37. Jack

"Mr. Perry?" The woman, who happens to be the same school counselor that lives next to Bryant, gets my attention again.

"I"m sorry," I say, shaking myself to attention. I"ve barely slept in three days. "What was the question?"

"I was asking, one last time, if you"re very sure that you don"t want to press charges against Mr. Nicks. We have his signed statement that he used intimidation and coercion to force you into a sexual relationship with him, that he used your scholarship standing as a threat against you. He has assured us that under no circumstances will he fight due process or draw attention to you or the school." She shifts in her seat, obviously uncomfortable. "The dean is asking us to pursue this with the most discretion possible, as to not draw scandal to the school. However, with these documents left by Mr. Nicks, and a statement from you, we can involve the appropriate authorities and take whatever measures necessary to ensure your safety and well-being. The college will pay for any necessary medical exams or mental health treatment–"

I stand up, cutting her speech short. "Look… ma"am," I say, because I've already forgotten her name. Although funnily enough, I remember she has a yappy dog named Pepper that would sometimes try to announce my visits when the little furball was in the backyard. "I don"t need any of this. I don"t want to press charges, and between you and me, I didn"t feel at all coerced." I give her a very pointed look.

She purses her lips and tries to interject again. "Sometimes victims take a while to come around to the realization that–"

"I"ll take your card, if that makes you feel better. And I"ll sign whatever the dean wants that promises I won"t go public with this, although I think he knows as well as I do that it"s also in my best interest to stay quiet."

With a sigh, and a thinly veiled look of relief, she pulls out some paperwork for me to sign. I look it over carefully, knowing that the dean is a slippery bastard, but it"s more or less a standard non-disclosure agreement from what I can tell. I sign it and push it back across the desk.

"May I leave now?"

"Yes, you may go. Here"s my card. If you need anything, the offer for treatment remains for the remainder of the year, in case you change your mind."

"Thank you," I say, and make a beeline for the door.

"Oh, Mr. Perry?"

I hold back my sigh of frustration. "Ma"am?"

"Good luck. You have a big future ahead of you."

I dip my head in thanks and escape through the door. The sports complex is all the way across campus, and I still have my tutoring session that I need to get to in an hour. I decided it was probably smarter to keep going to class until I know what"s going to happen next. In the event the NFL gets wind of what happened and decides not to draft me, I might transfer to another school. The "incident," as they are referring to it, won"t affect my public record. With my killer stats and the grades I"ve made this year, I should be able to transfer anywhere I want.

But before I make any decisions, I need to talk to Bryant. I haven"t seen him since we were busted in on, right before Bryant was about to suck me. He didn"t even care that I was sweaty; he wanted to taste every part of me.

I shiver a little at the memory, still frustrated that the firing squad couldn"t wait for five more minutes. Although I"d rather they'd never found out at all.

"Jack! Wait up!" A shrill voice pierces my ears and my legs move faster. "Jackie, Bae…" she whines

Halting my steps to let her catch up, I spin on my heel and stare at her with every ounce of hatred I feel. "I"m not your fucking Bae, and I never was."

Her neck cocks back like she"s been slapped. "How dare you talk to me like that! We"re getting married this weekend!"

I laugh, loudly. And then I can"t stop. I"m fucking full out cackling. "You are the craziest fucking bitch I have ever met in my life! I never wanted to marry you in the first place. You fucking blackmailed me. Which, by the way, is fucking illegal. Not only that, but you already fucking made your bed, Aniyah. I know you led the dean to us. I fucking saw you."

Her mouth gapes open and closed like a fish.

"I don"t care how much money your daddy has, or how rich you marry—you are fucking scum. I hope you catch something incurable and rot, because you deserve to be as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside."

She gasps and stomps her foot indignantly and shouts, "The NFL only takes real men, you know. They won"t want you when they find out you like to take it up the ass."

I laugh again, actually ashamed that I ever let her bully me into her little extortion deal in the first place. I really should have talked to Bryant first, but I let her loud mouth dramatic meltdown frighten me into making any deal she wanted, not only afraid that people would find out about me, but more than that, that Bryant would be punished. And it happened anyway. We could have made a better plan than him just disappearing. He moved out of his campus housing before my plane even touched down, and he"s not answering his phone.

Before she can open her mouth to try to threaten me with anything else, I shut her down. "Go ahead and leak your little video. Tell anyone you want that I love Bryant Nicks and his big, hard cock. Not only will I sue you for everything you have, but Groveton College will too, because their top priority is keeping it quiet. More than that—I"m not fucking afraid of you, nor am I afraid of anyone else"s opinion of me."

I step towards her menacingly, purposefully showing off my full height and bulk. I want her to feel intimidated. She might think that just because I have a gay lover that makes me less of a man, but she has no fucking idea what it takes to unlearn the bullshit and even begin to accept yourself for having feelings you don"t understand. Honestly, it"s something I"ve barely begun to process. It"s only been since I realized that I was losing him that I understood what I had in the first place. Talk about a mind-fuck.

"I don"t give a fuck about anything other than the fact that it"s your fault he"s gone. I fucking loved him, and you took that away from me. Cross me again and you"ll regret it."

I leave her planted in the middle of the sidewalk, gaping like a blow up sex doll, which is all she's good for, anyway. It occurs to me that no one has probably ever called her on her bullshit before.

The door to Bryant"s office is open when I come around the hallway. Coach Sanders is in there, looking through some files.

"Hey Coach Sanders." I greet him tersely, unsure if he"s even going to talk to me. He didn"t do much more than stare at us after Bryant and I were caught. He looked like he might try to speak to me once on the flight home the next day, but he never did get any words out of his mouth.

"Hey Perry," he says awkwardly. "What can I do you for?" He grimaces at his choice of words, and I can"t help but bark out a laugh. Nothing in this situation is particularly funny, but his discomfort is making me feel better.

"Don"t worry, I"m not interested," I assure him, mostly jokingly. "Are you taking over as head coach?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"In the interim, yes. The dean is giving me a trial season to see how I do." He looks pretty uncomfortable with the prospect, and I suppose he knows better than most what kind of demands the dean made on Bryant Nicks. He sits back in his seat. Or rather, Bryant"s seat. The very same one I gave him multiple blow jobs in. Sanders clears his throat. "Are you, uh, moving forward with the NFL draft?"

"It doesn"t look like any of this is going to follow me outside of campus, at least not immediately. So, yeah, I think so. But if they find out anything and don"t want me, I"m going to see about transferring to another school."

"You wouldn"t want to stay?" He asks, and I raise an eyebrow, surprised it would even be an option. "You"re a hell of a football player, Perry, and I don"t think you"re a bad kid. I"m sorry you got caught up in all this."

"I"m not a victim, Coach. Whatever that statement said, I was a willing participant in everything. I had… have feelings for him."

He seems a little taken aback by my admission and clears his throat again. Seems to be a nervous tick or something.

"I, uh. I didn"t know he was–"

"He wasn"t. Neither was I. Still don"t know if that"s what we are, honestly."

The look of confusion on his face is hilarious. He"s trying so hard to be kind and accepting, in his own way.

I shrug and think about what Luke told me. "I struggled with it for a while, and I know he did too. But I think that sometimes the parts you have don"t matter. What matters is what"s in here," I say, awkwardly thumping my chest. However much I"m coming to terms with my own feelings, it"s still awkward as fuck to talk about emotions and shit with other dudes, especially when you"re only used to being around macho athletes. And in the South, of all places? Forget about it.

Sanders looks distinctly uncomfortable.

"Do you know where he is?" I ask him, finally getting to the point of my visit.

"All I know is he was fired on the spot, which you were there for. They sent him on the next flight home, where he had to make some statements to the school"s lawyers and counseling staff. He left me a stack of instructions for how to take over." He starts looking through the pile of folders that I suppose are what Bryant left him. So fucking meticulous and organized. My head drops, and I find myself staring at a small white stain on the floor in front of the desk. It makes my eyes well up. "He left something for you, too."

My head snaps back up, and I reach for the blue folder he holds out to me. "Whatever went on between y"all is none of my business. But I"ll tell you this—he cared about your future."

I thumb through the folder. Some of it is notes on what to expect in a sports contract, including what should and should not be negotiated on. There"s also copies of emails back and forth discussing some of the terms I might be looking at in a contract with my top picks. He started the whole process of getting me the best deal for my draft signing, the way an agent would, if I could afford one.

In the back, I find something even more surprising. A record of arrest for Randall and Tim Worth, plus information from a private investigator that found proof that little twerp was more of a creep than I thought he was. There"s even a copy of Millie"s early acceptance letter to Columbia, like he made sure she was safe.

Fuck.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I"m too overcome to worry about anyone"s reactions to a man twice their size crying. Sanders clears his throat one more time, which is honestly getting annoying, but I look up and meet his worried gaze.

"He was told not to leave the county until they cleared him of any charges, but I don"t know where he is or where he"ll go next. It"s not that big a place. Only so many hotels."

I shoot up to my feet and reach over to grab Coach Sander"s hand, shaking it firmly.

"Thank you, Coach. Really."

I bound from the office and sprint across campus. I need to drop off my backpack at my dorm and grab a different jacket. I"ll probably be walking around a lot and will need something warmer. I"m looking at my phone, texting my tutor, not paying attention to where I"m going.

"Oof."

"Oh, shit—I"m sorry!" I look up, noticing that I"ve run right into the exact person I was texting. "Hey Luke! I"m sorry. I wasn"t paying attention—I was actually texting you."

"Hey yourself, Jack. Ouch." I apologize again and help him off the ground.

Hurriedly picking his books off the ground, I explain I was texting him that I was going to miss our tutoring session today. "I"m sorry for the late notice. Bit of an emergency."

"Everything okay?" he asks, taking his disheveled books from me. I"m sure I look like a fucking maniac right now.

I pause, not sure how to answer that question. "Uh… Remember when I was asking all those weird questions about being gay for one person and all that?"

"Yeah," Luke says,

"Well, I was asking because I found a person. Someone that means something to me, despite their parts, like you said. Although, in all honesty, I kind of really like the parts, too." I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, which makes Luke laugh. I"m getting off track. "Anyway, he got into some trouble and got fired. He"s around here somewhere, possibly in town, but I don"t know where. And I need to find him."

"Alright," Luke says, straightening his bag on his shoulder. "How can I help?"

"What?"

"Do you need a ride or anything to help find him?"

"You"d do that for me?"

"That"s what friends are for, man."

After three hours of searching every hotel in Groveton and the surrounding three towns, I"m losing hope.

"Hey man, don"t worry. Let"s take a break, get something to eat maybe, and we"ll keep driving around until it gets dark. And then we can start again and look somewhere else if we need to."

"I was a dick to you. And then I was weird. Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask Luke, sitting across from him at a burger joint. Everything tastes like sand, even though I know the food here is good normally.

Luke makes a face and then begins to speak. I don"t know why he"s telling me this story, but he usually has something smart to say, so I try to be patient and listen.

"I never came out. My mom, who raised me and my sister on her own, she just knew. She kind of knew before I did, actually. We were sitting at a restaurant. I must have been, I don"t know, twelve or thirteen? Old enough that puberty had started, but not full force, you know?" I nod, because I do know. I think I hit puberty a little earlier than some of my friends. It was fucking awkward. "Well, there was this bus boy at the restaurant. I didn"t even realize I was looking, but my mom said, "Luke, close your mouth.' Just like that. No judgment, no conversation. It just was."

He puts his burger down on his plate and takes a sip of his soda. "It"s not like that for most people. The first boy I ever kissed," he smiles awkwardly, but his eyes are welling up, so I hand him some napkins. He wipes his eyes and does this funny head shake, like he"s trying to forget something he just remembered.

"You don"t have to tell me anything," I say, feeling bad and uncomfortable.

He shakes his head again. "No, it"s important. If we don"t talk about shit, it can keep happening, you know? Anyway, this boy–Chris. He was an athlete, like you are. We were fifteen, playing soccer in his backyard, when it just happened. It was just a little kiss, so innocent." He looks down at the napkin he"s shredded in his lap, puts the pieces on the table. "His mom saw us. They sent him to a ‘pray away the gay' camp. Conversion therapy. He killed himself a year later."

I only have a vague idea of what conversion therapy is, but I know enough to know that it"s nothing good. Brainwashing and torture and shit.

"That"s fucking awful."

We both stare at the glass tabletop for a long while. I"m tracing the pattern of an old vinyl record, thinking about what my mom would say if she knew. Thinking about whether I care. I imagine Luke is thinking about the friend that he lost.

"I"m sorry about your friend."

He nods, sniffs, and sits up straight again. "Anyway, the point is there are so many ways that we all learn about ourselves. Who we are, who we love, what we"re capable of. However much of a dick you were when I first met you, you"re clearly on a journey. And I"d like to see yours have a happier, healthier ending than what some people have to endure." Then he dusts his hands off like he wasn"t just mangling a napkin. "So, let"s go find you a motherfucking happy ending."

"Oh shit! There!" I point at Bryant"s green Jeep Cherokee in the parking lot of a rundown building that might be a bar. Immediately, my mind prickles with worry. I don"t know everything about his struggles with alcohol, but I know he went to rehab more than once before. I wonder if he"s going to need to go back after all of this.

Whatever happens, I"ll be there with him. I"m not going to let him turn me away again.

Jack and I step inside the doorway of the dimly lit room, and he chortles. "Oh, shit. I heard about this place, but I"ve never been."

"An old hole in the wall cowboy bar?" Seems like a pretty standard Texas kind of place. Jukebox, a few pool tables. Normal stuff.

"This isn"t just any cowboy bar," Luke says, and he points across the room to where a topless guy in a cowboy hat is riding a mechanical bull. Slowly. Suggestively. "This is the only gay bar in like three counties. They keep it pretty well on the down-low."

"Huh," I said. "I wouldn"t have guessed, honestly."

"You have a lot to learn, baby gay."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing—let"s find your man. What"s he look like? But first, please tell me that it"s not the guy climbing off that bull, because I"d really like to—" he sees the look on my face and steers the conversation in a different direction than he originally intended. "Um, I"d really like to introduce myself."

I chortle. "That"s definitely not my guy," I tell him. "My guy is–"

"Is that the Groveton Football coach?" Luke says, eyes wide.

I follow his gaze to where the topless cowboy sits down, right across from Bryant. As confused as I am about him being here, and talking to some oiled up topless guy in a cowboy hat, I"m mostly just so fucking relieved to see him. It"s like I"ve been carrying around extra weight this whole time, and finally put it down.

"No shit," Luke whispers to himself.

Then the topless cowboy puts his hand on Bryant"s arm, and I stiffen, processing a lot of feelings at once.

"Keep your cool, man. Don"t, like, start anything," Luke says, patting my shoulder.

I take a step into the bar to head over to him, and it"s as though he senses me walking into the room. He looks up and his mouth moves. The cowboy, who still has his fucking hand on his arm, turns around and looks right at me. A genuine grin spreads across his face, and Bryant stands up.