Uncovered (Dev and Lee Book 4) (20 page)

I struggle awake and listen to the chime, letting the chill of the dream fade away. It takes three rings for me to convince myself that we did actually win the game, another two for me to realize that it’s my phone ringing.

Lee nudges me. “That’s yours,” he mumbles. “Mine’s over here.”

“Mm-hmm.” I roll over, listening for the ring, and locate it in my pants on the floor. Of course. It’s still ringing when I pick it up, telling me that Charm is calling.

When I pick up, he’s singing, “I own this city, the city’s mine…hey, Gramps!”

“How are you up this early?” I grumble. I’m just assuming it’s early because I’m still tired and stiff, and my ribs and foot and one knee are sore, and I’m not starving for breakfast yet.

He laughs. “It’s nine-thirty,” he says. “Figured you were spendin’ the night with Mrs. G and I should let you know you got half an hour to get your stripey tail to our hotel unless you wanna book your own flight back home.”

For a moment, it’s tempting. I just wanna lie in bed for most of the day, and plus I could go back with Lee. Heck, I earned another fifty grand or so just for winning the game yesterday. But I need to be with the team, and I want to be part of that flight home. “I’ll be there,” I growl. “Can you toss my stuff into my bag so I don’t have to come back to the room?”

“Can you carry my bags to the airport?”

I snort. “Sure. Yeah.”

“Deal.”

I drop the phone and roll back over. Lee’s bright blue eyes are staring at me. “I gotta go. Flight’s at ten. I mean, we’re meeting at ten for the flight, and I have to shower and everything.”

He nods and leans forward to kiss my nose. “Go.”

I wrap him in a hug. “I’d ask you to come shower but then…”

“You’d never get out in time.” He pushes me. “Go, go! Don’t miss the flight. I’ll see you at home.”

“All right.” I kiss him and run to the shower.

I get to the team hotel at 10:02, by my cracked phone, and the team bus is already out front. Charm, lounging by the entrance to the hotel, waves me over. “I won’t tell Coach you’re late,” he says, and indicates his suitcase and mine.

I go to pick them up, and his weighs about as much as he does. “Jesus, what did you pack in here?” I ask.

Charm turns and grins over his shoulder. “I picked up a few souvenirs while I was waitin’ for you.”

“Bricks from the stadium?” I mutter.

“I asked ‘em for the heaviest things they had. So there’s about two dozen of those lead figurines of that deer in the square.”

“Fuck me,” I say, tossing the suitcases at the luggage compartment.

“Hey,” Charm says, getting on the bus, “Careful with those.”

The bus is raucous, guys laughing and yelling and lots of “remember that play” stories going around. Some guys chirp about their own plays, but most of us on the defense talk about each other’s—that time Gerrard dove into the gap, that time Carson got the brilliant sack. Vonni and I, sitting near each other, deflect praise for my interception—“Dev’s got the paws with the claws,” Vonni says, suffering apparently no ill effects from his drinking, and I shoot back, “Trust a fox to have a great tip,” which makes Vonni wag his white-tipped tail and grin.

The plane is even worse than the bus, because they serve drinks. We’re celebrating all the way through takeoff and as we get into the air. About an hour into the flight, Charm’s gone to hang out with the special teams guys and the seat next to me is empty. Fisher slides into it, rubbing his forehead.

“Headache?” I say. “You didn’t even drink.”

“I know. Head still hurts from yesterday. Hey, is Lee okay?”

“Uh…” I frown. “I think so. Why?”

“The thing with the police?”

I stare at Fisher. “What thing?”

“He didn’t tell you? Whoo. Um, Gena said he had to go be a witness or something. He saw a fight at the stadium and a guy got arrested?”

I shake my head slowly. “He didn’t tell me anything about it. I mean, we didn’t really have a lot of time to talk. I was kinda drunk.”

“I remember.” He scowls. “Can’t wait ’til I can celebrate properly again.”

“Two weeks.” I grin. “So what happened with Lee?”

Fisher shakes his head and then winces, rubbing it again. “No idea. Other than what I told you.”

So I change the subject to whether Gena and the boys enjoyed their time in Boliat, and all the while in the back of my mind I’m wondering about my fox. But I guess it wasn’t a big deal, and we really didn’t have a lot of time to talk. I guess that’s what he meant when he said he was held up at the stadium. I’d forgotten about that message in the rush of celebration. It’s probably nothing.

I call him when I land, but his phone is off—must be in the air. And I have a new rush of voicemails from Ogleby telling me about this group and that group that want to do interviews now that we’re going to the championship game. I call him back from the airport and say, “Set things up for today and tomorrow, but only sports outlets. None of these lifestyle magazines.”

“Sure thing!” he squeaks. “Hey, Ultimate Fit wants to come shoot another commercial this week.”

“Jesus, Ogleby, I need a week off.”

“Thing is, we kinda have to let them because of the contract…” His voice trails off.

I clench a fist, then relax my paw. “Right. Okay, fine. Wednesday or Thursday, just tell me when and where to be.”

Some of the guys are talking about going out again and I say maybe I’ll join them. I don’t tell them I have interviews to give because most of them don’t, and I don’t want to come off as a star or anything. So I just go home and spend a few hours on the phone talking to various sports reporters about my development over the season, about how great it feels to go from the Dragons to the Firebirds, from last place to the championship game, about how I feel about our matchup with Crystal City, about making the transition from cornerback to linebacker (I give Gerrard and Steez most of the credit for my success), and, of course, a little about being gay.

“Nobody really comments on it now,” I say. “It’s become a non-factor. I don’t think about it and I hope nobody else does. I’m just a football player.”

They ask how my boyfriend is doing and I say he’s fine, he’s cheering me on, he’s supportive. In one interview I let slip that he’s active in gay rights and then I have to go on and say I support that, so I do. The reporter asks if I want to be active in gay rights.

“Maybe one day,” I say. “But right now my mind is completely focused on football.”

Lee calls in the middle of the interviews, and I put the reporter on hold with an apology. “Just landed,” he says. “Be home soon.”

“Okay. Hey, what happened with the police? Fisher said Gena told him something.”

“Uh…I’ll tell you when I get home. It’s no big deal.”

I don’t quite believe him, but I get back to the interview and try not to think about it.

I’m still on the phone when he gets home half an hour later. He smiles, tail wagging, and kisses me on the other ear on his way to the bedroom. I finish up the interview while he’s unpacking, and then go into the bedroom to give him a proper hug.

“Hey there, tiger.” He turns and hugs me. “Championship game-bound tiger.”

“Yeah.” I nuzzle him fiercely and grin. “So what was this with the police?”

He goes still. “It’s nothing, really,” he says. “Couple drunk yahoos took exception to my Firebirds shirt.”

“So you were
in
the fight?”

“It wasn’t really a fight. I got beer poured on me.”

I make him tell me the whole thing then, and when he’s done, I sit down on the bed. “Lion Christ, Lee, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ah, it was over. I didn’t want to ruin your day.” He sits beside me, tail curled around my hips.

“That fucking sucks. I thought we were done with this. How did they know you were my boyfriend?”

“I was sitting with the wives. I guess they read the Internet.”

“I’ll get you tickets somewhere else, then. Then you can just be a fan.”

“Whoa, hold on,” he says. “I liked sitting with Gena. Well, except for when Fisher got hurt. How’s he doing?”

“Don’t change the subject. If you’re going to get attacked—”

“This was one incident.” He stresses the words. “It feels like you’re ashamed of me again.”

That stings, a hot flush under my collarbone. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I can take care of myself,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

“I thought we were past that. How’s your thumb feeling?”

“How’s your dad’s head?” he counters.

The conversation is simmering into an argument, which is strange to me because I don’t really know what we’re arguing about. “I’d rather you not get into fights because of me.”

“They’re not because of you. This one wasn’t, anyway. It was because of the fucked-up worldview of this wolf and his asshole rabbit friend.” His ears are still up, but his eyes are narrowed.

“Because of us, then, because of this relationship.”

“Right, this relationship.” He clasps his paws together and takes a breath. “You know, I—”

I cut him off. He’s on the verge of some big speech, it sounds like, and I just can’t—I don’t want to deal with it right now. “I know. I know, I’m sorry, I just mean…I want to win this championship, fox. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my life except for one thing.” I take his paws. “And I need to be able to be a football player for the next two weeks.”

He bites his lip. His eyes lose their narrowed intensity and he sighs. “Two weeks. It’s…yeah. Okay. I’ll…I want you to win that game too.”

I don’t like the reluctance in his voice. “You knew what you were getting with me. Hell, you put me on the path to be here.”

“I know.” Now his ears droop, just a bit. It sort of pisses me off. I should be deliriously happy today, and instead he’s trying to make me feel bad about not being more proud of being gay. And the really annoying part is that it’s working. No; the
really
annoying part is that he’s
not
trying, he’s just doing it.

“Two weeks?” I say. “Can I have two weeks? Then we can have this fight or whatever it’s going to be.”

“Yeah.” He sighs and leans against me. “You want to get lunch with Hal, or just us?”

“Oh, does he want to have lunch?”

“He wants to say congratulations.”

“How about tomorrow? Let’s do today with just us.”

He nods. “Okay, I’ll tell him.”

The morning slides into afternoon. We get a quick lunch, and going out into Chevali in the daylight is really a wonderful experience. Everyone in my neighborhood who knows me is wearing perked ears and a huge smile. I get slaps on the back, hands and paws offered for shaking, and the lunch Lee and I order at the small sandwich shop is brought to our table by the owner himself, a skinny white-tailed deer, who slaps the plates down with a clatter. “On the house,” he says, beaming. “Extra meat, too. I haven’t been this excited about football in years.”

He points to a Firebirds pennant, and a space below it on the wall. “Gonna frame today’s paper,” he says. “And the one two weeks from today, if, y’know…”

He stands there grinning at us. “Here’s hoping,” I say. “Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, it’s the least I can do. You guys are bringing hope to the town. And it’s so great that you come eat in my little sandwich shop. I hear Aston and those big stars all go to the fancy joints.”

“Well,” I say, trying not to be offended that I’m not a “big” star, “I like the food here. You have a great dressing on the sandwich.”

“And good bread,” Lee offers.

The deer doesn’t pay much attention to Lee, but claps his hands together at my compliment. “Thank you so much!”

Lee says, “Would you like him to sign your pennant? Or something else?”

Now the owner pays attention. “Oh, that would be too much to ask. I couldn’t.”

I raise my eyebrows at Lee and stand up. “If you have a pen, I’ll be happy to.”

“What did I tell you about carrying a Sharpie?” Lee asks.

“I got a pen!” The deer pulls one out of his apron and holds it out. So I take it and walk over to the wall where the pennant is. I don’t even have to reach up much, just scrawl my name under the Firebirds logo and then add the number after it.

“Thank you so much.” The deer takes his pen back, and if he was beaming before, he’s positively glowing now. “And if any of your teammates would like to try our sandwiches, I will be happy to make one for them for free as well.”

There aren’t that many other people in the shop, but the ones who are there are all staring at us now. “Sure,” I say, and sit back down. “I’ll let them know.”

“Wonderful! Again, thank you so much.” He hurries back behind the counter.

We dig into the sandwiches—they really are pretty good—and two people come over shyly to ask me for autographs while we’re eating. I sign them and say thanks, and while I can see Lee bristle at the rudeness, he also smiles as we chat. And then he gets a phone call while I’m signing the second person’s Firebirds shirt anyway, so he doesn’t have room to talk about being rude. I catch only a little of the conversation before he walks outside with the phone: he says, “Hi, thanks for calling me.”

I’ve finished my sandwich before he comes back and sits down. “Was that Rodriguez?”

“No,” he says. “I told you, I don’t think that’s going to work. It was Peter, from the Whalers. He wants me to get on a call with this guy Jocko later today or tomorrow.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Well, it depends.” He picks up his sandwich and takes another bite, chews, and swallows.

I wait for him to go on, and instead he takes another bite. “Depends on what?” I say, finally.

He shrugs, his ears down, looking at the sandwich he’s holding in his paws. “The thing he says I need to convince Jocko of is that there won’t be any conflict of interest. Basically that I won’t talk to you about any of the work I’m doing.”

I take a moment to think about that as he continues to eat. “But you won’t. I mean, you never did.”

His ears come up a little, and below the table, his tail swishes. “Not intentionally, but you could say something to a teammate like, ‘Lee’s off at Cobblestone College this weekend,’ and a coach could overhear it and bring it to the front office and they could say, ‘I wonder who the Whalers are scouting at Cobblestone,’ and then maybe it comes to draft day and there’s a kid from Cobblestone on the board and the Firebirds know they have leverage.” After that speech, he takes a drink.