Chapter 26 #2
But tonight was something else, at least for Leslie.
If it was the last time he could be this close to Joe, he wanted it all.
In the morning he would go to the doctor, find out what reality he was facing, and then he would tell Joe the truth, being fully prepared that if Joe had any inclination to say goodbye, the news that Leslie may have a degenerative brain disease that would rob him of his faculties would most likely push him over the edge, and the truth was, he was a selfish bastard for keeping that information from him, especially now.
So much for being the nice guy. Leslie turned off the part of his conscience that was ringing alarm bells and he let himself get lost in Joe’s body.
Leslie rocked his hips against Joe’s, memorizing every curve of his body, every sound he made.
He focused on Joe, keeping his movements small, tight, and gentle.
He wrapped one hand around Joe’s straining cock and stroked it in time with his movements, using Joe’s precum to make his hand glide over Joe’s velvety soft flesh.
“Leslie, baby, I love you. I love you so much. I’m yours, baby.
I’m yours.” And Joe came, his body curling up off the bed as his cum landed on his chest. His head fell back and he swore, his body loose and sated.
He reached up to cup Leslie’s cheek as Leslie’s body wound tighter and tighter, his balls heavy, his spine tingling.
“Joe…God…Joe.” He moaned as his body shuddered, his hips losing thei r rhythm as they slapped against Joe.
Joe dug his fingers into Leslie’s ass, pulling him even closer, holding him tight as Leslie let go.
He jerked, cursed, gasped, and growled. Tears filled the corners of his eyes and he blinked them away.
He dropped his head onto Joe’s chest and Joe wrapped his arms around Leslie, turning them on their sides.
Joe caressed his back and whispered to him, smoothing his hair, and Leslie wanted to believe all he had said.
I love you. I’m yours. I’m yours.
Leslie kissed Joe once and then faded into a deep sleep, much deeper now that his head was no longer killing him, and he prayed that when he woke, he could make Joe understand, could make him want to stay.
Joe left at some point in the middle of the night, which Leslie discovered when Sandy woke him and rushed him out the door.
He’d overslept and they were barely going to have enough time to get to Kansas City.
Agnes and Randy joined them, making the outing a Payton Family Adventure.
They asked about the cheer competition and Leslie filled them in.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Leslie said. He turned to Sandy, who’d been driving while silent. “Wasn’t it great?”
“Yeah,” Sandy said. His knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. He didn’t say another word the entire drive.
Dr. Jonathan Taylor had been a long-time friend of the Payton’s.
As a young neurologist, he’d been hired by the 49ers to treat Rick’s bizarre and terrible symptoms, and after Rick passed, Dr. Taylor had worked with specialists around the world to discover whatever they could about CTE and how to avoid it.
He started off with a long list of questions, which Leslie answered with ease, but doubted himself the entire time, wondering if he was right.
Then he went over Leslie’s imaging and blood test results.
Besides his cholesterol being a tad high—and of course the knees—he was perfectly fine. As fine as he could possibly be.
“There’s still no cure, Leslie, and there’s no way of diagnosing CTE until after the patient has passed, but I honestly don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with.
Your cognitive function is frankly not anymore affected than patients I’ve worked with who suffered one or two concussions.
Yes, there are some elements you struggle to deal with, like the overstimulation you experienced this weekend, the difficulty remembering appointments, etc.
, struggles with mathematical computation and abstract reasoning.
But Leslie, these are all very very manageable symptoms. As for the migraines, I want to refer you to a specialist who has had great success treating them through lifestyle changes in concert with medication.
Over twenty-nine million Americans deal with migraines every day and they live mostly normal lives. ”
Leslie exhaled at the doctor’s prognosis, and Agnes squeezed his hand. “You mean, I have time?”
Dr. Taylor laughed. “Leslie, you are fitter than most men your age and you have the resources to treat the issues you do have. I think you’ll be alive and kicking long after I retire.”
Leslie laughed and turned to his mom. She hugged him tight and sniffled. She wiped tears from her eyes and accepted a tissue from the doctor.
“So you heard that, right?” Randy said. “He said you’re fine. So does that mean I can get back to beating him about the head and shoulders?”
The doctor laughed. “If you mean that figuratively then yes. You have no restrictions except that you need to avoid any sports or physical activities that have the potential for blows to the head. That includes diving into a swimming pool, martial arts sparring, boxing, etc. And no football, of course. Coach it all you want, but don’t play it. ”
Leslie smiled and felt some of his fear dissipating.
“And one more thing. I think you should consider therapy. Working with a cognitive behavioral specialist can help you with the areas you may be struggling with and help to minimize them getting worse. It would also be good to get a baseline. And most importantly, to get support around managing your moods and recognizing any changes. It’s better than waiting for it to just happen on its own.
If you know what to look for and how to manage it, it will be better for you and your family. ”
Leslie nodded. Damn . What the doctor was suggesting was so reasonable. Why hadn’t he done this already? Maybe he could have avoided some of this heartache with Joe .
Man, he had really fucked up. He’d let his fear get in the way of things with Joe, and he’d really hurt him. Leslie had a lot of work to do to make amends.
He went past the handshake and scooped Dr. Taylor up in a bear hug, which made the much smaller man laugh.
“You’ve got a lot of good years left, Leslie. Use them well. Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you in a year.”
The Paytons left the office a little lighter than they’d gone in. Except for one. They decided on Black Bear Diner for lunch and as they sat waiting for their food, Leslie finally addressed the elephant in the room.
“So it seems like I won’t be needing the nursing home just yet, aren’t you glad?” he asked Sandy.
Sandy stirred his straw around in his water and stared at the table.
He shrugged and Leslie was taken back to the middle-school days with the twins, the period about a year after Rick died and it had finally settled in that their dad wasn’t coming back this time.
They’d been holy terrors before, but it had been hyperactivity and good trouble.
But then it turned more destructive. Stink bombs in the cafeteria at school, vandalism, mean-spirited practical jokes at Leslie and Barry’s expense.
“Guess so.”
“So what’s your damage, Brother Sandy?” Randy said. “I thought you’d be just as relieved, if not more, that you’ve been saved from wiping his ass for another year.”
Sandy launched his straw at Randy’s face, hitting him in the eye.
“Ow, what the fuck?”
“I am glad,” Sandy said, sneaking a glance at Leslie. “I’m just…whatever.”
“Sandy,” Agnes said, placing her hand over his on the table. He pulled it back and dropped it in his lap.
“What the hell?” Randy asked, but Leslie put a hand out to shush him.
“Speak freely, Brother Sandy. You’ve earned the right. What’s got you spitting fire?”
“I told Joe. Everything.”
Leslie sat up, his body tensed and ready to spring into action.
“When? ”
“Last night. I was in the kitchen when he was leaving.”
“What did he say?” Agnes asked, placing her hand on Leslie’s arm as if she could keep him in his seat.
“He asked me, ‘what else?’ What wasn’t Leslie telling him. So I told him.”
“That wasn’t your place, asshole,” Randy said, but Leslie kept his mouth shut.
“I couldn’t stand it, you know? Joe thinking this was all his fault. You let him believe this was all him, and that wasn’t fair. So I told him. Be pissed at me if you want, but it’s out there. Don’t ask me to keep shit from him ever again. Not after he’s taken such good care of you.”
Sandy pushed back from the table as the server brought their food. She set it down in front of them trying to keep a smile on her face while they watched Sandy walk out the door.
“I’ll go,” Agnes said.
“No. This is my doing. I’ll handle it.”
Leslie stood and walked out the door of the restaurant, noticing a few folks looking at him. Well, so be it.
“Hey,” he said as he reached the Jeep. He leaned his elbows on Sandy’s window and sighed.
Sandy sat back against the seat and stared out the windshield.
“You can be mad all you want, but he cares about you. He took care of you. It’s not right keeping him in the dark, Leslie. You wanted to be with him for so long, and I’ve stood by you even when I didn’t agree, but this—”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Sandy wiped at his eye and looked at his hands resting in his lap.
“You’re right, and you were right to tell him. I’m not mad.”
Sandy nodded. “You need to tell him everything. Let him make up his mind.”
“You’re right.”
Sandy turned to him and frowned. “Why aren’t you mad?”
“Because. I’m mad at myself. I’ve taken you for granted, Sandy, and I apologize for that.”
“No. You haven’t, but this thing with Joe…you were so happy, and I didn’t want to see you fuck it up. ”
“You’re right. I fucked up. I should have told him.”
“Man, stop agreeing with me. You’re freaking me out.”
Leslie laughed and it finally got Sandy to smile.