14. Zak

He told me to fuck him, to show him how much I hate him.

He wanted it, begged for it.

It's been three days, and I can't stop thinking about what happened in that stairwell, when I remember how Matt basically ordered me to hurt him, to punish him. He welcomed the pain and the rage behind it all.

And fuck me if it doesn't get me hard every time the memory of him pressed against the wall with his ass riding my cock loops through my mind.

"Honey, I'm worried about you."

I scrape a hand down the front of my face and tune back into the conversation with my mother. "I'm fine. I promise." I shovel in a mouthful of food to make my words more believable.

She's not buying it at all, though.

Mom shakes her head, her dark hair pulled into a low ponytail. Her eyes are normally bright, the brown flecked with gold sparkles, but ever since my dad died, they've been vacant, like the candle glowing in the depths was snuffed out, never to be relit.

I hate that I'm causing her more stress and worry. She's got enough to deal with.

Mom pokes at her halibut. "You know, Dad never would have wanted to put you in this position with the team. Maybe it would be better for you to just sell it to the next highest shareholder and get out of the press. You have your own company to run. Focus on that, Zak."

"The hedge fund is being handled. I have great management in place, and my partners are overseeing our positions." My shoulders slump. "And I'm not selling. I won't run away from those bigots. I won't let them chase me out of the Crusaders organization. Besides, Dad wanted me to be part of this with him."

Goddammit, why didn't I let him tell me why?

Why didn't I just stop when he called me back?

Why did I cross that fucking street?

But I don't ask any of those questions out loud. It'd be too painful to say them, to hear them.

They'll only ever exist in my head, buried along with all the guilt and anger I hold onto because I couldn't give my dad the one thing he wanted.

He never cared that I was gay. I remember telling him, how open he was, how he made sure that I knew he loved me no matter what and that I'd always have his support. But I let him down when I couldn't handle the adversity that came along with it. I let those bastards, my teammates, drive me away from a future I'd dreamed of, an accomplishment my family could be proud of, and a bonding opportunity that my dad and I could have shared.

We"d spent so much time at games before the sabotage that ruined my college career.

Sitting in front of the television, traveling to see our favorite teams play around the country, and watching game tape of me in high school. He never missed a single chance to root me on from the sidelines. No matter where his work took him, he always made sure he was back for game time.

Those were the times I felt closest to him.

And when news of me being gay leaked, I cowered. Let the guys on the team run me out. Maybe they thought it was all them, but it wasn't. I could have gone back. It would have taken a shit ton of work, but that wasn't what stopped me.

It was the knowledge that my trusted teammates wouldn't have my back. They iced me out completely.

My leg wasn't damaged beyond repair.

But my heart and soul were.

I let him down. Let myself down. Walked away without fighting for what I deserved, what I'd earned.

All because I was scared.

What would the rest of my years look like if I was the odd man out? They'd always be sniffing out ways to crush me. Shit, they proved it once. Was I really going to give them another chance?

And even though Dad brought up transferring, I backed away from that idea, too.

Maybe another university would have been even more vicious, more intolerant.

It was a risk I didn't want to take. So, I changed my path and my narrative.

I vowed to never let fear make me run away ever again, which is why I'm in this godforsaken situation with the media.

Nobody will ever bully me out of what I want. Fuck them all for thinking I'm the same guy who gave up his spot at Ohio State.

A faraway smile lifts her lips. "He loved watching you play. He talked to everyone and anyone at your games, rattling off your stats, bragging about your high school record and about how scouts were watching you during your first season as a Buckeye. He was so proud, always smiling, always cheering, always…" She trails off, her voice cracking. Her fork clatters against the plate, and she covers her face with her hands. "Oh, sweetie, I miss him so much."

I get up from my chair and walk around to the opposite side of the table. My mother nestles against me when I wrap my arms around her. "He was such a good man. It's not right. It's not fair that he was taken from us."

Tears sting my eyelids as I stare up at the ceiling. The lump in my throat is so big I can barely swallow past it. Any bit of food I managed to get down churns in my stomach.

It's my fault, Mom.

I did this to him, to you, to us.

I'm sorry. So, fucking sorry…

I breathe in her familiar perfume, the kind she always wore even though my Dad would always buy her different ones to try. She always stayed loyal to her favorite, never one to deviate.

"I miss him, too," I mumble.

I sit down a minute later after giving Mom a big squeeze. "I want to make him proud, and I feel like I did a bad job of that years ago."

"Don't ever think that. You did what you had to do. Your injury was too severe. He'd have never wanted you to play on it and risk permanent damage."

That was the great thing about being nineteen when the sabotage happened. As an adult, the doctors could only talk to me unless I gave them permission otherwise. So, my parents never knew the whole truth.

Another source of guilt that's festered deep inside me like an infection immune to antibiotics.

I nod because what the hell can I even say?

I've been carrying around a bunch of dirty secrets for all this time and never told you any of them because I was too embarrassed that you'd see me differently if you knew them all.

Perfect. Just what every parent would love to hear from their kid.

I take a long gulp of water to wash it all down before the urge to let it all spew grabs hold.

Mom forces a smile, and we make small talk about the schedule for the upcoming season, the new charity organization that Jase and Lucas are launching, and my plans for new recruits. It feels normal-ish.

But it does nothing for the raw, gaping hole in my heart.

After I pay the check, I take Mom's hand and walk her out to the curb. I hand the valet my ticket, and he disappears with my keys. I back away from the valet stand and join her on the sidewalk. She blinks fast, but I can see her eyes shine with tears in the late afternoon sunlight.

I start to put my arm around her when a loud voice jolts me.

"Hey, asshole, you think a bullshit press conference can erase the fact that you're an abomination?"

My pulse leaps into my throat, adrenaline immediately flowing into my fists.

I twist around, my jaw tight. This time, there's no mob. It's only three guys. Three prick bastards who think they're going to get away with spouting shit to me and my mother.

Electricity shoots into every limb. I walk toward them, not giving a fuck that it's broad daylight or that we're on a main avenue here in the city.

I. Don't. Care.

"What'd you threaten Matt Harrison with if he didn't mouth diarrhea rainbows and unicorns for you?"

I ball my fingers into tight fists.

My leg muscles tense with each step I take toward them.

They exchange a look, no doubt wondering what I'm going to do once I close the space between us.

"Is that your mom over there?" The second one growls. He peers around me, now focusing his hate on her. "Hey, Jimmy. That's his mom."

A sharp scream pierces the air. I whip my head around to look for my mom. A greasy motherfucker dressed in black grabs her by the arm and yanks her toward him.

"Zak!" she yells.

"Did he learn how to take it up the ass at home? Is that what you taught him?" The guy sneers at her.

Suddenly, his face is no longer the dirty, pock-marked, scraggly beard covered one from a second ago.

It morphs into the smug bastard face of Brett Travers, my nemesis, glaring at my mother like she's the lowest life form on the planet. He"s changed from the hater he was only seconds before.

I don't think. I don't breathe. I just run straight for the son of a bitch.

I launch my arm back and let it fly until it lands against the guy's disgusting, filth-ridden mouth. He flies backward against the side of the restaurant. My heart pounds, and blood bubbles, rushing between my ears.

Grabbing him by the shirt, I slam him back against the wall. I blink fast, the image so clear and crisp it's almost like I'm back in the locker room eight years ago facing him during one of the worst moments of my life.

The image of Brett from that day stares back at me, a taunting, pompous ass with smirk lifting his lips. It's an image I'll never forget, one that's burned into my memory.

"What are you gonna do about it, Kacey? I'll always win. I already proved that to you."