The Locker Room (24 page)

the lights and the music and the thunder of the crowd.

God, Chris could play to the crowd—and they loved him. He

waved and dimpled, and danced through his intro, and the announcers

said things like, “Well, when he gets over his shyness, we"ll stop

worrying about how he"s going to fit in here!”

“Chris could play with anyone,” Xander said, believing it.

Leo let out a sigh and a grunt, and Xander glanced at him.

“Let it go, Xander,” Leo said quietly, packing one of those

chemical ice packs around his toe. “Let"s just watch the game, okay?”

They did, and Denver was doing okay. They were behind by six or

eight points but they kept the lead steady and didn"t do anything stupid.

Chris was starting, and he was making a fair show of it, hands up,

moving quickly, throwing himself into the game the way he always had,

but he didn"t seem to be racking up the points.

“Hmm…,” Xander muttered. There was something wrong with the

television. He tried adjusting the tint, the contrast, the hue, and finally

Leo stole the remote from him and snarled, “What in the bloody hell are

you playing at?”

The Locker Room 133

“Don"t you have forty-nine other clients or something?” Xander

asked irritably, and Leo rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, in fact I do. But I"ve got a soft spot for the two of

you, okay, and not just because you have the potential to make history

after you retire. But you"re totally pissing me off, and if you don"t stop

fucking with the goddamned set, I"m going to fire myself by jamming

that thing down your throat.”

Xander grunted and waved at Leo as master of the remote. It

wasn"t the empty threat of eating the remote control that got him; it was

the very real threat of being in the house alone. Penny was moving in the

next day. She had an engagement that night, and he"d told her not to miss

anything for him.

“All yours,” he muttered. “Knock yourself out.”

Leo grunted back. “What in the hell were you looking for?”

“Chris"s color didn"t look right. I wonder if he"s sick.”

Leo was quiet for a moment as Chris took the ball, bounced it to his

center and threw himself in position for the rebound, if Cliff decided for

the long shot. Cliff went in to dunk, instead, and Chris fived him. It

wasn"t the smooth five that Chris and Xander had perfected, but it was

friendly and competitive. Xander watched the screen, puzzled. Why

hadn"t Cliff gone for the long shot? It was easy enough to make. God

knows, the two of them had spent enough time drilling three-pointers at

UNC.

“He"s not as good as you are,” Leo told him patiently.

“Cliff? He just took a while to bloom.”

“No, idiot, he"s not as good. He knew he couldn"t make the long

shot, so he couldn"t take a second and make his guard look good. That"s

how good you are, Xander. It"s how good you"ve
always
been.”

Xander shrugged. “I practiced,” he said quietly, some of his

defenses leaking away. “Chris practiced with me. It was all I had.”

Leo sighed—he knew some of Xander"s past. Not all of it—enough

to help give Xander some good sound bite answers if the press cornered

him, but not all. No one knew about that shameful little apartment, or the

halfway house that followed it. No one knew he"d run away. No one

knew the last time he"d seen his mother—maybe not even Chris. No—he

134 Amy Lane

was billed as a foster-home success story, and about half the papers

erroneously put Chris as his foster-brother. Leo let them think that. It

was one of the things that had made them signing on the same team so

damned easy.

“Man, you just don"t get it, do you? Look at Chris out there—he"s

playing his heart out. How"re his numbers?”

Xander looked, and Leo was right. Chris was sweating, fierce, and

concentrated completely on his job. It was just like calculus, which Chris

had hated. He hated it, but damned if he was going to do a crap job on

something he"d been told was his duty to perform.

“He"s usually better than that,” Xander mumbled. “I think it"s

because he"s sick.”

Leo waved his hands in irritation—he did that sometimes. “What is

this „sick" bullshit, Xander? He looks fine to me!”

“Well, yeah, if he was sitting next to you. But on the court he"s

usually….” Xander waved his big hands around, searching for equally

big words for the shiny nimbus that seemed to follow Chris around,

telling Xander when to pass and when to shoot.

“Golden,” he said after an uncomfortable moment. “He"s usually

golden when we"re on the court together. You know. Darker tan.”

Leo"s eyes bugged out, and Xander subsided, watching the game

with the same fierce concentration that Chris seemed to be showing

while playing it.

When it was over, Denver had won, but not pretty. Chris had

proved himself as a capable first-string team player—but not any better

than Cliff, and only a little better than the guy they"d shipped from

Denver in his place. Leo and Xander sat expressionlessly and watched

the postgame wrap-up, where Chris grinned amiably into the camera and

lied his pretty little ass off.

“Yeah, it was fun being here with Cliff. If we had Karcek with us,

it would have been just like being in college again. Do I think I can

replicate the same success I had with Karcek?”

And Chris"s grin faded, became bittersweet.

“Xander and I were a team for a lot of years. You don"t just bust

something like that up on the court and expect it to be rebuilt in a day.”

The Locker Room 135

And then someone, thank God, threw him a soft ball that put him

right back in the driver"s seat again. “How do I feel about Colorado?

Have you
seen
your roads? Nobody here believes in guardrails! My God,

I
love
you people!”

The obligatory burst of laughter pretty much wrapped up the press

conference, and they shifted to an announcer somewhere else in the

sports complex. Xander"s hungry fixation on the screen eased up a bit as

the object of his desire became another body primed for the mysterious

art of sports dissection.

Then Leo turned off the television and said softly, “It"s you, Xan.”

Xander tried for light. “I swear that one was the dog,” he said, and

he was gratified when Leo let out a rusty chuckle. The dogs, overtired

from barking at Xander in the rain, lay sprawled on their cushion on the

floor and didn"t move.

“That one was you, you overgrown fifth grader, and don"t lie to

me. No, that"s not what I was talking about.”

Xander was tired. He was exhausted, and his body ached, and

underneath the cast-iron chemical plating separating his toe from the rest

of his cadaver, there was some serious pain-throbbing-agony going on in

his metacarpal phalange. The only thing keeping him awake was the

knowledge that Chris was going to call him soon—he"d promised—and

he had to know Xander was watching the game.

In short, Xander was too tired to deal with what Leo was saying,

but worse? He was too tired to escape it, either.

“What were you talking about?” he asked, fearing the inevitable.

“I was talking about the color that was missing on the television

screen. Xander—that"s not Chris, it"s the way you see him. That"s how

he looks to you, when you"re both playing the game. He"s a good player,

and he"s going to make a fine living. But he"s not you.”

“I hope not,” Xander murmured, almost to himself and half-stoned

on painkillers and exhaustion. “Because that would make sex almost as

boring as masturbation.”

Leo was surprised into a guffaw before he picked up the phone.

“Hey, Edwards, how"s the cutest little free-thrower east of the Rockies?

Or are you west? My sense of direction sucks.”

136 Amy Lane

Leo"s small talk didn"t last long, though, because in a moment the

phone was in Xander"s hand.

“Hey, man, how you feeling?” Chris was all concern, and Xander

fought the temptation to reach out to the television screen and summon

back the vision. Damn, he was out of it.

“A little stoned,” Xander confessed. “They gave me some

painkillers, and I took one before the food hit.”

“Yeah? How long ago was that?”

Xander thought hard. “Right at the beginning of the game,” he said,

and Chris did some thinking.

“Xander, how long after practice was that?”

“Well, I came home and practiced too,” Xander told him. “God, it"s

good to hear your voice. You get used to someone, you know? I kept

expecting to hear your voice. All day, I kept expecting to hear it. It"s a

good voice. Your words are short, because they"re always tumbling, one

on top of the other, because you have so much to say. I like that. The

house is never quiet when you"re talking.”

There was a digestive silence on the other end. “Um, Xan?”

“Um, Christian?”

“Can I talk to Leo for a minute?”

“No,” Xander said perversely. He was sort of cramped, having his

leg extended over the coffee table that way. He rolled over on his side

and grabbed the throw pillow on the end to tuck under his head, and

realized with a little surge of happiness that he was not going to have to

go into their bedroom this night. No. He"d fall asleep on the couch, and

avoid that big empty bed altogether.

“No?” Chris asked. He was clearly surprised, and Xander wished

he could cuddle the phone to his chest while he was talking on it.

“You"re on the phone with me. Leo will be back. He takes care of

us. I mean, I know we pay him, but is it wrong to think that he"s really

Uncle Leo? "Cause your family is the only family I"ve got, and you need

them.” Oh, God. Chris was here on the phone, and the shitty day and the

ball thrown at Coach"s head and the halo that clearly was
not
around

Chris on the television—it could all slide under the fall of Chris"s words.

The Locker Room 137

“No, Xan,” Chris said hoarsely. “I think Leo likes us for real too.

Are you sleepy yet?”

“Yeah—you"re not. You"re all wired after the game, aren"t you?”

Xander heaved a big sigh. “You"re usually pretty horny too. Damn. We

had the
best
sex after a win.”

“Yeah,” Chris laughed into the phone. “It"s the only time you never

question whether or not you should top.”

“I like it when you top,” Xan mumbled, too foggy to even blush, or

wonder if Leo was listening, or anything. “Feels good.”

Chris laughed some more. “Xander, you know it"s about more than

how it feels. It"s about who leads.”

“Mmm… you always lead real good, Chris. You have good plans.

You wanted to go to Chapel Hill, and that was good.”

“That was your idea, genius. I just got us the applications.”

“Naw….” Xander was so tired. Wasn"t that wrong? Wasn"t he an

athlete? Shouldn"t he be up to playing on a hurt foot, and then partying

all night? But he was trying to find the memory of who decided they

should play at UNC and all he could remember was the smell of sweat

and clean shampoo in Chris"s wild, curly hair when they were sitting

next to each other at the kitchen table, making plans for this exact future.

Except in their plans, he and Chris had been together.

“Geez,” he mumbled, “why don"t I remember that?”

“Because your whole world spiraled out of control when you were

a little kid,” Chris said, sounding grown up and far away, “and you like

to think that other people are running the show, because it makes you

feel safe. Truth is, Xander, you"re damned good at running your own

show.”

“None of that makes any sense,” Xander mumbled. “But God, I

miss you already.”

It was the last thing he remembered saying before Leo took the

phone from him and he slept.

138 Amy Lane

Slumber Parties

THE doc made him sit out for two games, and for a scant moment, his

heart lifted. A week! No basketball for a week, and he could go to

Colorado and stay in a hotel, and Christian could hold him while he

slept! (Corny, yes, but he"d slept so poorly, pain meds notwithstanding,

that he realized that it was going to be a real pain in the ass while they

were apart.)

And then he"d remembered that Chris was gone on a six-game road

trip, and he sighed and slumped on the examining table, even as the doc

wrapped his foot, glaring at him all the while.

“What the hell did you do to it, anyway?” Malloy asked, and

Xander shrugged.

“Shot a few baskets, then propped it up on the coffee table and

watched the game.”

Malloy shook his head and grumbled as if he didn"t believe him