Page 2 of The Locker Room

---

God, they loved this fucking game. Xander would live for it, Chris

would die for it, and together, they wouldneverstop creating spectacular

2

Amy Lane

feats of magic on the court. It was who they were, dammit, and not a soul

on the planet could take it from them.

Oh, please, God. Don"t let anyone take this from them. Please.

Chris"s hand slapped Xander lightly on the hip, and Xander"s eyes

slid down, a moment of softness in this hard-edged, bright-lit world, the

hot and shiny sunshine center of the magnifying glass.

Xander had learned a long time ago that it was so easy for the

world to take things away. Chris had been Xander"s only reason to

believe that sometimes, God gave them back.

The Locker Room

3

Home Cooking

Fifteen Years Earlier

It was cold, and the light was fading, but Xander was damned if he was

going home. His mother would be home, with her crack-smoking

boyfriend du jour, and they"d been inhaling and fighting and exhaling

and fucking, and the apartment would stink and there would be no food,

and if either one of them heard Xander hanging around, someone would

try to kick the crap out of him.

Xander was tall—six-foot, one inch, even at fourteen—but

sometimes he could swear the bones at his wrists were wider than his

biceps, and it didn"t help that there was never any food in the house, and

he didn"t feel like smoking crack to stop the hunger, like his mother kept

telling him to do.

So, it was late, and cold, but out here at the basketball court in the

community park, there was just him, and a street lamp, and his smoking

---