Safety Net (35 page)

“He’s taking it harder than Erick
seems to be,” observed Andy, frowning worriedly.

“He was so sure,” sighed Dale. “I
don’t think Erick was. Erick’s been through this before. It sucks, though.
Neuhauser’s a junior. If he’s so damn great, couldn’t they have waited another
year?”

They drowned their sorrows in iced
cappuccinos and a giant cheese pastry. Dale poked at the crumbs with his fork
and said, “We looked up the voting results this morning. Lowell kicked the desk
when he saw. But it was so close. It could’ve gone either way.”

Andy said, “Do you think Erick and
Lowell are too used to winning now?”

Dale considered this. “I never
thought of it that way, but huh. That’s an interesting point.”

“What are they going to do?” Andy
asked quietly, and Dale knew exactly what he meant. He’d been trying not to ask
himself the same question for over a year now. Andy said, “I thought when you
told them you weren’t entering the NFL, that might be an opportunity for them
to look at the future, face what’s coming. But I guess it didn’t happen.”

Dale rubbed the back of his neck
and said, “No. And I know I should’ve pushed them. Because I know exactly what
they’re going to do. They’re going to pretend there’s nothing wrong, that
nothing’s going to change, until everything changes. And then they’re gonna be miserable.
And they could be on opposite coasts by then, and who knows where I’ll be. But
I won’t be there to pick up the pieces.”

Andy reached across the table and
held Dale’s hand. After a split-second knee-jerk panic reaction of
not in
public!
Dale, for the first time in his life, didn’t give a damn who saw,
who might see, who might say something. He had one game left -- the fucking
Rose Bowl -- and Coach Miller himself would have to tie him up and throw him in
a pit if he wanted to keep Dale from playing.

He squeezed Andy’s hand, and Andy
said, “It’s not up to you to pick up the pieces. Or force them into talking. Or
open their eyes to the reality of the profession they’re entering.”

“I know, I know,” Dale said,
rubbing his thumb over Andy’s fingers. “But I can’t help feeling responsible
somehow.”

“If you hadn’t been here, they
never would’ve fallen in love with each other?” Andy asked with a soft smirk. “My,
that must make you a superqueer.”

Dale glared at him, but the thing
was, Andy had a point. If they were meant for each other, it was going to
happen with or without the gay friend in the mix. With no Dale around, Lowell
could’ve easily found another guy to practice being gay with. Or gone right for
the Erick jackpot.

“Okay. Yes. Point taken. I get it.”
Dale chewed on his lower lip. “I wish I didn’t love them so damn much, the
idiots.”

Andy gave him a soft look. “And
sometimes I wish that you genuinely wished that. But it’s part of who you are.”

Dale wanted to kiss him, but hadn’t
quite shed enough of his ingrained inhibitions yet. He sat back and said, “I
got the internship applications from Professor Henderson on Friday. One’s in D.C.
That one sounds pretty nice. There’s another one in New York, but it’s only for
three months. I was hoping for at least six months. The other one’s in
Cleveland.” He grimaced. “Way too close to my parents. I’m debating even
applying for it.”

“Ohio’s that small a state, huh?” Andy
asked drily. “But you better apply for everything, just in case. I met with the
group of Peace Corps alumni Dr. Ahmed told me about. An interesting mix of
people. It was helpful. Answered some of my questions.”

“Didn’t change your mind, I guess.”
Dale had been trying not to be pissy about Andy’s Peace Corps plans but wasn’t
being altogether successful.

Andy toyed with the straw in his
empty iced cappuccino glass. “No, it didn’t. Going to a developing nation is
the next logical step for me--” Andy was a double-major in environmental
science and communication. “--and the Peace Corps makes a lot of sense right
now. I need to see things away from Crocker University.”

Dale shrugged, shifting in his
chair. Andy was always right about stuff like this. Damn.

Andy gazed at him. “Are you going
to be mad at me for doing this?”

“No. To be honest, I’m envious that
you’re sure of what you want to do. I wish I was sure.” Dale picked at a pastry
crumb on the plate. “But I can’t say I’m happy about it, because it means I won’t
see you for two years.”

Andy cocked his head. “And that
could be a bad thing. Or a good thing.” He smiled softly, and Dale sighed, “This
is why I can’t be mad. You make it impossible.” He glanced around. “Let’s get
out of here. Our lives aren’t over yet.”

-----

-----

The weather was gorgeous,
unseasonably warm for January. The winter afternoon sun slanted through the
trees lining the drive into campus as the buses pulled up to the football
offices. Only a handful of local press was waiting. Coach Miller met them and
told Erick to go get some rest.

“You don’t have to face this,” Coach
Miller said. “The postgame interview was enough.”

The dorm was empty. Andy hadn’t
gotten back from Pasadena yet; he’d flown down there on his own. Erick checked
his phone and there was a text from Candace saying it had been a great game
even if the outcome should have been different. There was a voicemail from his
father, saying he’d spoken to an agent who’d said the loss would make no
difference in Erick’s prospects. The other voicemail was from his mother. After
the game, his parents had come up to stay at a hotel near Crocker for the rest
of the week.

“Call us when you get in,” she
said. “We’ll have dinner. And you can bring your friends. Whoever you like.”

Erick tossed his phone aside and
stretched out on the bed. Why did he feel so numb? He couldn’t understand it.
Getting trapped at the thirty when the clock ran down, no timeouts left, that
had been agony. Had hurt like getting his skin peeled off, layer by layer.

Erick had been sure they could pull
off the win. They’d had a little over two minutes for the final scoring drive.
He had been certain he could get a pass off in time or get the ball to LeShawn
or get them into field goal range. It was what they had done all season. What
they did all the time. And out of nowhere, Michigan State’s defense shut them
down. Erick saw all the ways it had gone wrong, unraveled right before his
eyes, and still couldn’t say why they lost. It should have worked, but it didn’t.

He had wanted Crocker’s first-ever
second consecutive BCS bowl win more than anything. He had been sure he could
do it. He’d failed, and now all he could feel was numb.

His parents were staying at the
Westin near campus. He walked over there with Lowell and they met Dale and Andy
on their way.

“You sure you want us there?” Dale
asked.

“If you’d rather not meet my parents,
don’t come,” Erick said flatly, and Dale gave him the you’re-covered-in-blood
look of concern. “I thought we could all get a nice dinner out of it. With my
daddy paying.”

There was a fancy seafood
restaurant next to the Westin. Mama and Daddy were waiting for them as they
crowded into the foyer. It was a Tuesday night, not very busy, and Erick made
the introductions while they were on the way to their table.

“This is my friend Dale. You’ve
heard me talk about him.”

His father shook Dale’s hand. “Very
glad to meet you.”

“You remember Lowell, of course.” Wondering
if, indeed, Mama remembered savaging Lowell last year in Florida. “And this is
Andy, my roommate. He’s Dale’s boyfriend.”

Dale, about to sit down at the
table, froze and stared at Erick. Lowell stared at Erick. Mama stared at Dale.
Andy stared at Erick, then Dale. Daddy said, “Nice to meet you,” and shook
hands with Andy. They all sat down, completely silent until after the server
had brought their menus.

Mama recovered, looked around the
table, and said, “My word. Here I am, surrounded by all these handsome men. I
feel like the queen bee.”

Daddy smiled indulgently at her and
said to Erick, “I used to call her that when we first met. Queen Dee, for queen
bee. Because she was always surrounded by admirers.”

Erick, who could never picture Mama
as anything other than his mother, glanced skeptically at his daddy and picked
up a menu. Andy asked Daddy, “And how did you get through the crowd, Mr. West?”

Daddy laughed. “Same way I got
through defensive lines. I kept going forward, no matter what. Anyone who got
in my way, I went around him.”

“Were you a quarterback, too?” Lowell
asked.

“No. I was a running back. I did a
little quarterbacking in high school when our QB was out on injury. That’s why
in college I had to try extra hard. Even with my varsity letter, I was merely
an RB.” Daddy opened his menu. “Of course, I was no LeShawn Wells or Aaron
Neuhauser Junior.”

“Neuhauser,” Mama sniffed, but left
it at that. She’d taken the Heisman defeat badly, about as badly as Lowell had
taken it. Erick glanced at them both over his menu and was surprised that they
weren’t staring daggers at each other.

Over dinner, his parents were
remarkably pleasant. They talked about Crocker, about the season -- did not
mention the Rose Bowl, it was too soon for that -- and Erick got a bit of
family gossip about Trisha and the kids and Janine, who’d decided to go back to
grad school and get a nursing degree.

“Janine a nurse?” Erick said. “Taking
care of people? The girl who put mud on my skinned knees?”

“She was only six at the time,” Mama
said. “Lowell, how is your sister? We met her last year, I recall.”

Lowell glanced at Erick, clearly
remembering the awkward evening before the Orange Bowl. “Uh, she’s okay. She’s
in art school in New York.”

“Does she ever play soccer?” Erick
asked.

“I don’t think the art school has
any teams,” Lowell said with a dry smile. “She never mentions it, so I doubt it.
Judging by her tweets, all she does when she’s not in school is go see bands
and go to dance clubs.” His voice dripped disapproval, and Erick decided it
must be tough to be a kid sister.

“And what about you, Dale?” asked
Mama. “Any brothers or sisters?”

Every time Mama or Daddy spoke to
him, Dale started a little. “Oh, uh. No. Just me, I’m afraid.”

Mama nibbled on her salmon steak. “Your
parents must be very proud.”

Dale’s face reddened, and Erick
wondered how to intervene before Dale reacted. Sarcasm was rarely Mama’s weapon
of choice; she’d meant it sincerely.

Dale, exchanging a look with Andy,
got control of himself and said with a slight sharpness, “Why?”

“For having such a handsome son at
Crocker,” Mama said, mildly surprised to have her compliment challenged. “Erick
told us you were a walk-on. You weren’t even scouted for football and you got
into Crocker on your academics. That’s quite an achievement in itself, but to
make the football team as well. It would make any parent proud.”

“Oh,” Dale said meekly. “Well, uh.”

Andy smiled gently at him.

Mama said to Andy, “You’re not on
the football team?”

“No,” Andy said apologetically. “My
first love has always been basketball. Though since meeting Dale -- and Erick
-- I’ve been more interested in football, of course.”

Mama looked frosty for a moment
(Erick was certain it had more to do with Andy not being a football fan than
anything else) but said courteously, “And do you have family? Brothers and
sisters?”

They talked a bit about Andy’s
father and his cousins in Orange County. Daddy moved the conversation to the
NFL draft and some athletic directors’ grapevine gossip about the prospects.
Erick braced himself for Mama boasting about him, but she restrained herself
with a short, “So long as Neuhauser stays put, I don’t see why you won’t be the
number one pick. Even though that means New Haven.”

“Or Minnesota,” put in Lowell. “If
New Haven wins on Saturday.”

By bits and pieces over the past
few weeks, Erick had worked out that Lowell was obscurely rooting for Minnesota
to get him in the draft and was adamantly against New Haven. To Erick, it was
six of one, half a dozen of the other. Both teams were at the very bottom, both
teams had been struggling in recent years, and both teams were on the verge of
losing coaching staff, according to the rumors. Neither was a team Erick longed
to play for but he thought he could adjust to either of them.

Daddy said, “Stranger things have
happened, but I doubt the Hawks will beat New Orleans.”

Lowell looked glum. Erick said to
cheer him up, “Maybe New Haven won’t pick me. They might not want another
quarterback. They have Shane Benjamin, after all.”

Lowell didn’t seem convinced, but
before he could say anything, a little girl came up to their table and said to
Erick, “Are you Erick West?” A young couple, clearly her parents, followed on
her heels, mortified. With a glance at them, the girl said, “Oh. I’m s’posed to
say excuse me.”