
all the way to Texas five times to watch me play. All by herself, listening to
audiobooks in the car. She’d come in on Friday morning, stay for the game, stay
over until after church on Sunday, then drive back to Virginia. Drive over
again a week or two later. It’s like, a two days’ drive, day-and-a-half. It’s
crazy. But she did it, and she told me she was sorry she couldn’t be there for
every game.”

Erick remembered the times he’d
hugged her goodbye and watched her driving away in her blue Buick. He
remembered wanting to feel mature and independent, and instead feeling like a
little boy on his first day at kindergarten.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I
guess she is a piece of work. Until you get on her good side. Then she’ll walk
to hell and back on broken glass for you. That’s how she is.”

“Hm, so I just have to get on her
good side somehow,” Lowell said. “How?”

Erick shrugged. “Suck at football.
Except. Please, don’t.”

Lowell laughed a little. “I won’t.”
He nudged Erick’s side. “I guess sleeping with her son won’t do the trick,
either.”

“Extremely unlikely to work, yeah,”
Erick grinned.

Lowell stretched his arms. “While
we’re on that topic...” He tilted his head toward the bedroom door.

Erick winced. “I didn’t have a
chance to buy sheets.”

Lowell sighed but said, smiling, “Then
we’ll be good. Besides, I’m fucking exhausted after the flight and all. This
day has lasted ninety million hours already.”

Erick didn’t know if he could be
that good, but he wanted to stay with Lowell more than anything else right now.
“All right. But we have to behave ourselves. Seriously behave.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lowell said, getting
off the sofa. “I just told you. Exhausted.”

They went to bed in their
underwear, to help with staying good. It was perfect to stretch out on a bed
next to Lowell and still have a little room. Lowell kissed him softly and said,
“Goodnight.”

Erick kissed him back. Didn’t want
to stop kissing him. Lowell broke from the kiss and murmured, “‘Seriously
behave,’ remember?”

“Argh, yes, okay.”

Lowell got comfortable next to him
and after a hesitation, rested his arm across Erick’s chest. Erick, grateful
for the contact, lazily caressed Lowell’s forearm and closed his eyes. As he
was drifting to sleep, Lowell whispered, “Dude. We won the Orange Bowl,” and
Erick smiled, falling asleep to the sound of the cheering crowd.

In the morning Erick woke up
half-aroused and longing to hold Lowell. He didn’t think he could be good
anymore, but Lowell wasn’t in bed. Erick got up and found a note on the
bathroom mirror:
Don’t freak. I’ll be back soon.

Erick stretched, took a shower,
realized he’d forgotten towels and borrowed one of Dr. Brandt’s with a silent
promise to wash it later. He scratched at his beard and wanted to shave but was
spared from stealing Dr. Brandt’s razors by the simple fact that he couldn’t
find any. He was lounging on the sofa watching a basketball game on TV when
Lowell returned, carrying a backpack and a plastic grocery bag.

“Breakfast,” he said, lifting the
grocery bag. He took it into the kitchen.

“What’s in the backpack?” Erick
asked when he came back.

Lowell grinned at him and unzipped
the main compartment. “Sheets.” He pulled out an unopened set of maroon
queen-size sheets with pillow cases. “I also got these,” he said, and pulled
out two towels and a couple of washcloths.

“I don’t suppose you picked up some
razors,” Erick said.

Lowell rubbed his own stubbly jaw. “Aw
shit, I totally forgot about that.”

“It’s okay. You got the essentials.”

Lowell grinned at him.

They had breakfast -- supermarket
doughnuts and a quart of milk -- and watched the basketball game. Lowell got
engrossed in the game, and Erick quietly took the sheets into the bedroom and
made the bed. Lowell wandered in.

“Who won?”

“Gonzaga.”

Erick stood back to admire his
handiwork. “Why red?”

“For Crocker,” Lowell said, as if
the answer was obvious. “They didn’t have Crocker red, though. This was the
closest I could find. What do you think?”

Erick looked at him steadily. “I
think I want to take these sheets for a test drive.”

Lowell swallowed. “Christ, Erick,” he
murmured.

They spent the rest of the morning
in bed.

-----

The team had returned to campus on
Thursday and had the next two days completely free as a reward for winning the
bowl game. Lowell spent practically the entire time at the apartment with
Erick, discovering that as nice as it had been to squeeze onto a dorm bed with
Erick, it was a hundred times better to share a queen-size bed with Erick. More
room to move, more room to maneuver, more room to slide back and watch. And
still small enough to invite wrapping up together. Pretty much paradise.

On Sunday morning Coach Bowman had
called a team meeting. Lowell and Erick resisted temptation and got up early,
went for a run, and met up with Dale to head over to the football offices. Everyone
was there -- all the players, coaches, and trainers. As Lowell and Dale took
their seats, Lowell noticed Erick’s closed, serious look. Erick met his eyes,
shook his head slightly, and went to sit up near the front, near the coaches.

“He knows what this is about,” said
Dale quietly. “I wonder if...” He trailed off as Dempsey, Kryzinski, and
Babcock came to sit with them.

Coach Bowman stood up. “There’s no
good way to say this,” he began, “so I’m just going to say it. I’ve accepted
the head coaching position of the Los Angeles Stars. The Orange Bowl was my
last game coaching for Crocker.”

L.A. had finally managed to woo the
NFL back to town with a new stadium in City of Commerce. The Los Angeles Stars
were wrapping up a disappointing first season in their new home and in the
midst of reshuffling. Rumors of a new head coach had circulated for over a
month, but Lowell hadn’t followed it closely. Not closely enough to imagine
that Coach Bowman had been in the running.

“It’s official as of today,” Coach
Bowman continued. “There’s going to be a press conference this afternoon. I
wanted you to hear it from me first. And I wanted the news to get out today,
because there’s still time for some of you to declare for the NFL draft. If my
leaving Crocker changes your decision.” He looked around the room. “I hope it
doesn’t, frankly. If you were planning on staying, I hope you’ll stay. We have
built one of the best teams in the nation, and you have everything in you to go
on next season and be the best. We have some of the best recruits lined up to
join you. This team is going to be great next season.”

Lowell glanced around. Everyone
looked as uneasy as he felt. On the one hand, Coach Bowman was a fantastic
coach, former NFL, and there was no question he belonged in there. The Stars
were struggling and L.A. was desperate to make this NFL franchise a success.
Coach Bowman was the perfect coach to do that. Lowell was sure no one in the
room begrudged the coach his personal ambitions.

On the other hand, no one in the
room wanted to lose their coach. They trusted him, they respected him, and most
importantly, he trusted and respected them. He made them want to do better,
push themselves harder, achieve all the things no one believed Crocker could
achieve.

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot of
questions,” Coach Bowman said. “I probably don’t have as many answers as you’d
like. But here’s one answer to the question I’m sure you all have: who’ll be
the next head coach? I’ve told the athletic director and the university that my
choice would be Coach Miller. The athletic director has accepted my
recommendation and is waiting for formal approval of his offer from the Board
of Trustees. It looks good, otherwise I couldn’t tell you this. But it’s not a
done deal yet, so there’s a small chance it could fall through. A very small
chance.”

Wotoa raised his hand. “Coach. Who’ll
be the offensive coordinator if Coach Miller becomes head coach?” Half the room
looked at Coach Miller, whose calm expression gave nothing away, as usual.

“That’s for Coach Miller to decide.
You can trust him to make a good choice.” Coach Bowman scanned the room. “Any
more questions? You must have a lot... Oh. Here’s something I can tell you.
Under the recommendations I made, if Coach Miller becomes head coach, he’ll
appoint a new offensive coordinator, but the rest of the coaching staff remains
the same. We’ve all talked it over.” Some of the other coaches nodded, looking
at their guys.

One of the linebackers raised his
hand. “Coach. Do you need any rookies for the L.A. Stars?” He grinned, and a
couple of the guys chuckled.

Coach Bowman smirked. “Rookies like
you, Sammon? No. Anyone have any non-stupid questions?” He waited, but the guys
sat there like Lowell, uncertain how to feel about this news, uncertain what to
ask. Coach Bowman stepped back and nodded to Erick.

Erick stood up and looked around
the room. “I’m staying,” he announced. “I came to Crocker to play football and
get my degree. I’m staying so I can do both.” He glanced over at Lowell and
Dale. “Those of us who’ve been working with Coach Miller, we know how good he
is. I trust him to lead this team next year. It’s a team I want to be a part
of. Want to be proud of.”

He sat back down. Dale leaned
closer to Lowell and whispered, “I wonder how long it took him to memorize that?”
But Lowell thought most of it was impromptu, even though he realized Erick had
known about Coach Bowman leaving for a month or more. What was it Erick had
said after the Notre Dame game? He was staying on for another reason, something
he couldn’t tell them about.

Lowell imagined Erick carrying this
secret around, carrying it to Florida and back. On top of all the other secrets
Erick carried around.

Stephen Dennis stood up and said, “Coach,
congratulations. The Stars are getting the best coach in the country. Isn’t
that right?” he asked, looking around him. “Let’s hear it for Coach!” The room
shook from the chanting cheer and stomping feet of the entire team.

As Coach Bowman had told them, the
news broke later that day, and was the top story in college football for less
than twenty-four hours before an even bigger bombshell exploded: the NCAA
handed down sanctions on USC for numerous violations “leading to a spirit of
contempt for NCAA regulations and a culture of practices at odds with the
student-athlete ideal.” Or, as Josh Kryzinski explained, USC had dipped their
hands in the cookie jar too egregiously for even the NCAA to ignore. Aside from
generally being happy at USC’s misery, there was a tangible benefit to everyone
else in PWAC: USC would be bowl-ineligible next season.

“Shame they weren’t sanctioned
earlier,” Kryzinski sighed, “or we might’ve had a PWAC win in the Rose Bowl
this year.” USC had lost to Nebraska.

For the next week there was much
speculation about which USC players might enter the NFL early based on this
news, but the end results were the same as expected. At Crocker, the only
player to change his mind about staying on was Kevin Babcock. Lowell was going
to miss him, and wasn’t sure it was the best decision in the world -- Babcock
was a great running back but was unlikely to be a high round pick -- but he
could understand not wanting to stay with the uncertainty. He felt that
uncertainty himself.

Erick didn’t.

“I don’t think Kevin is making the
right decision,” Erick said, “but it’s his life. I hope he gets signed to a
team who’ll recognize what an asset he is. I hope he won’t regret missing
Crocker’s best season yet.”

They were at the apartment, sitting
around the living room with Dale after evening drills.

“You really believe that,” said
Dale.

“I have to believe it,” said Erick.
“But is it so hard to believe? We have a great team. Coach Miller’s a great
coach. Whoever he brings in as offensive coordinator, I trust him to pick
someone as good as he was. Why shouldn’t we have an even better season than we
did this year?”

“Dude. This season was fucking
awesome,” Lowell said. “First eleven-and-one since 1924.”

“Twelve-and-one,” Erick corrected
automatically. “First twelve-and-one ever, first bowl win since 1975. An
awesome season doesn’t mean we stop here. We can have an even better season.”

“Well,” said Dale, smiling. “We
still have you. So maybe we can.”

Erick sat back, shaking his head. “I’m
just one guy, as you like to point out. Takes the whole team to win.”

“Yeah,” Lowell said, bumping
shoulders with him, “it takes the whole team with Erick West on it.”

Winter quarter started and Lowell’s
schedule was heavy-duty awful. He had goofed off for two summers, and with
graduating on time -- with Erick and Dale -- now his top academic priority, he
enrolled in two additional classes this quarter. One was a composition class, a
requirement most students got out of the way in freshman or sophomore year. It
wasn’t hard but a lot of work. The other courses ranged from moderately
difficult to fucking brutal, but Lowell faced them as if they were an opponent’s
defensive line on the field: he braced himself and scanned for an opening to
get around them.

Erick’s course load was similarly
heavy, though he wasn’t taking as many classes as Lowell. He had a special
projects course this quarter which required him to work with one of his
professors and a couple of classmates on designing a working product prototype
for a national collegiate competition. It was the type of project Lowell knew
Erick would be good at: he loved working with other people with the goal of
winning.

Their schedule through January was
busy. Once spring training started in February, it was insane. Lowell was lucky
if he saw Erick once a week outside of practice. It was kind of killing him --
when his brain wasn’t working on class assignments or focused on drills, all he
could think about was how much he wanted Erick -- but it made their
get-togethers more valuable, more intense; being together was something they
were not going to take for granted.

Lowell was losing touch with
practically everyone else outside of practice. He rarely saw Dale even on the
nights he stayed in the dorm, hunched over his laptop, working. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d played basketball with Kryzinski; it had been
sometime before the Notre Dame game. He had a series of unanswered e-mails from
Breitenstein, who’d gone pro last year and was a rookie cooling his heels in
Louisiana.

Lowell got his first breather the
long Presidents’ Day weekend, but Erick was buried in his prototype project.
Lowell left him studying at Dr. Brandt’s, giving him a slow deep kiss of
encouragement, and went back to Poitier with a list of things he could catch up
on.

When he entered the room, there was
a tall, handsome guy standing next to Dale’s bedroom, dressed in nice jeans and
a casual leather jacket over a grey Crocker hoodie.

“Oh, you must be Lowell,” the guy
said pleasantly, extending his hand. “I’m Andy.”

Lowell shook hands. Andy stepped
back and gave him a look and said, “Orange Bowl, right?” He had a wide,
gorgeous grin.

Lowell pushed his hair back and
tucked it behind his ear. “Yeah, uh, four touchdowns. You saw the game?”

“Oh yeah. Me and a bunch of
buddies, fifty-six inch plasma. No way we were missing Crocker’s bowl game.”

“You a football geek?” Lowell asked
with a smile.

Andy chuckled, a low, attractive
sound. “I’m afraid I’m a fair-weather fan. I only started following it last
season when we started winning. My game’s basketball.” He mimed shooting a
hoop.

Lowell grinned, not taking his
football fickleness as an insult. “You on the team?”

“Crocker’s team? Um, no. But I play
with some buddies... Ah, you ready?” This directed at Dale, who emerged from
his bedroom shrugging into his winter jacket.

“You got the tickets?” Dale asked
Andy.

“Yep,” Andy said, patting his
leather jacket.

Dale glanced at Lowell. “Hey, you
busy? You wanna come with us? We’re going to the Warriors game. Andy’s got an
extra ticket.” Andy smiled invitingly at Lowell.

“Sure, I’d love to come.”

As they were leaving Poitier, Dale
said, “Andy has two extra tickets. I don’t suppose Erick...?”

Lowell sighed. “No. I bet he’d love
to come if he could, but he’s working on his project all weekend.”

“
All
weekend, Menacker?” Dale
asked pointedly, arching an eyebrow at Lowell.

“Um, well, no. Not if I have
anything to do with it,” Lowell murmured.

“That’s the spirit,” Dale said,
bumping him with his elbow.

Andy had a car, a silver Prius.
Lowell was surprised the back seat didn’t feel more cramped, and the car’s
near-silence meant he could be included in the front seat conversation.

“Lowell and I were talking about
the Orange Bowl,” Andy said, driving them off campus.

“Oh, don’t go on about it,” Dale
said. He cast a look back at Lowell. “It’ll go to his head. He’s bad enough to
live with as it is.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that true, Lowell?”

Lowell rapped his knuckles against
the back of Dale’s head. “I am the perfect roommate.”

Andy glanced at Dale. “Who’s the
troublemaker, then?”

“Dale,” said Lowell at the same
time Dale said, “Me.”

Andy laughed.

The game was fun and exciting even
though the Warriors lost. It made Lowell’s hands itch to grab a basketball and
shoot some hoops; he was going to have to hunt down Kryzinski this weekend if
Erick was busy. Or maybe this Andy guy... He said he had buddies he played
with. An actual game with teams would be totally sweet.

After the game they went to a
Korean barbeque place Andy liked in Mountain View, and about halfway through
the meal Lowell realized this had been a date. Or what would’ve been a date if
he hadn’t intruded. He watched how Andy looked at Dale, spoke to him, and
teased him about his awkward attempts to use chopsticks before placing his hand
over Dale’s to put his fingers in the right position.

Lowell felt relief that Dale had
finally found someone, warm amusement at watching Andy’s flirting, and utter
bewilderment as to why Dale had invited him along. Maybe Lowell wasn’t supposed
to accept the invitation? But Dale wasn’t the type to ask if there was a risk
of getting the wrong answer, and Dale had to have known a Warriors game would
be catnip to Lowell.

At the end of the evening, Andy
walked them back to Poitier after parking his car, proof positive in Lowell’s
mind that this had been intended as a date. He kept hanging back to give them
some privacy, but stupid Dale would pause and wait for him to catch up. He wasn’t
able to get away from them until they were back in the dorm and he could
disappear into his bedroom.

He heard the room door close a few
seconds later.

“Dude,” he said, sticking his head
out. Dale was taking off his jacket and hanging it up in his closet. “What was
that about?”

“What was what about?” Dale asked.

Lowell came over to lean against
the doorway to Dale’s room. “Why’d you invite me in on your date?”

“Date?” Dale laughed. “That wasn’t
a date.” He pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the duffel bag he used for
laundry.

Lowell frowned. “Oh. Really? You
don’t like him? I thought he was pretty cool. Good-looking. And he has a car. That’s
a sweet side benefit.”

Dale looked at him, resting his
fists on his hips. “I like him, but it’s not like that.”

“Oh.” Lowell’s disappointment
settled heavily. Damn, Dale had to find a guy soon. Dale was a good catch. How
could it be so hard to find a boyfriend? “Where’d you meet him?”

Dale glanced away uncomfortably. “I,
um. I went to a gay students’ meeting on campus a few weeks ago. Sort of like a
support group. Nothing public, nothing, um, out there,” he added hurriedly. “Nowhere
where the guys would see me.”

Lowell let that pass for now and
stayed focused on his principal topic. “So Andy
is
gay.”

“Well, yeah,” Dale allowed. “But it’s
not like that.” He pushed past Lowell and knocked Lowell’s forehead with his
knuckles. “Not everyone’s as sex-obsessed as you, little straight boy.”

Which was a low blow, and prompted
Lowell to follow him to the bathroom and watch Dale brush his teeth. “I’ve been
sucking Erick’s cock for a month. You can drop the ‘little straight boy’ now.”

Dale spat out toothpaste and squinted
at him. “TMI, homeboy. TMI.”

“You didn’t used to think so,” Lowell
said, still stinging from “sex-obsessed.”

“Temporary insanity,” Dale
muttered.

They glared at each other, and for
an awful split second, Lowell was tempted to grab him, get naked with him, get
off with him the way they used to. From the look in Dale’s eyes, he could tell
Dale was thinking the same thing.

The moment passed with a wash of
cold sweat trickling down the back of Lowell’s neck, and he backed off with a
weak, “It’s your love life, whatever. I’m just sayin’, that Andy guy? He likes
you.”

He retreated into his bedroom,
thinking the “sex-obsessed” label only hurt because it was too fucking true.

The next day was Sunday and after
his morning run, he stalked Erick to the apartment and was deliberately
distracting. It didn’t take much distraction to lure Erick to bed, and although
Lowell’s first impulse was a quick fierce rub-off, Erick wanted to go slow.
Wanted Lowell spread out under him. Wanted to watch Lowell as he stroked and
played with Lowell’s cock. Erick loved doing this. Loved playing with it.
Straddled Lowell’s legs and switched hands to tease him, and Lowell squirmed,
rocked, thrust, and writhed for him, loving how much Erick loved this. And as
soon as Erick touched him with his right hand, closed his grip -- that strong,
sure hand that threw eighty-one-yard passes in front of fifty thousand people
-- Lowell bucked and came, groaning for breath.

Lowell had thought to repay in kind
-- he loved touching Erick’s cock but especially loved how Erick shuddered and
pumped into his hand -- but watching Erick’s boner fill and rise made Lowell
hungry to taste him. Everything they did was good, but sucking Erick’s cock was
kind of the best, because he could make Erick absolutely lose it.

He did now, pulling Erick to his
mouth and holding Erick’s hips while he slid his mouth around his prick,
loosely, wet. Gradually tightening and sucking harder, his hands urging Erick’s
hips until Erick braced against the wall behind the bed and fucked his mouth
with steady, faster thrusts. Thrusting to the point where he lost it, slamming
his palms against the wall as he moaned and shoved his cock to Lowell’s throat
and came. Lowell had learned how to adapt, how to swallow the first shock then
ease back, drinking and licking and caressing the rest of it until Erick drew
out and collapsed on the bed beside him.

After dozing for a couple of hours,
they lazed in bed together, Erick folding his hands over Lowell’s chest and
using it as a pillow. Lowell rubbed the back of Erick’s head with his
fingertips, enjoying the fuzz of his hair growing out in soft waves.

“I went to the Warriors game last
night with Dale and his friend Andy,” Lowell said. “There was an extra ticket.
We were gonna invite you, but I figured you’d be busy.”

“I was,” Erick said with a yawn. “I
was up until two reading specs until my eyes crossed.” He kissed Lowell’s
chest. “Because I worked so hard last night I can goof off today.”

Lowell grinned. “Now I’m really
glad we didn’t invite you.” He paused to plan how to make the most of Erick’s
day; they were off to a good start. “If you’d been there, though, maybe that
would’ve helped. ‘Cause it would’ve been like a double date.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. This guy Andy, I’m sure he
likes Dale. But Dale says it’s nothing. I don’t know. Maybe Dale’s not
attracted to him. But he’d be crazy not to be. Andy’s gorgeous.”

Erick shifted, propping his chin on
his hands, and looked up at Lowell. “How gorgeous?” he asked with a subtle,
non-serious edge.

“Like Crocker’s top ten hottest
guys gorgeous,” Lowell exaggerated. “Dale better pounce while the pouncing’s
good. Guy that hot won’t be single for long.”

“Mm-hm,” Erick murmured. He moved,
sliding onto his side and skimming his fingers through Lowell’s hair. “This is
what I have to put up with? You checking out hot guys?” he said, amused.

“Only for Dale,” Lowell said
earnestly. “We have to find him a boyfriend.”

Erick touched Lowell’s lips with
his fingertip. “I think Dale’s capable of finding one on his own.”

“I don’t,” Lowell said, bluntly
truthful. “His track record isn’t so good, if you remember.”

Erick flicked his finger at Lowell’s
nose. “I remember.” His amused voice had a bit of a bite to it.

“Well, yeah. That’s exactly my
point.”

Erick leaned forward and kissed him
softly. “You know, I remember not too long ago when you were up in arms over
Betsy trying to fix Dale up with somebody, what a wrong idea it was to play
matchmaker.”

Lowell slid his hands around Erick’s
waist. “That’s because I knew Betsy wouldn’t find the right guy. And I was
right about that, wasn’t I? This is different. When it comes to Dale, we’re
smarter than Betsy.”

Erick kissed him again. “Okay. I’ll
bite. What’s your game plan, Menacker?”

Lowell grinned and nuzzled Erick’s
neck, nipping at it. “The first step is to spend as much time as possible with
you. So Dale gets plenty of alone time with Andy and sees what a great catch he
is.”

Erick chuckled and wrapped his leg
around Lowell. Lowell pressed closer, rocking slowly, getting interested. They
kissed and moved together and Erick got extremely interested quickly. With a
moan, Lowell held his hips and thrust against him, covering his neck and
shoulder with kisses.

“What’s the next step?” Erick
asked, sinking his hands into Lowell’s hair and biting his ear.

“I haven’t gotten that far,” said
Lowell, and captured his mouth in another ravenous kiss.

Erick’s leg tightened around him,
his thigh muscles taut as he angled to rub his cock against Lowell’s. Lowell
held the small of his back and matched his rhythm, breath shattering in a gasp
when Erick reached between them to stroke them both, squeeze their tips
together. Lowell buried his face against Erick’s shoulder and thrust harder,
groaning, “Yeah, oh yeah. That.”