Chapter Four #2

We get back home and I settle Cupcake in front of the fireplace.

It’s her favorite spot in the whole house because she has a view of the beach to the back, fireplace in the winter, and the kitchen where I spend much of my time.

I love to cook, and it’s a safe place for me.

Back in San Diego I used to bake for my teammates, which all of them appreciated.

Sometimes I’d have them over to the house for big team bonding dinners, or cookouts in the offseason, since I lived in San Diego.

Lots of the lesser paid players go home then, back to places where it’s cheaper to live.

I decide to clean the kitchen before starting to work on cooking anything. My phone rings halfway through cleaning, and I try to hold back the wince at my former agent’s name on the screen. I can’t avoid him forever. Might as well bite the bullet now.

“Hey, Rafe,” I say as I rub down the kitchen island.

“I got an interesting phone call the other day.” Rafe never has been one for pleasantries. Always straight to business.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Houston is wondering if you’re interested in coaching.”

I drop the sponge with a soft gasp of shock. “What?”

“Offensive coordinator.”

“Nah, not interested. That’s wild though. Just Houston?”

“So far,” Rafe answers with a sigh. “You’re not done with football, Chuck.”

Yuck, I hate that nickname. Not worth the argument with Rafe though. “I’m done with football for now. I need a break. Especially after my knee.”

Rafe groans, but I know he understands. “All right. I wouldn’t be a good agent if I didn’t bring this to you.”

“Former agent,” I point out.

Rafe snorts in obvious disagreement. “You can stop paying me, but I’ll always be your agent, kid. Now what the heck is going on with all that lantern festival stuff you’ve been sharing on your social media feed?”

“It’s a festival they do here every year. You pay an admission fee, receive a lantern, light it, and it floats into space.”

“This doesn’t sound eco-friendly.”

“They’re biodegradable. I asked.”

“What about the sea animals it affects?”

“I’ll ask Marcia.”

“Thank you,” Rafe says just before hanging up. Amazing.

Cupcake watches me as I spend the evening preparing chicken thighs with a roasted pepper sauce and mashed potatoes. Dr. Young doesn’t need to know that I give her little slices of chicken thigh mixed in with her daily wet food and kibble. Her life is short and she deserves the same food as me.

Further proof of how whipped I am.

After dinner, I settle in front of the television but glance over at the guitar after a little while.

I wonder what it feels like to be Tucker.

I wonder what it feels like to have a place you can return to, after years of being away, and be welcomed with open arms. That familiar ache inside me opens up, but I rub my hand over my chest, and it disappears like it usually does.

Just in time for game night with Courtney.

Every Sunday evening my best friend Courtney and I video call to do a puzzle together that the other picked out the week prior.

The unopened package still sits on my dining table.

When it’s my turn to pick, I usually pick a scenic scene that’s relaxing and wholesome.

Courtney always picks something so far out of left field that I can never predict what it could be.

One time he even picked one of those puzzles that has no picture.

It was just black and we had to match the pieces by size.

Although I participated without any grumbling, Courtney hasn’t picked a similar once since, thankfully.

I open my laptop and dial Courtney, and the retired player answers with a wide grin. His messy blond hair and bearded face makes me smile.

“Did you open the puzzle yet?” Courtney asks with fifty shades of childlike glee.

I sigh quietly and bite back my own smile while opening it. Pulling the box out, I’m not able to hold back the laugh at the sight of the Lisa Frank puzzle. Dolphins jumping out of the aqua water with shells and fish in the water, along with a bright orange-and-pink sunset. Absolutely amazing.

“You like this one?” Courtney asks while leaning closer to the laptop screen.

“Better than the past few.”

Courtney winks. “I’ll take it.”

We both take our time opening our puzzles in silence, just enjoying the comfortable silence between us.

Courtney was the quarterback before me at San Diego.

He taught me how to lead the team to victory with kindness and hope.

There’s no room for assholes in the locker room, Courtney used to say, which would always garner a laugh from all the guys because there were lots of assholes.

Although he retired a decade ago and is now in his forties, we’ve maintained a close friendship, and his guidance carried me through my last few years as the leader of an extremely successful football team.

Courtney has four of his own Super Bowl rings.

He’s also a gay man, so we have more in common than the public will ever know.

“How’s the knee?” Courtney asks after both of us have sorted out our edges.

“Better. The young guy at PT seems to know what he’s doing. I do all the exercises at the session, then follow the instructions at home.”

“Such a good boy,” Courtney teases without a hint of malice.

“I try.”

“The beach probably helps. Did you ever consider the massage recommendation?”

Courtney is a big fan of mixing Western and Eastern medicine. During the season he used to get acupuncture and cupping done to ease his own aches. I get the ick when it comes to the needles, but I need to try the massage therapy he suggested.

“I’m so used to sports massages.”

“Get used to Swedish massages, Charlie. They’re your friend the older you get.”

“I guess.”

“Where’s Cupcake?”

At the sound of her name, Cupcake bounds over, tail swishing back and forth in the laptop frame.

Courtney chuckles and leans forward, clearly wanting a moment with my perpetually quiet and irritated old puppy, unless Courtney is involved.

I reach over and tip the laptop screen down so they can see each other.

“Hi, old girl. Are you taking care of Daddy?”

Cupcake gives a soft whine and yip, wiggling her ass as if she can climb through the screen.

Time to cut that out before she’s climbing onto the table and ruining the puzzle.

Courtney chuckles when I break them up, and I watch him out of the corner of my eye as we get back to work.

He’s the type of friend who I have to wait out to tell me something; asking him does no good.

Lately he’s seemed a little off, but I know with time he’ll tell me.

I’m sure it has something to do with the lack of his boyfriend appearing on the screen over the past few weeks.

The sky glows orange behind me to match the puzzle on the table. Courtney whistles when I look over, but his gaze is caught on the window over my shoulder.

“That really is such a gorgeous view.”

“Come visit,” I say as I slot a particularly sought-after piece into place. A one-thousand-piece puzzle could take us a full day if we aren’t too chatty. “You’d love it here and I have the room.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s a festival in October, the one I’ve been sharing on social media. That would be a great reason to visit.”

“How’s the surfing?”

“I love that you think I’ve attempted it.”

Courtney does a fake laugh, then frowns slightly. “Renzo and I broke up.”

Ah, there it is. I never particularly liked Renzo, but they were together for a solid year, so I thought maybe this one would stick around for the long haul. But Courtney doesn’t seem to have a type, and he also doesn’t seem to like being tied down. So here we are.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say diplomatically while continuing to work at the puzzle. Courtney’s snort has me looking up to find he’s ruefully shaking his head at me. “What?”

“I knew you didn’t like him.”

“Well, he made you feel old on purpose, and that’s not very kind.”

“I suppose not,” Courtney admits softly as he focuses back on his own puzzle. “I’m lonely.”

I don’t know what to say because Courtney’s not one to admit that sort of thing. He’s strong and leads by example, silent without the edge of anger people often have. I wish I could hug him and hand him a beer, but these puzzle video calls will have to be enough.

“I’m lonely, too, so we make quite a pair.”

Courtney chuckles softly. “That we do, kid.”

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