The Locker Room (36 page)

Xander dropped a kiss in her hair and said goodbye to Jed and

Andi, and then, finally, he had some time alone with the love of his life.

God, he was nervous as hell.

“You"re looking better,” he said, hunching his shoulders like he did

when he wished he was shorter.

Chris had color and animation in his battered face, but his eyes

were cloudy with painkillers, and his lips were tight with pain.

“Shut up and come here.”

Xander did, pulling up a chair and sitting close to the head of the

bed. Chris grabbed his hand tight, and Xander felt the tension in his arms

as he clasped the hand tight and shuddered the tension out of it.

“I"m sorry,” Chris slurred, and Xander was pretty sure he was

exhausted, just from spending the morning awake.

“No worries.”

“Shut up, asshole. I"m sorry about crashing the car, and drinking

too much, and fucking up basketball for you—”

Xander couldn"t stand it. “You didn"t,” he said, kissing that taut,

bony hand. “You didn"t ruin anything for me. You made it beautiful all

our lives, Chris, how"re you going to ruin it for me?”

The Locker Room 205

“Just let me apologize, dammit!” Chris was really distressed—his

little life-support monitor started beeping faster, and Xander subsided,

kissing his hand again. “I… I was never as strong as you, Xander. I

wasn"t. And now our whole lives—”

“Are ahead of us,” Xander told him, meaning it. “They"re ahead of

us. You get better, I"ll knock out a couple of games, and… God, Chris.

There"s nothing we can"t do, right? Start a foundation? Breed champion

puppies? You name it. You"ve got the brains, I"ve got the muscle…

we"re a team. Just not on the court, right?”

Chris nodded, and tears—of weakness, of exhaustion, of pain,

Xander could only imagine—slid down his cheeks, and Xander leaned

forward and took over, because now he knew he could.

“Listen to me,” he said softly. “You can"t play anymore. You know

it, and I"m not going to lie to you, baby. It"s going to suck. It"s going to

hurt. But you know what? I"ll go out and play for you, okay? I"ll take

you onto the court in every game, and you can sit back, and get better,

and you can know every shot"s for you, alright? My whole life, all I

wanted was basketball and you. Now, it"s all you. I"ll play the game, but

it"s all about you, okay?”

Chris nodded, closing his eyes really tight and keeping back a little

choking sound. “God, Xander,” he rasped. “I really wanted you to go out

and play for yourself.”

“Well, I"ll do that too,” Xander said, as though it made perfect

sense. “But afterward… even if I sign another contract, even if I keep

playing, there"s going to be more for us, you hear? We"re going to go out

to restaurants and hold hands. We"re going on road trips and staying in

any hotel room we want. We"re going to have something beyond

basketball, and we"ll love it, because we"ll both be doing it, okay?”

Chris shook his head, and it was clear that he didn"t have any idea

what Xander was talking about—but he would. Xander would make it

clear to him.

“Don"t worry, baby. Just get some sleep now. I"ve got you.”

“I love you, Xan.”

“Love you, Chris.”

206 Amy Lane

CHRIS"S eyes closed, and Xander started making plans for post-pro-ball.

Leaving him to go face down Boston for the playoffs was easier

than he thought. Maybe it was because Chris was doing better, but in

small increments, and Xander was starting to feel useless and cooped up

in the hospital, watching his lover sleep, but that wasn"t the main reason.

The main reason was that at most, it would be an eight-day separation,

and Xander would be right back at his side.

Penny and Mandy went back to Sacramento with him, because they

both had jobs, now that Chris was out of the woods, and because Mandy

needed to rehearse with the dancers so she could perform. Xander spent

the plane ride thinking about the game.

He was starting to think that maybe, just like Chris"s rookie, he had

nothing to fear, and nothing to lose.

That"s just how he played, for all four games.

The papers had been predicting a tense showdown, and maybe a

seven-game series, but Xander hauled the team down the court

relentlessly. They actually got “bleeped” on television, because their

mantra, “Get the fucking ball down the fucking court and into the

fucking net!” was loud enough, concerted enough, to make it on the

mike. The whole team was fined—and no one cared.

The Sacramento Kings had made it into the playoffs twice in the

past ten years, but only because Karcek and Edwards had taken the floor.

They hadn"t made it through the first series in nearly fifty—and that had

been when they were at Kansas City and not even in Sacramento, so it

didn"t count. The press said they were on fire. Leo practically wept at

every game because, he said, it was so beautiful. Xander simply

launched himself into the air like he didn"t have anything to lose when

he came down.

How could he have anything to lose? Chris would live, and he was

playing basketball—everything was in the now.

When the fourth game was done, (it was played in Boston) and the

team was leaving the locker room to go celebrate, Burkins and Aames

double-teamed him.

The Locker Room 207

“Get your ass off the fucking phone and get in the limo, Karcek!”

Burkins snapped. “We don"t want to have to tie you up and haul you out

for a victory drink!”

Xander smiled, the next few words coming out of his mouth easily.

“Thanks guys, but really, I was just trying to book a flight to Colorado so

I could go check on Chris, okay?”

Aames and Burkins looked at each other sideways. Then they both

got out of the limo, followed by Wilson and Pollack, and before Xander

knew it, Aames had snatched his phone, and the other three (cheered on

by an injured Oswald from inside the limo), literally picked Xander up

and threw him in the car.

For a minute, he thought about being legitimately angry, but then

he looked at them, without the buffer of Chris by his side, without the

intensity of the game in his glare, and realized that they were… grateful.

The team was doing well, and he was a part of that, and they were

grateful for him. They wanted to see him have a good time.

“I guess one beer couldn"t hurt,” he muttered good-naturedly.

“Now let me call my driver—tell us where we"re going, and he can come

in and have some dinner.”

The team cheered, even the second string (because some of them

were in the limo too) and at the end of it, Xander had a nice time.

While he was thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts (not brought on by

the beer—he only had one), Burkins came up to him, working on his

third or sixth beer, and tried to have a “private” conversation in a loud

and boozy voice.

“You"re a good guy, Xan,” he said. “You "n Edwards, you"re good

guys. You keeping tabs on Edwards?”

“Yeah,” Xander said with a faint smile. He had, in fact, been

texting with Chris, so he could explain why he wasn"t going to be there

that night. “He"s recovering.”

Burkins nodded gravely, a bit of a sheen on his mahogany skin in

the dim light of the bar. “See, tha"s the thing. You and Edwards. You"re

not just buddies, you feel me?”

208 Amy Lane

Once, the words would have panicked Xander, but not now. He

was unafraid. He literally had nothing to lose that he wouldn"t give up

voluntarily, and he didn"t care who knew it.

“I"m well aware,” he said drily, and Aames sidled up, his light-

brown features not nearly as slack nor as sweaty as Burkins"s.

“Don"t talk like that,” he hissed at Burkins. “Man, Coach gets wind

of that… now shut it.”

Burkins shrugged. “You know it,” he slurred. “I know it. Doesn"t

make no difference, my brother.” Xander was the recipient of a
very

drunk hug, and he had to smile a little. He was pretty sure Burkins had

no
idea what he was talking about.

But then Aames opened his mouth and proved that they both did.

“Man, Burkins, you are the dumbest motherfucker on the face of

the fucking planet. Do
not
talk about that in front of the rest of the world.

That was
our
conversation, and we both agreed we didn"t give a fuck,

now leave Xander alone so he can politely finish his beer and go off and

see Edwards like he"s dying to do, okay?”

Xander looked up, suddenly alert. “You don"t give a fuck about

what?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Aames glared at his drunken teammate, swallowed hard, and said,

just as quietly. “Look, man. It"s okay, okay? You guys… we get it. We

get it. He"s not your buddy, he"s not your brother, he"s more than that.

Look, Xander—we didn"t have to watch very hard to watch you breaking

your heart over the guy.”

Xander swallowed and raised his eyebrows. “And?”

Aames shrugged. “Man, you are taking us through the playoffs like

a parent takes their kid through the zoo. I don"t care what you got to do

or
who
you got to do on your off-hours, but you keep doing that, right?

I"m not going to worry about it.”

Aames held up his beer bottle in the time-honored gesture of

fellowship, and Xander grinned appreciatively. “Then here"s to no

worries,” he said for Aames"s ears only, and together, they clinked their

bottles in understanding.

And that was Xander"s cue. He texted his driver, and since he was

already packed and ready to go, they headed for the airport.

The Locker Room 209

CHRIS hadn"t been kidding about the party. The next morning, there

were purple streamers and plastic bottles of soda on ice for him, and the

nurses, at least, put their disappointment in Denver"s series loss to New

York aside and congratulated Xander heartily.

Xander smiled shyly and drank a round of diet soda with Chris to

celebrate, and then he got on to more important news.

“Your parents talked to your doc—can you wait two more weeks to

get out of here?”

Two more weeks—and one more victorious playoff series. It took

two more weeks for Xander to prep the downstairs so Chris could spend

most of his time in a hospital bed down there. It took two more weeks for

Xander (with the girls supervising when he couldn"t be there) to have the

entire place remodeled, with a chair lift to Chris"s upstairs bedroom, and

a special shower so Chris could sit down when he bathed. It took two

more weeks so Chris could heal enough to be moved.

Two more weeks. It wasn"t long—they"d lived without for longer,

and the prospect of there being a light at the end of the tunnel was like

permanent intoxication for Xander. It was the speed in Xander"s veins,

the thing that got him down the court, and the shining star that watched

Xander in his sleep.

Chris was coming home.

210 Amy Lane

Star to Steer By

NEVER before had basketball felt so… liberating.

Xander did exactly as he always did—except now, he did it without

fear. Aames and Burkins knew. Hell, maybe the whole team knew. But

they wanted him out for a beer, and they were proud to play ball with

him, and in spite of what the coach screamed down the court as he ran,

that sort of thing gave a man confidence.

Plus, there was the fact that he was on the court for Chris.

Being on the court for Chris had made all the difference during the

second series. Chris"s bones were healing, and physical therapy was still

months away, but as Xander watched the doctors change the bandages,

as he saw his lover"s blood seep from still-oozing wounds, as he saw the

places in the flesh where bones had ripped through muscle and skin,

Xander had two options.

One was to run from the room, sobbing and retching because, oh,

God… oh God. Chris. Chris whose body had been so beautiful, who had

been so bright and buoyant, so vital, even in sleep… oh God. Oh baby.

All that pain….

But doing that wasn"t an option. Chris looked down at his ruined

body and cracked grim jokes: “Ohmigod! I could be a villain in an

Austin Powers movie!”

“I thought you were already Goldmember.” (Xander had managed

a smile with that one—he"d never say how much the smile had cost

him.)

“Dude! Compliments will get you anywhere you want! But this?”

He gestured to the leg that was being rewrapped in gauze as they sat.

“This is epic. This is like Patchwork Man or the Human Quilt.”