Page 102 of Sweat

“Yes!” I shout, the adrenaline pulsing through my veins screaming for joy, and I run straight to Tommy.

He’s grinning like he can’t believe it, like he just walked on the moon and made all his childhood dreams come true. I don’t know if it was his childhood dream to secure our spot in the championship round, but he sure as shit made it come true.

“That’s it!” I shove his chest and he stumbles back, dazed and elated.

Our teammates on the field and along the sidelines cheer Tommy on, but he zeroes in on me. Before I can blink, he lunges forward, grabs my face, and shoves his mouth against mine in a firm, impassioned kiss.

My heart stops, and my adrenaline turns sour. I don’t have to push him off me. By the time I realize what he’s done, he realizes it too.

Jumping back, his bulging eyes meet mine, and it’s like we’re caught in a vortex. Time stands still, but only in the immediate space surrounding us.

What the fuck do I do?

Before I can figure out an answer, the ball is back into play, and I switch my mind to game-mode where nothing else can touch me.

The clock winds down the final minutes of the match, and we secure our win. Yet, there’s nothing celebratory inside me. Inside, it’s all paranoia and fear, and in my effort to mask that, I turn to stone.

When Levi claps my shoulder and says, “Congrats, Cap. Did y’all sayI dofirst?” I stiff-arm him, and tell him to fuck off.

I try not to look pissed, but there’s only so much I can do when my whole body is on fire, and I need to get the hell out of here. It’s Armageddon, and I’m right here in the thick of it. Unprotected. Every single eye in the stadium feels like it’s on me, but I don’t check to verify. I beeline for my bag and retreat into the Davis locker room.

The guys filter in behind me, but I gather up my shit and head toward the showers. Just over the sound of my racing heartbeat, I hear Levi’s voice bouncing off the walls. “Yo, Tommy! You the Romeo to his Juliet, or is he the Romeo to your Juliet?”

Under a searing hot water spray, I brace my hands against the tiled wall and hang my head. I stare at the drain like it’s a hypnotist’s watch, letting the sight and sound of drizzling water lull me into stasis until my heart rate lowers to baseline.

Don’t be mad.

Don’t be mad.

Don’t be mad.

I can’t let myself be mad. Tommy did a dumbass thing, but I can’t be mad. For him, I can’t be mad. Tommy is more important than what Levi or anyone else thinks. Tommy is more important than everything. Except soccer. I need soccer like I need Tommy. More, actually. Because when I inevitably lose Tommy, soccer will always be there. It’s the only constant. If the scouts saw him kiss me, they could think I’m gay, and I don’t know if they’ll want a gay player over a straight one when it comes down to it. The smallest things can make the biggest impact. Tommy swore he would never come between me and soccer.

Don’t be mad.

I leave the shower with a towel around my waist, and I tug on a pair of underwear and shorts from my bag before going back to my team’s segment of the locker room. Of course, Tommy and I had picked lockers right next to each other, so when I get back to mine, there Tommy is.

Still in his jersey, he sits on the bench with his elbows on his knees. When I get close, he looks up at me with his innocent blue eyes that silently beg me for forgiveness. I gulp, not knowing what to say, silently or otherwise.

“Hey, Tommy!” our douchebag goalie calls out, voice already laced with laughter. “If you wanna get on the volleyball team next, I hear their captain is also a homo.”

Something clicks in my head, and now I’m fucking livid. My body moves on autopilot, leaping me over the bench and barreling me into the goalie. His name is Brandon. I’ve never met a Brandon who wasn’t a piece of shit. I force him against the lockers with my forearm jammed into his chest.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” I seethe. “Don’t ever talk to him again. You got shit to say, say it to me, motherfucker.”

“B-bro, it—it was a joke,” Brandon sputters.

“Rowan, Rowan.” My name in Connor’s voice coupled with his hands pulling me back has me releasing Brandon and a fraction of my anger. “Relax. It’s cool. No one’s gonna say shit anymore.” Keeping an arm around my shoulders, he sends everyone a pointed look. “Right, guys? No one’s gonna say shit anymore.”

I shrug away from Connor and march back to my locker. Head still in a flurry, I plant myself on the bench beside Tommy and hook my hand on his shoulder, kneading his tensed muscle. The voices of our teammates fade to the background of my mind so I can focus on Tommy’s pouted mouth as they form the words, “I’m sorry,” softer than a whisper.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him, even though I’m so chock-full of worry I can hardly stand it. I just don’t want Tommy to worry. He’s mine, so whatever consequences come from this, it’s on my back.

“Hughes!” McDonough’s gruff voice shouts from the doorway.

The chatter in the locker room simmers, and I pop my head up over Tommy’s bowed one. “S’up, Coach?!”

“Your mom’s here!”

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