Quarterback Sneak

QUARTERBACK SNEAK by PEPPER ESPINOZA Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

Quarterback Sneak An Amber Quill Press Book This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com http://www.amberheat.com http://www.amber-allure.com

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2008 by Pepper Espinoza ISBN 978-1-60272-444-0 Cover Art © 2008 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

Published in the United States of America

Also by Pepper Espinoza ...And To Hold Elected A Farewell To Angels Fumble Recovery (Just Like) Starting Over Maybe I'm Amazed My Only Home Peanut Butter Kisses The Streets of Florence Surrender's Edge

Dedication This is for Mom. Thanks for teaching me to be a fan.

Chapter 1

Quarterbacks Garnett, Patton, Rumored to be Gay The article itself was not so coy. Whoever wrote it dropped the rumored and simply stated plainly that the two most celebrated quarterbacks in the football league were in a gay relationship. The stellar pieces of evidence to support this claim included Cache Garnett's tattoo and the fact that Eric Patton spent most of his off-season on Cache's ranch in Montana. The only thing the article lacked was an incriminating photo, or any sort of concrete proof at all. Cache thought most of the claims could be dismissed with a simple reminder that the two of them had grown up together and been friends since they were twelve. People grew close after twenty years. Cache had expected to wake up to a different sort of article. Garnett Delivers Touchdown in Miracle Win. Or... Garnett Rushed to Emergency Surgery After Miracle Win. Or... Patton Humiliated after Garnett Led Team to Miracle Win. In Cache's view, any of those headlines were infinitely more interesting than the one they actually ran with. For the first hour after waking, he hoped the article headline had just been a nightmare, brought on by morphine and anxiety. His biggest fear had been brought to pass. It made sense that the second fear on his list would invade his mind and begin to consume him. But it wasn't a dream. Cache realized that when the lead story on ESPN was Are Garnett and Patton Having a Homosexual Affair? "Do you think it's technically an affair?" Eric asked from the doorway, his face serious despite his teasing tone. "I always thought affairs were for married people." Cache muted the television. "Shut the door." Frowning, he studied Eric's unkempt appearance. The blue jeans looked fine, but his hair was standing up in several points, and his T-shirt was wrinkled, some sort of stain on the front. "Didn't you go home last night?" "No. You were in surgery until after midnight." "You could have gone home. Gotten some sleep. You look horrible." "It's a good thing I waited around all night for that," Eric muttered, leaning over the bed. The sharp smell of hospital coffee hung over him in a cloud. Cache didn't resist as Eric brushed a kiss across his mouth, but he didn't respond either. Eric leaned back, looking at him questioningly, and then his eyes cleared with understanding. "So, it's going to be like that?" "How did this happen?" Cache asked, hitting the newspaper with his knuckles.

"I don't know, Cache." "You don't know? You didn't accidentally let it slip to one of your close and personal friends at the newspaper?" Eric's lips thinned. "You think I did this? Why would I do something like that?" "Because you didn't win." The words hung between them for several beats and then shattered on the tile floor. "What do you think? That I leaked this to distract everybody from your fluke win?" "It wasn't a fluke." "You won with a Hail Mary pass. It was a fluke." "So you decided to feed rumors to the media?" Eric ran his fingers through his long hair, and Cache noticed how bloodshot his eyes were. "They aren't rumors, are they? Has anybody called yet? Coach Miller? Your agent?" Cache studied his hands. "No. Nobody's called. At first, I thought it was just a horrible dream. Maybe nobody wanted to disturb me since I was in surgery all night." He gestured at the silent television. "Not that anybody would know." "What? You don't think a possible gay relationship is more interesting than a career ending injury?" There was no mistaking the bitterness, or the frustration, in Eric's voice. "Is that what the doctor said?" Cache asked softly. "What? Oh...I didn't mean..." "Is that what he said?" "He said...we won't know until after another two, maybe three more surgeries. This isn't how I wanted to tell you." "I thought..." Cache tentatively touched his swollen and bandaged knee. "I thought it was a routine procedure." "I'm sorry, Cache." "I don't understand. Wasn't I supposed to be on my way to Disneyland at this point? Isn't that what you do after winning the championship?" "That's what I've heard." Now Eric approached the bed again, and Cache reached for him first. He closed his hand around Eric's rough fingers and squeezed gently. I'm sorry for snapping at you. Eric squeezed back. "But we've got to figure out what to do. Everybody is going to expect a response soon. We have to figure out what we're going to say."

"I think it's pretty obvious what we're going to say," Cache said, watching his own face on the television. It morphed into a clip from the previous night's game. Cache caught his breath, watching as the ball left his hand in a perfect arc. Watching as Jack Drake, his tight end, jumped above a crowd of defenders to haul it in. Watching as Jack fell into the end zone. Watching as Terrence Jacobi rolled into Cache's shins, forcing his knee backward, and they all tumbled to the grass in a tangle of arms and legs and helmets. "Terry is really sorry." "I know he is." His eyes were still locked on the television as the medical trainers rushed the field. Nobody cheered. "It looks more like a wake than a celebration." "I think everybody in the stadium heard your knee pop. And I don't think it's obvious what we're going to say. Why don't you tell me?" "We'll call a press conference and deny it." "Why?" Cache felt a pain growing at the base of his skull. He should have known this conversation wouldn't be easy. He should have known Eric wouldn't see common sense. He never did. Common sense rarely had any place in Eric's world when he wasn't on the field. "Because...our teams don't need the distraction now." "You just won the championship," Eric pointed out. "This is probably the best time for this sort of distraction. You're just afraid." "Maybe I am. You should be." "Why?" Eric began to pace the narrow room, and Cache could see his muscles flex beneath his thin Tshirt. He moved with a preternatural grace--the same sort of grace that sports columnists and commentators had lauded since he played in high school. "I'm not ashamed of myself." Cache shook his head. "I can't think about this stuff right now." Eric frowned. "Are you in pain? Is it your knee?" "Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe the drugs are starting to wear off or something. It's just a lot to deal with at once." "Should I call a nurse?" "No. No, I want to be able to think about all this. Do you mind giving me some time?" "No, I don't mind. I'll tell everybody that you haven't woken up yet. Maybe they'll leave you alone." "Those vultures? You might need to put an armed guard out there. But...it'll look bad if all those vultures find you here." "No. I'm not leaving." The edge in Eric's voice was razor sharp. Nothing like the easy-going, humble sort of guy he usually passed himself off as. "Eric, all I'm saying is..." "I'm not leaving you here. Period. So don't suggest it again."

"What if I tell you to leave?" "I'll tell you to kiss my ass." Cache smiled, a little relieved the edge hadn't left Eric's words. "Don't talk to the press until we've had some more time to think this over." "I've been thinking it over for nearly ten years." "Good for you. I haven't. So can I have another hour?" Eric shrugged. "You can have as much time as they'll let you have. I'm going to run interference as long as I can. Think of me as your O-line." Cache smiled wryly. "I hope you do a better job than they did last night." "Good point. Think of me as my O-line. Those guys have got talent." "You keep talking like you won the game." "I did win the game." "The score says otherwise." "It was a fluke. The stats tell the real story." "Last time I checked, the only story that mattered was the final score." Eric moved closer as they spoke, and Cache's final word was a puff of air against Eric's mouth. Cache didn't know what got his blood pumping more--Eric's pig-headed stubbornness, or his proximity. "It was the wrong ending for the story." "How long are you going to be bitchy about this?" "Until you can get out of bed and kick my ass." Their mouths clashed then, their tongues dueling to finish the argument. Eric's teeth scraped against his mouth, and Eric's breath was hot against his nose and cheeks. He smelled sour, like he had spent the night sitting in a hospital waiting room, and tasted bitter, like burnt coffee. But Cache gripped the back of his neck and held him as tightly as he could, his fingers digging into Eric's strong tendons. This was why he was in trouble. This was why their names were splashed everywhere on the news for all the wrong reasons. Because when Eric plunged his tongue into Cache's mouth, demanding entry, taking control of the situation like they were on the field, Cache couldn't deny him. And when Cache responded in kind, Eric didn't pull away. "Congratulations," Eric breathed against his mouth. "I don't think I said that yet." "I wish you could show me how much you mean it." Eric lifted his head. "I owe you one." "One?" Eric grinned and managed to step away from the bed. "What, are you counting?"

"House-sitting on my bye week." "You weren't house-sitting. That was the only time I could get the carpenter out there." "I was house-sitting, and you still owe me." Eric inclined his head. "Fine. I'll pay you back for that one now and make sure nobody bothers you for at least an hour." "Thanks." Cache waited until Eric was at the door before adding, "You had the better game." Eric flashed him a charming smile. "I know." Eric stepped into the silent hallway, and the door whispered shut behind him. Cache supposed if the truth--or the rumors--had to come out, it was best that it happened while he was in the hospital. The paparazzi and the media pricks wouldn't be allowed on this floor. He missed Eric has soon as he was gone. He turned the volume up on the television, only to turn it down again when the commercial ended, and the details of his personal life were once again the topic of discussion. Why did they all care so much? What difference did it make? Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Cache turned off the television and closed his eyes. He could trace everything back to a single decision. One decision. One night. One thing he could never take back. He had never wanted to take it back. Because he didn't just have fear--he had Eric, too. **** Cache adjusted his grip on the football, took a step and a deep breath, cocked his arm back, and released it. Like his father had taught him. Like he had done a thousand, a million, times before. Like he would do the next afternoon in his first college bowl game. Not just any bowl game. The Rose Bowl. The spiral was perfect, and it arched into the moonlight. It hung in the air for a single, endless second, and then began its downward journey. Cache's heart wouldn't beat again until he heard the unmistakable thud of the ball hitting earth in the quiet night. But he didn't hear it. Cache frowned and looked up automatically, as if a part of him expected the ball to be dangling from the moon. And the football was in the air again, spiraling directly toward his head. He took a surprised step back and put his hands up, making a triangle with his fingers and thumbs. The ball fit perfectly in the space he made. "Maybe you're playing the wrong position," Eric said as he stepped out of the shadows. Cache stiffened. "What are you doing here?" "Or maybe," Eric continued, like he hadn't heard Cache at all, "I'm just so good, not even you could drop a pass from me." Cache bent and picked up his bag of footballs. "Yeah, that must be it." "I thought we could have a game of catch." "I think I'd rather go home."

"What? You're not talking to me?" He bent and picked up a stray football, then tossed it in the air above his head. "I'll let you practice, if you need it." "Well, not all of us could be born with a deceptive grace and a stunning accuracy," Cache said, putting a sneer on the words. Eric shrugged. "I can't help the way I was born, Cache." "Tell me, are you going to be this chatty after tomorrow night?" "I usually am pretty chatty when I'm celebrating. Makes for a hell of a boring party, otherwise." "You won't be celebrating," Cache said, turning on his heel, hoping to leave Eric behind. But Eric wasn't perturbed. "Why not? You going to win?" "Yes." "You think so? I was watching ESPN tonight and nobody else does. Vegas doesn't think so, either." "They're wrong." Cache stopped and turned back to Eric. "You know why? Because you can't handle the pressure. You never could play when anything real is on the line. You'll freeze." "You think so?" Eric still sounded more amused than insulted. "None of those people know you the way I do. None of them have watched you play for the past ten years. You're good, Eric. Nobody can deny that. But you're not a winner." Eric snorted. "And you are?" "I think our head-to-head record speaks for itself." Now Eric's smile was gone, and Cache couldn't help the vicious satisfaction. He had known Eric most of his life, and nothing was ever as rewarding as wiping that smug smile off Eric's face, whether it was on the field or off. "Things are different now," Eric finally said. "My line is stronger than yours. My receivers are better. And we actually have a running game." "Yeah, you better hope your back doesn't have the same sort of attitude you do. Since he's going to have to carry the whole team." Eric narrowed his eyes. Cache knew he could be goading the other man into playing the best game of his life. But that didn't matter. Best game or not, Cache was still confident his team would be victorious in the Rose Bowl. By this time the next night, everybody in the country would be talking about Cache Garnett. "You best watch what you say." Cache snorted. "Or what?" Cache expected a threat. He did not expect Eric to lower his shoulder and charge. He didn't move until the last second, sidestepping Eric as neatly as he'd sidestep a safety on the field. But Eric expected that and swerved without hesitation, colliding with Cache with enough force to send them both to the ground.

"What are you doing?" Cache grunted and tried to roll away, but Eric had him pinned. The ground was cold and hard beneath him, the grass doing little to protect him from the rocky soil. Eric's body was hard as well, but much warmer, and his weight wasn't unbearable. "Get the fuck off me." "Fuck you." Cache managed to get an arm free, and his fist connected with Eric's ribs. "Don't make me hurt you. You still want to start tomorrow, don't you?" "You're such a prick." Since hitting Eric wasn't enough, Cache switched tactics. He wrapped his free arm around Eric's back and rolled, intending to stand as soon as Eric's weight was no longer bearing him down. Eric struggled, taking advantage of the new position to land a few blows on Cache's back and ribs. Cache barely felt them. It was nothing compared to being brought down by a couple of three-hundred-pound linemen. "I'm the prick? You tackled me." "You've always been this way. Since we were kids." "What way? Fuck, you started this. Talk about being kids." Cache tried to pull free from Eric, but he didn't try very hard. Eric's muscles felt electrified beneath him. He had fucked plenty of people in his life, but even naked and in the throes of passion, nobody had ever felt like this. "And you've always resorted to violence. Fuck, Eric, you aren't six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than me anymore." Eric grunted. "It used to shut you up." "When are you going to learn to stop picking fights?" "I didn't come here to pick a fight." "Why did you come here?" Now neither one of them was struggling, but Cache still wasn't getting up. He knew this wasn't cool. He knew this was very much not cool. He knew Eric was going to call him on it, and he was right to. "To see you." Cache blinked. He hadn't expected such a simple answer. He hadn't expected anything like it. "Why?" "Because I haven't spoken to you since you left for college three years ago. I know you've been busy, but fuck, Cache." Eric shifted beneath him, and Cache realized he wasn't trying to get away. He also realized there was something hard and unmistakable pressing against his thigh. He moved then. He jumped to his feet and took several steps back, nearly tripping over the footballs in his haste. Eric rose more slowly. "Maybe we haven't spoken in three years because we were never really friends," Cache muttered. "We're not supposed to be friends." "Is that some sort of football rule I don't know about?"

"Is friends all you want to be?" Cache asked, his voice cold, his sneer in place once again. Eric deflated. Cache had seen Eric win and lose. Cache had seen Eric throw bombs that resulted in interceptions for touchdowns. When they were twelve, Eric's father had shouted him down until his face was purple and his voice gone. But Cache had never seen Eric look defeated. In a way, he had been waiting his entire life for this moment, and he should have savored every second. But almost as soon as Eric's shoulders slumped forward, Cache realized he hated it. And he understood why. The victory hadn't been fair. He had cheated, somehow. Been cruel when he didn't mean it. "Eric..." "Watch your left side tomorrow. It's weak and they know it." "Make sure your feet are planted," Cache said, almost automatically. Eric never made sure he had that back foot planted. He always got impatient, excited, relied too much on the strength of his arm. Eric turned, and Cache didn't move. Eric took another step and another. It would be for the best if they didn't see each other except on the field. Eric was too...attached. They had been friends once, a long time ago, but then life happened. Football happened. They were foes now. Opponents. And they always would be. That was their lot in life. The voice Cache heard calmly explaining these facts didn't belong to him. It might have been his father's voice. It might have been his coach's. And it was a completely logical voice. But it wasn't his. "Goddamnit." He began to trot after the silhouette disappearing into the shadows. "Eric?" Eric didn't turn. Maybe he didn't hear him. "Eric. I didn't mean it." Eric's answer drifted back to him. "Yes, you did." "Well, I don't mean it now." Cache did not want Eric to walk away, but he wouldn't stop. He considered insulting him. What are you running from, pussy? But he didn't think Eric would let him pick a new fight that easily. "Do you want to do something tomorrow after the game? Celebrate my victory? I'll buy you a beer?" Eric slowed. "Yeah, you sound real convincing, Cache." "I don't know if you still drink," Cache said. "Why wouldn't I? Don't you?" "No." Now Eric turned, and Cache saw a hint of confusion on his face. "Why?" "Let me buy you a drink tomorrow and I'll tell you." "Did you get in trouble or something?" Cache half-shrugged. "Almost. Close enough that Coach made it real clear if he ever even hears a rumor of me drinking, he'll come down on me like his big fat mother on a chocolate cake." Eric's lips twitched. "Were those his exact words?"

"Yep." "But you'd risk it by buying me a beer?" "If that's what it takes." "Maybe I could use that beer now." He rubbed the back of his neck, the confusion on his face only deepening. He looked young. Younger than their twenty years. Cache wondered if he looked like that. "I really didn't mean to pick a fight with you." "You tackled me." "Sorry." Cache took a tentative step forward. "Then what did you mean to do?" Eric shrugged. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss you. I mean, not to sound all full of myself..." "You are full of yourself." "But nobody really knows what it's like. You can't be any higher when you're winning, but as soon as you make a single mistake, it's like the whole damn country is calling for your head. And I've got to be the team leader and sometimes I just don't think I'm up to it." "It's just going to get worse," Cache said. "When the draft starts." "God, I can't even think about that. But this isn't new shit. It's the same ol' shit we've been dealing with since we were kids. Only...we used to deal with it together." Cache inclined his head. "I know. It hasn't exactly been easy for me. Especially since the whole controversy last year over who gets to start. If I slip up just once..." "Right." "So, what do you want to do? Chat about how difficult it is to be one of the best, most well-known collegiate athletes in the country?" Cache paused and frowned. "That sounded wrong." "It sounded like you." Cache glanced down to Eric's crotch and noticed everything was back to normal. But he couldn't help but remember how it felt when they were pressed together. His palms tingled--a familiar sensation that he always tried to ignore because he didn't want any trouble. "Yeah, I guess so." Cache swallowed hard. "Do you want to know why I'm not allowed to drink?" Eric leaned his long body against a tree and folded his arms. "If you want to tell me." Cache didn't want to tell anybody. He didn't want to relive those memories. He certainly didn't want to give Eric the ammunition, because what if he was wrong? What if he'd misunderstood? But Eric hadn't sought out Cache because he wanted ammunition. They were friends, in a way. They had the connection of history and football and childhood peewee games and a state championship. "Coach caught me one night, after lights out. With somebody else." Eric's brow furrowed. "I've never known a coach to care what you do with somebody else after lights out as long as you're not too energetic or acrobatic. Wouldn't do to injure yourself, after all."

"He doesn't. Not usually. Except, I was with a guy. I insisted that he slipped something in my drink, and I drank too much, and I really didn't remember anything." Cache's heart thudded as Eric regarded him, and regret almost immediately settled over his shoulders. He shouldn't have made the confession. He shouldn't be talking to Eric at all. They were playing in the fucking Rose Bowl the next day. They needed their sleep. He needed to concentrate. "And you'd still risk buying me a drink?" Eric's voice was neutral, mildly curious at most. His face was impassive, as though he didn't want to let his game plan slip. Cache looked back calmly, old instructions coming back to him, fragments of the first time he suited up. Stare 'em down. Don't show any fear. Make sure your feet are planted. Good. Run when you have to. You gotta move. Take the hit like a man, but don't be a fool about it, right? "Yeah." Eric pushed away from the tree, but nothing in his eyes or demeanor offered Cache a single hint of his intentions. Cache stood his ground. He would take the hit like a man, if Eric wanted to swing at him. And the next day, he'd make sure Eric was so thoroughly humiliated that he'd lose his starting position. Maybe even lose the desire to play football and... The hit didn't come. Eric took his shoulders and then their lips were touching. Cache froze completely. He couldn't make himself move. He couldn't make his brain register the shock of Eric's warm mouth and warmer breath and tight hands. He would have rather been punched. He would have understood a fist to the face and maybe a sneered fucking queer. Not this slow, almost tender, exploration of his mouth. Cache parted his lips first, automatically. As soon as Eric's tongue touched his, a hot jolt went through the back of his neck. All he could think about were those winter mornings when he shocked himself turning on the thermostat--how it would be a surprise, and then it would hurt, and then the pain would fade and leave behind nothing except a vague, tingling memory of the shock. Maybe Eric was encouraged by the way Cache didn't resist. Cache certainly didn't do anything to discourage a deepening of the kiss. He didn't do anything to discourage Eric from wrapping his arm around his back and holding him closer. He gripped Eric's shoulder, holding him like he thought somebody would jump out from behind the tree and try to steal Eric away. Eric lifted his head, and wasn't it strange to kiss somebody taller? It seemed very strange to Cache. He towered over all the girls and most of the guys he knew, but Eric still had an inch on him. They studied each other for a beat, and Cache understood he was supposed to turn his head and spit in disgust, push Eric away, threaten him, maybe even hit him, make it absolutely clear where they stood. There couldn't be any ambiguity here. But he didn't do those things. Instead, he murmured, "I've got curfew." Eric studied him for a moment, searching his face for a lie. Cache looked back. He wasn't trying to get away from Eric, and he wasn't lying. "Yeah...me, too." "I've got to set an example for the younger players." Eric smiled. "And some of the older ones." They released each other at the same time. "Yeah. Look..."

"You don't have to see me tomorrow if you don't want to." Cache rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. "No, I want to. Meet me after the game, okay?" For a moment, he thought Eric would grab him again. Instead he nodded and turned toward the parking lot. "I'll see you." It was a threat and a promise, and for the first time, Cache found himself looking forward to the postgame activities more than the football game itself.

Chapter 2

"Have you seen the news?" Cache didn't open his eyes. Was his hour up already? "I've seen it." "Why didn't you call me? Why won't you open your eyes? Are you drugged or something?" Cache sighed and turned his head to face Mimi Milan, his manager and a bulldog in a poodle's body. He knew if anybody could fix this mess, it would be her. He knew he should be grateful she beat the entire coaching staff, his family, and his lawyer to the hospital, but he couldn't seem to summon the enthusiasm usually required to deal with her. "I'm not drugged. Much. I haven't asked for any painkillers this morning because I'm trying to keep a clear head." "Well, if you ask me, pain is the least of your troubles right now." "You think so? If this injury is as bad as it could be, we're both out of a job." She threw an uninterested glance at the cast on his leg. "I can't do anything about that. That's between you, the doctors, and God. But we can do something about this other mess you're in." "What do you suggest?" Cache asked, knowing the question was unnecessary. Mimi didn't need encouragement to tell him all her suggestions. "First, I need some basic facts. Have you talked to Eric this morning? Where is he?" Cache shrugged. "He's here, as far as I know." "Here?" Mimi began to pace, and her heels clicked and clacked on the linoleum floor. "Here in the hospital?" "Yeah." "How long has he been here?" "All night?" She stared at him. "What? He's been here all night? Why?" "Because he's my friend," Cache said automatically, grateful Eric wasn't in the room; he would be horrified that Cache couldn't even find it in him to tell the truth now. "And I'm seriously injured." "Okay, that can't happen anymore. It doesn't matter what you guys have or haven't done together; all that matters is the perception people have. And if Eric is sitting at your bedside all night..." "He wasn't." "It doesn't matter. Perception, remember? He needs to go home."

Cache had once thought the same thing, but hearing Mimi say it just made him angry. He wasn't going to send Eric home. Regardless of the drama and controversy surrounding their lives, neither one of them would be able to ignore the fact that Cache's career, the only life he had ever known, could be over. "What else?" Mimi pursed her lips. "A lot has been made about your tattoo." "What about it?" "Your number is fifteen. You have a four tattooed on your chest. That's a big deal. Perception." Cache had a feeling he would really begin to hate that word by the time this meeting ended. "It's my father's number." "So you got the tattoo in honor of your father?" She nodded. "That's good. Easily verifiable. Reminds everybody of your father, which doesn't hurt." Cache winced, but Mimi didn't seem to notice. "Good. What about the reports that you two live together?" "We don't live together," Cache said calmly. And that was true, insofar as they maintained separate residences, in separate states even. "He stays with me in the summer sometimes. Because we're friends. We've known each other since grade school for Christ's sake." Mimi perched on the edge of the bed, looking at him with shrewd, but oddly warm, blue eyes. "Look, Cache, this story has got legs. Nobody seems to be willing to dismiss this as just rumor or allegation. Soon, they're going to be contacting your teammates, and your coaches, and your family, if they haven't already started. Our response has to be quick and unambiguous." Cache detected just a trace of fear in her voice, like she wasn't sure how he'd respond. "I agree." "Oh. Good." "You didn't think I would?" "I just know you have your own way of doing things..." "What is your quick and unambiguous response, then?" Mimi leaned toward him. "We call a press conference, the sooner the better. Are you stuck in this bed? If we could wheel you downstairs this afternoon, that'd be for the best. You say that while you have nothing against that lifestyle, you didn't make that choice, personally. Eric is simply a childhood friend and colleague. It'll be best if Eric is there with you." Cache's stomach churned as she spoke. "I'm not sure I like that response." "What's not to like? It makes your stance clear. Of course, you're going to have to cut off ties with Eric for a little while. Not permanently. I don't think the situation calls for that, but for awhile." Cache studied his hands. "What if we don't do anything?" He shook his head. "I know, I know. We can't not do anything. I just..." "Look, Cache, you already agreed that it was the best choice." Mimi was standing again, and now the fear he thought he detected before was more evident on her face. He employed a lot of people, and all of them would be out a job if he destroyed his career now. Why didn't Eric seem worried about this?

A brief tap on the door was their only warning before Eric joined them. He had found a shower and a clean pair of clothes, but his eyes were still bloodshot, his face patchy with a night's worth of stubble, and his mouth set in a grim line. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. Send him home, Cache." Eric's gaze darted from Cache to Mimi in confusion. "What?" "We're trying to figure out the best response to everything," Cache explained. "Let me guess...the best response either of you can think of is deny, deny, deny?" "Eric..." "Do you have a better suggestion?" Mimi asked. Cache had played in enough games with Eric to recognize the look on his face. It was hard and certain and calm. "Tell the truth." "The...truth?" Mimi spat the words like they were clinging to her tongue. "What's the truth? Cache, what's the truth?" "Christ, she doesn't even know?" Cache stared at the hard white plaster around his knee. If he could do it all over again, would he have done anything differently? Would he have called a different play? Would he have run and escaped the rush instead of throwing the ball? Would he have given up and taken a knee to wind down the clock? Of course, that would have never been an option. You don't give up until you're in the locker room. He would take the hit again, he would take it a thousand times. "Cache?" Mimi waved her hand in front of his face. "Are you sure you're not on drugs?" "What? No. I'm fine." "The rumors are true, aren't they?" The question sounded more like an accusation. Mimi looked back and forth, disgust twisting her face. "What the hell is wrong with you two? This is hardly the right sort of profession or environment... We're going to need some major PR work. I'll need to call in the big guns. I still think our best chance is denial." "No." Eric pointedly placed his hand on Cache's shoulder, and Cache didn't bother to shrug him away. "I'm not going to call a press conference to lie." "Why not?" "Drop it, Mimi." Both of them looked at Cache with naked shock. "I'm not going to ask Eric to do that." "I thought you wanted to fix this," Mimi protested. "I'm not going to ask Eric to lie. That isn't who he is, and whatever we do, we've got to be united." "You wouldn't have to lie forever." Mimi turned to Eric. "You could tell the truth when you retire. When you both retire. It'll be a shock but..." "No. I'm not ashamed of who I am. I've kept quiet for the past ten years because Cache asked me to, but I am not going to promote the belief that there is something wrong with being gay."

Mimi's eyes widened. "You're not going to just go out there and confirm anything, are you? Cache said you need to be united. You won't take it on yourself to just...tell everything, would you?" "I won't say anything to anybody without Cache's approval." "Good. Good. I need to go talk to some people. I just can't believe this is happening. I can't believe any of this is happening. You know, your contract is up this season. Did you even think about that? How do you think negotiations are going to go? God, what a mess." Neither of them spoke until the door closed behind her. "I can't believe she's so freaked out about this." "I can," Cache said. "This is something she can try to control. This is something she can be proactive about. But my knee..." "Has the doctor been in here yet?" "No. Some nurse tried to shoot me up, but I told her I didn't want anything right now." Eric's face twisted into a grimace. "You must be in a ton of pain. Let me call her." "Eric..." "I know you want to keep a clear head, but hurting yourself isn't going to help anybody. Besides, what are you staying awake for? There's nothing going on that you need to see." "Is it getting really bad?" "We will need to respond soon, I think." "Then I should stay awake." Eric rested on the edge of the bed. "Do you like Mimi's plan?" "I already said..." "I know what you said. But, Cache, this is your career, too." "What's left of it, at any rate." He frowned. "We can't have two different responses, Eric. And you already said that you wouldn't lie, and I already said I wouldn't expect you to." "But do you want to deny it? Just answer the question." "I can't answer the question, okay? I don't fucking know right now. What do you think? We'll just get up there and tell the truth and everybody will understand? Our teams will understand? I just...maybe that would be for the best. I don't know." "Maybe we should have a meeting today. I'll have the coaching staffs come in." "Yeah, that won't look suspicious." "They're just going to be here to visit you and get an update on your leg. They can't make the decision for us, Cache, and I know you know that. But maybe they can help us find a few answers." It seemed reasonable to Cache. But he couldn't help but think about the fear and disgust and horror on Coach Rydell's face when he'd caught Cache with another man. It had been over a decade before, but

the shouting and threats and warnings were still fresh in his mind. He respected Coach Miller. They were friends, in many ways, and he knew damned well there were no guarantees in football, but he had always imagined playing out the rest of his career with Coach Miller. "What if you had to choose?" Cache asked. "Choose what?" "Between telling the truth and keeping your job?" "I'll have a job in football as long as I am willing and able to play. I'm not at all worried about that. Owners and coaches and fans want championships, and I can deliver one." Cache sniffed. "Unless you're playing against me." "I think we already established that I had a better game than you did." "Doesn't change the fact that you lost. And you know what that means." Cache had meant the comment to relieve some of the tension in the room, but Eric's face merely pulled into a thoughtful frown. "I don't know what you're going to do, Cache, but I know I never planned to live without you." Cache could only sigh. He'd never planned any of this. **** Crushed. No, shocked. Shocked might be a better word than crushed. Cache wasn't sure quite what happened. The first half of the game was a bit of a blur, but he knew that when they went into the locker game at halftime, they were hanging on to a fourteen-point lead. All of the penalties had gone their way. A few of the questionable calls had gone their way. They were playing good football. The defense was getting enough pressure on Eric to make him mostly ineffective. Things had been going well. Things had been going right. But the second half was more of a blur. Three sacks. How did they get through his line three times? Two interceptions. He should have adjusted after the first interception, but then he was off-center, confused, his mind wasn't in the game like it should have been. And Eric knew better than to blow those chances. Cache had watched from the sidelines, helpless, as Eric orchestrated not one, not two, but three perfect drives. Perfect in every sense of the word. He called the right plays. He didn't have a single missed pass. Eighteen completions for eighteen attempts in the second half. He had been magnificent. Beautiful, even. Cache had been jealous. He had been angry. He had been frustrated. And he had been a little turned on. Just enough to be uncomfortable. When the fans stormed the field to celebrate, Eric had been caught in the rush. The hero. The man of the hour. Cache knew that every talking head, every analyst, every sports writer, every coach, and every player would be talking about Eric Patton the next morning. Cache would be forgotten. As he trudged into the locker room, he couldn't help but think he'd be forgotten in more ways than one. In perfect honesty, he had been looking forward to meeting Eric after the game. He knew that the thought of doing so hadn't distracted him during the game. Cache was already a pro at blocking out unwanted thoughts and distractions. When he was on the field, he only thought about winning. He thought about the playbook. He thought about strategy.

But as the crowd's cheers and shouts echoed in his ears, he thought about Eric. The loss hurt, but they would always have the next year. The possibility he had glimpsed with Eric--well, the loss of that possibility was far more painful. But there was no way Eric would be able to get away from the celebrations that night, and the next day, he would go east, and Eric would go north. And that would be it. A few of his teammates tried to draw Cache into discussion, but the attempts were futile, and they realized it quickly. They backed off, giving him his space, and he wished he could rally them, cheer them up, be the right kind of leader. But his head was a muddle, and he barely heard anything the coach said in the post-game meeting. He just wanted to get back to his hotel and pass out and put the night behind him. By eleven, he was in his hotel room. By eleven-thirty, he was stretched out in his shorts on the bed, grateful that on this trip, he didn't have to bunk with anybody. He had the television on, but he found an old black-and-white movie. It might have been starring Humphrey Bogart. Cache wasn't sure. All he knew was, it wouldn't be interrupted with the Rose Bowl score. The knock came just before midnight. Cache considered pretending to be asleep, but he knew it wouldn't do any good to hide in his room and sulk. If somebody wanted to talk to him, then he'd be there to talk. That's what a good leader did. And he did take that responsibility seriously, even if he didn't have the heart or the energy. But it wasn't one of his players. Eric stood in front of him, his hair mussed. The amiable boy who had found him in the park was gone, replaced by a man Cache almost didn't recognize. He knew his surprise was evident on his face. He tried to form the words to invite Eric in, but Eric didn't need the invitation. He pushed his way into the room, kicked the door shut behind him, grabbed Cache's shoulders, and smashed their mouths together. Cache barely had a chance to register the kiss before Eric spun them around and slammed him against the door. He used enough force to wake up every single bruise, every single cut, every single ache and pain in his exhausted body. And he was strong enough to hold Cache there. Cache realized that at his first weak attempt to struggle, and so he stopped trying to get away. But he didn't let Eric have control of the kiss. Their teeth and lips and tongues fought. Cache didn't quite know the reason for the battle, and he didn't know the terms of surrender. He only knew he couldn't afford to give Eric an inch. Eric's fingers dug into his shoulders, and Cache imagined he would have oval-shaped bruises the next morning, to match the rest of his injuries. His hands went to Eric's hips, and he held him with the same force. Cache wasn't sure how the kiss ended, but he did know his lips felt swollen, and he tasted copper on his tongue. He searched Eric's face for any sign of what was going on behind his eyes, but he still wore a determined mask. Cache opened his mouth, maybe to ask what the hell was going on, but Eric took advantage of that and their tongues were clashing again. Eric curled his fingers in Cache's hair and pulled hard enough to make Cache's eyes water. He yanked Cache's head back, exposing his throat, and his hard, hot mouth moved down his jaw and neck. He sucked and bit on the skin, leaving new marks, but each scrape of his teeth sent a jolt directly to Cache's cock. Eric scraped his nails down Cache's naked chest and palmed his erection through his thin shorts. He squeezed him, hard enough to make Cache cry out, but that only earned another tight squeeze. Cache clawed at Eric's tight T-shirt, ripping the material. The sound it made seemed to send Eric into a new frenzy, and he half-dragged, half-threw Cache to the bed behind him. Cache barely had a moment to wonder where Eric had found the strength before Eric was on him again, all teeth and searching, groping fingers.

Eric's shirt was in shreds by the time it hit the floor, and his chest was warm and firm against Cache's. He wasn't sure what happened to his shorts. When Eric tore them from his body. If he had helped Eric do it. All he knew was that he was trapped, naked, and hard as a rock. He couldn't remember the last time he had been that aroused. Once again, Eric broke from his mouth and sought out the rest of his skin. Cache braced his feet against the mattress and pushed himself higher up the bed as Eric moved down his body, encouraging Eric to kiss and suck and bite lower and lower. The brush of teeth at the base of his cock made Cache yelp, and Eric finally made a sound--a single moan. If Cache had any defenses, they were stripped away then. That one moan did more to convey Eric's desire and hunger than the hardest of kisses. Eric finally stood and unbuttoned his jeans. His cock sprang free, hard and glistening with pre-come. Cache should have realized it before, but in that moment, he understood what Eric intended to do. Cache immediately tried to push himself away and off the other side of the bed, but Eric caught his ankle and pulled him back easily. "Don't, Cache." Don't fight me. Cache stilled, understanding Eric would win this fight. A condom and a small bottle of lube appeared from Eric's pocket. This wasn't a spur of the moment decision, an impulse visit. Eric had planned it. Cache's assumptions had been wrong. This was Eric's victory celebration. Cache swallowed hard. Eighteen completions for eighteen attempts. Flawless play. The sort of play he'd expect in the professional league. And if he removed himself from the equation, Cache could admit one thing. He had been more than a little turned on by the performance. Cache watched with heavy eyes as Eric's jeans fell to the floor and he tore the foil packet open with his teeth. His fingers shook. Just a little bit. Just enough to betray the fact that he wasn't as cool about this as he wanted Cache to believe, or wanted to believe himself. Eric rolled the condom down his cock, and covered himself with the lubricant. Cache slid to the edge of the mattress, and waited for Eric to hook his legs around his waist. His fingers were cold with the lube when he sought out Cache's clenched hole. He pushed one finger in and the burn was exquisite. Cache arched his back, pushing against Eric's hand, forcing him even deeper into his tight channel. Cache knew from experience that he needed to be stretched properly. He didn't get fucked often--and the opportunities were becoming extremely rare indeed--but when he did, it was always after careful preparation. He could tell that he wouldn't have that luxury this time. Impatience marred Eric's face, and his eyes were dark and heavy. He wasn't careful with the addition of the second finger, or particularly gentle when he finally worked in the third finger. "I'm ready, Eric," Cache murmured, surprised he had to say it at all. But as soon as Eric thrust his thick cock into Cache's ass, he realized he hadn't been ready. Not really. The pain startled him, and the slow burn of Eric pulling out of his channel made Cache want to twist away. But Eric's tight grip returned and forced Cache to remain still, his legs wrapped around Eric's body. Each thrust felt like a new assault. Eric moved his hips like he had moved his mouth before--it was a challenge and a dare and a taunt. But Cache couldn't resist him. His body moved without input from his brain, betraying his desire, and his need, and his pleasure. He moved with Eric, and Eric responded by jerking his hips faster.

Cache closed his eyes and dropped his head back, surrendering himself to the onslaught. It was at that point of submission that Eric began to speak. Words fell out of his mouth in jumbled torrents, confused and muddled and broken. "Cache... God... dreaming about this... say you want it... tell me..." Cache responded to the prompts without any sort of conscious thought. He encouraged Eric, begged for more, promised him he did want it, and when Eric wrapped a rough hand around his shaft, the words were gone. Just gone. Everything was gone, except Eric's strong grip, and his thick cock splitting Cache in half, and his sweat, and the musky smell of his skin. "Just...come. Come. Cache..." Cache wanted to resist the direct order. Eric couldn't call all the shots. Eric couldn't dominate him completely. But his body wasn't offended by the simple instruction. His body responded to it swiftly, his blood racing, his heart hammering so hard he didn't know if Eric said anything else. And then hot come was splashing on his stomach and sliding down his shaft and his balls were tight. He clenched around Eric's cock, squeezing until Eric shouted. His cock jerked against Cache's stretched and hot walls, sending aftershocks of pleasure through his body. And then they collapsed together, as though Eric didn't have the strength to support himself for another second. When Cache's heart slowed and Eric's breathing returned to normal, they adjusted themselves until they were both completely on the mattress, their arms and legs still tangled and slick with sweat. "I didn't think I'd see you tonight," Cache admitted, when he thought Eric might be asleep. "Why?" His voice was thick. Maybe he had been asleep. "You're the new hero, aren't you?" "I played like that for you." Cache's brows pulled into a frown. "What do you mean?" But Eric didn't answer. He only held Cache closer and closed his eyes.

Chapter 3

Cache picked at his lunch without enthusiasm, chewing the salad without tasting it, and taking small, half-hearted bites from his sandwich. Eric sat beside the bed, watching silently, making sure Cache didn't push the food away. He couldn't force Cache to take anything for the pain, but he could make sure Cache ate. And so Cache didn't protest or try to fight him. Mimi hadn't returned after their meeting, and Cache wondered what she was doing. Trying to find a few new clients to replace him? Frantically reorganizing her budget? Perhaps trying to figure out just how big of a PR catastrophe they were facing. "I'll try to sneak some real food in for dinner." "Do you think this is making it worse?" "The food?" Cache shook his head. "No, I mean, all the time you're spending in my hospital room." "Do you want me to leave?" Cache shook his head again. Eric had always been more direct about his feelings, more aggressive about his desires. Eric had always been the one least perturbed by possible gossip, and more focused on their relationship. Eric never vocalized his exact feelings for Cache, but he didn't need to--though he may have wanted to. Cache could see the affection in his eyes. But despite that, Cache long suspected that he needed Eric more than Eric ever needed him. "How's the pain?" "Excruciating." "Please let me call the nurse. Maybe they can give you some Tylenol or something." "No." "What? Are you trying to punish yourself?" "No. I don't need to be punished. But maybe somebody should remember that there are more important things than the press's feeding frenzy." "You're just stubborn." "You've called me worse," Cache muttered as he stabbed at a limp piece of lettuce. "Only when you've deserved it." The fight could have continued in that vein, but a brief knock on the door announced the arrival of more visitors. Cache had expected several people from each organization, but the door opened to reveal just Coach Miller and Coach Banks. Both of the men looked very solemn--though as far as Cache knew, Coach Banks always looked very solemn.

"How's the knee?" Miller immediately asked. Cache shrugged. "Still haven't heard from the doctor. Hurts like a bitch, though." "Why is he making you wait like this?" Miller turned to Eric. "Why haven't you gone to find him?" Eric jumped to his feet. "Do you want me to go now?" "No, no, stay. We need to have a meeting." Cache sipped from his water, wishing he didn't feel like some stupid kid. He was an adult, goddamnit. He didn't have to brace himself for a lecture, or a shouting match, or even something more violent. But even a lecture or a shouting match would have been preferable over the very real chance of disappointment. His first instinct was to open with an apology, but if he actually apologized in front of Eric, the other man would blow his top. "So," Banks started, "who wants to tell us what the hell is going on?" Cache looked to Eric. He wasn't going to start this discussion. Of course, as soon as Eric opened his mouth, he realized his mistake. "The rumors are true." Miller never looked away from Cache's face. "Cache?" "I haven't been following the story this morning, but..." He gestured at the newspaper still sitting on his bedside table. "That part is true, at least." Banks shook his head. "I don't understand." "What part is confusing you?" Eric asked. "How can you two...I mean, you're queers...homosexuals?" Banks asked, perplexed. Miller rolled his eyes. "How long has this been going on?" "Nine years," Cache said softly. "Really? I had no idea..." "Well, yeah. That's sort of the point, isn't it?" Eric lifted his hands helplessly. "The question is, who leaked it now, and why? We're trying to decide what to do about it." Miller ran his hand through his steel-gray hair. "What do you want to do about it, son?" "I want to do what's best for the team." Miller nodded, like he didn't expect any other answer. "Has anybody contacted you?" Cache glanced at Eric again. "I'm not sure." "I've asked the switchboard to make sure nobody can get through," Eric explained. "It was mainly to stop the press. Cache doesn't need to deal with that shit right now."

Banks began to pace the room, his face creased, and Cache thought he saw a hint of the man's infamous temper. To Cache's knowledge, Eric had been on the receiving end of his tirades a few times, and he immediately tensed, preparing for an outburst. He wasn't going to tolerate anybody attacking Eric. Not right now. "I'm not going to put up with any of this shit on my team. It's not good for anybody. We've got a clean organization. I don't care what you do in your private life, as long as it's not in everybody's faces." "John," Miller started, "now you know that's not fair. They haven't been flaunting it." "They are now!" "We haven't said anything to the press," Eric pointed out. "We've never been seen together in public as anything other than colleagues and friends. We've lied to our families. We've even made it a point to be seen with women." "Well, I don't like it. You want my opinion on what to do? Pretend none of this ever happened. Tell the people the story is shit and forget about it." "What are you going to do if we don't?" Cache asked. "I'm sorry, Eric. But we'll have to cut you." Miller snorted. "And get yourself fired in the process." "Do you think the fans are going to tolerate this?" "Do you think the fans are going to tolerate losing the most popular player on the team and one of the most gifted quarterbacks in the entire league?" Miller shook his head. "You almost had a championship ring yesterday. I don't think cutting Eric now will be a wise move." "So you don't think we should deny it, Coach?" Cache asked, ignoring Banks. "I can't tell you want to do. Quite frankly, I don't want you off my team. I'm more worried about that knee than I am your private life." "I am, too." "I'm calling a press conference this afternoon," Miller said. "It'll be about your knee. If you have anything else to say..." Cache inclined his head. "Understood." Eric looked to his coach. "I'm going to go along with whatever Cache decides." "Or he's going to go along with whatever you decide," Banks insisted. "No. He already said he's not going to ask me to lie. I'm not going to ask anything else from him." "I need to talk to my quarterback in private," Miller announced. Cache didn't protest as the other two men shuffled toward the door. Eric looked over his shoulder and offered a silent promise, but then they shut the door behind them, leaving Cache alone with his coach, who was still looking at him with kindly eyes.

"Now, understand, son, I know this is none of my business, but when Mrs. Miller saw the newspaper this morning, she demanded I ask. You know how Mrs. Miller feels about you, right?" Cache nodded. Coach Miller's wife was heavily involved with the team, and often tried to act as a surrogate mother to every single one of the players, whether they needed a surrogate mother or not. "I do." "Right, well, she told me to find out whether or not you're in love with Patton. That's just what she said, too. Find out if you've got tender feelings for him, the way she feels about me." Cache swallowed. "Why does she want to know?" "Well, she's a romantic at heart. And you're one of her boys. She wants you to be happy. So, what should I tell her? Do you love Eric? I feel silly asking this, and I feel even more silly for saying what I'm about to say, but really, that matters more than football." Cache tilted his head. "What do you mean?" "You've already reached the pinnacle of your profession. You're not going to get any higher, and look what happened. Your knee could be fucked. And if it's not fucked now, then maybe it'll be your shoulder next season, or your head the season after that. Then the game is over, and you've got to move on. Maybe you'll coach, or maybe you'll get a cushy job in some news studio or some booth calling the games. But either way, this is going to be over in a few years." "I understand, Coach." "See that you do. Now that all came from Mrs. Miller, you understand." "I understand, Coach." **** The rematch was unheard of. It was the story of the century, hyped for weeks, watched by most of the nation. Watched by most of the professional scouts. Cache had already been looked at, interviewed, discussed, but this was different. This was the final chance he had. This was the moment that would cement himself in the memories of fans and the coaches. But none of that really mattered to Cache. Not really. He only had one thought in his head as he took his first snap. He could not lose to Eric Patton again. Cache had hoped for a blow out, but that wasn't going to happen. The plays were far too scripted, the defenses too primed and ready for any attack. It would come down to fundamentals--who made the fewest mistakes, who had the fewest turnovers, who lost the fewest yards on penalties. Who had the final possession of the game. Run. Run. First down. Throw. Run out of bounds and stop the clock. One time-out left, plus the two minute warning. He can't give Eric the chance to score, so he has to take the game down to the very last seconds. Throw again, incomplete. A field goal will tie, a touchdown to win. Cache wants the win. He doesn't want to send this game into overtime. Another pass to the left. They had been weak on the left all night, but Garza catches the ball and neatly steps out of bounds. Forty yards to go in two minutes. Cache doesn't think now. He runs on instinct and adrenalin. Rush. First down. Completion. Completion. He's got three chances and a time-out. Going into overtime is not the worse thing that could happen. Cache knows he has to play this smart. No fuck-ups. No mistakes. No second chances. Pass. Complete.

Touchdown. When Cache finally made it back to the locker room, he was too tight. Too hot. Everything tingled, and everything was far too bright. He told himself it was just the adrenaline from winning, but he knew that wasn't the case. It was the anticipation of his prize. He needed to find Eric. Cache didn't allow himself to think about the fact that Eric might not want to be found. A lot could change in a year, and despite their best attempts to travel across the country to meet during the summer, it never quite happened. Eric was always busy, or Cache was traveling, or they had to take summer classes. And then the season started. It sounded like a bunch of excuses to Cache--maybe they both could have tried harder--but he hadn't intended to make excuses or to put Eric off. Once he hit the parking lot, he wasn't sure where to go. Eric could be staying with his parents, who still lived in Pasadena. Or he could be staying in a hotel. Or he could be hiding. "Need a lift?" Cache spun around and smiled. "I missed my bus." Eric didn't return the smile, but he did nod toward the end of the lot. "I borrowed my dad's car tonight. I can take you back to your hotel, if you want. Or we could go somewhere else." Cache studied Eric for a moment, trying to gauge his mood. He expected the other man to be a bit depressed about the situation--nobody liked to lose, after all. But Eric didn't seem to have any energy at all. He dragged his feet as he approached Cache, and Cache almost felt like telling him to go home, get some sleep. If he didn't want to spend the night with Cache, then that was fine. No use pretending he did. "My hotel is fine. Unless you had someplace else in mind?" "No." Eric seemed to be some sort of energy vampire. Cache could feel the energy draining from him the more time he spent with Eric. And he didn't understand why. It was one loss. Eric's legacy was already cemented after the previous year's win and the season he'd just had. It wasn't the end of the world. "Look, it's not the end of the world." Eric unlocked the car and frowned. "What do you mean?" "Losing. Or whatever's wrong with you. Just snap out of it, okay? It happens." "I guess so." Cache didn't exactly have a lot of lovers, and he had never had a girlfriend, but he had seen this sort of behavior with his buddies and their girlfriends. Near as he could tell, it always meant no sex. Cache sighed at the thought. If Eric just dropped him off at the hotel, he'd be disappointed. If Eric came upstairs with him and went through the motions, even if he didn't really want to be there, Cache would be pissed. The drive passed in silence, but it wasn't a long one. By the time they reached the hotel, Cache still didn't have any idea what the problem was or what to expect. "You coming upstairs?" Eric gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and he only shrugged.

"That's not an answer, you know." "Do you want me upstairs?" "I asked, didn't I?" Eric still didn't release the wheel. "I fucked up." "What? You mean tonight?" Cache hoped he meant that night and not the night a year ago. "Look, everybody has their bad games. And yours wasn't even a bad game. It was close. Really damned close." "I should have done better. And I fucked it up." Cache's frown deepened. "Look, you didn't fuck anything up. Now we're even, that's all." "You don't have to invite me upstairs. I'll understand if you don't." "You'll understand what?" Cache shook his head. "I have no idea what's going on here. Why wouldn't I invite you up? Because you lost? I don't know what that has to do with anything." "You're serious?" "Yeah, I am." Eric shook his head. "I don't understand." "Well, that makes two of us. Why don't you come upstairs, and we'll try to sort this out." Talking was the last thing Cache wanted to do, but the whole discussion had cooled his ardor considerably. Eric nodded and finally relaxed his death grip on the steering wheel. More silence lingered between them on the short journey up to Cache's room. He hoped that, if nothing else, they could ease some of the tension between them. If what had happened before was a one-shot deal, he could handle that, but he wanted to know what to expect, so he could respond accordingly. In Cache's view, it was no different from studying the other team's defense for a week before the game. Once they were locked in the small confines of Cache's room, the awkwardness only increased. Eric stood by the door, like he didn't know what to do, and Cache stood by the bed, because he didn't have a clue. He remembered the way Eric had demanded, had taken, exactly what he wanted, and for a moment, Cache considered doing exactly that. But he suspected that wouldn't exactly solve the problem. He should just tell Eric to go. He didn't want to tell Eric to go. "What's going on?" Cache finally asked. "Is this really just about losing?" "Yes. No. Look, I don't want to go home tonight." "You don't have to." Eric took a tentative step away from the door. "What happens...happened...when you lost?" "You mean in general?" Cache shrugged. "Nothing. I'd look at the tapes on Tuesday, try to figure out what happened, and what adjustments I could make. But isn't that what everybody does?"

"I would be sent to the basement." Cache blinked. "What do you mean? Sent to the basement?" "My father would send me down to the basement. I'd eat down there and sleep down there until I won again." "I...don't understand." And he didn't understand what that had to do with them. Clearly, he wasn't in the basement now. "How long did this go on?" "Until college." "Your father would make you live in the basement...it was unfinished, wasn't it? Didn't your dad just store boxes down there?" Eric nodded. "He told me I needed to be hungry for the win. Getting back into the house would be my motivation." "I still don't..." He paused. Eric wasn't looking at him anymore. In fact, he had taken a step back, and he seemed ready to bolt. Like a cornered animal. Like he expected Cache to give him something to run from. "Eric. That's not...your dad is crazy." Eric didn't respond, so Cache took a step forward, then another step. Soon, the space was closed between them. Cache gripped the back of Eric's neck and pulled him against his body. Eric didn't resist, though Cache did notice surprise in his eyes. Before Eric could question him, and before Cache could lose his nerve, he brushed his lips across Eric's. It had been a shot in the dark. He thought the contact would help, but he also thought he could be wrong, and Eric would need--or want--something else entirely. But Eric didn't pull away. He responded to the kiss, parting his lips slightly and inviting Cache to deepen the caress. Cache felt a moment of triumph, mingled with relief and pride. Relief that he had done the right thing. Pride that he had figured it out. As he kissed Eric, he walked backward, drawing Eric to the bed. He stopped as soon as the mattress touched the back of his calves and broke the kiss. "Get undressed." Eric didn't respond immediately. Cache released him and sat on the edge of the bed. "Now." Eric pulled his shirt overhead, exposing his muscled chest, colored with bruises and abrasions. Cache didn't even try to pretend to understand why the sight of Eric's injuries made him hard, but they did. Or maybe it was the way Eric had followed his command? His shoes were next. And then his pants. He stood in front of Cache without turning away or looking uncomfortable, and Cache had the chance to refresh a year-old memory. Eric was as stunning as he remembered. His body was the result of years of hard work and dedication, and now he seemed to Cache to be a living work of art. Cache toed off his shoes and yanked his shirt over his head. His pants followed before he pulled Eric down to join him on the bed. Everywhere they touched felt hot and electrified, and Cache's balls throbbed. But he contented himself with running his fingers down Eric's ribs, skimming his skin, before resting a hand on his hip. "You thought I wouldn't want you because you lost." It wasn't a question, though Cache wasn't entirely sure of his conclusion. "Yeah."

Cache leaned toward him, but he didn't claim his mouth again. Instead, he placed open-mouthed kisses on Eric's jaw, throat, and neck. His hand tightened on Eric's hip, his fingers digging into the flesh even as he caressed Eric with his thumb. "You don't need to impress me." Eric pulled back, and the surprise was back in his eyes, as well as his confusion. "What?" "You don't need to worry about impressing me. I already am." Eric's lashes ducked, and brief fear flared in Cache's chest. Had he read the situation wrong? Had he said the wrong thing? He thought that's what Eric needed to hear, but he knew he was way out of his element. Now, if Eric had asked him for advice on how to improve his game, that would have been a different situation. He was almost on the verge of trying a new tactic when Eric leaned forward and claimed his mouth with a slow, sweet caress. Cache didn't respond immediately, too stunned to do anything except feel Eric's mouth working on his. But it only took a moment to process the contact. He parted his lips and allowed Eric to deepen the kiss. Cache lost track of time. He lost track of everything except Eric's lips, and teeth, and tongue, and his warm breath, and the way his muscles flexed against Cache's body. He let Eric push him onto his back, but he didn't release him, and Eric didn't resist as Cache pulled him on top of him. Cache had fantasized about fucking Eric the way Eric had fucked him before. But as the kiss stretched ahead of them, becoming more elastic with each second, evolving and deepening into something Cache had never experienced before, he realized that he didn't want something as hard and fast as before. This contact, this slow exploration was exactly what he wanted, and needed, because it was what Eric wanted. Eric's cock hardened as they kissed, and when it was fully erect, he began moving his body, sliding against Cache. Cache reached between them and wrapped his hand around their shafts, squeezing gently, and stroked them together as Eric continued to rock. "Do you want to fuck me?" Eric murmured against his mouth. "I do." "Can I ride you?" Cache nodded. Eric smiled, and Cache felt another rush of satisfaction at doing the right thing. Anything that made Eric smile was the right thing. And that was weird, and didn't make any sense to him, but it was undeniable. "Do you have a condom?" Cache gestured at the nightstand. "Lube, too. I was prepared." Eric lifted his head, surprise evident in his eyes. "You were really looking forward to tonight?" Cache nodded. He couldn't deny it at this point. "I've...thought about coming out to visit you. Can't believe it's been a year."

Eric reached for the box of condoms. Cache licked his dry lips as he watched Eric carefully tear open the foil and extract the condom. Eric's eyes were half-closed, focused, concentrated. He was taking this seriously, and Cache was entranced by the solemn look on his face. "Do you want to wait another year?" Cache murmured. Eric didn't reply immediately. He slid back to straddle Cache's thighs, then gripped the base of Cache's cock. Cache couldn't help but think of a sharper contrast to their previous meeting. Eric had been so demanding before, but now he touched Cache gently, almost tentatively. "I don't want to wait another year," Eric admitted. "We shouldn't then." The corner of Eric's mouth lifted. He unrolled the condom down Cache's shaft with a single stroke of his wrist. Cache's cock jerked, and his balls and thighs tightened. He felt like a spark jumped from Eric's palm to his cock, and Cache couldn't help but imagine Eric's ass clenching around him. "Has anybody else ever fucked you?" Eric asked. He poured a healthy amount of lube into his hand. "Not since last year," Cache admitted. "You?" "This is my first time. I usually top." "You're not tonight. Stretch yourself." Cache couldn't tear his gaze away from Eric's face as he complied with Cache's command. His features twisted for a moment, like he didn't know if he was in pain or not. But Eric didn't stop, and he didn't hesitate. He slid one finger into his tight channel then froze, not moving, not even twitching. "Add another finger." The process was slow, but Eric eased a second finger past his pucker. "Fuck yourself. Pretend it's me." Eric bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. The thrusts were slow at first, but Eric began to move his hand faster as he became accustomed to the pressure. Cache thought his stomach would try to crawl out of his throat, and the ache in his balls was more painful than pleasant. Eric dropped his head back and began to gasp for breath, licking his lips again and again. Cache thought he looked desperate for something to suck on, but he put that thought out of his head. There would be time for that, but now Cache didn't want to feel his mouth. "You ready?" Eric's eyes flew open and he nodded. He smoothed his slick fingers over Cache's shaft, then slid up to straddle Cache's hips. Cache gripped the base of his cock, guiding it to Eric's waiting hole, and sought his face for any sign of hesitation. Cache only saw his own lust reflected in Eric's eyes, and he realized neither of them could change their minds. Not now. The blunt tip of Cache's cock stretched Eric's ring of muscle, and the heat from Eric's body immediately radiated down Cache's shaft. "Don't move," Cache said thickly. Eric remained still, his muscles tense, his mouth half-open. Cache took a deep breath and then thrust his hips forward, filling Eric in one powerful, smooth stroke. Eric shouted. Cache moaned. It was better than he had anticipated. Better than anybody else he had ever fucked. A part of him suspected that he could just stay buried in Eric all night and be perfectly happy.

"Move now." Eric nodded and began to rock forward and back. The strokes were shallow, like Eric didn't want to lose Cache's length. His muscles flexed with each controlled movement, and Cache burned everywhere. His blood ran too hot, close to his skin, making him flush and tingle. And Eric looked perfect rising above him, his back arched, sweat already dotting his brow and running down his neck. "Christ...Eric...Christ..." Eric moaned and dropped forward, his chest slick and hot against Cache's. Their mouths clashed, their tongues winding and twisting. Eric buried his hands in Cache's hair, his palms covering his ears, holding his head in place while he sought out the corners of Cache's mouth. Cache ran his hands up and down Eric's back, his touch gentle on the bruises and cuts and scrapes. He felt the power in Eric's body, felt his strength, felt the energy vibrating through him. Vibrating through both of them. "I got so hard," Eric said against his mouth. "When?" "Watching you tonight. You're perfect." He smoothed his hands over Cache's shoulders. "Knowing what would happen if you won." "You wanted me to fuck you?" Eric nodded. "Christ." He gripped Eric's hips tightly. The pressure of his fingers was the only warning Eric got before Cache changed everything. He shifted the tempo, shifted the rhythm. But it still wasn't enough. "This isn't working." "What?" "Gotta turn over." Eric nodded, and Cache flipped him onto his back without pulling free from his ass. They both gasped at the sudden shift in the angle, and Cache braced himself above Eric on his knuckles. He tried to hold himself back at first. He tried to keep things slow because he really didn't want to hurt Eric. But Eric wrapped his long legs around him and pulled him forward until Cache was fully seated. Eric flexed again and again, squeezing Cache's cock until he thought he would just pop. "As hard as you want." That was all Cache needed to hear. The memory of all his dreams and fantasies hit him. Even the times he fucked somebody else and closed his eyes and pretended he was with Eric. He couldn't hold himself back. He pounded into Eric until they were both screaming and breathless. He pounded into Eric until he couldn't feel anything else, and couldn't remember what it was like to be away from Eric. He fucked him like he was claiming him, leaving a mark to let everybody know that Eric Patton belonged to Cache Garnett. Cache lost his mind a little bit. The more he moved, the more feral he felt. But it was okay. It was all right. Because Eric followed him. Eric didn't miss a beat. Eric didn't hesitate or try to pull back. "Cache...fuck..." Cache caught Eric's mouth with his own just before everything inside of him erupted. He may have shouted. He may have only thought about shouting. But his cock jerked against Eric's walls again and

again, and each time it did, Eric twitched and jumped. Cache reached between their bodies blindly, seeking out Eric's smooth shaft. He fisted it, pulling it hard, and within two jerks of his wrist, Eric's warm come erupted over their stomachs and chests. Cache lifted his head, and his eyes refused to focus, like they sometimes did after a particularly strenuous workout. Eric's eyes were wide and dilated, and he was looking at Cache like he had never seen him before. Cache groaned as his soft cock slipped from Eric's hole, and he immediately wondered when he would find himself buried in that ass again. Given how demanding he had been, he wouldn't be surprised if Eric needed to take a break for a night, or a month, or another year. "I didn't hurt you?" "No." Eric sighed. "I'm fine." "You're sure?" Cache collapsed beside him, exhausted, but he couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't look away from Eric. And that's when he realized they weren't just fucking around. This wasn't just some sort of game with the same rules as their other game. "Stay?" Eric turned on his side, draping his arm over Cache's ribs. "Are you kidding? I won't be able to walk for another three days." "I was hard, too. When I realized I won." Eric kissed his shoulder. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you before I have to leave." Cache nodded, and wished he didn't feel a little sick at the thought of Eric slipping out of the bed, out of the room.

Chapter 4

"What's this about refusing any pain meds?" Eric gave him an I-told-you-so smirk from behind Dr. Mahoney's shoulder. Cache ignored him. "I didn't want any." "You realize that you've just had very serious surgery?" "I assume that's why I'm stuck here. What's the prognosis?" The surgeon looked over his shoulder to Eric. "We may want to discuss this in private." Eric moved to the side of the bed, a silent assertion that he wasn't going anywhere. Cache wouldn't have asked him to leave, anyway. He needed Eric's support if it was bad news. He'd need Eric's support even if it was good news. But he wasn't expecting good news. "I'd like him to stay." Dr. Mahoney shrugged and pulled a chair to the side of the bed. Once he sat, they were eye level. Cache didn't know if the other man did that to make himself comfortable, or to make Cache comfortable, but Cache was relieved either way. He was quickly learning that he did not like people to hover over him. "You've attracted quite the media circus," Mahoney said conversationally. "I guess that was bound to happen. They're not disrupting anything, are they?" "No, no. They're keeping their distance. Of course, we had to get security involved. A few of them got a little eager about finding their way to your room." "I'll get them out of here. As soon as I have something to tell them." Mahoney nodded and launched into a long monologue. He explained what happened to Cache on the field, and the exact nature of his injury. He explained the surgery they performed in minute detail. Cache didn't wince, but Eric grew pale as the surgeon's voice droned on. He explained the future surgeries. He explained the course of treatment. He explained the rehabilitation. Cache managed not to interrupt and demand Mahoney just give him the information he was desperate for. While Mahoney spoke, Eric reached over and curled his fingers around Cache's. If the doctor noticed, he didn't react. Cache was grateful for the contact, for the warmth, because he couldn't parse everything Mahoney was telling him. He couldn't make himself understand. The room was suddenly very large and very cold and he felt very insignificant and afraid, with only Eric's hand to ground him. "Doctor..." Eric's voice, cutting through the growing fog. "He just needs to know one thing. When can he play again?" Mahoney inclined his head. "You're going to need at least three more surgeries to rebuild the knee, plus physical therapy and rehabilitation after that. You might be able to play again, but you're going to have to take at least a year off."

"A year?" The words didn't even sound like words to Cache. A whole season? He had been playing football since kindergarten. And now he was just going to stop? "The other surgeries are required?" Eric asked. "Yes. If he wants to walk again." There was more talking. Cache was certain he responded at the appropriate times, but everything that mattered had already been said. The talking didn't stop until Mahoney left the room, and Eric didn't move, and Cache only stared straight ahead. "It's not as bad as it could be," Eric finally tried. "We've all seen this before. He gave us the optimistic news. Players with this sort of injury...sometimes they don't come back at all." "You will." "You can't know that." "Cache, look at me." Cache dragged his gaze up Eric's face. It took more effort than it should have. Everything felt numb. Even his eyes. "You're going to play again. You're going to go through the surgeries and PT, and I'm going to be with you the entire time." "Eric..." "You're not going to give up on me, Cache. I need you healthy and playing." "Why?" "I think you know why." Cache shook his head. "Because you're the reason I play. You've always been the reason I play. The competition. The attention. I always measured myself against you. And I'm sorry, but I cannot stop playing until I've kicked your ass in the championship. You're not going to take that opportunity away from me." Cache smiled. "So you're saying that if you had managed to win tonight, you wouldn't be so adamant about this?" Eric shrugged. "Pretty much." He sobered. "I'm not sure that's a really good idea, Eric." "What do you mean?" "You need to focus on your own game. I'd just be a distraction." "You're not a distraction."

Cache swallowed hard. "All of this is a distraction. You need to be focused on the game. You need to start planning for the next season now. There are at least three other teams in your conference that are going to be a real challenge. Plus, Miami and San Diego were breathing down our necks this year. If they're not already chomping at the bit to get a piece of you, then they're fools. And they're not fools." Eric shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about." "I'm trying to do the right thing here." "The right thing?" "I want you to have your championship. And Banks was freaking out earlier. I don't want to distract you, and I don't want to make your life harder, and I don't want to be the reason you lose your team." "Cache, just stop talking." "There's a way to fix this that neither one of us has suggested. You know it's true." "It doesn't fix anything. Cache, please. You need to stop talking before you say something we'll both regret." Cache knew he was right, but now he was on a roll, and it felt right. It felt like the first right decision he had made all day. He could save Eric from being in the spotlight. He could save Eric from lying. And he could save Eric the pain and the distraction of his rehabilitation. "Eric..." "Cache. Don't." "I think we should just end it." It was easier to say the words than he thought it would be, but the look on Eric's face sent a pain sharper than anything he had ever experienced right through his heart. He had the bizarre impulse to check his chest just to make sure there wasn't a large, bloody hole going right through the middle of him. "Could you really do it that easily? Just throw everything we have, everything we've shared, away like that?" "It's for the best..." "Don't say that. You have no idea what I think the best thing is." "I think you want your own ring. I think you're still a young man with a long career ahead of you if you stay healthy. I think you deserve to have that chance, and it's not fair for me to get in your way." "You're really doing this." Eric shook his head. "I don't accept that. You know what your problem is, Cache? You're a fucking coward." Cache reeled back like Eric had popped him in the nose. "This has nothing to do with being a coward." "It has everything to do with being a coward. You just don't want to own up to what we have. To what we are." "Eric. No..."

Eric marched over to the door but stopped with his hand on the knob and spun around again. "I can't believe I've been wrong about you all these years. I knew you were cautious, and I never blamed you, but I never thought..." "Eric, this isn't about me." "It is about you. Everything is always about you in your world, Cache. Sometimes...sometimes I see a glimmer of something more. Sometimes, I think you might actually have a clue. I can't believe I've been wrong for so long." "Eric. Damnit. Listen to me. This isn't about being a coward, or being ashamed or..." "That's a lie. I don't know. Maybe this should have happened a long time ago." "Where is this coming from?" "You just broke up with me, Cache. I'm angry." "I didn't mean it." Eric shook his head. "It's too late for that. You've been dragging your feet on making a decision all day. Well, I think you just made it." **** "I could just not sign the contract. Insist I'd rather play for San Diego. It wouldn't be the first time somebody's refused to play for the team they were drafted by." Cache didn't pause his exploration of Eric's thighs, but he did look up through his lashes. "No." "I don't want to live in Texas." Cache ran his cheek--rough with stubble--over Eric's smooth shaft. Eric shuddered, goose bumps erupting on his legs. "It could be worse. New York could have taken you. Besides..." He soothed Eric's skin with his tongue. "You don't have to live in Texas all year." Eric reached down and ran his fingers through Cache's hair. He needed a haircut. He was starting to look like some sort of mountain man. He only kept up on shaving because he didn't want to give Eric whisker burn. That would be a little too hard for him to explain away. "I know. I just didn't want to leave California. Or you." "You never would get the chance to see me." "It's only an hour drive between Los Angeles and San Diego." Cache sighed and crawled up Eric's slick body. Eric tracked each small movement, and Cache could only hope Eric never looked at him like that in public. "I know. But Texas is a short flight, and you'll just have to be there for five months out of the year." "That's a long time, Cache." Cache kissed the corner of his mouth. "I wish you didn't look so glum. We're supposed to be celebrating, remember? We're top picks with great contracts in strong franchises. This is what we've been playing for our entire lives."

"I'm not glum." "You are. Just because you don't want to play in Texas?" Eric put his hand against Cache's chest. "It's not that." "What is it, then?" "Maybe I'm worried that if I disappear for five months, you're going to find somebody else to spend your time with." Cache laughed. "Are you serious?" One look at Eric's face told him he was. "I'm not going to find anybody else." "You can't know that." "I can. I'll prove it to you, too." "How." "Name it." Eric looked at him suspiciously, and Cache didn't blame him. He wasn't usually so openly affectionate, but he wasn't going to let Eric's solemn mood ruin his high spirits. His dreams were coming true. That week, that day, every second, they were coming true. He knew he still had a long road before he would make it to the national championship and win that ring. He still had his entire career stretching ahead of him, but he was on the right path. He could feel it. Maybe he was just arrogant, but Cache didn't think he was. Well, not very arrogant. "I guess it doesn't really matter." Cache bent his head to swipe his rough tongue over Eric's nipple. "It does matter. Tell me what you want to do." "You don't really want to know what I want to do." "Why not?" "Because you'll think I'm insane." "I won't think that." "I don't want to play." Cache lifted his head and blinked. "What?" "I don't really want to play anymore." "What?" "See? You're looking at me like I need to be packed off to the mental hospital." "I just...I don't understand. Why on earth wouldn't you want to play anymore?" "I'm tired."

"That's what the off-season is for." "I just feel like I can't have the things I want in my life because of the game. I loved playing, but don't you think there's got to be more?" "No?" Cache sat up, troubled by the direction of the conversation. He didn't understand why Eric would be talking like this. He certainly didn't know what to say. "What more are you referring to?" "I don't know. Us." "You want to stop playing ball because of us?" "Well, not specifically because of us." Eric rubbed the back of his neck. "But you know, I can't really have a normal relationship. Or a normal life. I know other players can, but then, other players don't...well, they've got their wives and their girlfriends. People who are happy to wait for them and..." Eric shook his head. "Never mind. It's stupid." "It's not stupid. I just don't..." "Understand?" "Yeah. But I've never been very bright." Eric cupped Cache's face with careful gentleness. "Don't say that. Besides, I don't even think I understand. But when I think about where I'd rather be, I just...I want to be with you." "You can still play and be with me." "Yeah, I guess I can. Maybe I'm just nervous." Cache looked down. "I'm a little nervous, too." "You? The great Cache Garnett? How is that possible?" "It's possible. Trust me, it's possible." "Do you want me to take your mind off your nerves?" "How?" Eric pushed Cache back to the mattress. "I could tell you that when they announced your name, and you smiled, all I wanted to do was get on my knees." "Oh." Eric smiled and began kissing a path down Cache's chest. "I got hard thinking about how you would taste, how you would feel against my tongue." "Oh." "Do you mind if I find out just how you taste today?" "No. No. Please." "You're so easy."

Cache couldn't deny it. When it came to Eric, he was easy. He had thought it was a fluke, at first. He had pointedly looked for new guys who could get to him the way Eric could. He had even tried to pick up a few of them. But ultimately, nobody could crawl right under his skin. Nobody could invade his thoughts and his dreams. Nobody could look as good as Eric did without clothes. And nobody had such a sinful mouth. As soon as Eric wrapped his soft lips around Cache's shaft, everything else faded away. The conversation they'd had. His confusion. Even the excitement at his draft number. Nothing existed except the hot suction of Eric's mouth. Maybe he'd intended it that way. Maybe he had planned it. Maybe Eric knew exactly what he did to him. "You never told me what to do," Cache said around moans. "Hmm?" The question vibrated through Cache's cock and right down to his balls. "To prove that you don't have to worry. Tell me what to do." Eric paused long enough to say, "A tattoo." "A tattoo of what?" Another pause. "My number." Cache knew he shouldn't have agreed to such a crazy request. Everybody in the locker room would see it. But he was pretty sure it was important to Eric. Sometimes Eric looked at him like he thought Cache was just going to disappear. Sometimes he made off-hand comments about what he would do when Cache finally got tired of him. He knew he couldn't be everything he needed to be for Eric. But he wanted Eric to understand he wasn't fucking around with this, or with him. He wanted Eric to understand that he was as serious about him as he had ever been about anything.

Chapter 5

Cache didn't understand how his chest could hurt more than his damned knee, but it did. And the pain didn't fade. It throbbed through him. It consumed him. It was like when he lost a game, but much worse. It made the earlier numbness disappear. He'd rather be numb. He'd rather be completely cold and unable to respond to anything at all. He felt like he swallowed a cactus, and the thorns were growing and growing, bursting through his skin. Eric had wanted to end it before? Was that what he meant? Eric thought he was a coward? Eric thought he was selfish? Maybe Eric was right. But Cache couldn't believe that Eric wouldn't come back. They'd had fights before. Some of them had been fistfights. The anger never lasted. And they had both been under a huge amount of stress. Preparing for the championship hadn't been easy. In fact, Cache didn't think he had ever had a more difficult challenge. There was the emotional roller coaster of the game. The reality of winning. The reality of losing. His knee. The leak to the press. They lashed out when they were under stress. It didn't mean anything. And Cache had made mistakes before. So many mistakes. But Eric always forgave him because...because of what? Sometimes I think I see a glimmer of something more. But Cache didn't understand that. He gave Eric everything he had. He had never been so invested in another human being. He knew he wasn't the easiest person in the world to get along with, but Eric always saw through that. He always saw the man Cache wanted to be. It didn't seem possible that he could lose Eric. Even if he had pushed Eric away first. He used the phone next to the bed to call Eric's cell. Eric didn't answer. He turned on the television to see if there was any footage of Eric leaving the hospital. If he didn't leave the hospital, could he have him paged? Could Eric really walk away from him? No, of course not. But if he was so sure that Eric couldn't walk away, then why did that cactus in his throat keep growing? Maybe Eric had wanted to walk away. Maybe that was why he had reacted so violently to what Cache said. It was the out and he took it. It just didn't make sense. And if Eric would just answer his fucking phone, Cache would apologize and explain and apologize again. Didn't Eric understand that he would give up any fucking thing in the world for him? "Of course he doesn't," Cache muttered. "What have I ever given up for him?" What would his life be like without Eric? Was that sort of life even conceivable? He'd be lonely, because he wouldn't find anybody else. There couldn't be anybody else. The physical therapy would be long and painful, and who would be there to help him? God, could he really ask Eric to invest that sort of time and effort? Could he really ask Eric to do that? He couldn't. He could not demand to be put first in Eric's life, ahead of all his goals and ambitions. Ahead of his career.

So that meant it was best that Eric walked out. It hurt now. It hurt so much he could barely breathe, but it would be for the best. And if Eric understood that it was for the best, nothing Cache could say would change that fact. Maybe this should have happened a long time ago. You don't want to own up to what we are. Eric sounded like a man who was at the end of his patience. He sounded like a man who wasn't interested in hearing any more of Cache's excuses. And Eric had so much in front of him. Cache knew it was a bit overdramatic to think so, but he felt like he really didn't have much left. Even if he could play again in two years, he'd be almost thirty-five by then. Old enough to retire. He had his championship. Eric still had so much to accomplish, so much to show the world, and Cache didn't feel like he had anything. Maybe he should take his painkillers now. Maybe the nurse could give him something that would knock him out for a few hours. When he woke up, maybe Eric would answer his phone. Maybe Cache would have an idea of what to do. Maybe the world would be right again. But he didn't press the call button. He was scared that if he fell asleep, he'd only dream of Eric. Then he'd wake up alone, shaking and aching for Eric, and Eric wouldn't be there. Because Eric was finished with him. He had the rest of his life to deal with waking up alone; he didn't want to start now. No matter what else happened, Eric needed to understand that Cache had never been ashamed of him. Cache had been confused and cautious. Cache had been afraid. But he had never, not for a moment, been ashamed of Eric. Eric deserved to know that. If nothing else, he deserved to know that Cache had treasured the past nine years, and he wouldn't trade them. He didn't think that would be enough to win Eric back. He didn't think he should try to win Eric back. But he owed that much to Eric and to their relationship. The easiest way to do this would be to call Mimi. She probably was one phone call away from having the entire press conference organized. He would also need to speak to his coach. He supposed his plan could backfire. It probably would backfire. But what did he have to lose? His job? That was probably already gone. Even if he could play in a year, Miller probably wouldn't hold his spot for him. That wasn't personal. It was just business. Eric stood to lose more, but Eric had already made it clear where he stood on the issue. Mimi answered almost immediately, and her relief was evident in her voice when he told her to call a press conference. She clearly assumed he would do what she thought was best, and Cache didn't disabuse her of this belief. He didn't want to fight with her or explain himself. He paged the nurse next. A youngish woman with blond hair pulled behind her ears came in eventually. The smile she offered was pleasant, almost soothing. "Are you ready for some painkillers?" "Yeah, but I don't want anything that'll knock me out. Just something to take the edge off. Also, can I have a notepad and a pen?" "No problem. I'll be right back with some Tylenol and paper." "Thanks." Cache leaned back against his pillow and tried to relax. He couldn't back out now. He needed to follow through with this, even if it meant tossing up another Hail Mary pass and praying for the right person to catch the ball. ****

Cache had never expected to celebrate a second anniversary with anybody, let alone Eric, but there they were, in the middle of his empty living room, sitting on his large sleeping bag, and sharing a six pack of beer. Cache thought they should be in a home with a proper bedroom, but Eric had insisted on staying in the farmhouse, even though it was gutted and looked more like an elaborate shack than anybody's home. Especially since the living room was still lacking a roof. "Are you cold?" Cache asked. "No. It's not too bad." "Colder than it gets in California in the summer." "But the night is nicer. Look. I bet you can't even remember the last time you saw all those stars." "I just don't think we need to camp out here like we're homeless." Eric snorted. "Haven't you ever been camping? Yeah, we have a lantern instead of a campfire, and a real floor instead of dirt, but it's close enough." "No, I've never been camping. And neither have you." "Shows what you know. I've been camping lots of times." "When?" Now he didn't just snort, he laughed. "I have a life outside of you. I don't even see you half the year, you know." "You go camping during the football season?" "No, but I used to go camping when I was in college." "Oh." Cache accepted Eric's explanation, but why anybody would want to sleep on the cold hard ground when many perfectly good beds were available to him eluded Cache. On the other hand, if it made Eric happy to sleep in the unfinished house, Cache was happy to concede the point. It wouldn't kill him, after all. "What did you do?" Eric asked. "When?" "When you weren't playing ball. You must have had other interests and hobbies." "Not really, no." "Even in the off season?" Cache shrugged. "I focus on training. I have a tendency to get fat and lazy if I'm not careful." "I've never seen you fat or lazy." "That's because I'm always careful."

"Well, what did you get your degree in?" "Sports science and a minor in history." Eric stretched out on the sleeping bag and rested his chin on his hand. "The sports science I get. The history though...what's up with that?" "I took one course as a gen-ed requirement. Then I just kept taking them. Turns out I have a good memory for dates and I thought it was pretty interesting. What about you?" "Architecture, with an emphasis in urban planning." "Really? You want to be an architect?" "I'd be a damned good architect." "I believe you. I just figured you'd go into sports science or something, too." "Why?" Cache blinked. "I don't know. It just made sense to me." "I used to tell everybody I'd be an architect when I was a kid. I guess you probably wouldn't remember that, though." Cache shook his head, feeling mildly guilty. He had a feeling that if he went around and told everybody he wanted to be an architect when he was ten years old, Eric would remember. "Guess you'll have a good job lined up when you finally retire." "What are you going to do when you retire?" "I don't know." "You haven't thought about it at all, have you?" Cache shook his head. Why should he? That wouldn't be for years, and he needed to be focused on his current profession. He needed to be the best quarterback he could be. Eric gestured at the house. "I think the fact that I insisted on knocking down most of the walls and rebuilding should have given you a clue about where my interests lie." "Maybe. I didn't really think about it." "Then why did you let me do it?" "Because you wanted to." Eric wrapped his fingers around Cache. "And that's all it takes." Cache nodded. "Sure." Eric pulled him down and Cache was happy to let him. He stopped being cold as soon as his chest touched Eric's, and when their mouths connected, he forgot that they didn't have a roof over their heads. Eric still kissed him like they had never touched before and he needed to investigate Cache's

mouth thoroughly. Cache still returned the kiss like it might be his last chance to touch Eric, and he was going to make it a good one, damnit. "Can we do something else I want to do?" Cache nodded. "Fuck my mouth." Cache's cock instantly hardened. "Do you know what you do to me when you say things like that?" "Yes. That's why I say it." "And I think you're obsessed with my cock." "It's a nice one." Cache sat up and unbuttoned his pants. He expected Eric to move, but Eric stayed flat on his back. Cache tilted his head questioningly, and Eric tapped his chest and lifted his eyebrow. "You sure?" "I'm sure." "Okay." But Cache didn't straddle Eric's shoulders immediately. He bent again to kiss Eric, letting his tongue trace Eric's lips before slipping into his mouth. Cache's hand drifted down Eric's body and he made short work of his button and zipper, his fingers seeking out the hard line of his erection. As soon as his hand closed around Eric's shaft, his mouth began to water. He had always been more into receiving head than giving head, but Cache had his own fixation with Eric's cock. He squeezed Eric's hard flesh and was rewarded with a soft moan. "My hands cold?" Cache asked with a smile. "A little." "I can warm you up again." "I'd like that." "Thought so." Cache put his leg over Eric's body, facing his feet. Eric immediate grasped his hips and pulled him back until the head of his cock brushed against Eric's mouth. Eric dipped his tongue into the slit, gathering the pre-come, then closed his lips around the crown. Eric knew exactly what he liked, and he never hesitated to give Cache exactly that. While Eric lingered on the head of Cache's cock, alternately sucking and licking and scraping his teeth across the sensitive skin, Cache feasted on Eric's shaft. He gripped the base gently and held it in place as he lowered his head, swallowing Eric's length until his nose brushed against Eric's sac. Eric teased him until Cache was squirming, trying to push his cock past Eric's teeth. Despite the frustration and heightened arousal, he didn't do anything to alter his own approach. He held Eric's cock as deep as he could for as long as he could, swirling his tongue around the shaft again and again.

Eric reached between Cache's legs and began to massage his balls. He pushed Cache closer and closer to the edge with his rough fingers and hard suction. With two years of exploration and practice behind them, it shouldn't have surprised Cache that Eric could play his body like that, but it still did. A little. The soft moans coming from the back of Eric's throat told Cache that maybe he was doing something right, too. Cache began sliding his mouth up and down Eric's cock, moving his hand in time, stroking Eric with more and more pressure. Eric jerked his hips and the moans turned into muffled shouts of encouragement. The pressure around Cache's balls increased, and the corner of Cache's mouth lifted. Eric wasn't going to win this one. Cache pushed his hand beneath Eric's body, seeking out his clenched hole. He traced the pucker for a moment, and Eric jerked with each brush of contact. Cache pushed his finger into Eric's passage, seeking out his prostate. Eric retaliated by swallowing more of Cache's length until his throat was constricting around Cache's cock. Each time Cache brushed his finger against Eric's prostate, Eric swallowed and moaned, sending sharp vibrations through Cache's body to the base of his spine. Cache's body tightened, a telling heat pushing through his flesh. He redoubled his efforts, his cheeks hollowing with the force of the suction around Eric's cock. Eric's fingers were tight on his hips, and though Cache resisted, Eric forced him to move, building the friction with each thrust into Eric's waiting mouth. The spurt of come against the back of his throat triggered Cache's orgasm, and his cock jerked against Eric's throat. Stream after stream of come filled Cache's mouth, and he kept his lips locked around Eric's head, taking down each drop. Eric did the same, and by the time they released each other, they were both limp and breathless. "I think I won that," Eric said. "You did not." "You came first." "No, I didn't. I only came because you did." "That's not even true." "When did you become such a cheater, anyway?" "Not a cheater." Cache rolled off Eric's body, but didn't bother to turn around to bring his head level with Eric's. "Liar, then." "I can't believe you'd call me a liar." "I can't believe you lie to me, but there you go." Eric laughed. "I get away with that with other people." "You have these sort of contests with other people?" Eric sat up, the humor gone from his face. His lips were a little swollen and a little red and his hair was a mess. "No, never. Only you." Cache smiled. "I know."

"Just wanted to make sure." "You could stop trying to cheat, though." Eric gave him a lopsided grin. "Maybe next time."

Chapter 6

It would have been easier with Eric by his side. It would have been easier if he was certain Eric would hear it, but he still didn't have any idea where Eric had gone. Mimi was hovering in the corner, as was Coach Miller. Mimi was still in love with the idea of a press conference. Cache couldn't do a press conference at this point, but he could release his own statement to have read to the press. Miller had asked him three times to reconsider. "It's my job to talk about your injury. As for everything else, just convey that you have no comment. Now isn't the time to worry about PR bullshit." But it wasn't PR bullshit. Cache had a statement that he refused to let anybody else see. He would not have his words pored over, edited, changed, and manipulated until everybody agreed with the content. He wasn't articulate or brilliant, but they were his words, and he would own them. Every single one. Once he completed the statement, he contacted his lawyer, Parley Jackson, and asked if he could read it. All he had to do was explain that he didn't want to give Mimi the statement, and Parley agreed without hesitation. Of course, he'd charge his normal hourly fee, but Cache didn't even care about that. He had the television on five minutes before the scheduled conference time. It was alternately annoying and amusing to listen to all the speculation about what the conference could mean, to what Cache's statement would say. Nearly everybody predicted that Cache would deny the rumors and allegations and focus on the news of his injury, which had already begun to leak out. As the cameras panned the room, Cache recognized most of the journalists and reporters. He wasn't sure if it helped that he knew them or if he would have preferred strangers for this. His heart was pounding so loudly he thought they would call for a cardiologist, and the hot cactus was still lodged in his throat. He was just relieved he didn't have to speak. But he had made a mistake. Mistakes were not the end of the world. Cache learned that in his first peewee game. You make a mistake, you shake it off, and you find a way to make sure it never happens again. You don't let the mistake poison your life, and you certainly do not dwell on it. Cache knew all of this. He had enough interceptions, tipped balls, sacks, fumbles, and losses to learn all about mistakes and the danger of dwelling. So he was going to change the script now. Throw out the playbook, because a good player knows when it is time to try something new. A good player isn't afraid to admit when something isn't working. Once Parley stepped behind the microphone, Cache pushed aside his nerves. He knew how to do that, too. A good player never goes out on the field sick with nerves. He needs to be focused. ESPN flashed a photograph of Cache. It was from earlier in that season, and he was wearing the charming smile that had him named one of the world's Most Beautiful People and Football's Most Eligible Bachelor on three different occasions. "This statement was written by my client, Cache Garnett, earlier this afternoon. He has asked me to read it in its entirety. Afterward, I'll take what questions I can." Parley looked great, perfectly calm, and put together. That was the other reason Cache had asked him to do this. Nothing fazed Parley. Ever. "'I know this isn't really the standard press statement. But my surgeon wouldn't let me leave the bed. Which means I've got a great excuse to be waited on while I kick back and watch spring training.'" Everybody laughed politely, though they were straining in their seats for the real news. "'I woke up early this morning after being in surgery for most of the night. I expected to see headlines about my win. It took me six years to get that trophy, but really, I've been working toward that goal my entire life. If you asked me yesterday what the most interesting thing is about my life, I would point to

my job. Because it's not just my job. It's my passion. It's my dream. And I know I'm so lucky to have the chance to suit up and play every single Sunday in an organization like the Wildcats, with Coach Miller, and all my teammates. Exceptional players, each one of them. I never take my job for granted. I know how much things can change on any given Sunday. "'As you have probably heard, I am pretty banged up. I thought if the media didn't focus on my win, then y'all would focus on my injury. In case anybody is focusing on that, my career may well be over. I'm looking at another two or three surgeries, plus time for physical therapy and rehabilitation. I will be taking at least one season off. "'But the newspaper didn't mention my victory or my injury. Instead, the world chose to focus on a very personal, very private part of my life. I guess I can understand that. Sex sells. I'm in the business of winning championships, y'all are in the business of selling papers. Throughout the day, I've watched the coverage. It is being categorized as a gay affair, as though it is some sort of sordid entanglement and a real scandal. That might be more interesting than the truth, but it is far, far from the reality of my relationship with Eric.'" Parley paused for a breath there, and everybody scribbled furiously in notebooks, or typed diligently in their PDAs. Cameras flashed. Cache had hoped that watching it would be easier than doing it himself, but it wasn't. He wanted to be there and he wanted to hide. He stole a glance at Mimi, whose face was turning an interesting shade of scarlet. Miller had his game-face on. He always looked the same whether they were winning or losing--unreadable and blank. Cache wished he would give him some sort of sign. He needed support from some quarter on this one. Parley looked up and directly into the camera. For a wild moment, Cache wondered if Parley could see him, looking pale and scared and sick. "'I have been in a monogamous relationship with Eric Patton for nearly a decade. Nine years, to be exact. I'm sure you all have questions, but the answers aren't really any of your business. I will tell you that Eric has been one of my closest friends since we were boys, and he is now my best friend. I made a commitment to him because he is the most amazing person I have ever met, both on and off the field. I don't have to tell you how talented, strong, and capable he is. Our rivalry on the field leaked into our private lives occasionally, but far from being a distraction, he was always a source of strength. "'It is my hope that this revelation is treated with as much weight as it deserves--that is, hardly none at all. No other players or coaches are called upon to justify their relationships or have press conferences to confirm or deny the decisions they make in their private lives. I know there will be a backlash about this. I hope everybody realizes we never meant to make it an issue.'" "Where's Eric now?" It was somebody from ESPN. Parley shook his head. "I don't know." "You don't know? We've had reports that he was here all night and all day." "He's been here. Eric has been a huge source of support for my client, and I think the prognosis has shocked and devastated him as much as it did Cache." "But why isn't he here for this press conference? Will he be having his own? Or releasing a statement?" "I'm sorry, I can only speak for Cache." **** Mimi placed herself between the bed and the television. She seemed primed to attack, and Cache knew she was going to turn the full force of her fury on him. For the decision he made. For keeping her in the dark.

"Where is Eric?" "I really don't know." Miller looked up. "He hasn't left your side all day." "I think...Eric is finished with me." Mimi blinked. "Did Eric decide this before you wrote your statement?" "Yes." "And you did it anyway? I thought you and Eric decided that you wouldn't do anything without the agreement of the other?" "I..." "I don't understand," Mimi continued. "Is this some sort of revenge? Because you must know that you aren't doing him any favors. There were ways of handling this that didn't include lying or telling the truth." Cache's heart twisted again. This was going to kill him before it was over, Cache was quite certain. "It's not revenge. It wasn't...you don't think he'll think..." "It looks like it to me." "Eric wouldn't look at it that way," Cache said softly, though Mimi didn't look convinced. "I heard about how Banks responded to the news earlier today. You think he's going to appreciate this? It directly impacts his organization, too," Mimi pointed out. "I'll have to deal with this on several fronts." "It's not the end of the world," Miller said sharply. "And if that old bastard starts giving Eric a hard time, then I'll sign him and make sure he's still playing next season." Cache tried to smile to show his gratitude, but he was too exhausted to do much. Miller, who had been monitoring every one of Cache's physical signs of exhaustion for the last six years, immediately began guiding Mimi to the door. "You need to sleep. Nothing more is going to happen today. Get some stronger painkillers and sleep. You're still my quarterback, and you can consider this a direct order." "Yes, sir." "We need to talk more about this," Mimi insisted, though she didn't fight Miller too hard. "I'm sure we will." He was relieved when they were gone, but only for a moment. At least Mimi's anger acted as a distraction. Cache hurt, and it wasn't just his knee or the cactus in his throat. Every bruise he had sustained since he was five seemed to manifest on his skin. He knew it was because of the exhaustion. But he resisted sleep. He resisted it even after the nurse put something in his IV and his head seemed to float free from his body.

But the decision was taken out of his hands, and he succumbed to the darkness.

Chapter 7

Cache woke up alone. The room was dark and the blinds were pulled. He couldn't tell what time it was. He couldn't even name the day. Had he only been asleep for a few hours? It felt longer than that. Much longer. Like he had wandered off into the woods and slept for twenty years. It must have been the pain medication making him all foggy. He reached down and brushed his fingers across the cast on his leg-a simple reminder that everything hadn't been a bad dream. He considered going back to sleep. He might have dreamt about Eric, but he couldn't really remember. He might have just dreamt about football. At least in his dreams he could be where he wanted, doing what he wanted, with the man he wanted by his side. How long would he be stuck in the cold and impersonal room? How long would he be stuck in that bed? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't locked in the room with his thoughts. Because his thoughts would keep returning to Eric until he had something concrete to distract him. Cache knew it would be best when he could start exercising and working out again. He would push himself until he passed out, and then he wouldn't have to dwell on the fact that he had always, would always, need Eric. Cache picked up the phone and listened to the dial tone. He could try Eric's number again. Had Eric seen the press conference? Heard the statement? If so, why hadn't he responded yet? He pressed the numbers before he could chicken out and decided to leave a message when Eric's voicemail picked up. "It's me. I...uh...well, I guess you probably saw the press conference. Or heard about it by now. I...I probably should have called you first. I thought...well, if I was wrong to do what I did, I'm sorry. I'm sorry...for a lot of things. Probably that's too late now. But the things I've done...the mistakes I made...they were never malicious, Eric. Never. Anyway, you don't have to worry about calling me back. I just thought...well, I should talk to you about this. So. Yeah. Um...bye." Cache hoped the staff would let a few more visitors in to see him. He knew they were trying to keep everything pretty limited, but he didn't want to spend a day by himself, and he did not want to rely on Mimi for company. But then, he supposed it was possible none of his teammates or friends would want to visit him after the debacle the day before. Some would be upset he'd lied to them all his life. Others would simply be upset because he was a fag and there was no plausible deniability then. Cache stared up at the ceiling and ran statistics through his head. A constant stream of familiar, comforting numbers. His stats. Eric's stats. Old stats. Records from the very beginning of the league. College stats. Professional stats. Every number and date he could think of until his over-taxed brain gave up and he slept once again. **** By lunchtime, Cache wondered why he had ever longed for company. It was like floodgates had opened. His parents were first, of course. Neither of them mentioned Eric or the press conference, but they fussed over him like they did when he was ten and broke his arm. They didn't have to say anything about Eric. He understood they still loved him, even if they didn't understand, and at that point, that was all Cache needed. He didn't feel like talking about Eric, anyway. His teammates were next. Every single one of them. He thought they had probably been strong-armed by Miller, but that was fine. They also didn't mention Eric or the press conference. Cache didn't either. If they wanted to pretend it never happened, then Cache would accept that. It was easier than answering awkward questions or trying to explain where Eric was. Instead, they talked about the game, and about

the injury, and thanked him, and wished him well. And for a few hours, he remembered where he belonged, but he also remembered everything he stood to lose. Each time the door opened, he hoped it was Eric. Each time, he was disappointed. And the reality of Eric's words pressed on his chest, holding him to the mattress. Everybody wore him out. All the talking and smiling and listening. Had it always been so exhausting to interact with his friends and family? He felt like each person took a little piece of him, until he was nothing except a cast and a falsely smiling face. It was Coach Miller who, once again, detected the signs and forced everybody out of the room when Cache couldn't handle another second. "I don't know why I'm so tired," Cache murmured. "You've been through a lot, and your body is trying to heal." "Guess so." "Take a nap. If you're up to it later, I'll let a few more people up to see you." "Have you...have you seen Eric at all?" "No. Not today. Do you want me to call him?" "No. That's fine." He didn't need to get Coach Miller any more involved than he already was. Besides, he could take a hint. Not returning his calls or acknowledging the press conference--even if he just wanted to yell at him--was hint enough. **** When Mahoney told Cache he could be released in the next few days, Cache realized he didn't know where he was going to go. He had the house in Montana, but he thought of it as Eric's house, too--even if legally it wasn't--and he didn't want to live there by himself. He had an apartment in Los Angeles, but it was a third floor walk-up and clearly not suitable for his current condition. Cache could only laugh. Of course, he had nowhere to go. He was thirty-three, and he'd lost the only job he had ever known, and the only person he had ever wanted, and everything seemed to be spinning out of his control. So, of course, he had nowhere to go. A hesitant knock on his door pulled him out of his cycle of self-pity. He almost told whoever it was to go away. He didn't feel like entertaining visitors. "Come in." The door swung open and Cache's breath stopped. A million words tried to break free of his throat. Oh, my God. You came back. I'm so happy you came back. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Give me a second chance. I never meant it. God knows I didn't. But he couldn't do that. Breaking down like that certainly wouldn't make things better between them. Besides, there was nothing to say that Eric came back to reconcile. Maybe he wanted to give Cache back his keys. Or maybe he was flying back to Texas with his team and he wanted to tell Cache to stop calling him. "I saw the press conference." "Yeah."

"You didn't have to do that." Cache shrugged. "Did you do it so I'd come back?" "No. I didn't think you would. Or that you should. I just didn't like that you thought I was ashamed. I never was." "Why did you think I shouldn't come back?" "It's probably for the best." "For who?" "You." Cache swallowed. The cactus was back. He supposed nine years deserved a slightly longer conversation than the one they'd had before, even if it amounted to the same thing in the end. "Staying with me now...it'd take too much from you. I have to learn how to walk again. I'm going to be in the wheelchair for a long fucking time. You don't deserve that." "I see. I don't think that's really true, though. I think you think you don't deserve it." Cache shook his head. "I'm not sure I know what you mean." "You really believe that the most important thing in the world to me is football, don't you?" Cache didn't even hesitate. "Yes." "It's not. I left because I was...well, I was hurt by what you said. And I wondered if...if you were willing to deal with what I wanted to give you. I thought you would probably resist me and resist me, and I don't think either of us could withstand that battle of wills." "I'm lost again." Eric moved toward the bed, and Cache just wanted to touch him. "Football is not the most important thing to me, Cache. You are." Cache blinked. "I am?" "You've always been more important." "But you love football." "I love you more." The cactus deflated, and Cache could breathe again. But he didn't know what to say. Eric had never said that to him, and Cache had never expressed the sentiment either. "I think you love me, too. I think that's what you said in your statement. Maybe not more than football, but I've never had delusions of grandeur." There wasn't any question of admitting his feelings. He wasn't sure why he hadn't done so before. Possibly because he thought Eric had to have known without being told. "I do love you. I felt...broken....when you left."

Eric rushed to the bed now. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. And I should have come back sooner. I shouldn't have done that to you. But I just needed to be sure that you really wanted me to come back. And I had one other thing to take care of." "What?" Cache looked at him anxiously. He couldn't deal with any more surprises. He couldn't deal with the fact that Eric still wasn't touching him. Eric wouldn't be quite real until that contact was established. "I thought you would need a new place to live for now. I flew out to Los Angeles to line up a place. I figured if I took care of that, no matter what happened between us, there'd be one less thing to worry about." Cache stared at him. "You really went to all that trouble even though you didn't know we'd even be together?" "It needed to be done. I couldn't just leave you without a place to live. And nobody else would have found the perfect place that you'll love, because nobody knows you like I do." "I just can't believe you did that." "And you can't believe I love you more than I love playing, either, can you?" Cache shook his head. Eric finally took his hand, and Cached sighed softly, immediately wrapping his fingers around Eric's. "I want you to understand something, Cache. I know that we can't get married and we probably won't do the domestic partnerships or unions or whatever the fuck they're called. But you're my family. You. And my family always comes first. And I'm so sorry that I fucked everything up. I should have treated you like family instead of storming out of here like a child." "You were under a lot of stress. It's been a stressful week." Eric studied his face for a moment. "You're really forgiving me as easily as that?" "I don't want to live without you, Eric. We both made a mistake, but the only thing to do when a mistake is made is adjust and move on. Because dwelling on a mistake is..." "Is poison. I know." Eric bent over him and brushed his mouth across Cache's "Thank you." "For what?" "Forgiving me. The press conference. Loving me. Being you." "Can you do one thing for me?" "What?" "Admit that my win wasn't a fluke." "It was a Hail Mary pass. Anybody could have caught that ball." "I trust my receivers. And they trust me. Admit it wasn't a fluke." Eric smiled. "It wasn't a fluke, Cache. You've always been the best, and you know it." "I was the best this season. You will be next season. By default."

"Default? You think I couldn't beat you if you were playing?" "I think our records will speak for themselves." "Whatever gets you through the night." "Maybe the win was a bit of a fluke. At least you didn't resort to cheating." "I didn't have time." Cache smiled. "I knew it." "Can we fight about this later? Right now, I want you to kiss me." Cache cupped the back of Eric's head and their lips touched. Relief, happiness, even ecstasy searched through him. Triumph, too. It felt like winning the championship all over again.

Pepper Espinoza Pepper Espinoza lives in southern California with her husband and her cats. She has spent the last year working as a full time author, and intends to start graduate school in the fall. You can learn more about Pepper by visiting her website: http://www.pepperverse.net **** Don't miss Elected, by Pepper Espinoza, available at AmberAllure.com!

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