Safety Net (34 page)

“I did, though,” Erick said. “There’s
always next time.”

Lowell nipped at Erick’s jaw. “Uh-huh.
We’ll see how that goes.”

They sprawled in silence in the dark
for a long time until Lowell said, “I wasn’t sure if you’d want this. Now that
you and Candace are back together.” And he immediately hated himself for
voicing his doubts aloud.

Erick’s hands smoothed up Lowell’s
back. After a pause he said, “Candace and I aren’t back together.”

Lowell rose up but couldn’t see him
clearly. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know... I thought...”

Erick touched a finger to Lowell’s
lips. “It’s all right. We had a good long talk about things. About us. And
Candace is right. Our lives could lead back to each other. Or maybe they won’t.
We have to see.”

Lowell stroked Erick’s cheek,
rubbed the fuzz of his hair. “Are you really okay with that? I know you love
her.”

“Yes, I do. And yes, I’m really
okay with it. This is what feels right. For now, this is what’s right.”

He sounded certain, though Lowell
contemplated turning the light on to take a good hard look at him to be sure.

“As for the other part,” Erick
sighed. He held Lowell’s back and said quietly, “Lowell. Tell me what more I
can do, what more you need until you know how I feel about you. Because I’m
trying to show you every way I know how. Maybe the sex is getting in the way,
distracting us...”

Lowell took a deep breath. “Shit,
no. I do know. Honestly. I’ve been a jealous pig all week, that’s all.” He
kissed Erick slowly. “The sex isn’t getting in the way.”

“Good,” Erick said with a smile in
his voice. “Because you make me seriously horny.”

Lowell kissed him again. “And
satiated?”

“And satiated,” Erick agreed. “Speaking
of which, are there any cookies left?”

After they finished the cookies,
they half-heartedly debated ordering take-out before laziness -- and the realization
that it was almost one in the morning -- kept them put. Lowell snuggled around
Erick so they could sleep together and caressed Erick’s right arm.

“There’s something I should
probably tell you,” Lowell said reluctantly, after closing his eyes and knowing
he wasn’t going to get any sleep. “After the Hammer Game, I went to a party
and, um, I met a girl there. We messed around. We were both a little drunk.” He
paused, then added, “We didn’t fuck or anything. Just, um. Anyway.”

Erick didn’t immediately respond. “Oh.
We wondered where you disappeared to.” His voice was giving nothing away, which
Lowell found a very bad sign.

“Are you pissed at me? You have
every right to be. It was a stupid thing. I don’t even know why I did it.”

“It wasn’t because you miss having
sex with girls?” Erick asked, still neutral.

Lowell resumed stroking Erick’s
arm. “You know, Andy asked me that, and I don’t get it. What ‘miss’? I’m with
who I’m with. It’s not like I’m thinking, oh gee, I wish Erick were a girl.”

“Well, I’m glad of that,” Erick
laughed softly. “I’d make one hell of an ugly girl.”

Lowell smiled. “With the beard and
all? Yeah.” He nuzzled Erick’s jaw and kissed his scraggly beard. “You’re not
pissed at me?”

“To be honest? I am, a little.” Erick
paused. “Just a little. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I ever asked you to
give up your tomcat ways.”

Lowell raised an eyebrow. “My
tomcat ways. Ouch. Not that I don’t deserve it, but ouch. You know, it’s kind
of a relief that you’re pissed. I don’t know why.”

Erick curved his right hand against
Lowell’s palm and wove their fingers together. “I’d say thanks for telling me,
but I’m not thankful,” he said drily. “I appreciate your motivations, however.
It’s okay. I won’t kick you out of bed for eating cookies.”

Lowell kissed Erick’s shoulder. “Good.
Because you were the one dropping crumbs all over the place. And, dude. It’s my
bed.”

-----

After the disappointment of not
getting to play in the game where Crocker regained the Golden Hammer, Dale
could deal with being sidelined for their final regular season match against
Arizona. Arizona, who were 3-7 going into the game, performed as expected. Erick
left the field after the first quarter, replaced by Christiansen, who put
another twenty-one points on the board. Erick returned for the last ten minutes
to finish his final game on Crocker’s home field. He got another seven, and the
final score was 63-20. Crocker’s season ended with a perfect 12-0. Its last
undefeated season had been in 1894, when there had only been five games.

At halftime, all of Crocker’s
departing seniors were announced and cheered on by the crowd. Dale walked out
with Benton and Lowell. He spotted Andy standing near the front of the students’
section and waved. Erick’s name was announced last, and the entire stadium --
including the visitors’ section -- stood up, cheering and applauding. The
seniors lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, and Dale caught Lowell blinking away a
few tears despite his huge smile. Erick, in the center, raised his arms and
grinned triumphantly at the crowd.

Crocker was certainly going to get
a bowl game, and Dale wanted to be fit for that. By rights it would be the BCS
Championship game, but despite its 12-0 season, Crocker was ranked fourth or
fifth in the various polls. Dale bitched about it to anyone who would listen,
which ended up being Lowell after Andy asked to be excused from BCS talk.

“We’ll get the Rose Bowl,” Lowell
said. “We’re the highest ranked PWAC team.”

“We better fucking get the Rose
Bowl,” Dale muttered, “or this whole thing is a joke. But I bet you half of
your future NFL salary that if USC wasn’t banned from bowl games this year,
they’d find a way to worm into the Rose Bowl on their eleven-to-one, and we’d
get stuck with the Bacon Bits Bowl or something.”

“The Sourdough Bread Bowl,” Lowell
chuckled. “Ever since I got out here, I’ve thought there should be a bowl game
named that. They could have it in San Francisco. It’s perfect.”

They were sitting in the student
union, waiting for Erick, and Dale considered pouring the rest of his cola over
Lowell’s head. “I don’t know about you sometimes. You sure that concussion didn’t
shake anything loose?”

Lowell flipped him off and crunched
on his ice. “You sure your knee’s gonna be a hundred percent for the bowl game?”

“It has to be,” Dale said grimly. “This
is my last game. I’m not missing it.”

“Your last college game,” Lowell
said. “Yeah, you don’t wanna miss it. But you also gotta keep the knee good for
future games.” He emptied the rest of the ice into his mouth.

Dale toyed with the straw in his
cola. “No. This is my last game. I’m not entering the NFL.”

Lowell slowly chewed ice and stared
at him. “What? Why?”

“Why do you think?” Dale arched an
eyebrow at him.

Lowell frowned at him, and Dale
added, “Besides, I don’t think I’m good enough. I’d be pretty far down even if
I made it into the rounds. It’s not a lot of slots when you think about it.”

“But you’re good,” said Lowell.

“I’m good, but am I fantastic? No.
Am I better than a lot of the other wide receivers out there? I think so. But
they want to get to the NFL more than anything else in the world, and right now
-- meaning, after we win the Rose Bowl -- what I want? Is to be myself. Finally
and completely.”

Lowell slumped a little, playing
with his empty cup. “I always imagined us entering the NFL draft together. You,
me, and Erick. What are you going to do instead? You’re not thinking about the
Peace Corps, are you?” Andy had been talking about joining the Peace Corps
after graduation, but so far he hadn’t made it sound appealing to Dale.

Dale shrugged. “I haven’t decided
yet. I was looking at grad school, but I have to think about what I want to
do... Oh, here’s Erick.”

Erick wandered up and sat down next
to Lowell, and the first thing Lowell said to him was, “Dale’s not entering the
NFL.”

Erick glanced at Dale. He didn’t
seem as surprised as Lowell. “Bro. I’m sorry to hear that. I think you’re as
good as anyone else they’re talking up for the draft. What’re you gonna do?”

“We were just discussing my lack of
future plans,” Dale said wrily. “But that’s off-topic. You have your bike?
Good. We’re off to Crocker Galleria.”

He stood up and Erick grumbled, “I don’t
know why we’re doing this. I have a suit.”

Dale clapped him on the shoulder. “You
have an ugly suit. I’m not having you disgrace Crocker once again at the
Heisman ceremony by wearing it. And Menacker’s gonna need a suit to impress his
future employers, and since I’m the only one of us with good taste, I figure
let’s solve all the fashion problems at once.”

They biked over to the Galleria
close to campus, and Dale led the way to Bloomfield’s men’s store, which had
half a floor for tall sizes. He dragged Lowell and Erick through the suit
aisles, saying, “The best thing about getting something here is they’ll do
on-site alterations.”

“This stuff isn’t cheap,” Lowell
said, lifting a price tag.

“That’s why it’s good,” said Dale. “And
I guarantee you, if you called your mother right now and told her you needed
money for a good suit, she would give you her credit card number over the phone.”

Lowell squinted at him. “I knew you
and my mom looked too chummy back in Florida... Oh, wait, Erick. Not that one.
Dale says you need dark colors.”

Erick, chastened, returned an
appalling light brown jacket to the rack. Dale found a very dark navy and held
it up to him. “How’s that?”

Erick fingered the sleeve. “It
feels okay. Should I try it on?”

A sales assistant showed up and
helped them find the right trousers for it, and at Dale’s insistence, they
loaded Erick down with a couple of dress shirts and a Crocker-red tie to go
with it. While they waited for Erick, the sales assistant brought a dark brown
velvet jacket for Lowell. Dale thought it was tacky and ridiculous, though the
color looked good on him, and Lowell said it was sick and admired himself in it
in the mirror.

“Bro, I’m not letting you out in
public in that jacket,” said Dale when the sales assistant was out of earshot.
“Velvet? For real?”

Lowell ran his hand down the
sleeve. “It’s so soft. Wow. I didn’t think they made stuff like this in my size.”

“Yes. One wonders what market they
had in mind.”

Lowell flipped the price tag over. “Oh,
hell no.” He ran his hands over the sleeves one last time and took it off with
a sigh. “What color should I get? I like the navy blue, too.”

“Hm.” Dale wandered around. “You’d
look good in navy, but then you and Erick would be twins. Let’s try to avoid
the creepy. How do you feel about black?”

Lowell shrugged unhelpfully, and
Dale pulled black and charcoal grey jackets out, holding them both up. “Either
of these.” He sighed, looking Lowell over. “It’s hard to go wrong with you,
Menacker. Except I know if I left it up to you, I’d end up with a complete mess.”
The sales assistant had drifted back, and Dale asked him, “What do you think?”

The sales assistant put together
the charcoal suit with a darker grey dress shirt and matching tie and escorted
Lowell to the dressing room. Dale killed time looking at belts until Erick
emerged, futzing with his tie.

“I can’t get this stupid thing
right,” he complained. “Mama always did mine.” Dale was helpless at ties and
let the sales assistant bring the professional’s touch while he stood back.

“Not bad, if I do say so myself,” said
Dale. Actually, Erick looked like a million bucks: tall and well-built, the
suit slimming much of his muscular chunkiness. Even his stubbly chin looked
like an intentional fashion choice.

A man from the alterations department
came to note the fit and while he and Erick were conferring, Lowell came out.
The result wasn’t what Dale would’ve chosen for Lowell -- there was a slight
Eurotrash vibe to it that was the complete opposite of Lowell -- but the fact
was Lowell looked stunning in it. And as Dale watched the moment when Lowell
and Erick checked each other out -- could the sales assistant and alterations
guy honestly be missing the burning, lust-filled looks between them? -- he
figured at this point, his work was done. His goal had been to make them
presentable. Anything else was icing on the cake.

They killed time at the Galleria
while Erick’s suit got rush alterations; he was leaving for New York in two
days. Lowell’s suit would be ready in a week, which Dale thought was just as
well. When they picked up Erick’s suit, Dale clapped them on the shoulders and
said, “Now, boys, remember. These are your good suits. Dry clean only. They’re
for special events. Not for, um, playing.”

Lowell shot him a look but blushed
slightly. Erick bit his lip and after a moment said, “Maybe we could take
photos in them.”

Lowell’s eyes widened, and Erick
grinned wickedly, which was possibly the oddest expression Dale had ever seen
on him.

“Is he always like this?” Dale
asked Lowell, and Lowell blew out, “You don’t know the half of it.”

The following Sunday, Erick looked
tall, respectable, classy, and handsome (inasmuch as Erick could be said to be
handsome), and Aaron Neuhauser Jr. looked like an awkward football player who
didn’t know how to dress himself. Which was small comfort when Neuhauser won
the Heisman.

They watched the ceremony on TV in
the coffee house with a decent-sized crowd of West well-wishers (Dale hadn’t
known Erick had a contingent of fangirls; it was mind-boggling). Erick smiled
and looked serene, not disappointed, and Neuhauser gave his acceptance speech
in a thick Southern drawl that surely made the SEC fans out there feel all was
right with the world. Lowell sat with his arms crossed over his chest and
glowered at the television as if his anger alone could turn back time and
change the results. Not even an opportunity to coo over Erick in his suit was
enough to calm Lowell down, and when the ceremony was over, he stalked off by
himself.