Uncovered (Dev and Lee Book 4) (19 page)

When Gena goes off to find her boys, I wish her well with a promise I will look further into the drug she found in Fisher’s things last week. All she knows about it is what was on the label: the name Somatotropin. That’s growth hormone, a banned substance for sure, so I have to be careful how I research it; she’s just worried about the side effects it might have, but my preliminary research indicated that it’s probably not the only thing Fisher’s taking. I didn’t want to go to Hal, because once I open that can of worms with the media, who knows what’ll happen next. But it’s sure looking like he might be my best shot.

I go back to my hotel to do a little more research online. Dev texts me on the way back with a drunken “Limos don here.” It takes me a minute to translate “limos” into “Almost.” I smile and sit back in the hotel chair, debating whether to strip down for his arrival or not. At least he’s sure to be happier than the last time he came to my hotel room drunk.

I settle on t-shirt and boxer briefs—sadly, my briefs from yesterday are dirty and the ones from today in the laundry—giving me a nice saucy feeling as I lean back in the office chair with my laptop on my lap and my feet up on the desk. Outside, the city is pretty quiet, though occasionally I’ll hear whoops and hollers, with screams of “Yeah Firebirds!” sprinkled through the incoherent noises. I hope none of them get into fights.

There’s not a lot online about somatotropin other than ads disguised as fact guides (“Did you know that somatotropin has been called the ‘miracle drug’ for its users’ quick recovery from injuries?”). There are species-specific brands and somatotropin mixed with other things and warnings that you need a physician’s guidance to take appropriate dosages. It’s legal, you see, just not if you’re a professional athlete.

It doesn’t have any emotional side effects on its own. But it also doesn’t really help maintain muscle mass after an injury. For that, you need to take it in conjunction with anabolic steroids. And those, yeah. Those have an emotional effect. Quick temper, anger…the kinds of things we and Gena have been seeing.

I put the laptop back up on the desk and set my elbow beside it, resting my cheek against my paw. Hopefully they keep Fisher out of the championship game, he won’t be tempted to keep taking the drugs, and this whole thing will be over. It’d be nice if he retired after this year and settled back into a normal life.

Normal life. I trace a claw up and down my legs. A normal life like I have now, only without the prospect of a job in the spring? A normal life with nobody but Gena to be around, no game to prepare for every week, his cubs off to college? Maybe Fisher and I can hang out until I get the job in Yerba.

Or maybe once the cubs are gone, Gena will divorce him. Maybe she’ll be tired of taking care of cubs and won’t have the strength to take care of a husband losing his mind, prone to bouts of rage. I might just be projecting because of what’s happened with my parents, but I feel like I’m picking up on faint traces of that possibility.

To clear that out of my head, I start writing up the brief I want to file with the court. Hal told me that I need to write it up as clearly as possible, and plainly state the relevance to the current case. He was working on finding me a lawyer who could submit it, although he said most of the lawyers he knows specialize in sports and wouldn’t touch a civil suit like this. But getting it written is the important thing.

I funnel my anger at the stadium fight into my description of Mrs. Hedley’s callous writing-off of her children and my mother’s burning of my things. But I only get through a few paragraphs before the weight of bearing witness to the dissolution of three families—mine, the Hedleys, and the Kingstons, maybe—takes its toll, and I have to stop.

Even Dev’s family isn’t perfect, although his parents are coming around. But his brother won’t accept me, whether it’s a religious issue or jealousy over Dev’s success. Maybe there’s no such thing as a solid family these days. Maybe there’s a time limit on every relationship, and Families United is just an agent of inevitable fate.

I wish Dev would come back.

Chapter 8 - Cracks (Dev)

We decide to leave the celebration, Fisher, Vonni, and I, because I want to see Lee, like, really badly now, and Fisher is tired of being the only sober guy in the more and more raucous bar, and Vonni—well, we pretty much decide it’s time for the fox to go. He’s been trying to drink with the tigers and bears, but he just doesn’t have the body mass for it.

On our way out of the bar, the fox slides as though the pavement is ice and falls against the outside wall, all puffed-out orange tail and flailing black paws, big ears askew, laughing. I reach down to help him up and stagger a little, so Fisher pushes me out of the way. “Let me get it. You guys are too wasted to walk straight. Good thing I’m here.”

“We’re goin’ to the championship!” I yell.

“Yeah. You are.” He growls, and I remember vaguely that something happened to him, but I’m not quite sure what.

So I put an arm around him and say, “Aw, Fisher. You can come. I’m gonna talk to Coach. I’ll tell him you have to come with us.”

“I’m going with you.” Fisher gets an arm under Vonni’s arm and growls. “I just don’t know if I’m going to play.”

He looks fine, no bandages or anything. I stare down at his leg. Then I remember. “Hey. You hit your head.”

“That’s why I’m not drinking. Lion Christ, fox, at least make an effort to walk.”

“She’s got an effor’ ta walk!” Vonni sings. “An’ she don’ care!”

“I’ve got my own cubs to raise,” Fisher says to me. “At least you’re able to walk. Mostly.”

The ground is behaving itself, though every now and then it rises up or drops down an inch. I stumble, and Fisher glares at me. “I can’t hold you both.”

“I am fine,” I say, putting a paw to my chest.

Fine is an understatement. I can’t remember when I’ve felt better. We didn’t do everything right, but we did a hell of a lot right, and it felt like we were in control of the game the whole time. Falling to the ground in the end zone with the ball clutched to my chest was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Watching the clock tick down to zero was another. Everyone was jumping up and down, slapping each other on the back, hugging. I looked up at the stands and wished Lee could be celebrating with us, but that was the only slight stain on the moment. And after all, Vonni wasn’t longing for Daria, and Gerrard wasn’t saying anything about Angela. So I settled for a look his way and then enjoyed the celebration with my teammates.

And later, even though Coach took the time to appreciate our achievement in getting to the championship, he stressed that we were going to have two more weeks of hard work ahead of us. “And then,” he said, “you’ll get to celebrate being World Champions!”

I can’t even imagine. Fisher told us on the way to the bar that the first time he won, it took a week for it to sink in, and that the second championship was even better. “Great,” I said at the time, “another year to wait, huh?”

Then Strike told us not to get cocky because he’d been to the championship game, and losing was the worst feeling, and he assumed he’d be going back but then it didn’t happen for three years. He said that we were a great team, although to be honest, he didn’t think we were quite as good as the Hellentown team he’d been to the championship game with, but that was okay because Crystal City wasn’t as good as the Port City team that had beaten them, and anyway it only took a few lucky breaks. We tuned him out after a while.

But all that’s in the background now, in the happy haze of beer and camaraderie that I left behind to walk home—no, to the hotel—in the cold air. I take in a deep breath and it chills my lungs, making me cough, but over that I get the smell of the city: beer and trees, exhaust and people in a unique mix that I will always associate with this feeling. Plus, I keep thinking of getting back to Lee’s room and wrapping him in a hug and then getting his clothes off, and I have a rock-hard erection from that. “I love Boliat,” I announce, bracing myself against a building’s wall.

“Yeah, yeah.” Fisher hefts the still-singing Vonni around a corner. “You know if his wife is here or not?”

“Vonni’s? I think her name is Dairy—Dairy-ah?”

“I know her name. Did she come up here or is he staying with Pace?”

I frown. “Pace is back at the bar.”

“Lion Christ. Here, hold onto him for a second.” He shoves Vonni at me, and it seems like he shoves him pretty hard. It’s enough to stagger me backwards, and Vonni almost slides off my arm and back to the ground, but I catch him.

The fox is still singing, but now it’s, “Oh, I like the party life, break out the red lights!” I hold him up as best I can, breathing in the cold air again. I’m starting to get a bit more clarity.

“Hi, honey.” Fisher talks into his iPhone. “Listen, Vonni’s pretty wasted. Did Daria come up? Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah, Dev’s going there, too. We’ll bring him up.”

He brings the phone down and pokes at it with his thumb until the screen goes dark. “Damn things,” he says. “What was wrong with the flip phone, the thing you just talk into and then you close it and you’re done?”

“Strike gave you that. I have one too.” I pat my pocket. “They take pictures.”

“Yeah, and if you can find me some fucking West Coast computer nerd, I’ll show you how.”

“No, look, it’s easy.” I fumble for the phone in my pocket and pull it out, turning it on with one paw while I hold up Vonni. The phone slips out of my paw, but I catch it just before it drops. “Dammit.”

Fisher steps around to the other side of Vonni and supports him. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”

“No matter how you slice it I’m your muthafuckin’ guy,” Vonni sings, and then, changing rhythms, “I ball ’til I fall!”

At which point he almost does, lurching around Fisher. Only Fisher’s grip on the fox’s arm saves him from face-planting. Which is the perfect time for me to lift the phone and snap a picture of them.

“God dammit, help me!” Fisher yells.

I hit the button to clear the camera function and promptly drop the phone. It lands on the pavement with a crack and lies there. “Aw, shit,” I say.

Fisher pushes Vonni back up to his feet. “Get his other side,” he snaps.

I pick up the phone. It’s got a small white fan of cracks radiating out from the corner where it fell. “Shit,” I say again.

“Dev, put the damn phone away.”

“All right, all right.” I slide the phone into my pocket and get back under Vonni’s shoulder, helping Fisher, and like that, we walk him back to the hotel.

I’m not even sure where we’re going. I just let Fisher pick the floor. When we get to the room, Gena’s there and Daria, and I give them big smiles. “Hi there,” I say.

Daria rushes to get Vonni in her arms, and Fisher practically shoves him at her. “Oh, boy,” she says as her husband nearly topples her over.

“Hi, baby! I love you.” Vonni tries to kiss her and then tries to get his paws up her shirt.

“I love you too.” She wrinkles her nose and coughs, then gives Fisher a smile. “Thanks for bringing him back.”

“Well, he would’ve ended up on the bar floor. Damn kids.” Fisher sounds a lot more angry than I think he should be.

“Come on,” I say. “We just won a playoff game.”

“Yeah!” Vonni yells, right near his wife’s ear, so she winces and flattens it. “Firebirds!”

“You need help getting him back?” Fisher asks Daria.

“It’s right down the hall,” she says.

I step up. “I’m going right down the hall,” I tell her. “I carried him part of the way.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” She lets me get in on his other side.

We bid the tigers good night. Gena says, “Make sure he drinks water,” and then closes the door. I help Daria get Vonni, now singing the Firebirds fight song, about five doors down the long hallway. I hold him while she opens the door.

“I think I can get it from here,” she says, and Vonni actually walks into the room, though he immediately slumps against the wall, stops singing, and just exhales.

“Good night,” I say, and Vonni turns to grin at me as Daria closes the door.

“What a fuckin’ game,” he says, and raises a paw to me.

“What a game,” I echo, and turn away from the closing door.

The number beside the door is 330. I stare at it for a moment, as if I can by sheer force of will make it into Lee’s room, so I can just walk in and find him. But even though it smells of fox, it doesn’t smell of my fox, so I walk back toward the elevator. I’m pretty sure Lee isn’t on this floor. But I stand by the elevator for about ten minutes, rubbing myself through my pocket, before I think to pull out my phone and look up his text message from Friday, where he sent me his room number. Then I get to his floor and down to his room. I know he gave me a key, but I just knock on the door to let him know I’m there. Also I’m not sure where the key is in my wallet.

He opens the door in a t-shirt and tight boxers, and I charge forward and hug him as tightly as I can. I’m a little too aggressive, I guess, because he staggers backwards and loses his balance. I hold on, managing somehow to get one foot out and stop our fall. I’m laughing, and he laughs a little with me. “Just a bit of celebrating, huh?”

In catching him, I got a paw under his tail and now squeeze his rear. “Celebration isn’t over yet.”

“I see.” He kisses my nose and I turn it into a full-muzzle kiss, pushing my tongue in against his and pulling him tight against me. His paws rest on my hips and then tighten around my waist too. Still kissing him, I march him backwards to the bed.

“Mmmf.” He pulls back and presses fingers up along my spine. “You’re not sore?”

“Little bit.” That doesn’t matter much to me right now. My hardness presses into his stomach and all I can think about is getting it out into the air.

“You played a terrific game.” He kisses me again. “I’m so proud of you.”

That just sends me over the top, past even the sexual need, and I grab him and squeeze him as tightly as I can, spinning to fall on my back on the bed with him on top of me. “Oh, God,” I say, “I can’t believe this. It’s like some kind of crazy dream. Winning the playoff game, and you’re here with me, and we’re together and people know it and it’s okay, and did you see that interception? I saw it come off Vonni’s paw and it was right there, it was huge as a beach ball and I grabbed it and nobody was gonna take that away from me. Did you see the press conference after? Nobody even asked about me being gay, they just wanted to know about the interception. It was amazing. It’s the best day of my life.”

He lies atop me and grins a big wide fox grin. “It’s a pretty awesome day, all right.”

I stroke my paw down his tail and I tell him about Vonni being drunk and about Strike drinking ginger ale all through the celebration and about Fisher showing up. “He’s going to be fine, it’s just a concussion so he can’t drink, but he wants to play in the championship game and did you see, we’re going to Crystal City? They were playing awesome against Peco, but Coach says we can take ’em, and oh man, Coach was there at the bar for a bit and he had a couple drinks.” I stroke my paws down his sides and can’t seem to stop talking. “And Pace and Norton made a bar bet about arm wrestling and Pace won and Ty was so fuckin’ happy it was great.”

“Wish I coulda been there,” Lee says.

“Ah, none of the wives were there. It was just so cool. No, better than cool. It was amazing, incredible. I still can’t believe it. It’s like that college game, the one where we lost on a field goal, you know? Only we won.”

My paws are rubbing down his back and rear, and when they get to the base of his tail, he gives a funny kind of jolt and moves my paw to his boxers. I’m glad he’s that into it, and I’m happy to oblige, pushing his boxers down fast. He wriggles to get them over his sheath, and then lies down again on top of me, kicking the boxers free, naked but for his shirt. “You deserve it,” he says. “And I know you guys are gonna win in two weeks. You just have to.”

I kiss him hard on the muzzle, and then, because he doesn’t seem too anxious to do anything about it, I unfasten my own pants and shove them down my legs, boxers and all. His shaft slides against mine through our fur as I rub my hips up and down, and he laughs into my kiss. “All right, stud, I get it.”

A moment and a quick reach to the bedside table later and we’ve got ourselves all slickened up, and I’m inside him thrusting away while he sits on top of me. He bends down so I can fit one arm across his back while the other works at his shaft, and maybe it’s not quite as good as the feel of winning a playoff game, but having that on top of this—or this on top of that—is pretty fucking incredible.

I’m so worked up that despite being halfway to smashed, I come in about two minutes of frantic, hot thrusts. His tightness around me is just too much to bear; I moan into his shoulder and squeeze him against me, bucking up into him and panting harshly as the climax surges through me and up, up, and out.

It takes me a few more minutes of stroking before he joins me, squirming and arching and then spurting into my stomach fur and over my paw, a quick convulsive orgasm followed by a slow relaxation and a kiss on my nose, a broad smile looking down at me. I slide my paw out from between us and wrap both arms around him.

“You wanna shower?” he murmurs, but I’m exhausted by the day and the words hang there in the air. Responding to them seems like it would be a lot of work. I’d rather just enjoy his warmth on top of me, rub my paws down his back, feel the soft fur just above his tail and along it, inhale the scent of our lovemaking, close my eyes…

Distantly, I hear him say, “I guess that’s a no,” and he chuckles.

I’m woken in the morning by my phone ringing. It sounds muffled, and at first, I don’t get what the sound is: I’d been dreaming that I was playing in the playoff game, and we were winning as the time ticked down to zero, and then with a minute left, the score suddenly changed so that we were losing. I was wondering what happened, but the rest of the guys on the team all seemed to know. “We just weren’t paying attention,” they told me. “Turns out they were scoring all along and we just never noticed.” I tell them we need to get out there and score again and they just shake their heads. “Too late now,” they say. “Too late now.” And the clock hits zero, and the bell rings with a weird electronic chime.