The Brotherly Shove

6. Lennon

CHAPTER 6

LENNON

Now

Redwoods Practice Facility

Jesus fuck. I spent every single day of the off season working on something — lifting heavy as fuck shit, agility training, conditioning, ice baths and heat treatments. I really thought I kept myself limber, loose and ready to go on day one of training camp.

I thought wrong. I am wrecked.

Today was a never ending cycle of drills. Throwing, catching, snapping footballs, sprints, tackling 300 pound sandbags and getting knocked over by athletic trainers whacking us with huge padded dummies as we try to run and hold on to the ball. The temperature rose to about ninety around mid afternoon, and in all that gear plus the helmet and guardian cap on my head, I don't think I have any sweat left in my body. It's all either soaked into my undershirt or forming a river out on the field. I love this game, but goddammit it's brutal.

"Yo man, solid first day," my teammate Tyree Kasper says while patting me on the back. We got news today that Cannon is on IR and won't be eligible to practice or play the first few games of the season, so Kasper and I spent some time today working on our exchange. He'll be filling in as starting quarterback for the foreseeable future, so we'll be on the field together a lot. There are a few kinks to work out—the guy could work a little harder on improving his grip, but we didn't fumble a single snap, so that bodes well for our gameplay.

"Yeah, Ty, it was solid alright. I think as long as we keep putting the effort into these practices and keep up the communication, we'll be a tight fit out there on gameday," I say, pulling my tee shirt over my head as we leave the field and head towards the locker room.

"We'll have to get the new kid involved, too. Gotta make sure you fit as well."

"We will, but trust me, Breaker and I gelling is not gonna be an issue. We played together in college. We're tighter than a bear hug from a wrestler." I throw my shit into my locker and wipe the sweat off of my face with a fresh shirt. I'm definitely hitting the showers before I head home, no need to make my new car smell like musty jockstrap.

"Or like a hug from a big fucking bear like you?" Ty asks, laughing, and I chuckle, too.

"Exactly!" I lunge towards him, arms spread wide and ready to tackle. Tyree avoids the sack, ducking and weaving under my arm like a pro.

"Rookie, tell your boy to keep his slimy ass away from me!" he calls out, and I turn to see Breaker standing at the end of the row of lockers, fresh from the shower. His wet hair is combed back and out of his face and his skin is flushed pink from the water I know he had set to 'scald your balls off' hot. My eyes travel down his body to his six pack abs, right down to the deep cut Adonis belt muscle that points straight to where his white cotton towel is wrapped around his hips.

I quickly avert my gaze, trying not to come off so suspicious. I'm a professional football player. I see half naked and naked dudes all the time. Hell, I've seen Breaker naked a hundred times. I just stopped looking once I realized how hard it became to look away.

It's a shame I wasted all that time staring at the floor instead of him. He's goddamn beautiful.

And see? That thought right there is what had my mind all twisted up in knots last year. I always just assumed that I was straight. I could appreciate the male form. I'm an athlete, I see a guy who clearly takes care of his body and I respect it because I know how hard he must work to keep his physique looking that way. Never did I see a guy and think 'yeah, that gets me going'. Not until Breaker.

The first time I got hard over him, he was putting on a belt after an away game in Chicago. It was during my junior year. I mean sure, his hands were near his groin, but what did it for me was the way those hands moved as they fed the leather through the silver coated buckle, the way he nudged the prong through the third notch from the center with the his knuckle, the prominent veins on his hands that disappeared under the edge of the hunter green long sleeved tee with the frayed edges that he was wearing that day. He wore that shirt a lot, and during football season, it always stretched a little tighter across his chest from the extra lifting he would do.

Okay…maybe I noticed Breaker on a different level sooner than I remember.

Anyways, the belt. His hands. It was so ordinary, something I'd seen him do a dozen times, but for some reason on that particular Saturday afternoon, Breaker buckling his belt was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. My mouth went dry and my cock thickened in my pants and I ran out of the room so fast I nearly tripped over the lip in front of the hotel bathroom door. To top it off, he called to me from the other room telling me he made a reservation at a place that served deep dish pizza. He always hated deep dish pizza, but he knew how much I loved it. He did that for me.

Not putting my hand down my pants and rubbing one out to the thought of my best friend's considerate as hell act was a feat of strength I was most definitely not capable of.

It's clearly not just a sex thing, though I have done my fair share of one handed research on the other side of the porn fence in the last year and…yeah. There's definitely some all guy stuff that gets my gears going. I haven't actually hooked up with another guy before, and I'm not at a point where I can feel like I put a label on my sexuality, but I can say for certain that I am not straight.

"Lennon," Breaker snaps in my face.

"Huh?" I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Breaker put on pants at some point while I was daydreaming. I'm sad to see the towel go, but I'm happy to have missed him changing. His bare ass is the last thing I need to see right now. "Sorry, I was thinking."

"Yeah, I know that's tough for you, big guy." He pats my shoulder in mock sympathy.

"Fuck off. I think good as shit." He snorts as he pulls a gray t shirt over his head, but he doesn't say anything else. It's awkward, and I don't know why. Breaker and I don't have uncomfortable silences, we have conversations and inside jokes and companionable silences. I could blame it on the fact that I was just thinking about his bare ass, but that's not it. I did that plenty when we were still playing college ball together, and it was never awkward. Maybe it's the time we've spent apart? I try to think of the last time we had a conversation that lasted more than a few texts back and forth.

It had to have been almost a year ago.

That just won't do.

"You wanna go grab a bite, catch up a bit? The chicken and veg they gave us for lunch did absolutely nothing for me." I rub my belly for emphasis, and to try to squeeze one of Breaker's signature giggles out of him. The 'big boy belly rub' move almost always works.

"Nah, not tonight. I'm still unpacking and trying to settle into the new place. I'm just gonna go home," he says, packing up his bag. Not a giggle to be heard for miles.

"No big. Tomorrow? There's this Japanese place a few minutes away. They've got some killer sashimi, so we can go hard and don't even have to worry about the team dietitians coming after us for our carb intake."

"Maybe some other time, Lennon," he says without looking at me. He turns and walks out of the locker room without saying goodbye, and a lump forms in my throat. Shit, I was afraid of this. It all hits me at once. Every missed FaceTime call, every missed text message. It all validates what I felt the night of our last college championship win together, the night where he looked like he'd rather be anywhere but in that hotel room with me.

Breaker is pulling away from me, and he's taking my heart with him as he goes.