Chapter 4 #2
“There you go,” Ramsey said as Nate nodded slowly. “You can say thank you, Ramsey, you’re a gorgeous and brilliant man, now.”
“Pass?”
Ramsey made a face. “Come on. I helped you, and I didn’t have to.”
“You chose to walk over here,” Nate reminded him. Reminding him, also, of the fact that he couldn’t seem to leave Nate alone.
Occasionally, Ramsey would make a pointed comment about how Nate couldn’t forget their night together. And despite the fact that it was unfortunately true, he was beginning to think the opposite might also be true.
Maybe it was Ramsey who couldn’t forget their night together.
Nate’s neck went hot, and his fingers trembled as he picked up the phone, shoving it in his pocket. He’d call Deacon on his way home, get his perspective on the whole Jordan situation.
“Okay, you could at least say thank you,” Ramsey bitched.
“You came over here,” Nate teased instead, and Ramsey just rolled his eyes.
But Nate could feel the weight of his gaze on him as he went over to Aidan and Dawson and Cam, where they were sitting at the front of the suite, to let them know he was taking off.
Aidan shot him a concerned look. “You’re leaving already?”
Nate nodded, and Aidan frowned. His expression, coupled with the fact that Aidan kept glancing back at where Ramsey was leaning, all easy charm against the tall table in the middle of the suite, made it clear he thought Nate was leaving because of Ramsey.
Well, he wasn’t not leaving because of Ramsey.
But Nate wasn’t touching that subject with Aidan with a ten-foot pole. He’d tried a few times, but he was still attempting—and failing—to be casual about it, enough that it was still easy enough for Nate to brush him off.
That might not be true forever, but at least it still held true tonight.
“See you at practice tomorrow,” Nate called out to the other guys, waving as he disappeared out the door.
Still painfully aware of how Ramsey’s eyes were still following him.
When he was in a cab on the way home, he texted Deacon. You still up, old man?
Deacon called him a second later. “Who are you calling old?” he grumped.
“You gonna call me an upstart next?” Nate joked, leaning back on the bench seat as the cab navigated the late night downtown Toronto traffic. The game wasn’t over yet, but the streets around the area were still packed.
When he’d first been drafted by Charleston, and he’d met Deacon Harris, he’d been star-struck and dick-struck, harboring the world’s most ridiculous crush on the guy.
It had hurt, a little, when he’d realized that Deacon wasn’t looking back at him but had been pining instead for the new owner of their team.
But in the end, Nate could acknowledge that everything had turned out the way it should have.
“Maybe,” Deacon teased. “You’d probably like that too much, though.”
Deacon and Grant were meant for each other, and well, Nate hadn’t met his ideal match yet, but he still had faith he could be around the next corner.
Especially now that he’d given up hookups and was trying to view the guys he met through a more relationship-friendly lens.
“Not anymore. Not in forever, old man,” Nate insisted.
“Aw, disappointing,” Deacon joked even though they both knew he wasn’t, at all. “You gonna tell me what’s up?”
“You gonna stop claiming I’ve got a secret crush on you?”
Deacon just laughed. “It’s good for my ego, though.”
“Like that needs any more help,” Nate complained. “Yeah. I’m having . . .well, I’m not having the problem.”
Deacon was quiet for a moment, letting Nate have his space. Something Nate had always appreciated about him.
“It’s this rookie,” Nate finally admitted.
“Let me guess. Atkinson.”
Of course it was obvious. If Deacon had been paying any amount of attention to the Thunder, he’d probably seen it immediately. And that wasn’t even counting how Jordan had been benched for the first series, a month ago, for missing a meeting.
Deacon, who was unofficially on the Condors coaching squad and had been a player in the NFL for almost twenty years, had likely seen that and knew there was more to the story.
“Yeah,” Nate said.
“Okay, so you’re a captain sure, but what about Sterling? He’s the vet here. He should be handling the guy.”
“He was,” Nate said. “But he thought it might come across better—less a vet telling a rookie to shape up and more a friend watching out for another friend—if I did it.”
Deacon sighed but didn’t say anything. Which made it painfully obvious what he really thought of that.
“You can say it,” Nate said testily. He probably wouldn’t like it, but he was already a little annoyed at Sterling for dumping this problem he didn’t have the skill set to deal with into his lap and then washing his hands of the whole thing.
“He shouldn’t be giving it over to you. Not like that.”
Nate had told himself he was not going to defend Sterling but the tone of Deacon’s voice put his back up anyway.
“But—”
“No,” Deacon said, even more firmly. “Sure, yeah, that’s a good tactic. Pull him into the community of the team and a friend group of slightly older guys who aren’t spending all their spare time fucking around.”
“Why do I feel like there’s another shoe you’re waiting to drop?” Nate asked.
“Because there is. He should be asking you to do that, but he should still be being fucking leader.”
“Deac,” Nate warned.
“I’ve tried to be nice about it, but Sterling’s phoning it in.
If he wasn’t prepared to play and lead the team the way he has every other year, he shouldn’t be playing or leading,” Deacon said righteously.
“I knew when I was done. He shouldn’t have taken that single season contract.
It was a fucking money grab, especially if he wasn’t committed. ”
“He’s committed,” Nate argued, though personally, deep down, he understood a little too well what Deacon was claiming.
“Is he though? Or is he just shoving all the hard shit onto you so you can deal with it?”
Sometimes it did feel that way, but at the same time, if he was going to lead the Thunders’ defense next year, he should be able to handle anything Sterling tossed his way.
Deacon sighed again, full resignation in the sound. “Don’t answer that. I’m just frustrated for you. We’ll talk about Atkinson, instead.”
“Yeah,” Nate said.
It made sense to focus on the Jordan problem, because that was certainly, in some universe, under some unique set of circumstances, fixable.
The Sterling thing? Nate couldn’t imagine confronting the guy—who was a full ten years older than him, with eleven more NFL seasons under his belt, and a Super Bowl ring—and calling him out for phoning it in.
That was a great way to get his ass kicked into next week.
“So, what have you tried?” Deacon asked.
The cab pulled up to his building, and Nate got out, handing the driver a wad of twenties. Way more than the fare, but he could afford it.
The wind was fierce as he walked to the front door, and he shielded his face from it, cradling the phone against his face. “I tried being his friend, yeah? I tried reaching out to him. Making plans. Texting. Tried diverting him away from spots where he’d end up in trouble.”
“Let me guess, that did jack shit.”
“You got it.” Nate hated admitting it, but it was the truth. And while he couldn’t bring himself to admit most of this to Ramsey, Deacon was a different story.
“You go to the strip club with him?”
Nate choked out a laugh. “No.” He pressed the elevator button for his floor.
“I know, not your typical scene.”
“You know I’m gay, I’m not gonna go to the strip club with Jordan.” Though he had thought about it, more than once, for the sheer ease of at least being around to prevent the guy from getting into any more trouble.
“You’re not gonna like this,” Deacon warned.
“I didn’t think I’d like it,” Nate complained as he got off on his floor. “I wasn’t calling you for a nice, sweet bedtime story.”
“Brat,” Deacon said, chuckling. “You asked for it. But really, you’ve tried to make him come to you, and clearly that’s not gonna work. You gotta go to him.”
“I was afraid you were gonna say that.”
“Hey, positively, you’re not gonna be tempted to hit on any of the nice ladies.”
“I’m going to be there to prevent Jordan from doing it. Or at least steering him towards doing it respectfully,” Nate said heavily as he swiped his key against his front door.
“You’ve got the gist,” Deacon said. “Wherever he goes, you’re going. Even if you hate it.”
Nate went to his fridge, grabbed a water, and then flopped down on his big, comfortable couch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the framed jersey hanging on his wall.
The jersey that had made Ramsey freak out. But then, maybe he always would’ve left. Maybe he was never going to stay, even for the night, and anything else was a delusional fantasy.
“I do hate it,” Nate grumbled. He hated a lot of things today. Starting and ending with how nice-ish Ramsey had been, and in a way that had actually felt mostly genuine.
“You okay, bud?” Deacon asked gently. “I shouldn’t have to ask. How many games have you won so far?”
“All of them.” Nate wanted to sound smug about it, but it didn’t come out that way.
“Come on, you can’t be depressed about that. So you have to go to a few strip clubs.”
“A few? You’re underestimating Jordan Atkinson’s appetite for a strip club.”
Deacon laughed. “That’s all that’s bothering you?”
Nate had not told his friend—or anyone at all—about the Ramsey situation, but maybe he should. He didn’t know if getting it off his chest would actually help, but surely it couldn’t make the whole thing worse.
“No. There’s this guy—”
“Of course there is,” Deacon interrupted.
“Are you going to listen or not?” Nate asked archly.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll listen,” Deacon agreed, still chuckling.