Chapter 6

I can see before it happens that the receiver for St. Albans is going to crash into a cheerleader. They are turned away from the game, facing the crowd. Raven black curls and back muscles that I dream about. I don't need to see his face to know it's Gio.

The receiver"s eyes are on the ball, and he hasn't seen Gio either. Gio isn't going to stand a chance. He'll be plowed into and thrown like a fucking rag doll. I sprint like my life depends on it to intercept. I like to think I'd try to help anyone, but all I can think of is not him.

"Gio, move!" I scream fruitlessly. He doesn't hear me over the roar of forty thousand people in the stadium. How could he?

Gio turns around, and the look of horror on his face injects adrenaline into my veins spurring me on faster.

Launching myself at the player, I drag him to the ground, our limbs a messy tangle as our momentum has us rolling to a stop, landing at Gio's feet.

There's a flash of pain along my calf.

Well, shit.

I can feel the press of hands over my chest and neck. My eyes are closed, but the familiar spicy scent of Gio invades my senses." Fuck," he mumbles. "Someone get the fucking medic. Tucker? Shit, I think he's unconscious."

"I'm not," I murmur. "It just really fucking hurts."

I don't want to look down at my leg. If it's broken, then that it for the season. Who knows if I'd be able to come back to full fitness for my senior year. Not to mention what professional team is going to take a chance on someone who's had such a big injury?

So I will just stay right here with my eyes closed. Ignorance is bliss, right? That way my NFL dream isn't over.

I'm not strong enough for that.

I am football. It's all I've had since I was a kid, and I knew I was different because I liked boys. Football protected me from homophobic nut jobs in high school. Even with my parents, football has helped. We don't have a bad relationship, but it's the one thing that connects us.

A new voice enters the mix. "Tucker, it's Coach. We're going to get you on a stretcher and get you into the medical room, okay?"

"Okay," I say through gritted teeth. I fucking hate the stretcher. It's like a beacon of despair. Why did they have to get it in brown? A nice yellow or green would be so much happier. Shit, am I delirious? Is that why I'm bemoaning stretcher colors? I am doomed.

"Move out the way, please, Russo."

"Fine," Gio says after a beat. I can practically feel the daggers he's shooting at Grant. "I'll check on you later, Tucker." He squeezes my hand before quickly letting go.

No.

I open my eyes and grab his arm as he starts backing away, not really thinking, just acting on instinct. "Don't go. Stay with me. Please?"

His chocolate eyes bore into mine as if he's looking into my soul. That is some scary shit. He turns his steely gaze on Grant, who has just sprinted over. "I'm staying."

"Okay, fine. Don't get in the way," Grant huffs out. He turns to the other medics. "Let's get him loaded up."

I keep my eyes on Gio, cataloging everything from the beads of sweat at his hairline, to his eyes full of the concern he's trying to mask. But his eyes refuse to leave mine. He probably doesn't even realize just how comforting he is for me.

"Let's go," Grant says the second after he's strapped me in. Reluctantly, I close my eyes. These shitty things give me motion sickness. Plus, I don't want to see the pity in people"s faces.

There is a thunderous applause as I get lifted up, making my heart constrict. Fans can be intrusive, overbearing, boundary stompers, but fuck if they don't care with their whole souls.

The noise disappears as we make our way to the medical room. I open my eyes as I'm transferred to the bed that resides there.

"You guys can go back to the touchline. We should be good here." Grant tells the other physios.

That's promising right? Unless he thinks Coach and Gio are strong enough to hold me down. I look at Gio. His cheer outfit is quite loose so it's not giving anything away. I've seen him in tighter clothes, though. The Roman costume especially showed off his biceps. Yeah he could definitely hold me down.

"Why are you looking at me like I'm a math problem?" Gio says, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Trying to figure out if you could hold me down," I tell him truthfully. Grant snorts, and tries to turn it into a cough.

Gio looks shocked. "Tucker," he admonishes.

Realization dawns on me. "I didn't mean in a sex way. Although-"

"How"s the leg, Doc?" Coach says loudly, cutting me off. Rude.

"It's not broken. It's a really nasty cut. Looks like the other players cleat got you real good. I'll give you something for the pain and I can do the stitches here." Grant smiles at me with kind eyes.

"It's not a career-ending injury?"

"No, it's not. You'll need to do some lighter training for a few days, and it's a bye week, so you won't even miss a game."

The relief flows over me like a tsunami.

My dream isn't dead.

"That was fucking scary."

"Language," Coach says. "I'm glad you're good, Evans. I'm going to get back to the field, but I'll see you at practice on Monday and we'll run through what you can do."

"Yes, Coach."

"You are going to have to rest and relax for the next few days, okay? No parties, early nights, and no strenuous activities. You got that?" Grant looks at me sternly like I was planning on raving it up until the early hours.

"I'll make sure he rests." I turn to Gio so fast, I'm lucky I didn't tweak anything.

Gio, as my own personal caretaker is a fantasy I didn't know I had. The thought of me wearing just a hospital gown and him in nothing but tight scrubs with those elastic waistbands so he can get his dick out quick and easy. Bending me over the bed and sliding inside my tight hole.

"Stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking, Tucker." Gio's lips twitch.

Grant looks at the two of us dubiously. "I'll stitch you up, and we'll get you on your way."

Gio offering to take care of me absolutely means something. I don't think even he knows what though.

I don't care. Operation show Gio he isn't a rebound is a go.