Provoking the Punter

Chapter 19

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Every time Garrett stepped out onto the field to practice, he was painfully aware that if he didn’t get to play a game this season, there might not be a next season. He needed to be faster, cleaner, and more accurate than James every fucking time.

If he concentrated on the ball and his mechanics, he couldn’t worry about what the coaches knew or if were silently judging him instead of how he played. The only consolation he had was that if they had an issue, they would’ve cut him already.

Because if he wasn’t there next season, then there would be no more Chester.

What had begun as a mistake he wanted to make—or needed to make— had become something else. Neither of them were seeing other people, but they weren’t going on dates with each other, either.

And if that bothered him, it had to be bothering Chester.

He wanted to go out with him, to say that he was seeing someone instead of laughing off jokes about being single or not picking up.

He caught the ball, dropped it, and booted it down the field. He landed and took a couple of steps back, watching. It didn’t look too bad. It had a nice hang time.

Hulme turned to look at him. “That was a hell of a kick.”

“Yeah.” It had felt good leaving his foot. “A perfect snap, mate.”

All he had to do was repeat it again and again and again. He’d been making some of his best punts this week, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d settled in, or because the coaches were adjusting different things, but he was feeling fucking good.

Maybe it was the fucking.

He jogged off the field and James took his place.

“You’re looking good this week, Stevens. Looser. I like it,” Ross said.

“Thanks. Are you gonna tell me how good it was?”

“Sixty-six yards, 5.6 hang time.”

Nice. Not quite his best, but he’d been striving for consistency, instead of trying to beat his personal best. The question about this weekend’s home game rested the tip of his tongue. That Coach gave him more practice time with Hulme had to mean something.

His teammates were talking about the situation.

He watched James and said nothing. Not even when he noticed the older punter’s face tightening again when he landed. He’s been doing that all week, as if he were having problems or hiding an injury. Maybe he wasn’t hiding anything, and the coaching staff were aware of whatever it was, or maybe Garrett was seeing things that didn’t exist. He hoped it wasn’t because James was injured. He wanted in on his own merit.

But Cal didn’t seem to care that he was starting while Addy was injured. Unlike Garrett and James, Cal and Addy were close. Addy may not be playing, but he put the team first.

James and he swapped places again, each of them running through a few plays.

He backed up the last punt with another one just like it.

The football gods were smiling on him. Maybe all the stars would align, and he’d dress for the game, and everything would be fine. It was about time something went his way.

He didn’t expect good news when the special teams coach called him over. He expected another “Not this week, Stevens, you’re not quite there” talk. So he braced for disappointment, ready to nod and smile and agree that he had more work to do. That his movements could be smoother between the snap and his punt. That perhaps he wasn’t holding the ball just right for the kicker.

His gut churned the way it did every time he had to speak to any of his coaches. His lungs squeezed tight like a vise around his chest, as though breathing were optional. If he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t say something dumb.

Coach Ross checked his notes, and Garrett stood waiting. He was good at that. Most of his job was hurry up and wait.

“You’re working well with the rest of the guys.”

“It felt a lot smoother this week.” Which was the truth. Maybe some of that was simply getting used to the way they lined up and what plays they called. After everything he’d gone through trying to settle in, he wouldn’t wish a mid-season trade on anyone. The first week he hadn’t known what he was doing, the second week he’d been figuring it out, and finally, by the third week, everything had started coming together. This week was feeling tight.

“Good, because you’re playing on Sunday.”

Garrett stared at him for a couple of heartbeats, sure that he’d misheard. “I’m playing a home game?”

It was a stupid question as the coming weekend’s game was at home, in ATEX stadium. He’d thought for sure James would play.

“Yes. You’re running out in front of the fans. Full uniform.”

Garrett’s smile split his face. He wanted to hug Coach, but he also didn’t want to make it obvious. He’d been given the good news because James was still on the field. “Thank you.”

Coach Ross shook his head. “You put in the work, and you’ve been better this week. Which means Emilio will stop breathing down my neck about having both of you.”

Which meant some shit was about to happen. “James doesn’t know.”

“He’s about to… Why don’t you hit the locker rooms?”

Garrett didn’t need Ross to tell him twice.

He was almost to the locker room, head spinning with good news, and excitement, the waves in his stomach when he remembered his promise to Chester.

“Someone looks happy,” Yowie said with a wink.

Garrett nodded at the big, teasing captain of the defense, knowing that he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, nor was it his place to say anything until James was told, though he was sure Yowie could guess. And everyone would find out in a few minutes, anyway.

In the locker room, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of his hanging uniform. Then he sent it to Chester.

Guess who’s wearing gold pants on Sunday?

Not me, so I’m guessing it’s you. Congratulations, honey.

The three little dots appeared, and Garrett watched and waited for the rest of Chester’s comment.

Want to celebrate after the game?

That depends on if it’s a W or an L

Though, either way, there would be drinks with the guys.

I meant, do you want to celebrate in private or do you want a little longer to prepare?

I am so ready to celebrate now.

Chester sent back a laughing emoji.

Not going to happen, I don’t wanna mess up your game.

True. Do you want tickets?

Working, but the game will be on in the bar.

Garrett pressed his lips together. Did he need his not-yet-a-boyfriend to come to his games? No, but it might be nice.

Maybe when they were officially dating, when he was in a position to date Chester openly. He’d forgotten about the Harrison incident for most of the day. Garrett sat on the bench, imagining being in front of the cameras, holding Chester’s hand. If he was considering coming out, he needed to manage the situation proactively.

He should talk to Caitlin again. To see if there was a plan.

For the first time in his life, he wanted there to be a plan. And for someone to tell him how to make it right.

“You finally did it.” James said as he walked into the room. “You took my place.”

Garrett turned off his phone and dropped it into his bag. “Coach is giving me a chance.”

James shrugged as if he didn’t care. “It’s a dead game, anyway. We can’t make the playoffs.”

It was closer to impossible this week. But as it wasn’t impossible mathematically; it could still be done. “We can, but we need to win, and a couple of other teams need to seriously fuck up.”

That was the worst bit. Whether or not they got in was partially out of their control. Even if the Troopers won every remaining game, it wouldn’t be enough. But with James’ attitude, it was almost a guarantee they wouldn’t win.

“As I said, it’s a dead game, that’s why they’re playing you.” James said with a smirk.

Garrett considered him for a couple of seconds. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to go to sleep tonight. I’ll be treating it as a game we need to win.”

“We all will be.” Hulme crossed his arms and glared at James.

“You’re happy playing with him? We don’t know why Gary was traded.” James jabbed his finger at Garrett.

Garrett’s jaw tightened at the use of the hated nickname. “Patty, I have already told you what happened.”

“What did you call me?” James took a step towards him.

“You called me Gary, so I thought we were shortening our names and adding a Y on the end, Patty.”

“You think you’re fucking smart?” James’ lip curled in a snarl.

“If you don’t want to be called Patty, don’t call me Gary. It’s Garrett or Stevens.”

“Can you believe this guy?” James said to Hulme.

Hulme was silent for a moment, probably not wanting to be drawn into the argument, and Garrett didn’t blame him. He shouldn’t have pushed the issue, but James was being a dick. They all understood the reality of the situation, and that getting cut could happen at any time. James had been here since the Troopers started. What had Hulme said? James had gotten too comfortable?

“Yeah, I heard him. He told you what he likes to be called, and you ignored him. Keep doing it, and I’ll have everyone on the team call you Patty.”

James put his hands on his hips. “It’s like that, is it?”

“If it’s about calling people the name they prefer, yeah. Don’t read anything else into it, James.” Hulme walked over to his locker and grabbed his towel, heading for the showers.

James didn’t move. “You’ve got them all fooled, but there is something suspicious about you.”

“Look, if it’s not me, then some rookie next year. You were always gonna have to compete for your contract renewal.”

James might’ve beaten a rookie and kept his spot for another year. The only edge Garrett had over a rookie was that he’d played for one and a half years already. He’d made the big step up from uni football to the NFL. But a rookie probably wouldn’t have a simmering scandal and the word gay stamped across their ass.

James shook his head and turned away. “Was it worth it?”

“Was what worth it?”

“Traveling halfway around the world because you failed at home.”

Garrett gave a low laugh and picked up his towel. “I don’t call picking myself up and starting over failure. I’ve had to do it so many times, it’s second nature. I get up, I make a new plan, and I move forward. Not everything works out the way you want.”

Perhaps James was one of those people where life had been kind to him, and things had come easy. His parents loved and supported him, which meant every time he saw an obstacle, he never doubted that he could overcome it. Whereas Garrett assumed he was going to have to fight every step of the way. He was battle-hardened and covered in scars that no one could see.

And for the first time in his adult life, he had someone he could talk to, someone he trusted, although there was also a part of him that expected it to fall apart. Because that’s what good things did. They ended. Bruises were made, knees were skinned, and all he could do was get up and go again.

He didn’t want to think about life after Chester.

He wanted to bathe in the glorious moment where he got to step onto the field and then celebrate or commiserate, depending on the result, with his… his lover.

“You’ve got this game, but that doesn’t make you the starter for the rest of the season,” James called after him.

Garrett didn’t bother replying, and whatever James said next was drowned out by the running water.