Ripped - 9. Chapter 9

Sneaking back downstairs after his mother went to bed, Bailey soaked a teabag in hot water before putting it on the raw rip on his palm. Experience had taught him that tea bags, even tea tree oil—but that shit stank—helped seal his rips enough so he could still use his hand on the bars the next day. He'd also apply some antibiotic ointment to it as well and wrap it before putting his grips on.

He also made himself a sandwich and prepped a water bottle for the morning before heading to bed. He didn't usually have much trouble sleeping with all the hours he spent running or in the gym, but tonight sleep was determined to elude him.

****

"Throw it! Throw it!" the crowd chanted, but I didn't hear any of it; I never did. I focused on running downfield, following the man I was covering. He was fast, attempting to outdistance me to the ball.

But I was faster. It was what got me on the team. As little as I was, I could run down just about any receiver. I watched my man turn, looking over his shoulder for the ball, and I took a second to track it myself.

It was headed for us, maybe even over us. I dug in and launched myself at the ball. As my hands wrapped around it, I pulled it in to protect it. I didn't expect to land on my feet, fully anticipating the wide receiver to tackle me. When he didn't, I turned and dodged back down the field.

"And it's intercepted! Number 38 of the Pitbulls..."

My team managed to make some holes for me to dart through, and I was quick enough and small enough that the Tigers were having trouble tracking me. After bursting through the Tigers offensive line, the chase was on. I was nearly at the fifteen yard line when arms wrapped around my waist and yanked me to the ground with a heavy thud.

"And now the Pitbulls have a chance to pull ahead, as they are in field goal range."

I let my opponent climb off me, then I felt myself being hauled up by my teammates, receiving several slaps to my helmet. I ran off the field with the rest of the defense, looking up to see the broad smiling face of my dad standing and cheering. Most of the time I was dragging down a receiver, not being one, so I grinned and waved up at him.

I turned in time to watch the offense, move the ball closer, but were unable to score a touchdown. So the kicker ran out and scored us a field goal in the last seconds of the game.

Our third win. Helmets ripped off, as everyone congratulated each other.

"Damn, Bailey! You're the best cornerback ever!" one of my teammates yelled in my ear as I was jostled by hardy congratulations. "You not only run down the receivers, but you take the ball from them too!"

"Awesome, man!"

It was nice to hear, but I was focused on a guy running towards me. Neil. I grinned as he raced up to hug me. He was one of the few people I'd finally allowed to touch me, even just socially. Neil was in my history class, and we'd connected instantly. We'd been out a couple times, but decided we were better friends than boyfriends.

"What the fuck?" Alec snapped from nearby.

I looked back at him, startled by his tone.

"You a fag, McIntyre?" Mason crowded up next to me, his fingers brutally gripping my bicep. I was on instant alert as I tried to shake free of his grasp. Damn it, not again...

I cocked my head, frowning. "What does that matter?"

They shook their heads, a sneer of disgust on their faces. "Fuck, the best cornerback has to be a cocksucker."

Mason shoved me away roughly, and I flinched away instinctively.

I was shocked by their outrage, although I probably shouldn't have been. I thought I'd left that kind of crap behind in my old schools, the pushing, shoving, bruises, slurs... I'd become friends with these guys; what did it matter if my sexuality didn't match theirs? It's not like I'd even looked at any of them that way.

Neil backed away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to out you to your team." Everyone already knew Neil was gay; he'd grown up in this town. I'd been new this season, as my dad's military career moved us a lot.

"I wasn't hiding it." I shook my head as my dad joined us.

"You did great, Bailey! I'm so proud of you." He said that no matter what—even if I fell off the high bar. After seeing the look on my face though, he cocked an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

I just waved at my retreating teammates as Neil slunk off, not wanting to draw more attention. "Just some assholes having issues that I'm gay."

I watched my dad frown deeply. He'd always supported me, so when he looked around, I could tell he was trying to pick out who he wanted to have a talkin' to.

"Let's just go," I sighed. "I'll change at home."

"Yeah, okay."

We'd walked out toward the parking lot, but the scene shifted to a bright, arid sandy location. And we were climbing in a jeep with one of his army buddies—Sgt. Westin—and dad was now wearing his tan BDUs. It was hot as hell, and I was about to ask dad what was going on when he started driving, other dark green and canvas vehicles following behind.

I'd never been here, but I'd seen pictures of it on TV. Where were we going? What—?

BOOM!

The jeep we were in exploded, flipping as gunfire broke out around us. Men streamed from the other vehicles, taking down the gunmen quickly, but I was crawling out of the flipped jeep.

"Dad!"

I found him pinned under the vehicle, his chest nearly crushed and blood was soaking his shirt. I tried to get closer but Westin was there, gripping my father's hand as he struggled to draw a breath.

I tried to shove Westin out of the way, but he didn't budge.

"Tell... my son... I love him. And I'm sorry..."

"NO! NO!" I heard myself screaming. "I'm right here, dad! Don't go! Please don't go!"

For a moment, my father's pale eyes turned to me, and I knew.

"I love you."

"I love you too! Don't leave me."

"I'll always be with you..."

****

Jerking awake, chest heaving, Bailey fought his way out of his sweaty sheets, tearing himself away from his damp pillow. He stumbled, banging against his dresser, before he slid to the floor.

Fuck. He hadn't had such a vivid dream in over three weeks. He'd hoped he was over them. Imagining his father's death seemed to be one of his new favorite nightmares.

Adding in his attempt to try a second sport in freshman year didn't help. At least this nightmare hadn't included Alec and Mason ambushing him on his way home. He shuddered at the feel of ghostly fingers grabbing at him, holding him down, Mason's rancid breath washing over him...

A hiccupped sob escaped before he managed to regain control of his breathing. He rubbed his hands over his face, only somewhat surprised to find it wet as memories swamped him.

****

Football had been my father's suggestion as I was starting a new school in a new town again. A way to get to know others, be part of a team, since Park View didn't have a gymnastics team. So while I was still going to do gymnastics at a private gym, we'd decided together to attempt a team sport at the high school like football, soccer, or baseball as I started high school.

The gym had been almost my whole life, and starting a new school was a chance 'to mix things up' as my dad said. I'd played little league football before, and it was alright. As long as I could still get to a gym, get my hands on the rings and high bar, I didn't mind trying out other things. Trying out for football hadn't really been much of my plan at first. But since the Park View Pitbulls didn't have a gymnastics team, dad and mom had asked if I wanted to try out for any of the sports offered at the school. I probably could have done track too, but mostly I liked to reserve running for me and my dad.

I have to say after that one attempt, I had no desire to ever try a team sport like that again. My father and I had been called into the coach's office only two weeks later. It had been horrible in the locker room since that game, the taunts, teasing, the ridicule. But I'd ignored it, figuring it would get old and fade away.

The coach had looked chagrinned when he suggested that I quit the team. Dad, of course, was appalled.

"Why the hell would you want him to quit? He's the best cornerback you've got!"

Coach had nodded. "Yes, but unfortunately, his presence is also causing a disruption within the team dynamics."

Dad jumped to his feet. "Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell year is this anyway? He's gay, he's not diseased! It's not fucking contagious."

Coach grimaced. I could tell he didn't want to do this, but someone or several someones were putting pressure on him. And honestly, it wasn't worth it. I didn't need the team. Sure, I'd enjoyed being a part of a team sport for a change, where everyone had to work together to achieve a common goal, but it wasn't really my passion either.

"You can't do this! It's illegal—"

"Dad." I halted his tirade with a touch to his arm. "I'm okay with leaving. I don't really want to put up with the idiocy anyway."

I could tell my father was hurting for me. To know his son had been bullied and harassed was killing him. He didn't need to know just how bad it was.

"Fine. I'm still filing a complaint with the school board," he threatened. "And I'm getting Bailey out of this fucking bigoted school."

"Sir, Mr. McIntyre—"

"That's Sgt-Major McIntyre!" dad had shouted. I'd rarely seen him so angry. "Let's go, Bailey. Pack up your locker, we're leaving."

I'd moved to another school in another county the next week. It had been satisfying to know that the Pitbulls lost all the rest of their games. I had hoped they fucking regretted their decision. Unfortunately, the new school hadn't been much better when they found out I was gay and did gymnastics. Since dad had been redeployed though, I was able to hide most of the bullying that was happening.

Then dad had finally found Heritage, a haven for a boy like me. Except then he was gone, and I've been lost ever since.

****

It was several minutes before Bailey pulled himself from his ruminating, rolled over to his knees, and crawled to his feet. Glancing at the clock, he was almost relieved to see it was already 4:52am. It meant his alarm would have been going off in about twenty minutes anyway, and right now, there was no way in hell he was going to be able to get back to sleep.

After a quick run to the bathroom, where he refused to look in the mirror, he re-wrapped his hand with antibiotic ointment and a thin layer of gauze. He donned his sweats, t-shirt and hoodie, and running shoes before quickly packing his small duffle bag with his clothes for the day as had become his habit. He'd run, then shower in the gym's locker room, before heading to the dining hall for breakfast.

Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, and holding the duffle in his good hand, he headed downstairs. Grabbing a powerbar and his water, he headed out the door long before his mother would wake up.

This had become their routine. A routine of avoidance, of hiding, of polite pleasantries.

For as much time as he actually spent with his mother, he could easily have been staying in the dorms. Although he did sense a moment of relief from her when he actually came home through the door. They might not talk much, but she needed to know he was physically safe at home each night. And Bailey didn't think he'd do very well in the dorms now where he was constantly surrounded by others wanting him to engage—'come to the movie, how about a game of frisbee, want to study together...'

And a roommate would be even worse. He'd have no privacy, no place to hide, to escape if he needed... it.

Maybe next year he'd be able to face the dorms, but right now, it just seemed like too soon...

Bailey walked quickly towards Heritage. Over the summer after their move, he'd run all over the town with his father in these early hours, but now he couldn't face those streets without the man at his side. He'd almost given up running altogether—had, in fact, stopped for the two weeks following his father's death.

Yet, he'd come to realize that running was the one thing he couldn't fail at for his dad. There wasn't a grade or a score that he had to make. There wasn't an expectation. And no one judged him on how well or how long he ran. He could just... run. Running almost helped as much as it, but he couldn't run all the time or do gymnastics all the time.

And it always cleared his head, at least for a little while.

So, instead of running the sidewalks and parks of the town, he made his way to his school's track each morning. He'd surprised the security guard at the gate the first few days, but now he received a hearty 'good morning, Bailey' as he jogged by.

Grainger Hall and the Colonnades were lit with decorative outside lights, which stayed on all the time. The rest of the buildings and walkways were also lit by security lights. Even the track had four lights—one at each corner—to chase away a little of the darkness. It was still somewhat shadowed, but it was enough to make sure he found his footing.

He stashed his bag under the bleachers out of habit from his many years of hiding from bullies at his previous schools before taking a swig of water and heading out onto the track.

He quickly found his rhythm, starting with a slow jog and increasing to a moderate pace. Concentrating on the vibration of his feet hitting the track helped keep his mother's voice at bay. Sometimes, he recited notes from his classes in his head or mentally critiqued his gym routines. He let thoughts flow, not worrying about trying to focus on any one thing, except his breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth, in... out... in... out...

Occasionally, like today, he found his rage seeping into his steps, his eyes burning as he forced back tears he refused to let fall. His hands tightened into fists, his steps pounding harder, faster.

Why? Why his father? Why did he re-enlist? Why couldn't he just be with them?

Bailey blinked, shocked to see a figure in front of him on the track. How had he not seen someone else arrive? Except for Justin on occasion, no one usually came out this early. He paced behind the guy for a bit, not wanting to encroach on the other teen's space.

As the guy turned one of the corners, Bailey was able to get a better view of him, realizing it was the football guy from yesterday. The one that had done the stupid pushups with him. Declan.

He wondered briefly what had driven Declan out to run this early. Did he have nightmares like Bailey did that sometimes kept him awake? Did he worry about what kind of grade he'd make on Mr. Prosser's trigonometry test?

Bailey smiled humorlessly—did Declan even know Bailey was in his trig class? Not likely. Declan was one of those 'popular' guys. Even in an all-boys academy, it happened—there were always those that seemed to be natural magnets, those that others gravitated to. Justin was one.

He briefly wondered if Declan's arms were a little sore from yesterday's exertions too. Normally, he'd never consider striking up a conversation, but he found himself wanting to now. Declan had been quiet yesterday, unlike Chris or Justin, and Bailey felt a little bit of kinship with the guy who'd endured being made a spectacle by their respective teams with him.

He sped up, slipping to the outside track in case the guy didn't like to be disturbed while running. Casting a glance out of the side of his hood, he nearly stumbled when Declan greeted him first.

"Hey!" Declan waved, pulling out one of his earbuds. "What's up?"

Shit. Bailey had almost expected Declan to ignore him, so he found his tongue tied up in his throat when the guy called out to him. Bailey managed a small smile, lifting his wrapped hand in a hesitant wave.

He was shocked when Declan suddenly took off. His smile slipped as the hope of talking to the guy faded away. He watched Declan race ahead. Okay, so maybe he didn't want to talk while running, but then why had he even acknowledged him in the first place?

Hmmm, guess it was just a rhetorical greeting, Bailey mused. He and his father had received several of those from other runners, the obligatory 'Hey' or even just a nod. Well, he could have at least waited for me to return the favor.

Screw this, Bailey thought as he jogged off the track at the far end. If he wants to be alone, so be it.

He ducked around the back side of the bleachers, escaping into those wonderfully obscuring shadows. Bailey halted when he heard voices from the other side of the bleachers, groaning to himself when he realized Justin had arrived.

God, the guy was going to drive him crazy. Constantly trying to engage him, make him socialize. At least, Bailey had managed to duck off the track before Justin had seen him.

"Hey, Declan."

"What are you doing here?" Bailey almost laughed out loud at Declan's grunted greeting.

"Oh, just hoping to catch up with Bailey. He usually likes to run really early." Uh, huh, that's what he thought, Justin had come out this morning looking for him.

"Well, he's somewhere behind me."

Bailey lifted his brow as he grabbed up his bag. Declan hadn't even realized he'd left the track. So much for making an impression. Well, at least, he'd recognized it was him.

"Where?"

"Huh. Well, he was here. Guess he gave up."

Gave up? Bailey frowned. It wasn't like they had some contest going and he'd quit. Hell, he'd been running long before Declan even graced the track. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed up the duffle. He could hear their voices getting farther away, so he made his way to one of the thick supports of the risers and waited to make sure Justin wouldn't follow him.

"Hey, man, I just wanted to say I'm sorry you got caught up with Chris's bullshit yesterday." Justin actually sounded a bit contrite.

"You were part of that bullshit." Bailey choked back a chuckle at Declan's retort. He was right, Justin did antagonize Chris a little.

"You didn't seriously think your team could just come in and steamroll over us like that?"

"Would it have hurt you to give up the room a little early? So it could be put to good use."

Okay, that had Bailey frowning. Good use? Why wouldn't the gymnastics team make good use of the weight room? Honestly, if anything, because their team was so small, it may have been under used a bit. In fact, the football team (or any other team—except maybe the cross-country/track team as they were too big) could have joined them. It might have been a little crowded, but maybe they could have spotted each other or something on the free weights...

Justin's voice rose to a shout. "What the fuck are you talking about? You think what Chris did was right? I thought you were one of the more sensible ones on the team. But I can see you're an asshole just like Chris."

"No—just... it would have avoided a lot of trouble if you had."

Bailey might have agreed with Declan about avoiding trouble, but Justin was right. Chris did seem to have an inflated sense of entitlement.

"So just because the football team is bigger than the gymnastics team, you think they can demand anything they want? That we can't make good use of the weight room?"

"No, just saying, you know, with all your flips and... dancing around, and everything, you don't need the weight room like we do."

What? Bailey's jaw dropped, shocked to hear Declan echo Chris's sentiments about the gymnastics team. Obviously, he had no fucking clue what it took to do gymnastics. He winced, realizing he'd clenched his fists in anger, aggravating his ripped palm.

Fuck it. Who cares if Justin catches up with him? Bailey took off running towards the gymnasiums. He grabbed the door, not bothering to check to see if it had been unlocked yet. It whipped open under his angry yank. He stormed down the halls to Locker Room B, where he dropped his stuff in front of his locker before yanking it open.

He carried his clothes bag towards the showers, grabbing a towel on his way. Dousing himself under the cool shower, he shivered as he wasn't willing to wait for the hot water to make its way through the pipes.

As he soaped up, his mind slipped through the tumultuous morning he'd had. He closed his eyes, fighting back the images of his nightmare as well as the voice of Declan basically declaring gymnastics wasn't a real sport. His hand instinctively slipped to his hip, fingers grazing over several scars, some still healing, others already a thin white line. He pressed on the most recent one at the top of his thigh, the dull ache did little to chase away the thoughts tormenting his mind.

Fuck.

He needed out of here. Now. He wasn't surprised to hear voices and lockers opening and closing by the time he was finished. Some of the teams held practices in the morning, alternating or splitting it with afternoon practices. He threw his slacks and shirt on while he was still half-wet, stuffing his running gear in his duffle.

When he threw his towel in the bin, he looked up to see Justin was leaning next to his locker. The tall blond just smiled at him thoughtfully.

"Hey," Justin greeted, "thought we were going to run this morning."

A wave of shame washed over him. Justin was only trying to help him, sort of like the school counselor he was required to see every Tuesday morning before classes. There were times he swore that his team captain could see right through him and see the pain he was trying so hard to bury. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the effort, Bailey just couldn't bring himself to let anyone new in.

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't sleep well, so I got up early and ran. You know, to clear my head and all," he muttered.

A thoughtful frown crossed Justin's features, worry maybe. He dropped to the bench next to Bailey's duffle. "Anything you want to talk about?"

Bailey focused on opening his locker and dragging out his backpack. He glanced down at Justin before grabbing the duffle bag and shoving it in with more force than was necessary. "Nah, it's nothing."

"Bay—"

"You staying here? Getting a shower?" Bailey interrupted, trying to keep his tone light and friendly.

Justin sighed, slapping his hands on his thighs as he rose. "I didn't run, so no."

Bailey bit his lip, debating briefly before asking, "Did you want to come to breakfast with me?"

Justin's head jerked up in shock before a wide grin split his lips. Bailey knew it was probably the first time in the nearly two months he'd been at Heritage that he'd done the asking for anyone to join him for anything.

"Yeah, yeah, let's go."