Chapter 2

“But then I’d think of you and I reminded myself that my heart belonged only to one man.”

“Aww, baby.” Colton leaned over and gave Dennis a kiss.

Brett shook his head and looked down at his plate. Sometimes his dads’ mushiness made him uncomfortable. No, that wasn’t true—he was envious of what they had.

“So, son,” Colton asked, “you and Clay got something special up your sleeves for the game?”

Brett was one of the team’s tight ends, and Clay a wide receiver. Still chewing, Brett merely nodded. Though he knew his dads would never reveal team tactics to anyone, he still wouldn’t give away anything that might help the other team. And to their credit Colton and Dennis would never ask him to.

Talk of Clay brought back memories of earlier that day when Brett was packing up his dorm room…

* * * *

A quick knock on the open door was soon followed by a familiar voice saying, “Hey, bud.” Clay Parker, dressed in baggy jeans, red T-shirt, and a college hoodie,loped in. “What ‘cha doin’?”

Brett looked down at the half-filled suitcases on his bed. “Uh, movin’ out.”

The silence which followed had Brett looking back up at his teammate. Gone was the guy’s usual laid-back expression. Clay looked…stricken.

“What? Why? I mean, I thought with that Dennis dude leaving, you an’ me could, like, be roomies.” Clay nervously picked at the pocket of his hoodie.

When Brett had passed over, Clay had been assigned to be his guide. Their shared interest in football and the fact they were both gay led to them forming a close bond. Brett strongly suspected Clay wanted more, but Brett couldn’t, not when he had promised himself to Gavin.

“Sorry, man, but my dads offered me their spare room, an’ well, this place just hasn’t been the same since Dad Dennis left.”

“Yeah, sucks to be alone.” Brett knew Clay’s roommate had moved out some time before and no one had been assigned to occupy the spare bed.

“Wanna give me a hand packing up?” Brett instantly regretted asking when he saw Clay’s strong chiseled features fall even further.

“Sorry, dude, uh, need the can. Sorry.” Clay fled.

Brett sat on the bed that used to be Dennis’s and stared at the open door. “Fuck, that went well.” He knew he should have told Clay earlier he was moving out. The two of them had been real close once, before Brett had been charged with being Dennis’s guide.

* * * *

“Son?” Colton asked.

Brett shook his blond head and looked up at his dad. “Sorry, miles away.”

“Anything wrong?” Dennis asked, putting down his fork and wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.

Brett had never held anything back from Dennis, and soon after Colton’s arrival, Brett knew he could trust the ex-firefighter, too. This had been made certain when Colton asked if Brett would mind if Colton called him ‘son.’

“It’s Clay. He, uh…” Brett played with the slices of tomato on his plate. “I hurt his feelings earlier.”

“How?” Dennis asked.

The man knew of the close friendship the two athletes had shared before Dennis’s arrival. He’d worried aloud to Brett that he shouldn’t neglect his friend outside of football. But sensing Clay’s attraction to him, Brett had used Dennis as an excuse to put some distance between them—something Brett was now regretting. Clay was a great guy, and if it weren’t for Gavin, then…

“Do you want to invite him over for supper after the game?” Colton asked.

Brett started to shake his head in the negative, but found himself saying, “Yeah, thanks.”

“You could invite Clay for a sleepover if you wanted,” Dennis said.

Colton rolled his eyes and Brett snickered.

“I’m a bit old for that sort of thing. Besides…” Brett wasn’t sure it would be appropriate, plus he didn’t know if he’d be able to resist Clay’s big, chocolate-brown eyes if Clay asked if they could mess around.

* * * *

The game had been close. Brett’s team snatched a last-second victory, and Clay managed to snap out of his earlier melancholy, helped no doubt by Brett’s invitation to come over for a post-game feast.

“Wow, that interception in the final few seconds,” Colton enthused, offering Clay another slice of key lime pie. “Man, it stopped him from scoring. And that would have won them the game! Talk about poetry in motion.”

Clay accepted the pie. “Yeah, even Coach admitted we completed our assignments satisfactorily.” He snorted. Coach was a hard-ass and rarely gave out unqualified praise.

Brett was tired and achy. He’d taken a few hard knocks during the game. Stifling a yawn, he tried to keep up with the conversation.