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Tommy chuckles, tickling my cheek with his nose. “You know, in cleats I’m six-three.”

I turn my head, grazing my lips against his. “In that case, I meant to say six-three.”

We kiss, but it feels like making magic, and I can’t wait to take this man home and make love to him. The night is young, though, so we’ll finish our drinks first, watch a bit of the show, and be gay in public for a while before we go be even gayer in private.

“You make me feel lucky,” I murmur the words Tommy told me not that long ago, but he smiles like I just came up with it myself.

31

Tommy

We’re here. The NCAA championship match. The whole shebang. Winner takes all. Loser takes jack shit, except the honor of being second best, I guess. Who wants to be second best? I wouldn’t be stressing as much as I am if not for how badly Rowan wants to win. Needs to win.

Soccer is his life, after all. Not just something someone stuck him into to teach him to be a man, but ended up loving. It’s his purpose, and it’s his last chance to win the College Cup for Sac State. Sure, it’s a team effort, but none of us would be here without Rowan, and everyone knows it. Even Levi cooled it with the teasing. He and Rowan are more like friends than I’ve ever seen them, and it makes sense despite their contradictory personalities. Levi is the second best player on the team, after all. Rowan’s right-hand guy in a lot of ways. If I’m being real honest, I’m sort of jealous about it. Can’t be the Tommy and Rowan show if Levi is Rowan’s go-to.

On top of my jealousy, I’m straight up stressing. Coach tells me I’m a starter today. For the biggest match, on the biggest stage, of my entire life.

“Think you can handle the pressure?” Coach asks like there’s a right and wrong answer.

“Y-yeah. Totally. Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t let me down, kid.” He walks off, and I walk in a daze until meeting Rowan halfway along the sidelines.

“Did you do this?” I ask him.

Still smiling, he shrugs. “It’s McDonough’s decision, not mine. All I did was tell him I need you on that field with me. That you’re the best defensive midfielder we got next to Connor.” He clasps his hands behind my head and draws my forehead to touch his. “This is it, baby boy.”

“I know,” I breathe, heart pounding in my chest.

“You got this.”

“I’ll try.”

“You got this,” he repeats, eyes pumped and fiery. “Say it.”

“I got this.”

His mouth covers mine, right here on the sidelines as our guys ready for a match of their lives and the stadium steadily fills. He smooches me firm where scouts are watching. Hell, where fucking ESPN is watching. It makes my spine tingle and my cock twitch. I have to separate myself from him just so I won’t cause a scene in my shorts.

“I got this,” I promise again, more to myself this time.

Walking the sidelines, I spot my family in the stands. They flew all the way here to see me. Even Ma. Another reason I can’t fuck this up. They spot me, too, and wave like mad, like I’m a celebrity all of a sudden. I wave back, scared shitless but smiling anyway.

It’s been two weeks since Thanksgiving, and between training, finals, and stealing as much time with Rowan as possible, it’s gone by in a flash. Still, the hours where Ma and I sat on the porch, finally hashing out my life like filling in the gaps of a soap opera she missed too many episodes of, seemed to drag on for an eternity.

The worst part was when she asked if she’d done something wrong—if it was her fault, or someone else’s fault. If Dad had done something before he ran off. Made me think of Rowan and all the shit he’s got to cope with that I’ll never understand, because the first person who touched me was a girl at a pool party when we were both fifteen and awkward, fumbling around in a laundry room.

“No one did anything,” I insisted. “It’s just part of who I am. Who I’ve always been. And I’m glad this is who I am. I like being gay. I like being myself. I like being able to tell you the truth, even if you’re disappointed in me.”

She never denied being disappointed in me, but she hugged me and told me she’ll always love me. That I’ll always be her son.

For now, I guess that has to be good enough.

On the field, before the whistle, Rowan shakes hands with the captain of the opposing team, a school out of Ohio. After the whistle blows, everything moves lightning fast, and I have to trust my muscle memory to remember where to be and when. There’s so much going on, and the sheer amount of people around us amplifies the stakes to untenable heights.

“Focus, Tommy,” Rowan tells me in passing, a quick tap to my shoulder like he caught me dozing. I’m not dozing, just dizzy.

Focus, Tommy.