Six Ways from Sunday (3 page)

“Dylan?” his mom said softly not quite an hour into the drive. She sounded wary, and tired, maybe a little angry but he couldn’t tell. After what she’d seen last week and how she’d reacted, he was lucky she’d even offered to drive him to the airport.

“Yeah, Mom?” He really didn’t want to talk about it. His feelings were too new. Too raw. The last night he and Bo had been together was the best night of his life. They’d done things that he’d only seen in porn. Bo’s mouth on him had been incredible. He’d fallen asleep every night since, aching for more of that. But they’d overslept and Bo’s mom had called to tell him they were ready to go and his mom had come to relay that message and walked in on them. And they'd been very naked, and very much sleeping together as in
sleeping together.
After she'd screamed and slammed the door, it had been icily quiet for days.

“Just tell me how long,” she said softly, her eyes straight ahead, her knuckles white on the wheel as if she would strangle it if it was alive.

“How long until what?” He could guess what she meant. He just wanted to make her say it. For some reason, he needed her to just spit it out. Gay, how long has he been gay?

“You and Bo. How many nights…how long…just I don’t know what I want to know.” He could hear tears in her voice, as if he’d caused her heart to break. He resented that she made this about her and her feelings and not about him and his feelings, or Bo’s feelings as if they’d done something wrong.

“I’m still the same person you’ve always known,” he said, still looking out the side window at the passing scenery. “Just because I’m—“

“Don’t say it, just don’t, you’re a Marine now, your father was a Marine, you played football, Bo…Bo, oh god, how long?”

He couldn’t answer that question. He didn’t want to, even if he could. One night or a hundred. There was no answer because he’d always loved Bo. It didn’t matter when it became physical.

“I need you to promise me something, okay, Mom? I need you to do one thing for me.”

She finally looked at him, her eyes shimmered for a moment. “If I can.”

“If something should happen to me—“

“Dylan, no, I don’t want to talk about this now.” She cut him off and went back to watching the road as if she wasn’t the one to bring any of this up.

“Mom, listen to me, okay, for once in your life listen to me. I need you to do one thing for me, that’s all.” She didn’t say anything, she swiped at her left eye but she stayed silent. “If anything happens to me, tell him, okay, in person. He deserves to know firsthand. Not from the news or from some stranger. And not on the phone. Promise me that one thing. Because I love him. Because I’ve always loved him.”

She turned the radio on, country music poured from the speakers, and the rest of the trip was her being icily silent and him staring out the window as if this wasn’t tearing him apart. He’d already lost his dad, now he was losing his mom too. All because she couldn’t accept that he could possibly feel something for his best friend. At the airport, he got out and waited by the back for her to pop the hatch open. There was nothing left to say. He was leaving and she was upset about something that he wouldn’t change.

“Does he love you?” He stopped at the shouted words and turned to find her about three steps behind him. “Does Bo share your feelings? That’s all I’m asking.”

“Yes, Mom, he loves me. Maybe it’s just stupid high school stuff, maybe it won’t last, but this is what it is. I’m gay. And if Bowen Murphy was female I’d have put a ring on his finger before I left him. But I can’t. Because this is Florida, and they might not let him play football. His parents don’t know. No one knows. Just the three of us. And that’s the way we want it. I love him. And I love you. And if anything happens to me. I don’t want him left out. He’s family, Mom, and I love you both. Just don’t leave him out because you can’t or won’t accept that we could love each other.” He shouted, over the sound of cars moving past them, and to cover the sound of his heart breaking. He couldn’t look at her, his heart couldn’t bear the pain of rejection.

She wrapped her arms around Dylan’s neck and held him. Tears burned through his shirt. “I love you. And—I hope I never have to tell him—“

He wrapped his arms around his mother and hugged her tight, “Me either. I hope no one ever has to tell anyone. The war is ending. It’ll be fine. It’s all just until the Iraqi government can take over and when we get Bin Laden—“

“Don’t say it, just don’t talk about it. Go have fun, play nice with the other boys. Call when you can.” Her voice broke but she held on tight. He didn’t want to let her go. After a week of silence, he didn’t want to let go.

“I’ll be home for Christmas.” He knew he lied. And she knew that he lied. She’d been a Marine wife; she knew what he was about to go through, probably better than he did. But she nodded and wiped her eyes. “You’ll see.”

“Yeah, I’ll make a huge turkey.”

“Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, Dylan. Now hurry or you’ll miss your plane.”

He walked away with his one suitcase full of the things he couldn’t leave behind. Pictures of his mom and dad. And Bo. The shirt Bo had worn the last night he’d seen him. It still had his scent on it. He turned once he was inside the airport, but she was gone.

“See you at Christmas.” The station wagon that had hauled him and Bo to many practices receded in the morning light and Dylan wiped the sting of moisture from his eyes. He didn’t know which Christmas but he’d keep that promise if it killed him.

Chapter Two

The fucking Super Dome. He stood on the field in the fucking Super Dome. Wearing black and gold. Nothing like it in the world. Even after two years this wasn’t old. He could do this forever. But tonight was special. The fucking Super Bowl in the fucking Super Dome and he was part of the home team. The fucking home team. What were the odds of that ever happening? Astronomical, because it had never happened before and Bo was on top of the fucking world.

Six years of working hard. Of taking hits that would have killed a smaller man. Of jumping higher than he’d ever jumped and doing what he never thought he was capable of. This was his reward, he stood in the end zone taking it all in. The show. The big show. The biggest fucking show on the planet. And he was in the middle of it.

The noise grew as the crowd grew. The place was already packed and more people were arriving with every second that passed. Seats were filling, music blaring. On a regular Sunday there was no hearing anything on the field. Even the headset in his helmet was drowned out by the fans. Tonight, he’d be deaf before the end of the game. Guaran-damned-teed.

“Hey, Butterfingers Murphy, you going to catch the ball tonight or stand around with your thumb up your ass like you usually do?” He heard that loud and clear. So did his teammates. They moved in tight as he turned to find the source of the taunt. Every damned hair on his body standing on end.

A trio of Marines stood just past the field goal. They were part of the opening ceremony. Three heroes for the military tribute obviously, all dressed in their dress blues and waiting to go on the field. Big shot heroes. Not so heroic now, were they?

They were supposed to ignore the crowd. Especially assholes trolling for a reaction. But this one he couldn’t ignore. Even if he was a Marine. “You think you can do better with some weak ass gun slinging, son, then let’s see it.” Moving toward the sideline, he dropped his helmet and ignored the hands that pulled him back, slipping out of their grasp in his eagerness to get his hands on the one who dared challenge him.

“Come on, Bo, them’s not ordinary Marines, man, them’s recon. Didn’t you hear about them? And why they’re part of the ceremony. You don’t fuck with recon, they’ll take you down.”

He kept moving toward the smart ass who’d called him out. The one standing tall and proud just in front. Almost as if he was at attention. The hard gleam from all three should have warned him. But he was a stupid mother fucker and he got up the loud mouth’s face. “Six fucking years and you just show the fuck up without telling me.” He didn’t care about any god damned thing except getting his arms around him. “Six damned years, Dylan. What the fuck, man?”

Dylan stood ram rod straight, not making a move, not saying a word as Bo shouted at him. He wondered if he’d crossed some line by hugging him when Dylan wrapped his arms around Bo’s neck, he was so stiff, so…he felt him breathe out a heavy gasp as he relaxed and held him tight. “I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know if I was going to make it until last night. Oh my god, you look so good. You’re fucking huge.”

“I look good? I’m a big sweaty mess. And you’re so damned…the uniform man, so formal and…I missed you so fucking much.” He didn’t care if he was acting like a baby. He squeezed his friend tight, holding on for dear life.

The crowd seemed to go quiet around him, but he assumed it was because his entire throat had decided to climb inside his ears. “I can’t breathe, Bo, and the cameras just found us.”

Bo let him go and stepped back, there was no hiding the tears that he couldn’t fight off. He didn’t even try. He wiped his face, never taking his eyes off his friend out of fear that Dylan would disappear. The idea that this was his one moment to say everything he was thinking and feeling overwhelmed him. “How long are you here for? Please don’t say you’re leaving right after the game.”

“I have a week and then I have to report back.” Dylan was in control, no tears, not even a blink or much more than a smile to clue Bo into what he was thinking. He just stood there with the other two, all of them so damned stiff, so hard. Every bit a Marine…a fucking Marine to the core. But Bo could see what he was looking for in his blue eyes. For just a brief moment, Dylan’s eyes softened and Bo caught his breath, six long years of hoping that he’d see that look again. And now he knew…nothing had changed. Nothing would change.

“Do you know how much trouble we can get into in a week?” Bo said, hoping like hell that he was spending that week getting into something with Dylan. Or just spend it getting into Dylan.

“I’m counting on it.” Dylan stepped up to him and with cameras flashing all around them, hugged him again. “We have a lot of catching up to do after you win this thing.”

Bo tuned back into his teammates standing just behind him, their mouths hanging open as they gawked. The noise in the stadium went from low roar to raging cacophony. Reporters, cameras, questions being shouted, lights flashing. It was all surreal. The fucking Super Bowl no longer mattered. All that mattered was making the next week mean something. All of this was now an inconvenience.

“The faster I get this over with then, the better.” God, he wanted to kiss him. So damned much.

“You get this over with and we’ll go find some trouble. Just like the old days.” Dylan shouted over the noise as his teammates came to their senses and started pulling him away from the sideline.

A buzzer sounded, echoing around the dome signaling time for fun was over; Bo had to go in to the locker room. His teammates dragged him away from the trio of Marines and the flashing cameras and reporters shouting questions.

He didn’t want to go. “I’m holding you to that. And you’re buying the first beer,” he shouted over the noise as someone shoved his helmet into his chest.

“You got it,” Dylan barked over the screaming and the music playing the Marine Corps Hymn. He lost sight of his friend as he was pushed and pulled into the tunnel leading to the locker room.

“Who’s the jarhead, Bocephus, you got a boyfriend in the Corps?” The jokes started before they made it inside. But they all knew not to take it too far.

“Yeah, dickhead, best damned quarterback I ever played with, and he can kill you more ways than you can even imagine.” Holy fuck, Dylan was recon, and he’d never once told him. Not once in all of the emails and Skype sessions they’d had over the years. Never. You’d think a person would share something like that with his best damned friend.

“I’m the best quarterback you’ve ever played with.” Came the reply from across the locker room.

Bo smiled because it was mostly true, and because it made Brody crazy when Bo rattled his chain. And a crazy Brody was always a great QB. “Yeah, but you kiss like a fucking girl.”

* * * * *

His intention was to keep a low profile. So much for intentions. He hadn’t counted on the media or Bo’s reaction. But god damn, it felt so damned good to get his arms around the man. Pads and all. He wanted more than a hug. More than a couple of shouted comments that he couldn’t remember but weren’t what he wanted to say. What he couldn’t say. And when he came off the field, the media descended. Officials had hustled him and his fellow Marines through the mess and into a private press box so that he wouldn’t have to explain. He’d have to explain enough when he got back. So many regulations forgotten just because Bo couldn’t keep his hands to himself. It didn’t matter. He’d risk anything to do it all over again. To see him, touch him, smell him. And watching him play, oh yeah, he’d risk the fires of hell just for another chance to watch Bowen Murphy play the game he was born to play.

Hours after the lights in the Super Dome went off and the cameras stopped flashing, he finally felt anonymous. Simply by going back to his hotel and leaving the uniform behind. In jeans and a leather jacket, he looked like just another guy out for a good time after the local team brought home the Lombardi Trophy.

The taxi carried him away from the parties, away from the city, to the address he’d held in his memory for the better part of a year now. Bo’s place was far off the beaten path. No city for him. Either of them. Like home. Or something close enough to it.

He paid the driver, giving him something extra to cover the distance, and climbed up the stairs leading to the second floor entrance. The house looked like something out of a movie. Not really big, but expensive to look at and old. The lights outside were soft. No cars sat around to indicate anyone was home. For a moment he worried that Bo would still be talking to reporters but the door opened and Dylan found himself inside and pressed hard against the wood before he could even raise his hand to knock.