Indulgence (271 page)

It wasn’t just the photos on the blogs. That he could almost
understand—Nicco acting out, as usual; Nicco regressing after their few months
of blissful calm. Parker requested the break after all. He had actually gone
out on a date himself, with the lovely and accommodating Ashley just a few
weeks into the “break.” A flush crept up Parker’s neck at the memory of the
night.

“Shh…,” she’d soothed when he broke down after she’d asked
for the millionth time why he seemed unhappy. “It will be okay.”

Parker had clutched at her. Grasping at anything that might
help him forget. Before he knew it their lips had met. He’d ripped at her
clothes, breathing ragged, words neither of them heard escaping their lips. And
then the wonderful, soft depths of a woman’s body welcomed him. They cried out
together, climaxing simultaneously at the exact instant Parker acknowledged he
hadn’t bothered with a condom.

The next morning she’d left with a soft kiss and even softer
words as she sat next to him, hand to his morning rough face. “I loved you,
Parker. But I know I’m not what you want. Go to him. Just get over your damn
self and go.”

Just a couple of days ago he’d discovered the final piece of
the puzzle. He’d opened up his web-based email for the first time since
returning from the vacation and stared at it, confused. Until he recalled he’d
let Nicco use his computer and he’d stayed signed in to his email account.

Parker closed his eyes a split second, prepared to sign out
and leave well enough alone. Nothing good ever came from reading someone else’s
email. When he opened them, he reached out and started scrolling through
Nicco’s messages.

Not much in the way of incriminating really. Some
communication from agents who wanted to represent him. Black Jack daily updates
they all got. The email from La Luna made his face flush.

Then he stared at what appeared to be a long chain of
communication from someone named Josh. Heart pounding, he read them all, none
of them overtly sexual, but Nicco obviously had some sort of relationship with
the guy between the “when will I see you again’s?” and “thanks for calling, I
needed that’s” that had been exchanged even while Nicco had been with him on
vacation.

He signed out of the incriminating email, opened his own and
in quick succession told his agent he wanted to make a change, the sooner the
better. Then sent messages to his coaches, requesting a meeting as soon as
possible.

He’d made a decision in his typical all-or-nothing way, he
supposed. But he wanted to give the coaching staff a heads-up before he made it
official. Both men had agreed to meet with him on a Saturday morning, just a
few days before the player transfer window closed.

Both Metin and Rafe had shown up with their kids. Parker
stood, hands stuffed into his pockets, nervous beyond belief. He’d had no
brothers or sisters but liked little kids. Enjoyed doing the fan day stuff,
kicking balls around with them. The time on the beach with Nicco, when the kids
had accosted them into a game he would never forget.

Rafe’s son sat in a cage-like thing with soft walls, messing
around with random toys. Metin’s baby daughter slept in a stroller, swaddled in
pink. Both men seemed so happy, content with their lives. It made Parker
jealous but he gulped it back.

“So I need to find a new situation,” he began, not even sure
he was supposed to be having this conversation outside the hearing of his newly
signed agent.

“Sorry to hear this,” Metin leaned back in his chair, one
hand on the sleeping infant.

“Can I ask why?” Rafe came around the desk to pick up some
of the toys his boy had heaved out of the playpen.

“Personal reasons,” he mumbled, looking down.

“Funny, we just had this same conversation with Nicco Garza
yesterday. Can I assume we get keep one of you?”

Parker glared at Rafe. “I…I didn’t know he was going to…I
mean….”

“Listen, Parker, you know we support Nicco. And you should
know we would support…you as well.”

“It’s not like that.” Parker looked away, frustrated fury
clouding his vision. He stood up, fists clenched. Rafe’s little boy chose the
moment to holler, giggle, and heave a mini-sized soccer ball a surprising
distance from his play base of operations. Parker looked down at the kid and
some of his tension eased.

He knelt, picked up the ball, and handed it back to him.
“Training a goalie there, coach?” he asked, keeping his gaze pinned on the boy
who gripped the soft edge of the playpen with one hand while reaching for
Parker with the other.

“Something like that,” Rafe said.

Metin cleared his throat, drawing Parker’s attention back to
the adults in the room. “Talk to him before you make this decision, Parker. I
really think you owe it to him, to you both. While I may not understand you, it
does not mean I want to break up a perfectly good team over it. Well, at least
not any more than it’s been broken up over it.”

Parker stared at the two men, both tall, fit, former top
players in their day but for various reasons unable to take their careers as
far as they wanted. The Black Jacks had thrived under their leadership. Parker
had learned so much from them both. His pulse raced at the realization of how
much he wanted to stay. “You guys have been great. I mean, you know, about
Nicco.” His face flushed.

“Well, trust me, it’s not been easy. But I will tell you
after an initial flurry of cancelled season tickets, I’m told sales are up, beating
expectations, thanks to Nicco’s willingness to be the media darling, or
whipping boy, whichever side you believe.” Metin shrugged then smiled at his
daughter who had started making baby noises. “There was a time in my life when
I would never have accepted playing with a known homosexual on my team. But I
used to be a young, foolish guy. I want him on the Black Jacks. I don’t care
how he takes his jollies.” Metin leveled a serious stare at Parker. “I want you
on the Black Jacks too though, Rollings. So I suggest you and Nicco get past
this … whatever it is you’re going through and come to some sort of
resolution.”

Rafe picked up his boy who’d started to shake the sides of
his confined space and whine. “We’ve all seen the hater bullshit. The
name-calling, the conservative talk show nonsense. I think we’re past the worst
of it, although if you guys…ah….” He gestured to Parker, then frowned. “If you
guys decide you are a couple, which I understand is possibly the case, please
let us know. We have to make sure the marketing folks don’t try to make hay
with it any further. I don’t want any more media attention. And you men deserve
your privacy. Thank God the new legal department agrees with me.”

Parker’s face reddened at the mention of the marketing
department. He and Ashley had been a known couple for a while and his little
one-off with her a month ago still bugged him, ashamed he’d used her. Being the
tight knit little family they were, rumors drifted back to him that she’d been
seeing someone else, some higher up with the casino funding them. He also knew
she’d gotten promoted and now lead the public relations department. A thankless
job considering how “public” the team had been about pretty much everything.

There had been pregnant girlfriends, one shot gun wedding, a
few divorces, some DUIs, bar brawls, and of course, Nicolas Garza, the official
gay player. Now Parker had to decide what to do. Every molecule of his being
screamed at him to go back to Nicco, to hold and kiss, to soothe and laugh and
play soccer and…he looked down to find Rafe’s son reaching two chubby arms at
him.

Rafe laughed. “This is the most social kid on the planet.
Loves to be held and charm family, friends, and strangers alike. Go ahead.” He
held the boy out to Parker.

Parker hesitated a half second, then took the warm bundle of
slightly milky-smelling child in his arms. “Da! Da!” he bopped Parker on the
head with a toy he’d been clutching, then laughed so hard when Parker pretended
to be hurt. “Ba! Ba!” he pointed to the ball on the floor.

Parker picked it up and handed it to him, loving the way the
kid’s arms and legs kept moving. He gripped the ball screeching “Ba! Ba! Ba!”
the whole time. He couldn’t resist taking a sniff of the boy’s soft, black
hair. He looked up at Rafe.

“I’ll talk to him. We’ll…figure something out.”

Rafe took the boy back who immediately started crying and
reaching back for Parker. “Hmm….” his coach said. “If you ever wanna babysit,
let me know.”

Parker laughed, his heart light for the first time since
he’d lain on the beach in the South of France with Nicco. Their five-day
silence had stretched to weeks, then months. Months of sleepless nights,
written and deleted emails. Finally, he made the decision to leave the team and
run away from Nicco as far as he could get. Especially after discovering the
mysterious Josh, who must be some kind of online boyfriend and who enjoyed a
much more emotionally intimate relationship with his man.

Parker squared his shoulders as he walked down the hall of
towards the locker room. He may not have a hair-trigger temper like so many
athletes, but he didn’t shy away from confrontation. Why had he not reached
out, called, made an effort to get Nicco to open up to him like he did with
Josh? Because if he did what he wanted to do right now—go to Nicco and be with
him without lying about it to anyone—he would also be out, a gay man, a gay
professional soccer player.

Finally acknowledging something about himself that may very
well kill his parents, could ruin his longed for career, no longer felt quite
so terrifying. Because something about holding Rafe’s happy little boy made him
resolved and ready to confront Nicco once and for all.

If a confrontation ended things, so be it. At least he would
not have run away without having the final conversation and regretting that the
rest of his life.

Parker changed into a pair of shorts and shirt, grabbed his
worn cleats from the bottom of his locker, and ran out onto the field. His head
spun and his gut churned. He needed a physical outlet before having the
promised discussion with Nicco.

He stopped at the top of the entrance ramp, noting another
figure on the field kicking balls into the back of the far goal, over and over
and over. The guy had about twenty balls lined up and went at them with no
break, hauling off and planting each and every one of them into the net. Parker
smiled, noting the familiar elbow bend just before he made contact and the
particular set of the man’s hips as he prepared his strike.

He’d been after Nicco about it, threatening to tie his arms
to his sides to force him to stop his reflexive elbow motion. It provided a
dead giveaway to a long, hard kick. Nicco had scoffed and told him not to be
ridiculous. Besides, training it out of him would be like training him never to
sneeze or to stop blinking.

Figuring the soccer pitch as good a place as any to make up,
he ran out onto the field, right in front of Nicco and made off with the ball
he had in his sights next, using the elbow as the perfect indication of the right
moment to attack.

“Hey!” the Spaniard called. Then when Parker turned, still
maneuvering the ball away toward the other goal, he frowned and crossed his
arms. “You sure you want to do this, youngster?”

Parker held up his arms in a gesture of “why not?”

The game commenced.

The men matched up physically. Slightly taller, with
surprising strength in his lean, wiry body, Nicco held an experience advantage.
Parker’s more compact frame could be deceiving. His stamina and cardiovascular
fitness had no equal. He could run for hours and hours and not tire, so when it
came to it, he wore Nicco down after about fifty minutes of non-stop
one-on-one. Parker loved it, the pure physicality of his game. He knew Nicco
did too.

Finally, they’d played to a three-three draw and agreed to a
“golden goal”—whoever scored next, won. They squared off at midfield. Nicco
took possession and Parker let him, content to chase and pounce when he’d
project his next move with his funny elbow thing. He stepped around him, both
men moving at full speed, breathing heavy and sweating buckets.

Planting his foot in a way that would earn him a yellow card
in an actual game, he lowered his shoulder into Nicco’s chest and sent the
other man tumbling head over heels to the turf. During which time Parker
trotted downfield and gave the ball a little tap into the net. He turned, and
saw Nicco still seated, head drooping between his bent knees.

Rushing back he crouched down, hands on Nicco’s shoulders,
terror and shame at his blatant trip making him breathless. “Oh God, are you
okay? I’m sorry, Nicco.”

The man looked up, dark hair soaked, arms and legs gleaming
with sweat. His chest heaved as he tried to catch a breath.

Parker sat back on his ass, facing him. “Who is Josh?” he
demanded, glaring at the man who had shown him what it felt like to be truly
satisfied.

Nicco did a double-take, blinked, and swallowed.

“Nicolas. Who is Josh?”

“He’s…how do you know about him?” The other man’s dark eyes
narrowed.

“You left your email signed in on my laptop. I hadn’t paid
any attention to it until a couple of days ago. You guys have quite the
conversation going.”

Parker forced himself not to crawl the short distance
between them and beg Nicco to come back into his life. He would not be sharing
him, however. He required some answers. “Who is he?” he ground out, keeping his
hands to himself with concerted effort.

“He’s…um…I mean, it’s…complicated.”

“Goddamn it, Nicco.” Parker gave up, grabbing Nicco’s arm,
loving the hard muscle tensed under his palm.

Nicco yanked himself away. “He is my psychologist.”

Parker felt gut-punched. “Your….”