Streak - 21. Chapter 21

October 12, 2002

University of California, Berkeley

Zach

“Assholes,” Arturo said. “I’ll show them what small feels like.”

“You going to fuck them?” Gehrlich joked, cracking us up.

“Fuck you,” Arturo said. He was all pissed off because the press had been making a big deal about this matchup, which was the biggest one all year. This one was even bigger than the game in Honolulu. Today we were playing the Long Beach Poly Jackrabbits. This was huge because they were the last credible obstacle for us. Once we beat them, unless we totally fucked up, for the rest of the season we’d play teams that we should be able to destroy. And that meant that our team would be able to keep the streak going, and make it even longer. No De La Salle team wanted to be the one that blew the streak. Not only that, this was without question our biggest rivalry. Last year there had been a bunch of crap in the press, so much that the game almost turned into a freak show. This year it was a little bit calmer, but we were still hearing all of the chirping from the media, and from the Long Beach Poly players. They were bigger than us, a lot bigger. We’d dealt with this when we’d played St. Louis, but with Long Beach, the difference was even more obvious. Commentators were predicting that, despite our talent and determination, we’d be pulverized. And to be honest, when we looked at some of their hulking linebackers, it was just a little daunting. That’s what Arturo was pissed about, and he, along with a few of the other guys, had been mouthing off to reporters about it. It fueled the hype, and I think that made everyone happy. Well, almost everyone.

“You gonna go shoot off your mouth to the reporters some more, dumbass?” Jackson asked. He was a wide receiver, and unlike Henson, he was actually good.

“If we don’t, they’ll think we’re pussies,” Arturo spat, then for some reason, he focused on me. “How come you never say shit, Hayes?”

“Because if I did, I’d look as stupid as you,” I told him contemptuously.

“I think it’s because you’re a big pussy, and you’re afraid that if you say something, one of their backs may just twist your ankle again,” he said in a smarmy way.

“You are probably the second biggest dumbshit on this team,” I said as I glanced at Parnell. Then I zeroed in on him with an intensity that was scary. “I don’t say shit, because it’s not important. What’s important is winning this fucking game. That’s what I’m focused on. I close my mouth, and I do my job. And if I do that, and we win, then it doesn’t matter what all those assholes said.”

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do,” Coach Lad said as he came into the room. He must have been listening to us talking, the sneaky shit. His arrival shut us all up, and we organized ourselves so we were all looking at him. “Now mind your manners. We have visitors.”

The coach turned toward the door just as Stef came breezing in, flanked by two bodyguards. Will and John followed him like they were part of his entourage. I glanced briefly at Will; all I was willing to risk. I didn’t want someone else to catch us like Parnell had. The guys recognized Stef, and cheered loudly for him, making him smile broadly. “I think you gentlemen are confused,” he said smoothly, with his silky voice that had that residual French accent, and sounded so fucking sexy. “I think it is I who am supposed to be cheering for you.”

“Thank you for stopping by to wish us luck,” the coach said. “This gives us all a chance to thank you again for flying us to Hawaii and back. Because of your generosity, we were able to spend some money on new uniforms.” We all cheered for Stef again.

“I must say that was money well spent,” Stef said. “You are all quite well turned out.”

“Thanks,” Gorham said, and winked at Stef, cracking us up. Gorham was the biggest guy on our team, and his skin was so black it was almost ebony.

“I have been relatively successful in life,” he said, as he nonchalantly flicked an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve, a comment which got a collective eye-roll from this group. Multi-billionaires weren’t ‘relatively successful,’ they were amazingly successful. “I credit that to luck, and to good judgment. I was fortunate enough to anticipate the dot.com bust, and that sent my net worth rocketing past several other moguls, and even beyond a few Saudi princes. And as sure as I was about that, so am I sure that you will win this game.” The team gave him a final cheer, and he turned and left, taking Will, John, and his bodyguards with him.

The coach got down to business after that. “We are sitting here, changing in the locker room of the Cal Golden Bears. This is not only an honor, it is a promise. If you guys win this game today, you have a good shot of getting into a top-notch college, maybe even this one, and playing in an environment like this. The stands are filled with fans, our fans. The press has all but pronounced us as dead on arrival. That doesn’t bother me one bit. I love it when they do that, because that just means that after we win this game, they’ll all look like jackasses.” We laughed, cheered, and then the coach talked about the game, and about our strategy. Then it was time to take the field.

“Let’s go!” Eidson said, cheering us on.

We got up and started to jog out to the field, when the coach stopped me. “How’s your ankle?”

I shot him my best smile, the one that I used to use to get people to shed their clothes. “It’s like new coach. I’m good to go.” He smiled and nodded, then we went out and did our warm ups. We saw the hulking Long Beach Poly Jackrabbits players doing the same thing we were doing, but I didn’t let it bother me. It was like I told Will on the roof of their condo in Tribeca: I’d been hurt before, so bad I wanted to cry like a little bitch, but I’d survived it. Those guys couldn’t get to me.

There was a huge crowd here; there had to be at least 20,000 people. I didn’t know if it was bigger than the crowd in Hawaii, but it was better, because we were on our own home turf. The Jackrabbits were here in Northern California, surrounded by our fans that’d made the brief drive to Berkeley. About once a day, I’d fantasize about tossing football aside and just being a normal dude, and just being Will’s boyfriend. The fantasy never materializes, because this is just too fucking big. Hearing the crowd, seeing them clapping enthusiastically in the stands, it was like the ultimate rush. It was like heroin, it was addictive, and it was as much of a high as the best orgasm.

We got the ball, and I sat on the bench for the first few plays. That didn’t bother me, because I knew I’d get my turn. This wasn’t like it was in New Jersey, where the coach kept me out of the game just to fuck with me. No, if I was on the sidelines, Coach Lad had a damn good reason for it. Our team fought through the first three downs and managed, just barely, to get enough yards for a first down. “You’re in, Hayes,” the Coach said.

I jumped up and jogged out onto the field. It was hard not to let it fuel my ego when the fans cheered simply because I went out onto the field for the first time. I got into the huddle, and Cecil told us his plan. He was going to lob it on this play, since they’d be expecting the run with me there. We lined up against the Jackrabbits, and now that I was standing opposite them, I could see what the reporters were talking about. They were fucking huge. I didn’t let that bother me at all. We’d already driven them ten yards down the field. If they were so great, we wouldn’t have gotten that far. We listened to Cecil count down until we heard him say the magic number that would hike the ball. When he did, I surged forward, fighting past their line even as they battled forward into our zone, fighting like banshees to get to Cecil.

In this situation, my job was to get open, just in case. A glance down the field showed Jackson with double coverage, while Hensen only had one guy on him. That would be enough for Hensen, I thought with a grimace. I watched as Cecil’s eyes scanned the field, and marveled at how he’d developed as a quarterback. The wimpy, indecisive guy was gone. This guy was large and in charge. His eyes paused on me, but not for long, so as not to give his move away, but I knew the ball was headed my way, and I was right. Cecil rocketed the pass right to me, and I plucked it out of the air, secured it, and took off running. And I didn’t stop until I got to the end zone. The cheers were deafening; the rush was like a narcotic.

We beat the Jackrabbits 28 to 7, and I’d gotten 14 of our 28 points. I had to share the star of the game spotlight with Cecil, and that usually grated on me, because I wasn’t good at sharing, but in this case, I was fine with it. Cecil was good, and without a good quarterback, my job would be a lot harder, so I appreciated him.

We went through all the after-game bullshit and finally filed onto our bus for the short ride back to Concord. We’d driven over on a school bus, but we went back on a pretty tricked out motor coach, a gift from Stef to celebrate our victory. I’d asked him what he would have done if we’d have lost, and he told me that he knew that wouldn’t happen. What a cool guy. There would be parties tonight, big parties, but I didn’t give a shit about them. I’d done enough partying when I’d been in Claremont. I knew what was important now, and what wasn’t. We got back to school, and after a few quick conversations, I hopped into my Durango and drove home, risking a ticket by speeding like a madman.

I parked and all but ran into the house, just remembering to go calmly and slowly when I got past the back door. Isidore wasn’t willing to put up with rowdy behavior inside. The first person I saw was Will, because he’d obviously been waiting for me. I rushed forward and gave him a big hug, and a big kiss. “You were fucking amazing,” he said, making me feel like I was on top of the world.

“Wait until we get into bed,” I whispered in his ear. “Then you’ll see amazing.”

“Dude, with you, that’s a given,” he said, further fueling my ego.

“That was an incredible game,” Frank said, giving me a hug. “I am so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I said, beaming in the glow of his praise.

His demeanor changed slightly. “Your father wants you to call him.”

I felt my mood deflate, remembering what an asshole he’d been in Hawaii, and what an asshole he’d been before that. “I’ll think about it,” I told him. “Thanks for passing the message on.” Frank nodded, and I escaped back to my room with Will for one amazing sexual extravaganza. And I didn’t call my parents back.

October 13, 2002

Lafayette, CA

“That’s your phone,” Will joked in a playful way, even as he drove his massive cock into my ass.

“I could give a shit less,” I said, and let myself go, let myself revel in the feel of merging with him like this. He pounded on for a long time since this was our second round of sex this morning, so it wasn’t until after we came and got our heart rates back under control that I reached for my phone. “Brent called.”

“Call him back,” Will said, not as an order, but to tell me he was OK with me distracting my attention away from him so soon after we’d finished fucking.

I hit the button to dial his number, and waited for him to answer it. “Hey,” Brent said cheerfully.

“Sup?” I asked, wanting him to get to the point so I could enjoy my post-orgasmic glow.

“Heard you fucking rocked it yesterday,” he said enthusiastically, making me smile.

“It was a good game,” I said.

I could almost feel him getting more apprehensive on the other end of the phone. “Mom and Dad are hella pissed at you for not calling them yesterday.”

That made my smile vanish. “Like I give a shit.” It was sad that I didn’t.

“Dude, it’s your call, but I’m just telling you that I overheard Dad ranting about it, so don’t be surprised if they pull some shit on you.”

“Like what?” I challenged, but I was more curious than anything.

“I heard Dad talking about how he’s going to come out there and explain to you what it means to respect your parents,” Brent said.

“I’d have to listen to him for that to work,” I said dismissively.

“He said that if you don’t stop being a dick, then maybe you should be back in Claremont.”

“They’ve said that before, but there’s no way they’re dragging me back there,” I said, and meant it.

“Dude, I’m just passing on what I heard,” Brent said.

“I appreciate that,” I said sincerely. “I’m at a good place, and I’m kicking ass. I’m not going to let him derail me just to get his rocks off.”

“Good luck,” he said, and then hung up the phone.

Will was lying on his side, looking at me, so I rolled over so I was on my side facing him. “What?”

I sighed. “My parents are pissed that I didn’t call them, so they’re making all these threats about coming out here to bitch at me and drag me back to Claremont.”

“You let that whole guardianship change thing go,” he said, referring to my plan to have Frank replace my parents in that role since I was out here.

“Things were going well enough,” I said. “I didn’t want to stir shit up.”

“Looks like you may have to do that,” Will noted. “It’s either that, or go back to Claremont.”

“That’s not happening,” I swore. That city had not been a good place for me in the past, and it wouldn’t be a good place for me now.

“Maybe you should just call them,” he suggested. I gave him a dirty look. “Dude, there’s no reason to create problems when you don’t have to.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. We got up, showered, and got dressed, then had a monster breakfast. I left Will in the great room with Frank and Isidore, and went back to my room to call my parents.

“Hello,” my mother answered. They didn’t have caller-ID on their phone, so she didn’t know it was me.

“Hey Mom,” I said enthusiastically, hoping I could play this off and not have a big argument. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. It was a pretty busy day.”

“It’s good to hear from you,” she said, but her voice was much colder than normal. “You really upset your father when you didn’t call and tell him about the game.”

“So I can’t wait until the next day to do that? I have to talk to him right away?” I was trying to be patient and calm with her, but it was pretty tough.

“I think that’s the right thing to do, especially since we were both wondering how things went, and we wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt. Your ankle just healed up,” she said. She was pulling out the guilt card, making it seem like they were worried about my health, when that didn’t factor into it at all.

“Maybe I just wanted to enjoy the victory and feel good about it before I called and let Dad tear me down again,” I said coldly.

“He does not do that,” she said, and she was pretty irritated with me.

“Yes, he does,” I said, because I was just as pissed off. “No matter what I do, it isn’t good enough. He never says anything positive about how I play; he just tries to nit-pick me about mistakes, even if he isn’t there to see them.”

“He’s just trying to help you improve,” she said. “If you don’t see what you did wrong, then how can you do better next time?”

“That’s a bunch of crap,” I said, finally losing it. “It’s the coach’s job to do that, to tell me where I messed up, not his. What he’s supposed to do is to back me up and support me.”

“We’ve supported you your whole life, up until now,” she snapped.

“I’m not talking about money, or feeding me. I’m talking about moral support.”

“Moral support? You want your father to just be your cheerleader?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He doesn’t know football as well as he thinks, and he sure as hell doesn’t know it as well as my coaches do. I don’t need him criticizing my plays. I have other people who do that.”

“There’s more to this than just feeding you a bunch of ego-boosting hooey,” she said. “Personally, I think your head has gotten too big.”

“So that means that you guys should just criticize me all the time?” I demanded.

“We don’t just criticize you,” she objected.

“Name one positive thing Dad has said to me in the past year that didn’t have a ‘but’ attached to it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What it means is that when he talks to me, he’ll say something like ‘you did a good job on that touchdown, but if you’d have managed to avoid the last tackle, you’d have gotten another one’,” I said, imitating him.

“That’s right,” she said. “He tells you that you did well, then points out where you can improve.”

“How would you feel if I did that to you? How would you feel if, when we had dinner, I told you that your pot roast was good, but it could have been better if you’d have put a little less salt on it?”

“I’d think that maybe you were right,” she said.

“So if you labored all day on it, working to get it just perfect and I found something trivial like that to complain about, it wouldn’t bother you?” I demanded.

“When you don’t call and talk to us, it just shows that you don’t respect us,” she said, changing the subject.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I think that I’d listen to what you said about it, like I just told you, and I’d try to decide if you were right. If you were, I’d make a change.”

“What if I wasn’t right?”

She sighed. “Then I’d ignore what you said.” And that was the key point here. If I did what she said she’d do, then I’d just ignore my father’s ranting.

“What if I did that to you every time you made a special dinner? What if I never told you that it was really good, but I always managed to find something wrong with it? How would you feel about it then?”

She got how mad I was, so she actually paused to consider my words. “I’d probably stop trying to make dinners you liked.”

“And that’s exactly what Dad does to me; the same kind of thing, so I’ve done the same thing you said you’d do. I’ve given up on trying to make him happy, to make him proud of me. Instead, I just avoid him, and I try to surround myself with people who prop me up and support me,” I said, probably in much too nasty a way.

“What you’re showing us is that you don’t respect us,” she objected, ignoring that I’d caught her with my argument. “And that makes me wonder if you’re in the right situation.”

“Right situation?”

“Maybe being in California isn’t good for you. Maybe it’s good for your football career, but not for you as a person,” she said.

“So Dad tells me, all the time that I’m a crappy football player, and now you’re telling me I’m a crappy person?” I asked, almost shouting. “And you wonder why I don’t call you, and why I don’t want you to come to my games.”

“You have completely twisted things. We’re trying to guide you, as your parents, to make sure you turn into a fine, upstanding man. It’s more than just football,” she said.

“The man you want to turn me into is a man who wouldn’t have the confidence to go outside in the rain,” I said, almost with a sneer. “I don’t need you or Dad trying to change me. I’m doing really well: I’m kicking ass in football and in school, and I’m happy at De La Salle. All I hear you saying is that you think there’s something wrong with that.”

She ignored me again. “Let me put your father on the line.”

“Don’t bother,” I said, and hung up the phone. I actually turned the phone off, so I wouldn’t be irritated when they called me back. I sat there for a while, my head in my hands, thinking that if it weren’t for them, I’d be pretty happy right now.

I heard my door open and Will peeked in, just to make sure I wasn’t on the phone. “I figured you were done with your call.”

“Why?”

He grimaced. “Because Frank is in the other room yelling at your father on the phone.”

“Shit,” I said, and shook my head. “I talked to my mother. It didn’t go very well.”

He came over and sat next to me, and put his arm around me supportively. “I’m sorry.”

“This could get ugly,” I told him.

“I’ve done ugly before,” he joked. “We’ll get through this.”

“Sometimes I wonder how much shit you’re willing to put up with before you get sick of me,” I groused.

“A lot,” he said, grinning at me. That made me chuckle. I relayed my conversation back to Will, and right after I finished telling him all the gory details, there was a knock at my door.

“Come in!” I said. Frank opened the door and walked in.

“I take it you had a relatively unpleasant conversation with your mother,” he said dourly. I nodded. “I just had an unpleasant one with your father.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I truly did feel bad about that. Frank and Isidore had done so much for me; the last thing I wanted was for them to have to deal with this bullshit.

“Well, I managed to work out a solution to keep us from having a big family fight that would probably end up in court,” he said. I just looked at him quizzically.

“Oh?” Will asked. It was nice of him to interject himself a bit, just to let Frank know that I had other people behind me.

“The problem here is communication, at least as far as I can tell,” Frank said. “So it seems that a good solution may be to get some counseling to deal with that.”

I glanced at Will, and saw that he looked as surprised as I did. “I didn’t expect you to suggest that,” I said.

“Why not?” he demanded defensively.

I shrugged. “I just never thought you’d think of counseling.” It seemed awfully indirect and a little more, well, intellectual, than Frank was.

He gave me a foul look, which I’d learned to largely ignore. “I watched counseling all but save Robbie’s life. I think it can help you and your parents out too.”

“Were they alright with that?” Will asked.

Frank answered his question, but directed it to me. “Your father wasn’t all that keen on it, but I managed to convince him.”

“That’s what all the yelling was about,” Will joked. Frank smiled slightly, but they both looked at me, waiting to see how I’d react to it.

It wasn’t my first choice, since I didn’t think I had the problem, but I also didn’t see that I had much choice. “How’s that going to work?”

“I think it’s probably best if we pick someone in Claremont so he or she can meet with your parents. Then you can talk to the doctor on the phone, or go back if you need to.”

“My schedule is tight until at least Christmas Break,” I said.

“Then you’ll need to evaluate your priorities,” Frank said in a relatively nasty way, expecting that I’d put my relationship with my parents first, but I was so beyond that.

“I am. And my priority is to do the best I can this season. When the season is over, or if I can work it in, then I’ll deal with my parents.” I was adamant about that. No way was I going to let this bullshit mess up my football career. Frank eyed me, and must have seen the resolve in my eyes.

“We’ll try to work with that,” he finally said.

October 15, 2002

Boston, MA

JJ

“That was spectacular,” Alex said as we strolled out of the Symphony Hall and found our limo waiting. “I’m not sure which was better: Weir, Ravel, or Prokofiev.”

“Neither am I,” I agreed, even though the music hadn’t really mattered all that much. I just enjoyed doing things with him.

“Regardless, I am so hungry, I suspect dinner will be better than any of them,” he said, making me chuckle.

“True that,” I said with a laugh. He took me to a nice restaurant, nice enough that they frustrated me by rambling on about the specials of the day, and what was good on the menu. I just wanted to be alone with Alex, something that had been all too rare this weekend, what with my family in town and the regional competition going on.

“You were absolutely amazing this weekend,” he said. “You were good on the ice too.” He laughed when I blushed.

“I’m just following your lead, so if it’s good, it’s all you,” I said. We had a nice routine, where we’d blow each other or jack each other off. I thought it would get boring, but Alex took some time to change things up so it didn’t get stale. I almost laughed at that, that the thought of being with him sexually could ever be stale. I couldn’t even see that as a possibility.

“I fear I have some bad news to impart,” he said. I just looked at him, hiding the dread I felt. Was he going to dump me? Did he take me here to end things? “I will not be able to go to your Skate America competition.” That was disappointing, but at least it wasn’t as bad as being kicked to the curb.

“It’s unreasonable for me to expect you to go to all of them,” I said, hiding how sad that made me feel.

“If I had my choice, I would certainly go, but I fear that it would destroy my semester grades. I simply can’t get away for that long. I slotted in the Sectionals in Philadelphia, and I can make that, or at least most of it, but I can’t do the competition in Washington.”

“I understand,” I said, and smiled to show him that I did. “I’ll try to win anyway.”

“I think you must, or at least we must hope that you do,” he said.

“Why?”

“I do not want you, or your family, to think that in order for you to win, I must be there,” he said. I got nervous about that, because I was worried that this was his way of bailing on me, but he must have sensed that. “Do not misunderstand, I love to watch you skate, and I intend to go to every event I can manage.”

“Then why is it important that I do well when you aren’t there?”

“Because it shows that you are your own person, an independent person, and it will allay potential fears that I have too much influence over you,” he said.

“Did someone talk to you about this?” I demanded, and felt my brows furrowing together even though I didn’t want them to.

He chuckled. “No, everyone has been terribly nice to me. This is something easy to discern without having it pointed out.”

I nodded. “This is my shot at my first international title, so it’s a big deal.” I saw him start to get guilty and upset, so I hurried to allay his fears. “If I go and win this one that should be enough to get my family to focus on somebody else’s business.”

“And it will show you that you are not dependent on anyone,” he suggested. “Then when I go, it will be a positive event, but not a requirement.”

“I can see that,” I said, trying not to sound down about it. It did make sense, though. I mean, he had school, and Harvard was tough, so it was unreasonable for me to expect him to just jet off for a week and follow me around. But just because it was unreasonable, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t what I really wanted him to do, it just meant that I couldn’t admit it.