The Locker Room (37 page)

Xander had grimaced. “Worst. Supervillain. Ever.”

Chris turned his head (hopefully so he didn"t look at the damage)

and stuck out his tongue. They"d given him some painkillers before the

procedure, so his movements were a little bit dreamy, but Xander had no

doubt he was aware, painfully aware, of his terrible loss with every

breath. “No, that would be The Whizzer—you remember him?”

The Locker Room 211

Xander snorted. “He was a superhero, genius, and I still say your

names suck.”

“You got a better name, Karcek, then spit it out!”

“Crazylegs,” Xander said with a smirk, and Chris let out a guffaw.

It was cut short by a wince, and Xander"s hand—tightly laced with

Chris"s during the procedure—took Chris"s clench of pain in silence.

So running out of the room like a child was not an option. But

Xander told Chris as he"d left that day, as he told Chris every time he

had to leave for the court, “I"m playing for you. I"m running for you,

jumping, shooting—it"s your heart in my body, you hear?”

It was the only time Chris ever let his pain show through. His eyes

would grow bright, and he"d swallow hard, and say, “Win, asshole.

You"re going to play for me, you"d better wipe the floor with the

competition, right?”

“Of course!”

Chris"s returned kiss, his cheery, unforced smile—even lined with

pain, it was always a whole-hearted smile—the squeeze of his hand in

Xander"s, these were the things that got Xander across the court like he

had wings. These were what made playing into his joy. More than one

sportscaster said you could practically see the glow of perfection off of

Karcek"s movements. And every press conference, Xander said the same

thing.

“This one"s for Edwards, right.”

He would look at Coach Wallick as he said it, and he got grim

satisfaction in watching the man flinch away.

SO THE house was ready, and more importantly, Chris was ready, by the

end of the break after the second round. (This one took six games—but

Xander hadn"t worried, even during the two losses.) During the

weeklong break, when the other teams were playing
their
series games,

Chris came home.

He"d been heavily sedated during the transport in the private plane,

and had woken up the next day in the bed in the front room, looking out

212 Amy Lane

the big wraparound window at the lake in the place he and Xander had

made their home.

Xander had slept on the couch next to him, and woke up in time to

see the realization dawn in his eyes that he was home, and that he never

had to leave.

“Dayum,” Chris murmured softly. “That"s some view, right?”

Folsom Lake was not the prettiest place on the planet, although it

was one of the few large bodies of water in this part of the state. “It"s

perfect,” Xander said sincerely.

Chris turned his head a little and said, “You"re not even looking at

the view, Xan.”

“I"m looking at all I need to.”

Chris looked down at his legs, bulky under the inflatable casts and

the blankets. His feet had been left relatively unscathed—the physics of

injury were sometimes the strangest and most twisted magics—and he

wiggled his bare pink toes at the foot of the bed.

“Me too,” he answered, looking back at Xander.

“You know, right?” Xander said apprehensively.

“Know what?”

“I"d be here even if they didn"t work. If you"d never walk again, or

couldn"t feel a thing. You know I"d still be here. I"m glad—so… you just

don"t even know how grateful I am, that you will walk again. But all I

used to need was you and basketball. Now, it"s only you. Any shape

you"re in, that"s all I want. You know that, right?”

Chris blinked hard, and blinked again, and then gave it up and

wiped his eyes. “Aw, Xander. Fuck you. Why? Why you gotta say shit

like that. It totally just levels me off at the balls.”

Xander grinned, appreciating the freedom he had to be himself with

Chris as he had with nobody else. “Well, as long as your balls are getting

some action, buddy, I think you should just say thank you and take your

medicine.”

Chris made a sound that should have been a laugh but sounded a

little like a sob, and Xander went about helping him with his morning

routine.

The Locker Room 213

“
It"s a good thing I"m already gay, Chris, because if I had to

handle your equipment every day to help you piss in a bottle, I think I"d

go gay for you in about two days.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but that"s because you haven"t had to

help me crap in a can yet. That"ll turn you off my ass quicker than you

can say „slick shit".”

“Baby, nothing"ll turn me off your ass. Now piss, already, I need to

take a shower.”

They had a concierge doctor and a private nurse, and, of course,

Lucia there to help take up the slack.

Chris hadn"t been there for two days before they realized they had

another potential employee in the making, as well.

Xander came back from practice aching all over and dragging his

ass through the front door, hoping for nothing more than to veg on the

couch and guzzle Gatorade like it was the elixer of life. The weeks of

commuting between Colorado and Sacramento during the playoffs

hadn"t come without a price, and Xander could feel in his bones that he

owed the body-god some serious sleep.

Audrey was talking seriously to the in-house nurse, getting

instructions for things she could do to help when the man was off duty.

Xander watched the two of them casually, liking the young man

very much. He was earnest and geeky, with a hairline that would recede

before he hit thirty and a narrow, appealing face—and he liked to make

Audrey laugh.

For her part, Audrey was interested in everything he said, from

how to calculate meds to tricks to helping move Chris"s body without

pain.

“I can live with that,” Chris quipped quietly, and he met Xander"s

eyes. They could both see it—interest, compatibility—and Xander"s

inner romantic (very, very inner—Xander really didn"t relate to people

well enough for that guy to exist on the surface of his skin) nodded

approvingly.

Little Audrey might have found a guy actually worth a trip back to

her apartment or, in this case, her room at the Chris & Xander Flophouse

for Lost Girls.

214 Amy Lane

Watching their byplay was enough to rouse Xander from his couch

coma so he could ask the question that had been brewing at the back of

his mind.

“Hey, Peter, you got a sec?”

Peter, the straight male nurse, adjusted one of Chris"s inflatable

casts and patted the blanket solidly around those blessedly wiggling pink

toes. “Why, Mr. Karcek, what do you need?”

Xander raised his eyebrows at Chris and asked, “When can he go

out in a wheelchair? I know he gets solid casts in a couple of days. Can

we transport him in, say, a week and a half?”

Chris looked at him curiously. “Whatcha thinkin", Xan?”

Xander smiled, not trying to be mysterious, but hating to commit to

something when he couldn"t predict the future. “I"m thinking, if we get

to six games against New York, you get a court side seat.”

Chris looked tired today. Pain, constant pain, could do that to a

person. So there they sat, both tired, both surrounded by parts of a life

that were pretty wonderful and parts of a life they deeply regretted. It

was a testament to the magic golden boy that still resided in Chris"s heart

that he could summon a hopeful grin and some enthusiasm.

“A little dramatic, you think?” His dark eyes were sparkling a little,

and he looked like the pain might be worth it to get to see Xander play.

“Baby, you have no idea. What about it, Pete—you think he can

make it?”

Pete-the-straight-male-nurse looked at Chris thoughtfully. “I think

we can do that,” he said after a moment. “I need to consult the doc, and

we"ll have to come up with a plan. I don"t recommend doing it a lot, but,

you know. One game, right?”

“Unless you make it to the finals!” Chris crowed, looking excited

about getting out of his medical prison.

“Yeah,” Xander said, looking at him with his heart in his eyes.

“Chris, um… don"t plan on going to those games, okay? Even if we do

make it there, right?”

Chris looked a little hurt. “What—I can"t travel to LA?” Because

the championship series was at Staples Center that year.

The Locker Room 215

Xander shrugged, and hoped Chris would forgive him for what he

had planned. “You can if they let you,” he said after a moment, but he

didn"t say who “they” might be.

SIX games. Six games, and Xander played
every game
as though it were

his last. He"d told Chris he was playing with Chris"s heart. Well, Chris"s

heart had been his own heart since they were fourteen years old—Xander

was playing for them both. Every lunge down the court, every thud of

the ball on the boards, every shot, every rebound, every swish through

the net, that was for both of them.

For six games, Xander played as though fear was the family

lapdog: old, blind, and toothless.

For five of those games, Chris watched on television, and asked

anybody listening if Xan looked like a god, or was it just Chris?

“Duh, big brother!”

“He plays beautifully, Mr. Edwards.” (Audrey"s straight male nurse

was still a little in awe of his employers.)

“No, Edwards, I just recruited that bastard and held his hand for

five years because he plays like a hyena in drag.” (God bless Uncle Leo,

anyway!)

“He"s always been as golden as you, baby.” (Xander blushed when

Chris told him his mother said this—he was sure she was sincere, and

that was just embarrassing.)

“You were amazing, Xan,” Chris said after every game. Even the

two they lost, Chris told him that. “The lead would have been

astronomical if not for you—man, you just kept putting pressure on until

the buzzer sounded, right?”

Xander smiled a little, sitting next to him and holding his hand. He

couldn"t seem to stop kissing it or stroking it, and even though he knew

that making love was months away (or at least a couple of days away,

when Chris got the solid casts and wouldn"t put pressure on his healing

bones and tissues with any arching or moaning or needing—)

Focus, Xander. We"ll have the rest of our lives.

216 Amy Lane

“You always talk about it, Chris. How would you like to see me

play a game just for me?”

Chris was surprised. “Explain. And don"t stop touching my hand.”

“I just… do you want to see me play just for myself? It would be,

you know, for you, so I"d do it good, but….”

Fifteen years they"d known each other. Eleven years they"d been

sharing a bed. Chris knew something was up. But Xander still had the

part of him that had kept secrets. He"d kept his home life a secret, kept

his hunger under wraps, kept the beatings to himself. Chris hadn"t

realized about the nightmares until they"d share a bed for longer than a

week, and even now, Chris didn"t know that they hadn"t completely

gone. The press had been missing vast acreage of Xander Karcek for

years.

Xander had one gift he could still give, one thing that he could

make theirs. He was tempted (so
very
tempted) to just give in, to spill

everything to his best friend, his lover, the other half of him.

But he couldn"t. Because if he told Chris what he had planned, then

this game, this plan, wouldn"t be for him. It would be for Chris, for

Chris"s approval, and that wasn"t it at all. This is what Xander wanted,

and it"s what he wanted for the both of them.

This is what he had to do alone.

Getting Chris to the game took some doing—a private ambulance,

a special chair, and, of course, the much-yearned-for fiberglass casts. But

get him there they did, with straight-male-nurse-Peter there in

attendance, and Audrey there by his side, and even Penny standing next

to him. Mandy had appointed herself Chris"s special dancer. Any time

she wasn"t on the floor, doing the dancing thing (which was, Xander had

to admit, pretty spectacular, on an athletic level anyway) she was making

sure Chris and his retinue had drinks or a T-shirt (special ones had been

made for each series) or even just a friendly presence there in the

pregame, and, Xander assumed, the rest of the game.

He took a look at them from the tunnel, looked at Chris, enjoying