Page 55 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

TILLER

“Sam, dammit, tell me what the fuck is wrong with him? He won’t even answer my calls.”

I’d completely lost my patience with Mikey.

Something was wrong, and he wouldn’t fucking talk to me.

I’d almost decided to ditch practice on Wednesday and fly out to Colorado to shake him in person and ask him what the hell was going on.

In the end, I forced myself to stay put since I was playing in the game Thursday and my team was counting on me.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t shake down our friend for information. I left Sam a message Wednesday night but didn’t get a call back until I was heading into the Bills’ stadium late Thursday afternoon.

Sam had been busy with a family thing. I knew that, but I couldn’t help but think he might know what was happening with Mikey.

“Tiller, take a breath.” His voice sounded calm the way it always did. Sam was steady like a rock. “And then sit down. Because you’re not going to like this.”

My face started tingling with fear that he was going to impart some terrible news. Teammates jostled past me on their way to the locker room, but I ignored them. “Just spit it out.”

Markus glared at me for taking a personal call this close to the game, but I waved him on ahead. He’d supposedly come to Buffalo to meet with another client of his, but I suspected he was really here in case he had to handle another injury involving his highest-paid asset.

He tapped his smartwatch and tilted his head toward the locker room. I waved him on again without looking up.

Sam sighed. “I’m not supposed to know this, and I sure as hell am not supposed to tell you , but you two fuckers need to get your head out of your asses before you get railroaded by external forces.”

That didn’t make any sense. My head wasn’t in my ass. I was all-in with Mikey. Hell, I’d spent the better part of the week making plans to show him how all-in I was. “How so?”

“He accidentally sent me a text that was meant for someone else. But it looks like maybe his dad is threatening him to make him leave you.”

“Leave m—” I stopped as I realized what he was saying. He didn’t mean quitting his job as my chef and assistant. He meant walking away from the relationship. “How?”

“He told Mikey he would play you injured or possibly trade you. He said he would deny the Riggers’ endorsement of Mikey’s cookbook deal.”

Sudden hot rage came over me. My personal life was none of my coach’s business, but more than that, how could he be such an uncaring asshole to his own son? How could he deny Mikey a chance at happiness?

“Fuck.” I felt like my back teeth were going to crack. I’d never felt so angry at my coach before, and that was saying a lot since he’d bawled me out plenty of times and run me until I puked.

As I made my way down the hallway, I tried to talk myself down from the cliff. Every part of me wanted to find Coach Vining and lay him out.

“Take a breath,” Sam said.

My thoughts pinged around in my head like an exploding bag of Skittles. I didn’t even know where to start. “Why does he even care?” I wondered out loud.

“Optics?” Sam suggested. “That’s all I can figure. I’m not sure what angle bothers him, though. Is it the player with coach’s son thing or the star player being publicly gay thing?”

“But I’ve been out the whole time,” I argued.

“Not the same thing as being in an actual gay relationship. There will be photos of you together. It would mean putting your sexuality in people’s faces. The media would have a field day.”

I lowered my voice as I made my way to the locker room. “The media already has a fucking field day with my sexuality. How is this any different?”

My hands were shaking with the familiar rush of adrenaline, and I knew I needed to calm down if I had any chance of playing well in the game.

“I need to talk to him,” I said.

“Do not confront Coach V. right now,” Sam warned.

“No. I mean Mikey. I need to talk to him. Ask him if this is why he’s been avoiding me.”

“Feeling like you already know the answer to that. Calm down, play your game. Focus on your job right now.”

He was right. I knew that, but I also knew I needed to hear Mikey’s voice. I needed him to tell me he wasn’t going to let his father get in the way of how we felt about each other.

“Okay,” I said finally.

Sam let out a breath and sounded resigned. “You’re going to go off half-cocked.”

“Pretty much.”

“Don’t fuck up your career while you’re angry. Promise me.”

He was a good friend to both of us, and I valued his advice. “I promise. I just want to make sure Mikey’s okay.”

“Then call him. Tell him you love him and you’ll call him back after the game to talk about it. Then go out there and kick ass, alright?”

I wasn’t going to tell Mikey I loved him for the first time over the phone.

After our strange final night together, his sneaking out the next morning to catch his flight, and his lack of availability to even talk on the phone this week, I had no idea how he was feeling about us.

Not knowing had me completely fucked-up. And now this.

“Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate it.”

“Good luck.”

After the call, I headed toward my locker to stash my bag and peel off my jacket.

Everyone I passed cheered or thumped me on the back to tell me how happy they were to have me back in the starting line.

I smiled and nodded, murmuring my thanks until I got to the bench in front of my locker.

I pulled out my phone and saw the text from Mikey to call him after the game.

Thank god . I didn’t want to wait. I dialed Mikey’s number as my heart thumped nervously, and Markus shot me another pissy look from across the locker room where he was talking to Antone.

“Michael Vining,” Mikey said breathlessly when he picked up. I could hear wind and people talking, so I assumed he was outside or maybe in the car.

“Hey, baby,” I said, closing my eyes to drink in the sound of his familiar voice. I missed him terribly.

“Tiller?” Mikey sounded surprised. “I thought you had a game. What time is it?”

“I’m in the locker room, but I wanted to catch you really quick before I dressed out.

God, it’s so good to hear your voice. How’s your trip so far?

” I wasn’t sure why I was starting with a stupid question, but it just popped out.

Maybe I needed another minute to get the balls to ask him about his dad.

Mikey hesitated. “Good. I’m on my way to give…” The rest of his words were muffled. I stuck a finger in my other ear to block out the noise from the guys around me.

“What? I didn’t hear that last part.”

“Sorry, was asking Truman to wait a minute. I’m just dropping—” The sudden sound of a car honk followed by screeching tires came through the line. It was followed by a gasp and Mikey’s scream, the loud clatter of the phone hitting the pavement, and then muffled shouts and unidentifiable noises.

“Mikey!” I yelled into the phone. “Mikey, what happened?” The locker room around me went silent as I stood from my bench. It was a car crash, obvious from the horrible noises. “Mikey!”

“Tiller?” His voice sounded weak and faraway. I could barely hear him. “Call 911. Near… near… spice shop…”

Peevy’s hand was on my shoulder, and his face was creased with worry. “What can I do?” he whispered.

My voice was thick with shock. “Find a number for 911 in Aster Valley, Colorado. I don’t know how, but call them and…” My brain scrambled to think of what the name of Truman’s shop was. “The Honeyed Lemon shop on the main street there.”

Peevy immediately pulled out his phone, and I realized several other players were doing the same. I hoped they were trying to help rather than gossiping.

“Mikey?” I begged into the phone. “Are you hurt? Tell me you’re okay.”

All I could hear were the sounds of people shouting, muffled noises of people possibly trying to help, and other unidentifiable commotion. I kept my eyes closed as if that would help me hear better, but the only distinct voice I could hear was my own ragged one begging Mikey to answer me.

At one point, I thought I heard the sound of sirens. It was quickly followed by a more authoritative voice I hoped like hell was a cop or EMT. Part of me wanted to shout into the phone, demanding answers, but the rational part of me knew to stay quiet and let them do whatever needed doing.

Someone’s strong hands guided me back down to the bench where I sat numbly and waited.

People moved around me in the locker room, getting into uniform and talking quietly among themselves.

Someone asked someone else if they should tell Coach, and Markus and Peevy both hissed a “no” before Markus suggested moving me to a separate room.

Derek Mopellei squatted in front of me and reached up to quickly thumb tears off my face I didn’t even know had fallen. “He’s going to be okay,” he said in his calm manner. “Deep breath.”

Finally, after an impossibly long time of listening to what was now clearly emergency response personnel, someone picked up the phone. “Hello?”

My entire body flooded with fear until I gagged with it. “Mikey, I croaked. “My… my Mikey. Is he okay? Is he…?”

“Sir, two hit-and-run casualties are being taken to Aster Valley Emergency. That’s all I can tell you at this time.”

“Is he—” The call cut off so quickly, I grunted in surprise. I tried calling it back, but there was no answer. “Fuck!” I shouted, wanting to hurl my phone across the room in helpless frustration.

Suddenly, I realized I was wasting time.

I shot to my feet and grabbed my bag out of my locker cubby before bolting toward the door.

A shout of “Where the hell are you going?” rang out as I sailed by.

Markus tried to stop me, to tell me I needed to dress out in my uniform for the game, but I shoved him away.

“Stop!” he tried again, so I spun around to face him.