Chapter 8
Foster lifted his hand to Cary’s outstretched one. He hauled himself up, one hand to his aching cheek, just under his eye. The guy packed a wallop, but what the fuck had he done to deserve it? Foster spun, looking for him, but there was no trace.
“What the hell was that?” Cary asked. “Or rather, who?”
“The guy I was just with,” Foster said.
“Did you break a rule? Did you hurt him?” Anton asked.
Jason appeared at his side, frowning. He offered Foster a towel with ice in it.
“No!” Foster barked. “I asked permission. He tossed me down and rode me, in complete control the whole time. I thanked him after and even got him some water before I walked away.”
“So what made him punch you?” Jason asked.
“I have no idea,” Foster said, placing the ice against his cheek. “None.”
“I don’t like that kind of behavior at one of my gatherings, Cary,” Jason said before scowling at Foster.
“I have no idea what that guy’s problem was.” Cary frowned. He focused on Foster. “Although, he knew both our names. First and last for you—so it’s someone we know.”
“Old beef?” Jason asked.
“I doubt it,” Cary answered before turning back to Foster. “Someone from home?”
Foster shrugged. “If it was, I have no idea who it could be.”
“I can’t imagine anyone else would know the both of us unless they’re from Eastfield,” Cary said. “Maybe it’s someone here on the DL who freaked out they’d been with someone they knew.”
Foster released a slow breath. He eyed Jason. “I’m sorry this happened, but I didn’t do anything to that guy that wasn’t completely consensual.”
Jason sighed. “Well, what’s done is done.” He glanced at Cary. “Maybe it’s time to call it a night?”
Cary stiffened beside Foster. “Are you kicking us out?”
“No,” Jason said. “But I think there’s been enough drama tonight. It would be better if you just go. For the night.”
“Fine,” Cary snapped. “We’ll go.”
Foster followed Cary toward the front door. They stopped in the small room off the hallway with the cubbies and redressed. Foster felt sick. Not only did he have no idea who had sucker punched him, but he’d fucked things up for Cary.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You did nothing wrong,” Cary said, sliding one arm into his dress shirt. “The fact he knew who we were speaks to it being something else. Who would know us both and be gunning for a fight?”
Silence fell for a few seconds as they continued to get dressed. No one came to Foster’s mind. Not anyone he’d seen since he’d been back, anyway. There were a lot of people he hadn’t seen in years, though. Time changed people.
Cary spun to face him, pulling his pants up. “I’m trying to think of someone from home that fits that bill. He didn’t look familiar to me.”
“I honestly have no idea.”
“You don’t think…” Cary murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Cary said, sliding a shoe on. “We’ll have to keep a close eye out when we get home, in case there’s another fight coming. He knew who we were. We need to find out who he is.”
Foster sighed. “Great.”
Cary chuckled. “Well, you can’t say tonight wasn’t entertaining.”
Foster chuckled, but winced, lifting a hand to his cheek. Once he drew his shoes on, he and Cary exited.
“I hope I haven’t ruined your fun for the future,” Foster said as they waited for the elevator.
“I doubt it,” Cary said. “But if so, it’s not that big a thing. There are plenty more places in this city to have fun. This city and others.”
Foster laughed. “That’s your real job. Touring the world for the best orgies, hmm?”
“Maybe. Are you going to come to the next one I’m invited to?”
“I just got sucker punched,” Foster said as the elevator doors opened. “I think that’s the universe trying to tell me I didn’t belong.”
But what if I could see him again?
Even as his face ached, the idea of having another night with the guy sparked inside his mind. The pain just might be worth the pleasure he’d experienced. He still saw stars in his vision, and that wasn’t from the punch.
He might take the punishment if it meant he’d get another chance at paradise.
Jude climbed up the stairs to his apartment, his legs like rubber under him. Anton tread behind him, refusing to go home and leave him alone.
“I’m gonna take a shower.”
Anton nodded. “Kay.” He lowered the bag from the Filipino joint two blocks over onto Jude’s coffee table. “Hurry up before this gets cold.”
“Yeah,” Jude said, not feeling hungry.
Once he hit his bedroom, he slipped off his clothing, leaving a trail behind him as he marched toward the bathroom.
He turned on the water as hot as he could stand it and then notched it up a little more, letting the burn chase away the numbness inside.
Lifting his head, he moved until the spray washed over his face.
After a couple of minutes, he pulled out the soap and scrubbed at his skin.
He reached for the knobs but stopped inches from them. He lifted his other hand, wrist up, and stared at the scars on both.
The water was wrenched off. His gaze jumped to find Anton standing at the opening.
“Get out,” Anton said, offering Jude a clean towel. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
Jude took the towel and followed Anton out of the bathroom.
“I found a pair of pajama bottoms in your drawer,” Anton said. “They’re on the bed.” He paused at the door. “I expect you out there in no less than five.”
Jude bit his tongue, the backs of his eyes burning.
“It’s going to be okay,” Anton murmured before walking out.
Jude wasn’t so sure. He dried the rest of the way off and pulled up the pj bottoms. After tossing his fingers through his hair in some semblance of brushing it, he made his way to the living room and sat down beside Anton, who watched television.
The usual suspects were analyzing the final preseason games that had taken place before the final Raiders-Cardinals one that started late because of the west coast time difference.
Anton silently handed him a full bowl and a fork. A cold beer sat open and ready for him.
Jude had so many things he wanted to say to Anton but couldn’t find the words. What he’d ever done to deserve a friend like that, he wasn’t sure.
What had he done? He’d ruined Anton’s night. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Anton asked before shoving a forkful of pancit between his lips.
“All of it. From giving you shit about the neighborhood and all-around making your nerves worse to making you feel like you couldn’t stay. Which you could have, just saying. I didn’t need a babysitter.”
Still, he was thankful for Anton’s presence. The quiet might’ve messed him up.
“Bros before… wait, what’s the gay version of bros before hoes?”
Jude chuckled. “I don’t know.”
“Mates before dates?” Anton asked.
“Dudes before nudes,” Jude tossed out a few seconds later.
Anton laughed. “Nah… I got the one. Crew before screw.”
Jude couldn’t help but laugh at that one.
Anton nudged his hand. “Eat.”
“Yes, Dad.”
Anton gave him a look, one with a lifted brow, but said nothing. He turned back to the television once Jude shoved a bite past his lips.
“I almost lost you once. You’re not going anywhere on my watch.”
“I keep telling you that I’m not that eighteen-year-old kid anymore.”
Anton nodded. “I know. But he’s still in there. And he’s still bruised from his last encounter with Fo—” Anton clenched his jaw. “With that guy. I’m not letting him tear you down again.”
“It’s been fifteen years. I’m over it.”
“The fuck you are,” Anton said.
“And it wasn’t Foster. It was Rick and the others. Foster never said jack.”
“He should’ve said something. He let you suffer instead of stepping up.”
“And then we both would’ve been tormented,” Jude said. He took another bite of the food, barely tasting it. “What would you have done in Foster’s shoes?”
“I would’ve defended you. Which I did.”
“Remember what people started saying about us?” Jude asked, knowing how terrified Anton had been for anyone to find out he was bi back then.
“They asked if you were the one I’d been caught with.
They questioned your sexuality, too. Rumors flew about you being gay.
Jude shook his head. “It was almost as hard on you as it was me.”
“It was nowhere as hard on me as it was you,” Anton said.
“Foster wasn’t a friend of mine. We didn’t travel in the same circles. If he’d come to my defense, it would’ve looked weird. He would’ve been questioned, just like you were.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“Because in this scenario, you’re putting all of the blame on Foster when it was Rick and the rest of his asshole friends who truly made my life hell.”
Foster had shown him a glimpse of heaven before he’d been dragged to hell. But what a glimpse it had been. All of the questions in his mind had suddenly been answered. He’d known, without a doubt, that he was gay.
“I still don’t know how he escaped scot-free,” Anton said.
“Me either, but he did. Good for him.” Jude clenched his jaw. He was still a bit salty that Foster had gotten away free and clear, but he wasn’t telling Anton that.
“It wasn’t right,” Anton snapped.
“Did you defending me stop anything? No. Foster wouldn’t have been able to do any better.”
They were silent the next few minutes. Jude continued eating, though not tasting a single bite.
Anton laid his empty bowl on the coffee table and turned to faced Jude. “If you need to absolve him so tonight doesn’t eat away at you, I get it. I’ll leave it alone.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” Jude pushed the second half of his dinner around in the bowl. “And tonight’s not going to eat away at me. It was a surprise. It took me back to a dark place for a moment, but I’m not going to let it drag me all the way down.”
“Promise?” Anton asked.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” Anton said.
Anton turned back to the television as the game started.
“I gotta get my picks for next week in tomorrow. Who would you pick in the Bengals-Browns game?” Anton asked.
“They’re both shit teams, but I’d lean Bengals,” Jude replied.
Anton relaxed beside him. “Maybe I come watch the games here Sunday afternoon instead of meeting up with my coworkers at the bar.”
“You don’t have to babysit me.”
“I’m not,” Anton spat. “I spend too much time with those fuckers during the week as it is. I’d much rather sit here, stuff my face, and talk shit with you than be stuck in a hole-in-the-wall dive serving overpriced, watered down beer with them.”
Jude turned his gaze to Anton.
Anton turned his gaze to Jude.
He hoped all the things he couldn’t say were written on his face. After a few seconds, he looked down at his bowl and moved the food around with his fork again.
“What are we stuffing our face with next Sunday?” Jude asked.
Anton grinned. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, you’re buying.”
“Deal.” He looked at the television. “Roan’s going to kill us if we stay up to watch this game, you know?”
“He’ll get over it. Not like we play all that great on a full night’s sleep anyway,” Anton said.
Jude chuckled. “Speak for yourself. I’ve got moves.”