Chapter 34 Connor
Connor
Eight Months Later
Sacramento State University feels like home as much as the city itself does.
I’ll never tire of being back at this school, and at this stadium, where I had the time of my life with guys who will be my friends for life.
In an alternate universe, my last year as a Hornet may have been Connor Whitlock at his peak.
I’d be just another dude in a world full of dudes not knowing what the hell he’s doing and concocting meaning out of every convenience.
Now, I can say with certainty that Sac State midfielder Connor Whitlock wasn’t my peak, because life then can’t compare to life now. Sure, winning a College Cup is one for my highlight reel, but winning a match is nothing compared to what all I’ve won since.
The late August sun is bright this morning. Not a single cloud in the sky. I’m caked in sunblock and squinting under the brim of my A’s cap when the home team filters onto the sideline. I scoot to the edge of the toasty bleacher bench when I spot Dane.
Our eyes meet, and he grins as wide as I do before making a heart out of his hands. I make one back and settle in for a good match, no matter the outcome.
My folks show up a few minutes before start-time, and I move my camera case to my opposite side.
“Oh, good. We’re not late.” Mom pats my knee with one hand and fans her face with her other. “You couldn’t have picked a spot in the shade, though, hon?”
“I want a good view.”
“Here, bud.” Dad stretches his arm over Mom’s lap, handing me a small, paper-wrapped sandwich. “Picked you up some breakfast.”
“Thanks.” I peel back the wrapper and devour half of the sausage and cheese sammy before the match kicks off. When it does, I’m locked in, cheering for my alma mater as much as I’m rooting for Dane to be put into the game.
“How much did I miss?” Lori Lassiter’s voice tears my eyes off the field to find her sidling down the row.
I move my camera case to the floor behind my feet to make room for her at my left side. “Nothing. Still zero-zero.”
“Have they put Dane in yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Good,” she sighs. “Wait. That’s not good, is it? It’s better when he starts the match, right?”
“It’s okay. He’s been doing the work. Coach’ll put him in eventually.”
Not long into the first half, something heavy falls on my shoulder.
I flinch, twist at the waist, and see my buddy Raisel plop down on the bench behind me.
He brought his girlfriend along, plus Zeke and Brandon who’re already bickering about something.
I spot Malik and his girl settling in one bench higher.
I dap them all up and ask where Levi is.
“Levi?” Raisel eyes me like half my marbles are missing. “Levi’s in the valley. He moved to Fresno, like, three months ago.”
“What? Why? I thought he was gonna go on a cross-country trip after graduation.”
“Dude, did you mute the group chat?” Raisel’s head shakes while he digs through the small cooler he brought with him.
“Uhh.” Even if I could come up with a lie on the spot, my shifty eyes don’t do me any favors. “Sorry. I’ve been real busy with work, helping Dane train, and settling into our new apartment. Took us literally six hours yesterday just to build a sideboard.”
“What the fuck is a sideboard?”
I explain it to Raisel’s unimpressed expression while he hands me a Sprite from his cooler.
“Thanks.” I crack the top and toss back a couple of cold swigs. “So, what’s Levi doing in Fresno?”
Raisel digs back into his cooler, pulls out a fistful of airplane tequila bottles, and slips me one. “Coaching JuCo boys.”
“Someone’s letting Levi coach junior college? Shit, good luck to them.”
I twist frontways, fitting my Sprite can between my thighs while I crank the top on the tequila bottle.
“Really, Connor?” Mom admonishes me with a sideways stare, but I’m already tipping the liquor into my can.
There’s no time to apologize for my indecency, because down on the sideline, Dane hops up from the bench and jogs across the touchline.
“Shit, shit, shit, he’s going in.” I drop the empty liquor bottle to my feet and lift my Sprite out from between my legs so I can stand on them and cheer properly. As Dane subs into the match, I cup my free hand around the side of my mouth and holler, “Let’s go, Dane! You got this!”
Lori and my parents stand up, too, clapping and cheering while my boys behind me hoot and holler.
We’re so loud, even Coach McDonough shoots us a look over his shoulder.
Bet he thought he got rid of us, but not quite.
I know I’ll be here for every home match, and I’ll be following the convoy to every away match, as long as I don’t have to work.
Now, I’m so locked in that it takes Raisel shouting, “Down in front!” for me to sit back down. If not, I’d probably stand for the rest of the match.
With my eyes glued to the field, I down half my spiked Sprite, letting it fill me with pre-tipsy tingles. I eat the rest of my sandwich so I don’t get full-on tipsy, and when my hands are free, I bust out my camera.
Now that I’m a team photographer for Sacramento Republic FC, I need all the practice I can get.
So, in a way, Dane is still helping me with my photography.
Not only because he’s an insanely gorgeous man, but because he’s a talented athlete who lights up the field the moment he sets foot on it.
The difference between his game now and last year is night and day.
He’s still a hothead, but he has the stamina, speed, and strength necessary to be great—to help win Sac State another title even.
At halftime, I put my stuff down and meet Dane at the railing. He hops onto the platform, hugging the rail one-armed while twisting my cap backwards. With the brim out of the way, I grab his sweat-speckled face and kiss him.
He nods toward the bleachers and says, “Brought an entourage, I see.”
“That’s your entourage. I didn’t invite them.”
A grin breaks across his face. “How am I doing out there? Be honest.”
“You’re doing amazing, babe. Swear.”
“Getting any good pics?”
“Just the ones of you.”
He leans over the rail to kiss me again. “You wanna go swimming when we get home, before you have to work?”
“Totally.” Our new complex has a pool, and as soon as I pass Coach Dane’s Swim School, we plan on celebrating with a beach vacation. As nervous as I am about graduating to Coach Dane’s Surf School, I’m up for anything that involves clinging to his half-naked body.
He slips a hand behind my neck and draws me in for more PDA. Before our smooches can escalate to tongue-kisses, Dane pulls back and tosses a quick glance behind him. “Alright, we better quit kissing before the team starts thinking I’m gay.”
“Who could ever suspect that?”
After one last peck, Dane hops down to the grass and trots backward toward the locker room where the rest of his team migrates.
“I love you, baby!” he shouts before bumping into one of his teammates.
Catching himself on a stumble, he switches around and jogs the rest of the way to where McDonough ought to be waiting with a praise-filled halftime speech.
Blushing from more than just the sun, I find my face muscles are no match for how happy I am.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t temper my wild grin as I march back up the bleachers.
My friends’ cat-call whistles have me shielding my face as I sidestep down the row.
Once I’m back in my seat, Lori gives my knee a pat while Raisel does me the favor of turning my A’s cap the right way around.
“Proud of you, lover boy,” he says from behind me.
Of all the many nicknames I’ve been called in the past year, lover boy is easily the truest. But, lately, I just call myself lucky.