Page 5 of Slam Dunk
He really hoped his smile wasn’t as brittle as it felt. “Hey. Sorry. I can’t stay. My mom just called as I pulled in and she needs some help today. But can I please throw myself on your mercy?” He pulled the tickets from his back pocket. “Will you please come to my game tomorrow night? I haven’t had anyone on the sidelines since game one. It’s—”
“Of course.” Artem didn’t hesitate to take the tickets while stopping Jathan from having to humble himself even more. “I’d love to be there. Why didn’t you say something before I went out of town? I would’ve stayed so you’d have someone.”
Jathan still couldn’t breathe properly. “I had high hopes Mom would make it, but she’s had the flu. She’s not really getting better.”
Artem pulled a face. “Be careful visiting her, then. It’s going around hard right now. You don’t want to get knocked out of the game. I know how much it means to you.”
Jathan kept nodding. That was exactly why his mom had told him to stay away.
Artem’s gaze moved over his face. “Are you okay? What else is going on?”
Jathan tried harder to smile. “I’m good. Just under a lot of pressure and stress right now. I really needed this day with you today, but it’s my mom.”
Artem closed the distance between them and hugged him. “Can I come to you? We can work on pottery later. Never mind. I’m not asking. I’ll be at your place at six with dinner and we can stay up all night talking. Tip can live without me for one night.”
He was Jathan’s best friend for a reason. Artem was always there. He was all Jathan needed. Fuck Quince. “Sounds great. I’d love that, actually.”
Artem took a step back. “I’ll be there. Okay? I love you.”
The pressure eased in Jathan’s chest. “I love you too. See you in a few hours.”
Artem nodded. “Be careful on the drive home.”
Jathan kissed Artem’s cheek. “I will.” He turned and jogged down the front steps. Jathan walked with purpose. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
When he reached his SUV, Quince stepped from the barn. “Can we talk?”
Jathan leveled his most hate-filled look at Quince. “No. You don’t have shit to say to me.” He climbed inside his Hummer and backed from the driveway without looking back. Quince had already said all Jathan needed to hear. There was no need for them to ever talk again.
In all his years, Quince had never felt worse. Honest to God, he had no idea why he had done that. That wasn’t true. When he had seen Jathan’s Hummer pull into the driveway, his reaction had scared the fuck out of him. He had been thrilled… and hungry. Fuck. His. Life. He wanted Jathan. Once, when he was a teen, a friend had spent the night and come onto him in the middle of the night. Quince hadn’t said no. That was the first and only time he had done anything with a guy. They had never spoken again. Quince hadn’t thought anything about it. He had been in those years where he got hard rubbing against his jeans the wrong way. Of course, he had been down to get off any way he could.
This was different. He was the one who wanted something. It had him fucked up. Where was he supposed to go with that? Goddamn it. He’d had the best time with Jathan. Too many things were becoming clearer. All the times he had watched Jathan when he had been there with Artem. He hadn’t fully realized that infatuation hadn’t been about Jathan being his favorite basketball player. He had wanted to get closer to Jathan. Quince always fought to find reasons to be near him. He got hit with all that at once and then Jathan had been there—all smilesand sunshine. Quince’s shoulders fell. He was a pussy. No more or less. He was a coward.
Darkness fell. Quince’s muscles screamed. He had worked himself to death in punishment. Plus, he wanted to fall into bed and pass out at the end of the day. Quince couldn’t go to bed with Jathan’s hurt expression stuck in his head. And how fucking vain was he, thinking Jathan could actually want him? Like just because the guy was gay, he wanted every guy he was nice to. Quince moved to a nearby bale of hay and sat. What was wrong with him? That should have been his first thought. Quince was forty, for fuck’s sake. Jathan was twenty-seven, gorgeous, and famous. Rich. Quince was absolutely nobody. He was an idiot.
“I thought I saw you moving around out here.” Tip’s voice pulled Quince from his thoughts.
He focused on the polished retired soccer player who hired him twelve years ago. They were both older. Hell, that wasn’t hard for Tip. At the time, Quince had thought he was taking a huge risk on a nineteen-year-old newly minted millionaire. Little had he known Tip would turn out to have an older and wiser soul than anyone alive. He had been good to Quince. They were friends.
“Hey. Yeah. I had a lot to catch up on. Two of the guys are out with the flu.”
Tip nodded. His hazel eyes always looked too serious. “It’s odd how hard that virus has hit this year. I didn’t think people really caught that this time of year, but what do I know?”
A lot, in Quince’s opinion. He was one of the smartest people Quince knew. Tip had taken his first million and turned it into hundreds of millions. In some ways, he was a bit of a genius.
“Yeah. I’m trying my best to avoid that shit.”
With his hands in his pockets, Tip turned in a circle, eyeing everything. Quince knew what he saw. The barn was spotless. Quince had been serious about killing himself. “Jathan’s mom has been down for over a week now and still has a fever. She’s missed all this set of playoff games. I gather he’s been a little down about no one coming to cheer him on.”
Fuck. It just kept getting worse. “I went the other night. It cost a goddamn arm and a leg.”
Tip focused on him. He held Quince’s stare. “I heard.”
Oh no. Tip knew, and he wasn’t happy. Quince refused to say anything and incriminate himself. “Where’s Artem tonight? It’s not like you to hang around out here?”
Tip paced away. He moved to pet Artem’s horse, Ginger. “He went to spend the night with Jathan and get wine drunk. You’ve worked for me a long time.”
It really was as bad as Quince suspected. He couldn’t lose this job. This was his home. He literally lived on property and had made this job his life. “Twelve years.”
