Page 144 of The Locker Room
make himself feel better. They both knew—he"d taken a look at
Denver"s schedule, and Sacramento"s schedule, and the practice
schedules, and it was a real possibility that the man he"d seen every day
since he was fourteen might not be able to touch his hand or quiet his
fears or touch his body until the NCAA break in March. At least they
were both playing the All-Star Game.
“All-Stars,” Chris murmured glumly, and Xander was so pissed off
to hear Chris say it, he kicked a rock lying in the road.
It was attached to a basketball-sized boulder, lying under the
decomposed granite of the pathway, and Xander"s follow-through and
124 Amy Lane
connect broke his toe—truly, broke it. He"d done it the year before when
he ran into the bleachers during the game, and had played on it for the
entire season, and he remembered the pain, and he remembered the
feeling and oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckit fucking hurt,
and now he"d have to play on it all-fucking-over. His swearing could be
heard out over the lake, and the dogs came back to whine at him
worriedly, and Chris, not sure what to do about the situation from a
thousand miles away laughed bitterly over the phone until Xander
hobbled through his front door, desperate for some ibuprofen, some
Pepto-Bismol, and some motherfucking ice.
HE PLAYED on it. Ofcoursehe played on it. And when he was running
during practice, no one even noticed he was in pain. It wasn"t until the
coach blew a whistle for a halt that he started to limp, and as the court
doc came running up to check him out, the coach snapped, “It"s just
because his little boyfriend isn"t there to carry him! Leave him the hell
alone!”
Xander wasn"t really sure what happened to the ball in his hand.
One minute he was dribbling it slowly, and the next minute it was
rebounding off the wall by Wallick"s head. Wallick was fit, though—
