Safety Net (31 page)

Weakness is not often a word associated with
Erick West. When asked to give examples, West replies, “I don’t talk about my
weaknesses. They’re no secret to anyone who’s been watching me play. I don’t
need to advertise them.”

Many observers would disagree. Could he be
referring to the two losses against California University Rockridge, Crocker’s
arch rival? Some sports blogs have accused West of possessing a blind spot when
it comes to the Hammer Game, the Crocker-Rockridge rivalry match dating back to
1893. His only loss last season was against the Rockridge Mountain Lions.

West doesn’t like to be reminded of that game
and instead of dissecting what went wrong, he states confidently, “We’ll win
the Golden Hammer this year. We’ll be fighting for it from the position of
having lost it. We need to reclaim it. That gives us the edge.”

The “we” West speaks of is the entire Crocker
football team, from the redshirt freshmen to the fifth-year seniors. West, as
star quarterback and co-captain, has become the public face of a roster crowded
with often overlooked talent. It’s a responsibility he takes seriously, and
instead of answering personal questions about his private life, he sings the
praises of his teammates. What, then, do they say about him?

“I remember when he came in as a freshman,” recalls
Terrence Duran, former Crocker quarterback now playing for Baltimore. “I
watched him at practice and thought, I better get my A game back on. He’s the
real deal.”

Kansas State quarterback Ryan Hutchinson spent
six months at Crocker in a little publicized competition with West. “I made
myself hate him,” Hutchinson admits. “I thought it was the only way to win. But
it didn’t work out that way. Crocker wasn’t a good match for me, but it’s
perfect for Erick.” Does Hutchinson still bear ill-feeling toward West? “No. He’s
a nice guy. He’s hard to hate. As soon as I left California, I wished we could’ve
been friends.”

“Erick’s a normal guy,” insists Crocker tight
end Anson Dempsey, who roomed with West for two years. “He studies and he plays
football.”

Ron Donovan, Crocker’s athletic director, agrees.
“Erick West is an ordinary college student with an extraordinary talent for
football. He is exactly the kind of student athlete Crocker University, with
its twelve NCAA and thirty-one PWAC championship titles, attracts.” None of
those championships, by the way, are in football. Not yet.

“There’s no pretension about Erick,” says Tom
Bowman, who coached him for three years. “What you see is what you get, and
what you see on the field is one of the best damn quarterbacks in college
football.”

Presented with a list of accolades, West
responds, “It’s all nice to hear, but it doesn’t sound like me.” When asked to
describe himself, however, his self-portrait bears an uncanny resemblence to
the picture already painted: “I’m just a college kid who plays a lot of football.
I’m on the field when I’m not in class.”

As our interview comes to an end, West’s
attention is drawn to the baseball game. Is there another sport dear to his
heart? “No,” he laughs. “I’ve been reading the sports ticker.” Of course. The
football scores.

The final question has to be asked: what about
the beard? West rubs his chin, which is clean-shaven for today’s photo shoot. “It
wasn’t intentional. I get too busy to shave. The guys give me crap about it,
though, and that makes me want to grow it out. Does it look so bad on the field?”

When Erick West is on the field, I’m sure no
one is looking at the beard.

-----

“‘Often overlooked talent,’” Lowell
read aloud, grinning. “That would be us,” he said, pointing to Dale and
himself.

They were sitting in Poitier the
Wednesday of their bye week, a stack of
College Sportsman
magazines
piled in the middle of the floor. The athletic department’s PR wanted Erick to
autograph the covers; they were going to give them away to boosters and alumni.
Erick stretched out on the floor on his stomach and scrawled his name across
the glossy picture of himself posing in his uniform. He had what Dale called “psycho
eyes” in the photo; the portrait accompanying the article was even worse. He had
liked this photographer; he thought the results would be better.

Andy sat cross-legged on the floor
beside him, fanning the ink to dry and neatly returning the autographed copies
to a cardboard box. Dale and Lowell lounged on the sofa, both reading their
copies.

“Hutchinson wishes you could’ve
been friends?” Dale said skeptically. “Yeah, right.”

Erick had been as surprised as
everybody else to read that. “Maybe he’s changed.”

“I should get credit for the story
about the girl who didn’t know we had a football team,” Lowell said, good-naturedly
complaining. “She was my girlfriend.”

Andy glanced back at him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lowell looked
uncomfortable. “Obviously, it didn’t work out.”

Erick passed another magazine to
Andy. “The interviewer asked me what it was like to play football at a place
like Crocker, which is better known for its Nobel Prize winners and Rhodes
scholars. I remembered Kelly, thought that would be a good way to describe it.
I did meet her, even if by that time she knew there was a football team.”

“Not everyone here is that
clueless,” Andy said. “And I’m sorry to say this, Lowell, but that’s pretty
amazingly clueless.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.
I dated her for half a year. She wasn’t interested in football at all and had
some very strange ideas about the team.”

Dale looked up from the magazine. “Like
what?”

Lowell grimaced. “Oh, that we’d
always cover up for each other, no matter what it was.”

Dale flicked the magazine pages
with his thumb. “We kind of do.”

Lowell looked at him uneasily, and
Erick watched the two of them for a tense moment before Lowell said, “Not in
the way she meant. She believed being on the team made us lose sight of what’s
right and what’s wrong. Fucked with our morality.”

“Ah, hm. It’s not quite like that,”
Dale said, turning his attention back to the magazine. Lowell was still staring
at him. Erick said in a undertone, “Lowell.”

Lowell glanced at him briefly. “He
should know.”

Erick took a deep breath, shaking
his head. “We have five games left. Our next game is USC. At least wait until after--”

“What in the hell are you two
talking about?” Dale asked.

“Dale. About you being gay,” Lowell
said. “It’s an open secret on the team. Probably about half the guys have known
for over a year.”

The color drained from Dale’s face.
Erick sat up, capping the permanent marker. “Shit.”

Andy looked from Dale to Lowell to
Erick and back. The color raced back to Dale’s cheeks and reddened. “And just
how much do they know?” Dale asked tightly, glaring at Lowell.

Lowell glared back. “Don’t even.
All they know is you’re gay. And this is from way back, when you were seeing
that Rockridge guy.”

Dale’s anger passed. “Brent?” he
asked in surprise. “They’ve known since Brent?”

“Who’s Brent?” Andy asked with a
sharp curiosity, eyes on Dale.

Erick rubbed his knuckles, stiff
from autographing magazines, and said quietly, “The point is, no one on the
team has given you shit about it, have they?”

Dale looked at him. “No. They haven’t.”
He fell silent, processing this. Erick shot a look to Lowell, who ignored it.
Andy sat up straight. “Who’s Brent?” he asked again.

Dale waved off the question with, “Ex-boyfriend.
Went to Rockridge.” He glanced at Lowell. “My version of Kelly, come to think
of it. We had nothing in common.”

Andy clearly wanted to hear more.
Erick tossed the permanent marker into the box of signed magazines and said, “I
have to rest my hand. I don’t need to get these done tonight.” He stood up. “I’m
gonna go back to my room.” He looked at Andy, but Andy’s attention was on Dale.
Lowell said, “I’ll come with.”

They’d managed to get rooms on the
same floor. As they walked down the hall Lowell said, “Are you pissed at me for
telling him?”

Erick sighed. “Half and half. He
has a right to know, I agree. But shit, Lowell. Before the USC game? Seriously?”

“Are you that worried?”

“I’m always worried, even when I’m
confident,” said Erick, opening the door to the suite. “Even when I know we’re
better. Because when we’re better than they are, the only thing that will make
us lose is ourselves. When we play badly, make mistakes, stop trusting each
other.”

“Oh.” Lowell leaned against the
wall right inside the room and pushed his hair back. “Fuck. You’re right.
Crappy timing.”

Erick patted his shoulder. “Could’ve
been worse. You could’ve told him the day of the game. This way he has a week
and a half to work through it.”

“Are you gonna tell Ken and the
guys that I told him?”

“No. I don’t see any reason to. Now
that Dale knows... It’s between them.” Erick shrugged. “I’ll step in if I have
to, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

“I’m sorry,” Lowell mumbled. “It’s
bothered me for a while, that’s all. Dale’s completely convinced that he has to
pretend all the time because nobody knows.”

Erick cocked his head. “Dale’s
self-preservation instincts aren’t misplaced. Not everyone on the team knows,
and the ones that do... Not everyone is cool with it. They’re setting their
prejudices aside for the good of the team.”

“It’s bullshit,” Lowell said
angrily. “What difference does it make that Dale’s gay, honestly?”

Erick couldn’t answer that. As far
as he could tell, it made no difference whatsoever.

Lowell looked at him and said, “I’m
sorry. Me and my big mouth.”

Erick patted his cheek and smiled
at him. “I like your mouth.” He kissed it to prove his point.

That night they crammed into Erick’s
bed together -- Erick missed the bed at the apartment every night -- and made
out, and Erick made Lowell relax and feel better until he fell asleep in Erick’s
arms. Sometime in the middle of the night Erick woke up because Lowell was
getting back into bed. Erick shifted around to make room, about to fall back to
sleep.

“Erick?”

“Mm?”

Lowell took a breath and kissed
Erick’s shoulder and said, “Make love to me.”

Erick blinked and rubbed his eyes. “You
mean...”

“You know what I mean,” Lowell
said, and kissed him slowly. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Erick had considered it before, but
he loved when Lowell fucked him and hadn’t been eager to mess with a good
thing. He smoothed his hands down Lowell’s back. Lowell pressed against him,
already hard, making Erick want to fuck. His cock swelled, and Lowell hooked
his thigh around Erick’s hip. They kissed deeply. Lowell reached back, guiding
Erick’s hands lower to hold his ass.

“Don’t you want to?” Lowell asked
quietly.

“I do. I do want to,” said Erick.
He squeezed Lowell’s ass, and Lowell kissed his neck, rubbing against him,
filling him with heat. Lowell shifted onto his back, clutching Erick. “I don’t
know if I’ll be as good at it as you are,” Erick murmured worriedly.

Lowell softly bit Erick’s lower
lip. “Erick. I’m so horny for you right now, want you so damn much, I don’t
think it’s gonna matter. Besides, we can always practice, practice, practice.”

Erick followed the way Lowell liked
to do him, up to the point when he improvised because Lowell wasn’t reacting
the way Erick did. There was a moment that reminded Erick of getting sacked: he
could either panic and fumble or he could take his best shot and go for it. It
made him more confident to see it that way because he would always go for it.
Improvising worked, and Lowell tightened his legs around him and said, “Erick.
Now.”

Erick pushed inside him, which was
way more difficult than he imagined. Lowell panted out a breath and said,
somewhat hoarse, “If you make a crack about tight ends right now I am so going
to kill you.” And he laughed a little, which made Erick laugh, and he pushed
again and
there
. Oh, wow, it was unbelievable. Absolutely...wow. Erick
couldn’t think. He moved on instinct, the way Lowell would move when they
fucked, until Lowell gripped his arm tightly and breathed out, “Hold on a sec.
Let me...um.”

Lowell squirmed, the movement
sending jolts of fire through Erick, and arched his hips up in what Erick would’ve
thought would be an uncomfortable position except Lowell groaned, “Ohhh. Oh
yes. Okay.” He released Erick’s arm, and Erick moved, cautiously at first, and
Lowell made amazing sexy noises of encouragement with each motion.

Erick, relying on his reactions,
worked up to a steady rhythm -- absolutely unbelievable, how wonderful this
felt -- until their reactions were the same, their thrusts were the same, their
bodies moving together to the same point. Erick touched Lowell’s cock, had
barely wrapped his hand around it before Lowell came. The overload of
sensations slammed into Erick all at once, made him come. Made him feel high
and powerful and strong and raw and vulnerable all at once.

When Lowell got up to wash, he was
gone for a while and Erick dozed off. He startled awake when he realized Lowell
hadn’t come back, and got out of bed. He wandered into the living area and
found Lowell standing there, looking out the window. Erick touched Lowell’s
back tentatively.

“Lowell?”

Lowell turned and gathered him into
a crushing hug. “C’mere, you.”

Erick clasped his hands behind
Lowell’s back. “What’s the matter? You didn’t come back to bed.”

Lowell nuzzled his cheek. “I did,
but you were asleep. I came out here to look at the stars. It’s a clear night
tonight.”