Page 244 of The Locker Room

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“You got a better name, Karcek, then spit it out!”

“Crazylegs,” Xander said with a smirk, and Chris let out a guffaw.

It was cut short by a wince, and Xander"s hand—tightly laced with

Chris"s during the procedure—took Chris"s clench of pain in silence.

So running out of the room like a child was not an option. But

Xander told Chris as he"d left that day, as he told Chris every time he

had to leave for the court, “I"m playing for you. I"m running for you,

jumping, shooting—it"s your heart in my body, you hear?”

It was the only time Chris ever let his pain show through. His eyes

would grow bright, and he"d swallow hard, and say, “Win, asshole.

You"re going to play for me, you"d better wipe the floor with the

competition, right?”

“Of course!”

Chris"s returned kiss, his cheery, unforced smile—even lined with

pain, it was always a whole-hearted smile—the squeeze of his hand in

Xander"s, these were the things that got Xander across the court like he

had wings. These were what made playing into his joy. More than one

sportscaster said you could practically see the glow of perfection off of

Karcek"s movements. And every press conference, Xander said the same

thing.

“This one"s for Edwards, right.”

He would look at Coach Wallick as he said it, and he got grim

satisfaction in watching the man flinch away.

SO THE house was ready, and more importantly, Chris was ready, by the

end of the break after the second round. (This one took six games—but

Xander hadn"t worried, even during the two losses.) During the

weeklong break, when the other teams were playingtheirseries games,

Chris came home.

He"d been heavily sedated during the transport in the private plane,

and had woken up the next day in the bed in the front room, looking out

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