Page 144 of The Locker Room

make himself feel better. They both knew—he"d taken a look at

Denver"s schedule, and Sacramento"s schedule, and the practice

schedules, and it was a real possibility that the man he"d seen every day

since he was fourteen might not be able to touch his hand or quiet his

fears or touch his body until the NCAA break in March. At least they

were both playing the All-Star Game.

“All-Stars,” Chris murmured glumly, and Xander was so pissed off

to hear Chris say it, he kicked a rock lying in the road.

It was attached to a basketball-sized boulder, lying under the

decomposed granite of the pathway, and Xander"s follow-through and

124 Amy Lane

connect broke his toe—truly, broke it. He"d done it the year before when

he ran into the bleachers during the game, and had played on it for the

entire season, and he remembered the pain, and he remembered the

feeling and oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckit fucking hurt,

and now he"d have to play on it all-fucking-over. His swearing could be

heard out over the lake, and the dogs came back to whine at him

worriedly, and Chris, not sure what to do about the situation from a

thousand miles away laughed bitterly over the phone until Xander

hobbled through his front door, desperate for some ibuprofen, some

Pepto-Bismol, and some motherfucking ice.

HE PLAYED on it. Ofcoursehe played on it. And when he was running

during practice, no one even noticed he was in pain. It wasn"t until the

coach blew a whistle for a halt that he started to limp, and as the court

doc came running up to check him out, the coach snapped, “It"s just

because his little boyfriend isn"t there to carry him! Leave him the hell

alone!”

Xander wasn"t really sure what happened to the ball in his hand.

One minute he was dribbling it slowly, and the next minute it was

rebounding off the wall by Wallick"s head. Wallick was fit, though—