"Don't try to get up; let us lift you."

"Fuck that. Leave me alone, I'm just f...aaaahhhh!"

Pain flared up from my ankle and convulsed my whole body. I collapsed back to the ground.

It was the third game of the season. We were playing our conference rival, and it was a tight game. When it happened, the scoreboard showed 3-3 and time was almost gone. I'd seen a hole open up. A fake from one of our backfielders had shifted their defenders away from me. When they committed to the wrong direction, he dinked it over to me. I fielded the pass unimpeded and charged straight down the middle toward the net.

Realizing their mistake, the mid- and backfield defenders sprinted to head me off. Our trajectories had us set to converge four feet in front of the goal at high speed.

A collision was in my immediate future, but I couldn't let that stop me. I took a quick glance at the goalie, noting his position and ignoring the oncoming rush of bodies. With a grunt, I took a hard shot with my right leg. In a corner of my mind, I noted that they were right on me and wondered how hard I'd go down and how much it would hurt.

An opponent struggling to send the ball out of harm's way swung his own leg, aiming for the ball. Instead, he connected high-impact with my ankle. At the same time, I got bumped hard in the shoulder and tripped over three legs. I fell to the turf and landed on my face; a split second later, three different guys finished the job on my ankle by stomping on it before they were able to untangle. I felt three distinct sets of cleats dig in and maul me.

I heard the bench-riders cheer as my shot sailed over the goalie's head and the ball slammed into the net, but all I saw was grass. I had a mouthful of it, too.

The stands went silent. My ankle was screaming, and I felt hands under my arms. But I tried to pull free and get on my feet by myself; I'd done my job, and I was intent on getting up and getting after it. When you get hurt on the field, you don't rub it. You don't favor it. You get on with it.

My determination to live up to that code lasted right up to the moment I put my weight on that foot.

As the agony shot through my whole body and I fell back to earth, I thought to myself, this can't be good. 

******* 

The local ER was empty, so they put me in an exam room right away. But it had been twenty minutes, and the doctor who'd checked me out and ordered tests when I'd gotten there was nowhere in sight.

Coach Miller sat with me. "You won it for us," he said, "so at least there's that. I gotta say, you sure had the stones to take that shot. Talk about your grace under pressure. I'm sorry you went down."

"Why is this taking so long?" I asked him, exasperated.

"Well, I expect it's because you're not dying, for one, and you didn't have an appointment, for another."

Drumming my fingers on my knee, I sighed. "This is driving me crazy, just sitting here."

He laughed. "I bet you were loads of fun for your parents. I can just imagine you waiting in lines at Six Flags."

"Yeah, Six Flags was the worst. I actually hated going."

"Didn't you like the rides?"

"I loved the rides. But when you go to Six Flags, you don't spend most of your time on the rides. You spend most of your time in the goddam lines!"

"I'm glad you weren't my kid," he said with a smirk.

"I'm not young enough to be your kid."

"I'm just sayin' you gotta learn to chill sometimes. Life doesn't always move at your speed, Sport-o, and there's nothing you can do about it."

I rolled my eyes. "With all due respect, Coach, you sound just like my dad."

"I've met your dad," he said, "and I'll take that as a compliment."

"I love my dad," I shot back, "but I didn't mean it as a compliment."

Before he could reply, the attending physician walked in. He sat down next to me and said, "Well, it's like I told you we'd find.  Your ankle's broken."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. "No, it's not. It can't be broken. Coupla guys collided with me, that's all. Happens all the time. Bad sprain, maybe."

"It's broken, kid," he said. "I have the x-ray right here." He stood up, pulled an x-ray print out of the folder he was holding, and slapped it onto the screen. He pointed to a spot on the picture: Even I could see the break. "It's not bad, but you're almost definitely out for the season."

I wasn't having it. "It can't be broken," I argued. "It hurts, but it's not broken."

The doc crossed his arms and shook his head. "Do I tell you how to play ball?"

"What…"

"This is my turf, son. I know 'broken.' How 'bout you try to stand on it again if you don't believe me?"

I felt panic try to set in. "But I…I'm on a soccer scholarship, I can't do school without…"

Coach put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry about that," he said. "You don't lose it for an injury. Not even a season-ending one."

"But…"

"We need to immobilize your ankle," the doctor told said, interrupting my frantic thoughtstream. "We're gonna splint it first, and then in a few days you'll need a cast on it. We'll set you up with some crutches before you leave today. Come back on Tuesday. It's not a bad break; I think we can go with a fiberglass cast."

I scowled at him.

"Anyway, let me go get those orders in, and we'll take care of you and send you on your way."

"Okay," I said, crestfallen. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said. "Sorry it's broken."

"Not your fault," I said. He nodded, shook my hand, and walked away.

I looked back at Coach. "I need my athletic scholarship. But I…if I'm not contributing, it doesn't seem right to…"

He sat back down as he said, "I already told you what the rules say. You're not gonna lose your scholarship. And anyway, I'll have you contributing. Just not on the field. So let's get you finished up here and get you back home. We can talk more later."

I sighed, unconvinced. "Okay…"

"We have some things to discuss, Andy, and I need to do some checking before we talk, but I think this whole thing may work in your favor over the long haul."

I was indignant. "What are you talking about?"

"Show up for practice Monday. Keep the guys hydrated, watch the drills and workouts. Pay close attention to each man during the scrimmage. Check out the big picture, too. Meet me in my office after practice, tell me what you saw. And we'll continue this conversation." 

******* 

On Monday, we were scheduled to scrimmage with the first-place under-19 club team from the city's premier club league. After we were done, I forced myself not to stare at the naked 18-year old guests in our locker room and hobbled into Coach's office on my crutches.

As I sank into a chair next to his desk, he walked in, followed by Josh Starnes, my housemate.  Agitated and buck naked, Starnes dripped water on the floor, his towel hanging unused over his right shoulder. They were finishing up a conversation Josh wasn't happy about. "C'mon, Coach," he pleaded, "I suck at midfield. Put Kessler there, I'm the best forward on this team." Noticing me in the chair, he stared daggers at me, mumbling, "This is your fault."

"Yeah, I did it just to ruin your season," I said, flipping him off.

"We have to have somebody at midfield with ball-handling as good as Sharpe's. You're it," he said. "I can put Kessler at forward. He's fast and accurate. And I can pull from the bench for the backfield. It's done, Starnes. You'll still get to take some shots, so quit your whining. Now get your naked ass out of my office. And towel off, dammit. You're getting water all over my floor."

Starnes threw his towel down and started mopping up the puddle with it. Coach wasn't impressed. "Moron, what good's that gonna do? You're still dripping!" He put a hand on Josh's bare back and pushed him through the doorway. Picking up the towel, he threw it at Josh and closed the door behind him.

As he sat down on the chair next to me, he shook his head. "I shoulda known not to tell him on his way outta the shower. Look at my damn floor! I swear, he's worse than a grade-school kid."

"He'll be fine," I said. "He just doesn't like changes. We rearranged the den furniture last week and you'd have thought we murdered his mama."

"Walk him through the position, okay?"

"Not a problem. He'll be on board by tomorrow."

Coach smiled. "Okay, Andy. Tell me: What did you see out there?"

"We're fast. And accurate. Almost to a man. We look good."

"What else?"

"Kessler over-commits when the play's at high speed. And then he plants too hard, and when the play changes on a dime, he's a step behind."

"That'll be less of a problem with him playing forward." He reached over and grabbed a pencil and legal pad from the top of his desk. "Keep going."

"The new kid in the backfield--Calvin Gunn--he doesn’t know how to play the position yet."

Nodding, Coach said, "He was a goalie in high school."

"Well, then, why did…"

"He sees the field of play better than anybody out there. He'll see what's coming a long time before it gets there."

I nodded. "He's fast. Faster than I am. Than I was," I amended ruefully.

"You're not dead," Coach said. "Cut the crap."

"I…right," I said, shaking it off. "He handles the ball well. He has good feet. But he doesn't know what he's doing back there yet."

"No," he agreed. "But he'll get there."

"Why not bench until he gets it?"

"He's not gonna get it on the bench. He won't hurt us, short-term, and he'll help us, longer-term. Enough about him. What else?"

"Everybody's in good condition this year. That'll help during these next games, 'cause the next two teams we face, they're never in shape until mid-season.  Actually, nobody ever starts the season as strong as we do. We don't always have the best talent, but we're for damn sure in the best shape at the start of the season."

"Courtesy of my summer program of physical torture y'all piss and moan about so much."

I nodded. "I know."

"Anything else?"

"Passing game from the backfield to the midfield needs work. Especially in a crowd."

"You're right."

He stared in my direction for a minute, but I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or out the window.

"I want you running every other practice," he said finally.

"Huh? I can hardly even walk, much less…"

"No, not that kind of running. I mean I want you running the practice on alternating days. I want you to be me every other practice."

It caught me by surprise. "Why?"

"You're team captain."

"Well, yeah, but what does…"

"You have good coaching instincts. I want to develop those. I'll help you."

"Okay…but why? I don't wanna be a coach. I mean, no offense. It's just not my thing."

"I know it's not. But you never know when it'll come in handy. You're committed to the game, right?"

"Only like I'm committed to breathing," I said.

He smiled. "We gotta have people who have soccer deep in their bones if this thing is ever gonna catch fire in this country more than it has. It starts with cities and towns, in rec leagues and clubs, with dads and businessmen giving their time and effort teaching kids the love of the game. You love the game, Andy, I can see it in your eyes, in your body. You love it better than the three guys on the team who are better than you. I play to win here, but I love this game win or lose, and I want other people who love it to give it back to the communities they go out into.

"Since you can't play, I want you to use this year as an opportunity to learn the game from a coach's point of view. Then you take that with you as you leave school and go out into the real world. You're off the field for the season, but the rules say you get to keep your scholarship anyway. Hell, the rules would let you keep it even if you stayed in your room for every soccer game. So this is value added. For both of us. And it's all I need to justify keeping you on scholarship from an integrity standpoint. You understand what I'm talking about?"

"I do, Coach. I…I'm honored. And I'll do it good."

He stood up and motioned for me to leave. "Never occurred to me to think otherwise," he said, shaking my hand. "And there's something else. You'll like it, I think."

His eyes danced as he paused a few beats.

"Didn't you tell me you were changing majors and it means a fifth year of undergrad?"

"Yes."

"You're not eligible to play soccer in college for more than four years, so obviously you can't have athletic money a fifth year."

"I know," I said. "I'll figure it out."

"You won't have to."

"Why not?"

"I checked," he said, grinning. "You've only played two full games and you're out for the season. You get to keep your scholarship. But it's not just that. Only two full games means this year doesn't count as a year of play. You get a medical redshirt. Which means you're eligible to play all of next year. Which means you're eligible for an athletic scholarship next year."

I stared at him. The implications were there at the doorstep of my brain, but they weren't moving in yet.

He laughed and said, "Say something."

"I…"

"Your tuition problem next year just went away. Get it?"

"And you'd…you'd…"

"Offer you a fifth year of full ride on the athletic department's dime next year? Absolutely. So learn the game this year from my perspective. And as soon as your ankle is healed, start getting back into shape. And I'll see you out on the field this spring…and next fall."

I was still reeling. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll make sure Starnes isn't a whining little bitch when he hits the locker room tomorrow, and we'll call it even," he said.

"Done," I said. "I don't know how I can…how to thank you."

"Seeing that broken ankle work out for you is thanks enough," he said. "And it's like I said, I'm getting something out of it too: A midfielder with another year of experience, and one with a coach's eye. Somebody I can turn practice over to when I get lazy." He walked over to his desk, sat behind it, and pulled a stack of papers toward him. "Now limp on outta here, I got work to do."

"Yessir."

I walked out smiling. My life had been overcast all day, but all of a sudden things had gotten a lot brighter. 

******* 

We were in Trey's room; he was sitting on his bed, dissecting my personality for me.

Again.

"I can't ever get you in the scope, Sharpe. It's like you're a dope-dealer-wannabe sometimes and you're a science geek sometimes and a pussy-hound four days a week and a dick-licker the next three and a jock sometimes and a fuckin' Rhodes scholar-type sometimes. And now this. We're almost out of this fuckin' place. Why you wanna be adding another major and another fuckin' year?"

He'd launched into his weekly inquiry into my reasons for staying an extra year. For some reason he seemed to take it personally. There was a subtext here, but I had no idea what it was, and it was driving me a little nuts.

"God, would you stop with that?" I complained. "You'll be gone either way, so you'll have to find somebody else to suck your dick when you strike out again with all the women you usually try to hit on."

"Okay," he said, "so I've hit a dry spell. No need to be insulting. Anyway, I don't remember you wrapping your lips around my junk since last fall, so don't be acting like you been helping me out any."  Reaching down, he picked up and threw a muddy soccer boot at me.

I caught it and threw it back at him. "Sorry, man. I don't want you breaking my heart with your studliness, so I gotta keep my distance. Don't be a hater."

This was typical meaningless banter, It was only good for distracting him from his topic, but that was all the reason I needed.

I probably should have picked a different subject to divert him, though, because he was just getting started. Raising an eyebrow at me, he said, "Hell, boy if you woulda kept up the magic, you coulda had more than my dick."

I felt the back of my neck tingle, but I stayed in character. "That right? What else could I have had?"

He rolled over onto his stomach, slapped his ass, and thrust it in my direction. "This."

Whoa.

I was pretty sure this was total crap; on the other hand, Trey didn't usually throw that kind of thing out there for grins, because he knew I was a little vulnerable on the matter.  

I wasn't sure how I wanted to play it. Was this an entree to a real conversation, or were we just talking stupid? I decided to play it halfway in between. Rolling my eyes, I said, "Please. If I remember correctly, you're the one who put a stop to my advances."

He didn't even pause. "I just didn't wanna be too easy. You were supposed to fight me for it. You were supposed to keep pushing. Trying to talk me into it."

I frowned. I was looking for clues, and I got nothing: His reply hovered in between sarcastic and serious, as much as mine had. Totally thrown off my game, all I could muster was a mumbled, "Well, somehow I missed that."

He rolled onto his back again. "I know," he said, not missing a beat. "That's why I'm repeating the offer, and uppin' the ante. I'm not just talkin' my dick any more."

I scratched my head. "You're fuckin' with me, right?"

"I don't know," he smirked. "Am I?"

"Doesn't matter," I told him. "Either way, I'm gonna pass on that ass."

He shrugged. "Just remember you had your chance."

"A chance I couldn't take, and you know why," I said, walking away.

"Indeed; and that's why I decided to spare your little faggot heart. But I gotta say, your ongoing interest always does something for me. And, you know, it might be fun…"

This was making my head hurt. We were too close to the line separating bullshit from God's honest truth, and I was uncomfortable.

"Whatever," I told him. "But it sure looks like the tables are turned. Pretty unlikely for a straight boy, if you ask me."

I watched him squirm. The sudden reverse in the power differential caught him off-guard.

I pressed my advantage. "Look, I can't help it you want me now. I mean, I totally get it: You hang out with my awesomeness long enough and it'll turn ya, even if you are straight. Hey, it's happened before."

"Yeah, right," he said. "Now would you shut up? This is just too fucking weird. I was kidding."

Just the fat pitch I'd been looking for.

I smirked and replied, "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

He threw his other boot at me. "God, you're such a dick." Then he looked me straight in the eye. "You know I’m fuckin' with you, right? I mean…we're…I'm…we're fuckin' with each other…or, at least…well, aren't we?"

"Yeah," I said, laughing. "No worries."

"And about your fifth year…honestly, I know you've given it plenty of thought. I'm not questioning your decision."

I sighed. "Then what's the three-week inquisition been about?"

"The redshirt thing worked out for you," he said, ostensibly changing the subject. "You sure you didn't do this on purpose?"

I looked down at my ankle. "Yeah."

"You gotta admit, it sure seems convenient."

"Seems and is are two different things," I said.

"All right," he deadpanned, "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

"Ooh, good one. So fuckin' original."

He sat up. "Honest truth? It's about this: I been looking for a way to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"Well, after I graduate, I'm staying in town and gettin' work here."

I shot him a quizzical look; I had assumed he'd be moving back to Tennessee.

He grabbed his crotch and squeezed. "So if you ever decide you want some prime beef, I'll be right down the road, and you can…"

"Shut up," I cut in with a grimace.

"Just sayin'," he grinned, shrugging.

That was the limit; I couldn't do this anymore.

"Serious for a minute," I said.  "Are you really saying you'd like it if I…if I did stuff with you like that?"

"No," he replied quickly and with a little more vehemence than I found credible. "I mean…well, no, not really. I…well, okay, have it your way: Serious for a minute, if you have to."

"I have to," I said. "This is messin' with my head."

"Okay." He swallowed hard. "I gotta say I've never been as close to a friend as I am with you."

I smiled. "I love you too, Trey," I said.

"Yeah. That's what I meant to say," he mumbled.

"I know. But you started all this tired bullshit, raggin' on me about adding a fifth year. You been giving me the third degree about it for weeks. What the fuck?"

He went over to his desk and grabbed a Snickers bar. Unwrapping it, he said, "I'm so fuckin' sick of school. I want out of here, and I wanna get on with it. But…well, I've made friends. I made a life here. And now everybody's gonna leave, and once again I gotta start over."

"That's what happens in life," I said.

He shook his head. "Not all the time. Look at you. All your most important people from home…"

"Yeah, but most of the time, people don't get…"

"I know," he said, interrupting. "You're right. It's not what usually happens. What usually happens is what's gonna happen to me. The people you made part of your life, they scatter, and you have to start all over."

"Damn, Trey," I said. "This kind of mope isn't like you. Anyway, we just got started this year practically. We got almost the whole school year. What are you doing going on about this?"

"It's easy for you to talk like that," he mumbled. "You got Matt. You got Angie. You have the big questions answered. I don't."

"And this is related to me staying another year how?"

He frowned. "Are you dense? You're staying another year, I'm staying another year…"

I still didn't get it. But just about the moment I opened my mouth to tell him that, the light dawned.

"Oh.You mean at least I'll be around."

He took a bite of his candy, chewed, swallowed, and said, "Yeah. I just…Okay, it sounds fuckin' needy to say it outright, so I been playing devil's advocate with you ever since I heard you were coming back. I didn't wanna get my hopes set on it and have you change your fuckin' mind."

"Well, why didn't you just say that instead of blowin' my shit up for three weeks?"

He blushed. "It sounds too gay."

"Fuck you."

"No, man, I'm sorry. You know what I mean. Anyway, I just…I wanted you to know. I'll be right here. Maybe you and I…I mean, maybe we can find two other guys and we won't even have to move. I don't want…I don't wanna not have you around."

Jesus. Across the years, every time Trey opened up about something, he surprised me.

Funny how those surprises made me love him all the more.

I shook my head. "You're a worse head case than I am."

"You always knew that," he joked. Then his face grew somber. "I'm not gonna lie, Andy. I think I…I think I need you in my life right now. I know we can't be friends forever…"

"Yes, we can," I said.

"Okay; yeah, we can," he conceded. "I just meant, we won't live in the same place forever, but I'm not ready for this to be the last year we can hang out."

I walked over to him. "Okay. It won't, then. If we can get some guys to move in with us after Josh and Shane move out, you gotta know I want you here…well, on one condition, anyway."

"What's that?"

"Since you're gonna be right here, you gotta come to every damn soccer game we play next year."

"Done," he said.

He put his arms out, and we hugged.

In the calm quiet of our embrace, he put his head on my shoulder.  I slipped my hands down the back of his soccer shorts and cupped his bare asscheeks, pulling him tighter into me at mid-torso.

His breathing got deeper, but he didn't move. I used the moment to slide my right hand from his ass to his crotch. I wrapped my fingers around his cock and stroked just under the head with my middle finger.

He moaned, and whispered, "Don't, okay? I was just fuckin' around a minute ago."

I heard it as the plea it was. If I'd kept it up, he wouldn't have stopped me, but he didn't want me doing it. "Sorry," I said.

He lifted his head and looked into my eyes. "Don't be too sorry. I…" Pulling out of my embrace, he said, "It's okay. It's too okay, in fact. I just can't go there."

"It's fine," I said. "I don't need…we don't need to do that. I just got a little…well, you know how I feel about you."

"Yeah," he said. "Would you believe me if I said I like it that you feel that way? I know it's not fair, because I can't feel that way back, but…"

"It's fine, Trey," I told him. "I don't need us to be like that. I think I got my hands full on that front already. And I never wanted us to be lovers or anything."

"Right. Well, then, if your hands are already full, you don't  have a free hand to be grabbing my dick." It sounded like a joke, but he wasn't smiling.

Sitting down at his computer, he started checking his email. "Let's just leave it at this," he said, concentrating on the screen. "You're my best friend. I don't regret anything we've ever done. None of it. I wasn't ready to lose you out of my life after we graduate. And now I won't have to."

He wouldn't look at me.

I had to ask.

"Are you ashamed of this?"

"No," he said, finally making his eyes meet mine. "It's just a little embarrassing."

"What's embarrassing?"

He shut down his computer and plopped back down on his bed. "Okay, I'm not even gay, and I've just been admitting to a guy that I have strong feelings for him."

"Back atcha," I said. "But I already knew this, Trey."

"I know, but I feel like such a pussy admitting to you that I hated the thought of not having you around. I didn't want you to think maybe I…"

I smiled. "Lighten up, man, no worries, and you got no need to be embarrassed. I know you love me like a bro. I love you too. Like…well, not like a brother, but this is all the far it's going. So chill. If you won't let me have that pretty ass o' yours, I'm not gonna suck your dick anymore, even after all them nice things you said."

He chuckled, and I saw his whole body relax. "Okay," he said.

I was on my way out the door when he added, "Gimp."

"Spaz."

"Cocksucker."

"Prick-tease."

"Yep. And proud of it."

I used the crutches to launch myself at him. Taking him by surprise, I pinned him down on his bed and gave him a huge wet smack on the lips.

He broke my hold, stood up, and made a show of wiping my kiss off his lips. "That's what I'm talking about. Women and faggots just can't resist me. Not even bisexual faggots."

"Yeah, you got my number," I said. "Watch your ass while you sleep, bud."

"You're such a pervert."

"Yep; you love it, too."

"I do," he said. 

******* 

The year rolled by. Matt didn't break an ankle or change his major, so he was on schedule to graduate in the spring.

He and Julie had made it through their "break," and they'd come back to the relationship even stronger. He'd told Julie about his slip-up over the summer, and while she wasn't crazy about it, she was crazy about him, and after their 90-day hiatus, they were solid.

As predicted, I was out the rest of the season with my bad ankle. It didn't bother me too much, though. I liked studying the field of play from the bench. I learned as much about playing while I was sitting out that season as I ever had as a player.

My life with Angie and Matt cruised right along. I saw them all the time that year.

Angie and I weren't together every day; she was serious as death about her studies, and we didn't study much when we were together, even if we'd set out to. So after a few attempts, we gave up on that idea. And we were going to different schools, so frequently I only saw her on weekends. But we talked on the phone every day.

I saw Matt almost as often. He came to visit most weekends, and I called him every day as well. There weren’t any rule books for what we were doing, and that always made me a little insecure, but we let our hearts lead, and our hearts never led us off-course.

I couldn't say that about my head, though. The thoughts I'd begun to bother myself with kept coming: How do two men who love each other--two men who want to marry women and have kids--sustain an intimate relationship? There were problems ahead; I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. I didn't even know how to define the issues, much less solve them, and I wasn't sure I had the resources to do either.

Alone in bed at night, it kept me awake. When I was with him, though, I didn't think about the future. I pushed it back and just enjoyed loving him and being loved by him.

And I'm glad I did.

Because the storms weren't finished. 

******* 

"I gotta get home; y'all are on your own," Julie said, finishing the last of her wine and standing up from the table. "Don't get him too drunk," she added, looking at me. "He's a working man now."

"Okay," I told her. "Two six packs apiece; that's all. I promise."

She rolled her eyes at me, but my wink disarmed her.

The school year was over. It was mid-summer. Angie had gotten a job on campus and hadn't come back to Dallas. I could only see her on weekends, because I was back home running the pool again. Matt had an inside track with an older college bud and had just gotten a job as a store manager at a sporting goods store. Julie had landed a job in a suburban school district as an elementary school teacher for the coming fall semester. Coincidentally, they were both scheduled to report in on the same day. She wouldn't be working full-time until the fall semester, but there was a new teacher orientation week she had to attend. Matt, on the other hand, would be starting full-swing right away.

We were celebrating at our favorite bar and grill the night before their first day on the job.

When I winked at her, she flipped me off and sighed. "Some day y'all are gonna grow up, maybe."

Matt got up. "Nah, you don't want that," he said, pulling her into an embrace. "I'm too much fun the way I am." As they kissed, I watched him grab her ass and pull her crotch firmly into his.

"Not here," she stage-whispered.

"Where, then? You're leaving," he sulked, "and it's not even that late. Look, we can ditch Sharpe and go to the park and make out. We can bring a quilt and a bottle of wine, and go up into that part where nobody goes, and…"

"I can't, Matt, I have to be up early for this orientation thing. It's my first day and I wanna make a good impression."

"Hey, I gotta work, too. And anyway, don't you wanna impress me?" The fake-dejected look he was throwing down was cracking me up.

"That face may work on your mama," she said.

"Julie, c'mon, it won't take long. I'm kinda pent-up and…"

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe Andy does need to get you drunk for the rest of the evening."

Matt stuck out his lower lip in a perfect imitation of a little-boy pout. "Maybe if you're gonna be such a buzz-kill, Andy needs to be the one impressing me. Maybe I'll just see if I can talk him into that." He cocked an eyebrow at her.

I felt my face flush; Julie didn't know about us. Not about that part of us, anyway.  I had to play it off.

"Ooh, Matty, you're makin' my heart go pitty-pat," I said, flopping a limp wrist in his direction and putting on the most affected, effeminate southern drawl I could muster.

"There you go," Julie told him, smirking. "That should tide you over until tomorrow, right?"

"You're no fun," he moped. "But I'm holding you to that: Tomorrow. After work. And we can…we can do some stress-reduction exercises."

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Night, babe," she said. "Andy, don't keep him out too late."

He watched her leave, then sat back down next to me. "She's right. Get me home and put me straight to bed…."

He looked around, reached over, and gave my dick a squeeze. "And then climb in with me."

I jumped back, scooting the chair away from him. Crazy motherfucker. Feeling up my junk in a restaurant.

"Hands off, moron. You really wanna put us on display?"

I pushed my chair even farther back, for effect. My consternation didn't keep my body from responding or my heart from melting, though.

"I don't give a shit who sees," he said, and I could tell he meant it.

His eyes, all mischief and mirth, danced with mine, as he added, "I wasn't kidding her: Impress me." 

******* 

I lay back on his bed with my eyes closed, savoring the smell of him, the nearness of him, the love of him, as he licked the remainder of his semen off my lips and nose and eyes.

"Dude. I got you good." He grinned, leaning in to kiss my cheeks and mouth as he licked me clean. "Why did you want it like that? It's kinda kinky; we never done that before."

"I don't know," I said. "I just…I just did. You got a problem with it?"

"Hell, no," he replied. "But I painted your whole damn face." He licked the last drop of his jizz off my chin, smiled at me, and kissed my lips.

"Yeah," I said. "You did. Nice of you to clean it up, though."

Out of nowhere, I was blindsided by sensations of love and defenselessness so forceful they squeezed my throat shut. Unable to speak, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him tight into me. I held him there, feeling the weight of him on me, feeling his heart beat against my chest, forcing myself to keep my breaths deep and regular as I tried to regain my equilibrium.

He wasn't blind, though. Responding to the change in me, he kissed me five or six times on the neck, and then he lay quietly on top of me, resting his head on my shoulder. I felt him sync up his own breaths with mine, and we stayed like that, emotionally fused and at complete peace.

It was almost too much for me. Here we were, lovers, and him straight. Lovers, and me engaged to be married.

It was the new Us, the new reality: Matt as my lover. We'd made it two years like this and then some, and I still hadn't gotten quite used to it.

A couple of stealth tears had escaped from my eyes, against my will, and now they dribbled onto his nose. He raised his head in surprise and looked at me. "Hey," he said, kissing me on the cheek while he circled a finger lightly around my left nipple.

"Hey, yourself," I whispered, running my hands up and down his back, feeling the powerful muscles under the soft skin, awestruck--as I always was--that we'd ended up here, that we'd gotten to this place where he gave his body to me willingly, lovingly.

He began planting wet kisses on my neck and all over my face. "I love you, Andy," he said.

"I know," I began. "I…Matt…Oh, God, if only I had the right words to tell you how m…"

"Shhhh," he whispered, moving his kisses to my lips. "You don't need the words. You've shown me."

He rolled off of me and onto his back. Reaching over, he took my hand and held it, starting at the ceiling. "We're perfect," he said. "It's what we were always meant to be."

"Think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Even with…well, you know, with the women?"

"Yep." He squeezed my hand for emphasis.

We lay there for awhile, hand in hand, lost in our own thoughts, found in each other.

And then he sat up.

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

"You are?"

"Yep."

I pulled up to a sit. We both opened our mouths to say something, and when we noticed that, we burst out laughing at the same time. "Awesome!" I said, reaching over and hugging him.

"But not yet," he said, recovering.

"When?"

His face grew serious. "After I tell her about us."

"Matt…"

He shook his head, interrupting me. "She has to know, Andy; you know this. Could you have ever hidden this from Angie?"

"But that's Angie. I don't know if you…"

"I've made up my mind."

I felt my muscles tense with worry. "Maybe you ought to get this whole thing totally solid and squared away, to where she knows you want to marry her…"

"No. She needs to know what she's getting into before I ask her. She knows we're getting there, but it's not fair for me to get her to say yes and then tell her, 'Oh, by the way, my best friend puts his dick up my ass.' She has a right to know about you and me. She has a right to know I'm in love with you just like I'm in love with her. She has a right to know that before I ask her to sign on for good."

"I don't know, man…"

"I do."

Inside I was frantic. On the outside I remained calm.  "I don't wanna…"

"Come between us? You won't."

No, babe; I was gonna say, "I don't wanna lose you." What if she blows up and demands that you choose between her and me?

I kept the thought to myself, though, and said, "But what if she can't handle it?"

"Then she's not someone I can be with for the long haul."

"Why?"

He grabbed a pillow and smacked me across the face with it. None too gently, either.

"If I have to answer that question, then nothing I've told you since I was eighteen ever sunk in." I looked into his face. He was angry at me, and it showed.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry."

"You better be."

The silence that followed felt like a lead weight, but eventually Matt's demeanor turned tender and his voice grew soft. "It'll be fine, Andy. I know her. She's as good a woman as Angie. She'll work through it."

"Okay," I said. "But maybe…maybe it won't go quite as easy as it did for Angie."

"I'm aware of that," he said. "I'm a patient guy."

"It may get hard, Matt. It may get scary."

"I expect it will," he said. "But I don't scare off easy. And she's worth it."

"But…"

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he said, pulling me on top of him. "Fuck me."

I figured there wasn't any point in arguing, so I reached into his nightstand drawer and grabbed the lube and a condom.

He grabbed the lube from me, squeezed out a dollop onto two fingers, and reached down. "Forget the condom," he said, grinning as he lubed up his entrance. "It's been long enough."

Afterward, we slept like twin babies in each other's arms. 

******* 

The night felt the way summer nights are supposed to feel. But too many young, screaming kids at the pool had worn me out. When the clock said nine, I said a silent prayer of thanks and blew the whistle.

I spent an hour or so shutting things down after everyone left. I'd put away most of the lawn furniture and was almost ready to go home when Matt walked up and started jangling the chain on the locked front gate. I waved and went to let him in. As I got closer, I saw that he didn't look so good.

I took my keys, unlocked the gate, and swung it open. "What?"

He grabbed me and pulled me into an embrace.

A tight one.

Too tight.

"Can't...breathe," I managed to get out.

"Oh. Sorry."

He gave me some slack, but he wouldn't let go. I held onto him and waited, listening to him struggle with evening out his breathing.

After what felt like forever, he looked up. His face was wet and his eyes were red. I cocked my head in the direction of the remaining lawn chairs, and we walked over to them.

"It didn't go so well," he said, slumping down into a lawn chair.

"You told her."

"Yeah."

I stood behind him and began massaging his shoulders.

"Mmmmmm. Feels nice," he said. "Keep going."

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. I kept kneading the muscles, leaning in to kiss his shoulders occasionally. Once he'd calmed down a little, I asked, "What happened?"

He got up from the lawn chair and began to pace as he told me. The conversation between them had started off well; both of them had been thinking on the same track, the "forever" track, and it had felt good for them to say it together.

Then Matt told her that since that was the case, there was something she needed to know about him.

And he told her about us.

And she freaked.

It wasn't pretty. At first her eyes had been wide with disbelief, he'd said; and then there were tears, and shouts, and anger, and hurt. As Julie pounded on his chest and cried, he could only stand there and absorb it all. In the end, she said, "I can't look at your lying, cheating, faggot face. Go away."

I winced; it felt like a hard slap. To both of us. I took an unsteady breath, trying to imagine how Matt must feel. I hurt for him, and I was furious with her.

And my guilt went into overdrive.

I didn't know what to say, but what tumbled out of my mouth was, "She called you a liar and a faggot?" I was dismayed to hear it come out sounding like an indictment.

He got defensive. "She was angry and hurt. And isn't it true?"

That set me off. I felt steam ready to come out of my ears. "You're not. You're not either of those things."

"Yes I am, Drew. What's a liar?"

"What the fuck, Matt?"

"No, tell me. Say it. What's a liar?"

"Duh. Someone who doesn't tell the truth, someone who deceives people. You're not that."

"Wasn't I deceiving her when I made the decision not to tell?"

"But you did tell, and look where it got you!"

He ignored the comment. "What's a faggot?"

"An ugly, hateful word for a guy who gets turned on by guys."

"Don't I get turned on by guys?"

"No, asshole, you don't."

He smiled. "One guy, I do."

"This isn't funny, Matt," I said. "You have to fix this."

"No, I don't," he said. "I have to give it time."

"Give it time?" I yelled. "She told you to get the fuck away from her!"

"She didn't mean she was dumping me."

"Bullshit. What the fuck else could she have meant?"

"She meant she couldn't handle any more just then."

"But…"

He moved in closer and stared into my eyes. I could see he was unhappy with me.

"I'm fuckin' scared, and I'm fuckin' upset, Andy, and I don't need you to be piling your shit on, okay? I asked her if she meant forever, and she said she didn't know."

I rubbed my temples with my hand. "You gotta fix this," I repeated.

"What's there to fix? I said what I had to say. I have to let it sink in. She needs time. She needs me not to be in her face right now."

"Call her up," I said. "Talk to her. I can't be responsible for making you lose someone you love. Call her up. You can do something."

"You're not responsible," he said calmly. "Everything I've done with you...everything we've been...I've had my eyes open. I did it on purpose. I did it for me. It's what I want; it's what I need. You found a woman who can support it, someone you don't have to lie to, someone who lets you love me like that. I have to have that too. It's not negotiable, because I'm not walking away from what you and I have."

"Okay," I said, frantic. "But you can't just leave it like this. Who knows what she'll do. Get outta here and go call her. Tell her…"

Tell her what? I caught myself, made myself slow down.

When I did, I began to realize there was no way to win this thing except by giving her what she wanted.

I'll lose him if I don't cut him loose. I can give him up as a lover, but I won't survive losing him as a friend. We don't have to be lovers. It wasn't ever meant to be, anyway.

I took a deep breath.

"Tell her it was just me. You did it for me. Tell her I'm the faggot. Tell her you're not that way, and let's just stop…let's stop…"

As the weight of what I was about to say settled in on me, I found it impossible to look at him. I knew I had to make things right for him. My own love for him wasn't as important as his happiness.

"Look," I said quietly, staring at the neatly manicured lawn on the far side of the pool. "We've been best friends forever. We'll always be that. We don't have to have this other thing. Not if it means you lose her. I can't let you do that. Let's just back off and be…be the way we were when we were younger. The way we were before we…before I…"

"You never quit, do you?"

He'd said it quietly, but his tone made me look up.

The look on his face confirmed what I heard in his voice.

He was furious.

"Jesus. You're never happy, are you, unless you can stick a goddam knife in my heart and twist it all around!"

"Matt…I…of course not! I just know that you…"

"Shut up," he spat. "God, why do I fuckin' give you the time of day? Why do I let you keep doing this to me?"

"Doing what?"

"You are such a damn coward," he said. "If somethin' don't work out exactly as you have it in your fucked-up head, you wanna bail. You say you love me, but you're always ten steps ahead of me, trying to think for me and make my damn decisions for me. It's always about what you fuckin' think; it's always about what you fuckin' feel. What I think and feel doesn't even count!"

"That is a goddam lie," I snarled. "Listen…"

"No, you listen," he yelled back. "I'm not finished."

He took several deep, hitching breaths.

"You talk like you love me so much. And on some level, I guess I know you do. But dammit, Andy, I am so goddam tired of everything always being about you when things are hard."

He paused, considering what he was going to say next. "I'm not saying you haven't been there for me, because you have, okay? But you're acting like it's the fuckin' end of your life or something, and it's not even about you."

"Dammit, Matt, it is about me! After everything we've been through, I can't believe you're saying this shit…I mean, you think I wanna fuckin' give you to her? You think I wanna say goodbye to nights like…like the other night?"

I felt the tears waiting to burst loose at the thought of never being able to make love to Matt again. But I had to do this for him, and his self-righteous indignation wasn't going to stop me.

"You don't even know what you're saying," I told him. "If I'm the guy who keeps you from finding love because you feel like you have to…"

I sighed. This was too hard. He should be appreciating me for this, not tearing me down. Didn't he see that I loved him so much I'd let him go to her instead of thinking of my own selfish needs first? His lack of sympathy infuriated me. 

"No way am I gonna live with the consequences of breaking you two up. You don't think I can make the sacrifice? I told you when we fixed things between us that I didn't need to…to be your lover."

"Give it a rest," he said. "Why are you always making problems where there aren't any problems? I'm so tired of this from you, and you've done it since you were eight fuckin' years old! Hell, maybe longer, for all I know!

"Look at your life. When have you not gotten everything you've wanted? When has life ever really caused you any fuckin' damage? You have God's own friggin' brain. You're a leader everywhere you go. You have talent comin' out of your ass. You're gonna marry one of the three most beautiful women we knew in high school, and she lets you make love to your best friend! You have parents and a brother and a sister who think you hung the moon and don't give a shit that you like dick. And you have me."

He put his face in his hands, rubbed, sighed, and continued.

"This problem with Julie? Yeah, it's a problem; a pretty bad one. But this is my problem, dammit. This is not about you and your stupid goddam guilt and shame that you seem to love more than you love any of us. What the fuck is up with that? Why can't you be someone I can come to while I work through this problem? Why do you have to make yourself into another problem for me? Why the fuck are you trying to make me choose between you and her?"

Indignant and almost ready to take a swing at him, I said, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say; I'm not doing that, I'm just…"

"No!" he shouted, cutting me off. "You don't get to talk. Not yet. I need you if I'm gonna get through this, dammit. If I'm gonna lose her or I'm not gonna lose her, I need you. I need what we have right now. I don't wanna step thirty feet back in our friendship; it'll feel like losing you all over again. Don't you get it? God, what will it take for me to make you get it?"

I tried to reason with him. "You need a woman in your life. We can't…we aren't…"

"That's true," he said. "But what the fuck does that have to do with you? Why are you so eager to hold me at arm's length? Do you have any idea how worthless you make me feel when you pull shit like this?"

"I'm not 'pulling shit like this,' Matt," I said, fuming. "All I'm doing is protecting what you have with her, and if you can't appreciate that…Look, the only reason you're doing this…this thing with me…Jesus, Matt, would you fuckin' tell the truth? The only reason you let me be your lover is because I want it. You know you're not that way. You're not like me like that. You said it yourself the first time we hooked up."

He glared at me. "And you're gonna punish me for the rest of my life for saying it."

"Fuck that," I said. "That's not even what this is about. We can't be…we can't set up house together. You don't want that. I don't want it either. So if we…if we can't be that for each other, I can't fuckin' stand in your way when you've met someone you love, especially because the only reason you're with me is to make me happy; you don't really want it."

He swallowed hard. "Go ahead, asshole," he said. "See how much more you can rip my fuckin' heart apart. Why not? You got your rocks off doing it when we were eighteen. And nineteen. And twenty. Why should it be any different now?"

He spat on the ground; then, as he looked up at me, I saw bitterness capture his face. In a low, self-deprecating tone, he said, "Fuck me for thinking we were over that shit. Fuck me for thinking you'd changed. Fuck me for getting yelled at for an hour by the girl I wanna marry because I'm not willing to stop loving you. Fuck me for coming by your goddam pool tonight with my heart bruised up and hoping I could get some understanding and encouragement and support from you."

His voice grew more intense, more bitter, as he said, "Fuck me for thinking that when I was hurting, I could come to you and you'd give me some love. I guess in this relationship, giving is my goddam job. Well, I'm sorry that my troubles with Julie have caused you so much heartache that you wanna just walk away from what you have with me...but I hope you'll understand when I say I just don't have it in me to support you right now. You'll have to get that somewhere else."

I was angry, and cut to the quick, and sad, and scared all at the same time. I didn't like being misunderstood, and his misunderstanding was doing a number on my guilt. I tried one more time to defend myself. "Jesus, Matt, you're not even thinking about this rationally. You think I want this? You think I'm just fine with the idea that I'll never be able to...I'll never get to make love to you again? But if you lose her because of me, you'll come to resent me, and if that ever happened, I don't think I could..."

He didn't let me finish. "Resent you? I'm not even gonna fuckin' dignify that total shit with an answer.  Just try and put yourself in my place for a minute, and tell me why what you just said is any different from what you did to me when we were eighteen. Think about what it says about what you think of me....You know what? Fuck that. Think hard about everything you've said tonight, and then tell me this is about anything but your own scared, selfish, distrustful ass."

I stood there, angry and silent, breathing hard.

Is he right?

Two minutes ticked away as we stared each other down.

The next coherent thought finally emerged:

What have you done, idiot?

As I began to see the sheer self-centeredness of my words, that question drove itself into my brain like a tent spike.

"Matt, I never…Please, babe…"

"Just shut up, Andy. I'm in a bad place, and I've already said things I don't mean. It was a bad idea to come here. Just finish up here and go home. I'll work it out."

I hung my head. "I'm sorry, Matt. I hate it when I get like this. You…you know I wanna be there for you whenever it hurts. I just don't see a way out of this where I don't end up losing something. And I'd rather lose having you as a lover than lose your love completely because she leaves you over me."

He laughed a little, but there was no joy in it. "Remember when we were little kids competing over who got to be the fuckin' alpha boy on the playground? Sometimes I hated you. In the moment, anyway. But of course I didn't. Because even when I was hating you, I knew I loved you. Well, that's how I feel right now. I just fuckin' hate you."

The words slammed into me hard.

"But I don't," he continued. "I can't. Of course I can't. It's just that when you get threatened, sometimes you're all about you. Do you have any idea how crazy that makes me? Especially because I know how much you love me. And I know how much you wanna be there, and how much you've been there over the years. You just panic sometimes, and when you do that, you go into this selfish all-about-me mode. I just wanna beat your face in when you get like this! If I had half a brain, I'd tell you to fuck yourself. But I won't."

His eyes narrowed to slits. He stepped toward me and got in my face. The rest of his words came out like they'd been launched from an assault weapon. "I'm always gonna love you, and I will never fuckin' give up on you the way you're always trying to give up on me."

I flinched and stepped back. My sudden retreat startled him, and I saw a look of regret hover briefly on his face. He put a hand to forehead and squeezed his temples. I watched him make himself unwind. Gradually, his breaths deepened and slowed.

He knelt down, picked up a stray rock he spied on the ground, and threw it over the fence. "My head hurts," he said. "I need to go. I gotta sort stuff out."

He walked away, shaking his head.

I stood there, watching him leave, stunned by the fight we'd just had.

When he got to the gate, he turned back. "Don't call me until you're ready to stop talking shit like this. You know what I need from you right now? You know how I want you to show me you love me right now? By fuckin' believing me when I tell you I'm your lover because I want to be. By fuckin' believing me when I say you're so important to me that I won't allow a woman to fuck up what we have…no matter how much I love her. When you're ready to do that, I'll be ready to talk to you."

He opened the gate and walked through it. Turning around to face me, he pulled it shut and added, "I'm not going anywhere. Never will. But until you stop making my trouble with Julie all about you…I don't wanna talk to you."

"Matt," I called out.

"Night, Andy. The ball's in your court. Again. Like it always is," he sighed. "Talk to you later."

He walked to his car, got in, and started up the engine.

As he drove off, I clamped my eyes shut.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I didn't know. But I'd show him I believed him tomorrow.

I had to. He needed me right now.

No fear or insecurity or fucked-up sense of guilt was more important than that.