Phalen

This story is entirely fictional, and any resemblances to actual persons are completely coincidental. Actual locations are mentioned, and are used for 'background' only.

'Phalen - Finding Happiness' Chapter thirteen

by Roy Reinikainen

"Thank you." Greg leaned close and gave Curt a kiss, feeling slightly daring for kissing another man in broad daylight.

"For what, the massage, the comfortable bed, the breakfast, the shower?" Curt grinned, at the growing look of exasperation. Finally, Greg held up a hand to stop the list of possible things to be thankful for.

"For proving to me that I am indeed . . . human, and not some sort of physical construct . . . a robot . . . and for letting me cry. I haven't cried since I was a child." He shrugged slightly. "I guess I thought I'd be giving up control." He squeezed Curt's hand. "Whatever. Thanks, I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful person to teach me that being . . . intimate with someone isn't about losing control." His smile faded into a look of concern.

"The only thing is, I'm going to have to come up with an entirely new set of fantasies. The old ones are simply not good enough any longer." He winked.

Curt squeezed Greg's warm hand and gave him an encouraging grin. "You're no robot, I assure you. I had a wonderful time, too." He was amazed at how much Greg had changed over the past couple months. He was still assertive, yes . . . but he was no longer using his assertiveness to keep others away. "And, your sperm tastes much better than broccoli."

Greg chuckled, playfully punching Curt on the arm. "I could become accustomed to the taste of yours as well." He licked his lips. "Maybe all I need is lots of practice?" He raised his eyebrows in query. "I'd be willing to see if that's the case." He stepped out of the car and closed the door. "Bye."

Curt waved and tooted his horn as he drove away.

Greg stood in the driveway and watched the car accelerate down the street, feeling more content than he could ever recall. The adventures of the past twenty four hours could almost dispel the sense of dread he experienced each time he thought of Dustin trying to ruin his reputation.

He had gotten word, was it only yesterday, that the pills Carl said Dustin had given him, claiming they came from Greg, had been nothing more than sugar pills. Greg's supervisor thought, and he agreed, that more appeared to be going on than even Dustin knew of.

"If he was trying to ruin your reputation, he certainly wouldn't have used sugar pills," his supervisor had mused. "Instead, he would have used the real thing." She sat back in her chair and thought for a moment. "Unless, he thought the stuff he gave Carl was the real thing." She shrugged. "Someone brighter than I will have to figure this all out, I'm afraid."

Still, even with the good news about the fake pills, the entire thing hung over him like a storm cloud. He was about to turn toward the house when he noticed Phalen slowly walking up the street, his gym bag hanging loosely from its shoulder strap. His head was bowed and he looked exhausted.

Greg frowned and waved a greeting but got no response. 'It must have been a rough workout.' Normally, Phalen was full of good cheer, laughing and teasing, no matter how difficult the workout. Today, it looked as if something was seriously bothering him. During the past months, Phalen had become like a second brother. Greg still felt as if he had failed Jeff by not being there when he was needed. He didn't want to do the same thing with Phalen, no matter what personal problems he faced at the clinic. The man approaching him was as important to him as Jeff . . . and the man appeared to be seriously worried about something.

"Hey, Phalen! Did you have a rough practice today?" He smiled and reached out to give Phalen a cheerful pat on the back but withdrew his hand when Phalen trudged past without stopping. Up close, he seemed in even worse condition than Greg had thought. There were dark circles under his eyes and he appeared so exhausted he could barely move.

"Yeah, those practices are not fun. I have to listen to all the guys talk about . . ." He glanced toward Greg, and hesitated. "I have to listen to them talk." He pushed the courtyard door open, ignoring the dull thud when it swung wide and hit the wall. Greg frowned at the behavior, unlike anything he had seen.

Phalen paused, turning to look at Greg as he closed the courtyard door. "Do you work with the baseball team much?" The question almost sounded like an accusation.

"No, not much. There was the one player who blew his shoulder . . . Carl?" Phalen nodded. "I've seen him a couple times. There have been a couple other guys come in for minor stuff. Right now, I'm mostly seeing football players." He shook his head in dismay. "Those football injuries are nasty. Why do you ask?" Phalen turned toward the front door, leaving Greg behind.

"Just wondering. That's all." Phalen reached for the front door lever but was stopped when Greg reached out and grabbed the handle first, preventing the door from opening.

"Phalen," he asked in a worried voice. "Is something wrong? Something other than having a bad day at weight training? If there is, I'd like to help . . . if I can."

Phalen bit his lip. "I didn't say I had a bad day at weight training. I said I had to listen to . . . lots of shit." He pushed on the front door and stepped into the house, followed closely by Greg, who gently closed the door behind him.

"Was all this shit about you?"

"No." Phalen walked through the sunroom and turned toward the bedroom barely acknowledging Jeff, who had come out of his office and was smiling, expecting the man who normally came home in good cheer. Greg shrugged and shook his head at Jeff's puzzled expression.

He glanced over his shoulder, obviously bothered by Phalen's behavior, before turning back to Greg.

"How was your evening?"

"Good." He smiled brightly, enjoying Jeff's blossoming smile. "The evening was good. Today could only be described as fantastic!"

"Really?" Jeff's smile reflected his brother's. His expression hinted that he wanted details . . . preferably lurid.

Greg nodded and then sobered. "The only problem is that no matter where you are in that apartment, there is a photograph of Brad. They're everywhere!" He knew he was raising his voice but couldn't help it. He had grown tired of being surrounded by the photographs and mementos, and the fear that he was nothing more than a substitute for someone else.

"That whole place is nothing more than a frigging Brad shrine," he complained, speaking louder than he would have wished.

"Friggin," Phalen grumbled, as he walked past, having changed into a black t-shirt and a pair of yellow running shorts.

"A friggin' Brad shrine." He nodded thanks to Phalen's retreating back. "There's a photograph in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen, his car! When I was lying next to him last night I wondered if he was fantasizing about me being Brad! I'm not Brad! I'm Greg!" He realized too late he had raised his voice once again.

"Hey," Phalen turned toward them. "There's no reason to shout."

"You're right, Phalen. I'm sorry. I didn't intend to raise my voice. My life is suddenly . . . very frustrating. I shouldn't be taking it out on you guys." Phalen muttered something unintelligible as he sat down, tilting his head back and resting it on the sofa. Jeff and Greg followed.

Jeff sat down and scooted close. "Phalen's had to listen to me do my share of shouting." Phalen uncharacteristically put his feet on the coffee table and grumbled.

"Yeah, and I didn't like that either."

Greg intercepted Jeff's worried expression. Initially, Phalen ignored Jeff's presence, but after a moment, he reached for his hand, and they linked fingers. He looked at Jeff with a tired smile, but gave no hint that his mood had lightened.

Greg scooted forward on the sofa facing Phalen and his brother. "I think it's time to stop talking about me and my evening and start talking about what's bothering you. Jeff and I are here to listen . . . and to help, if we're able."

Phalen took a deep breath and then expelled it slowly. "There's some shit going on with a couple guys on the team. There's a really creepy guy that hangs around them." He shuddered and released Jeff's hand, becoming agitated. "All the guys talk about is . . . stuff . . . that I think is illegal. I don't want to get anyone into trouble, but no matter what I do, someone will be hurt." He rubbed his eyes. "I can't sleep. I can't even think."

"What sort of things do you think might be illegal?" Greg leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, dangling his hands between his legs, flicking a look at Jeff, who had turned to Phalen with a look of growing concern.

Phalen quickly stood and walked around the coffee table and across the room, raising his voice. "I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't know what to do, so leave me alone!"

"Phalen. . ." Jeff's sharp voice cut through the silence left in the wake of the outburst.

"What?" Phalen shouted, turning to face Jeff from across the room. A moment later he bowed his head and lowered his voice. "I'm sorry big man . . . Greg, you too. I'm weirded out . . . totally. I'm frustrated. I want to do what's right . . . but . . ." He shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. "Like I said. I don't want to hurt anyone. If I do something . . . anything, someone will be." He massaged the back of his neck, grimacing at the feeling.

Greg glanced at Jeff before speaking. "Why can't you go to the coach and tell him your suspicions. Let him take over?" Phalen seemed to almost be propelled out of the chair.

He walked across the living room opening one of the French doors leading to the patio. "I can't!" he shouted at the top of his lungs before he slammed the door and plopped onto one of the patio chairs and stared into the distance.

Brad slowed to a jog, then a fast walk, and eventually stopped. He leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees and took a series of deep breaths. With winter approaching, the sun was going down earlier and the cool desert evening was settling over the city. He shook his head, creating a spray of perspiration, and then sat down on a bench near the School of Architecture.

'I can't seem to get away from this place.' He automatically glanced up to see if the lights were on in the design lab where he taught, and grinned, imagining the grumbling going on about the ogre, Brad Kelly, and the impossible workload he'd dumped on the class.

'I survived, guys. You will too.' He ran his fingers through his wet hair and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his bare knees, feeling a chill as a breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of the nearby palms.

'I survived architecture school . . . but am I going to survive the turmoil I'm feeling right now?' Normally, a long run would clear his mind. Lately, even that had ceased to work. He found himself spending more and more time at school as a means of distraction. He initially blamed his need to be at school as being unable to break old habits. He now knew that wasn't the case. He was feeling guilty.

'Larry loves me.' He shook his head in resignation and then looked up and smiled a greeting and waved to one of his students as they left the building and shouted his name. 'When I'm with Larry, it's easy to think that I love him.' He paused, unwilling to continue the thought. 'But, when I'm not with him, I . . . don't . . . love, him.'

There, he'd admitted it to himself. 'If what I feel when I'm with him truly was love, wouldn't I feel it all the time?' He didn't have to think about it. He already knew the answer. Of course he would.

He glanced across the street at the Chuck Box restaurant, swarming with people. 'Meeting Curt the other day at the Chuck Box is where these feeling began.' He looked at the table where he and Curt had sat. 'I thought I was moving on. I thought I was putting him behind me.' He sighed, hanging his head. 'I guess I wasn't.'

'Larry's already going through enough stuff. I don't need to add to his worries.' He recalled how only last night, Larry had held his thumb and forefinger close together and told him that he was, "this" close to taking Mikko Halonen's offer of a partnership in the new law firm and abandoning his current job. His own job was becoming unbearable.

They had sat on the patio and cuddled in the cool evening air, their fingers linked. Larry had raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed Brad's fingers. "I'm so fortunate to have you with me," he murmured, glancing at Brad with a slight grin, his dimples making a brief appearance. "My whole life seems to have been leading me to where I . . . we . . . are now." Brad rested his head on Larry's shoulders, making a heroic effort not to weep at the melancholy in Larry's voice.

Brad rested a foot on the edge of the bench and wrapped his arms around his flexed leg, resting his chin on his knee. 'I'm not being fair to him. I know he loves me. He's never said anything. He doesn't have to. I can tell by the way he looks at me . . . the way he touches me. It's almost embarrassing at times to see the intensity of his feelings written on his face. He tries to hide them . . . but they're there.' He shivered as another gentle breeze wafted the smell of the Chuck Box's hamburgers in his direction, once again bringing back thoughts of the lunch he and Curt had shared. He stood and twisted from side to side a few times before resuming his run, and the return home.

'Larry deserves better.' He ran in place while waiting to cross always-busy Apache Avenue. 'I wish. I wish . . . I could love Larry, like I continue to love . . . Curt.'

"Would you like for me to ask Greg to leave . . . to find his own place," Jeff asked as Phalen handed him the last item to be placed in the dishwasher. He'd hoped Phalen would lie down and try to get some rest, but he'd insisted on helping with the dishes. "I mean, we've had very little time to ourselves since before you graduated from high school and Brad came to stay with us. Would having the house to ourselves help you feel better?"

He followed Phalen from the kitchen, through the living room, and into the bedroom, and watched while he stripped off his clothes and slipped into a pair of running shorts. The poor man seemed to be moving in slow motion, a shadow of his usual self.

"I don't mind him staying with us. I . . ." There was the slightest of pauses. "I, like him." The words were even dull, lacking his usual enthusiasm. Phalen walked past, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek. It wasn't only Phalen's behavior and how it was affecting the household that was bothering Jeff. He was becoming more bothered each day by the . . . weariness . . . Phalen carried around. He was bent over with the weight of it. He seldom smiled and never laughed. He had dark circles under his eyes from not getting enough sleep. Even his thoughts seemed slow.

He would lie in bed until his restlessness and fear of bothering Jeff would cause him to get up and leave the room, dragging a blanket behind him into the living room. A couple times, Jeff had silently gotten out of bed and padded down the hallway in his bare feet. When he chanced a look around the corner, he saw Phalen, sitting with bowed head on one of the living room sofas, a dark silhouette against the lights of the pool.

Phalen turned out the room lights and climbed into the center of the large bed, patting the spot next to him in an invitation for Jeff to join him, giving him a rueful smile, barely seen in the dim light. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

Jeff scooted close and began to slowly run a hand over Phalen's bare back, feeling the muscles begin to relax. "I've seen you look better." Phalen softly snorted agreement.

"I've felt better." He shifted position, curling close to Jeff, as if seeking warmth . . . or support. "Jeff . . ."

"I'm here, lover." Phalen tried to move even closer, resting his head on Jeff's lap.

"I . . . I, overheard something . . . at the gym." Phalen took a deep breath and then continued. "I . . . I know that a couple of the guys on the team are using illegal drugs. I don't think they're the performance-enhancing kind. They're something else." Jeff tried to maintain his gentle caress of Phalen's back, pausing only long enough to draw a light blanket over him when felt Phalen shiver.

He smiled his thanks and kissed Jeff's hand. "I've also seen the guy I think they buy the stuff from . . . a short blond guy . . . really surly looking." He sighed deeply. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to be the one to break up the team. But, we're there to look out for one another when we're on the field. I think we should be looking out for one another when we're off the field, too. I mean, we're a team. That's what a team does. We stick together."

Jeff ran his fingers through Phalen's hair, something he knew Phalen enjoyed. "What do you think your options are?"

Phalen thought a long while before answering. "I can tell someone . . . and get the guys in trouble. Or, I guess I could do nothing, and let things continue on as they are. It's a question of right and wrong, I guess. It's not right that they're taking . . . whatever it is they're taking. I don't think they're bad guys. I think the person who's selling them stuff is the rotten character." Phalen shuddered and tried to snuggle closer, drawing the blanket further over his shoulders. "He gives me the creeps. Someone needs to haul him off to . . . someplace, and get him off the streets. No telling how many people he's already infected."

Jeff tried to keep his voice calm. "Phalen . . ."

"Hmm?"

"There's more bothering you than whether to let someone know about a couple of your teammates taking drugs . . . isn't there?" Jeff could feel the slight nod, more than see it.

"It's all I can talk about though, for now." He raised his head, looking at Jeff. "Please don't ask me more."

"Okay, but I do have to ask one more thing." Phalen nodded. "Is someone trying to force you to do . . . or not do something? Has this creepy guy approached you about . . . using whatever it is he's selling?"

Phalen seemed surprised at the thought, and looked up, his eyes wide. "No, nothing like that has happened. No one even knows what I know. I haven't been approached by anyone, and I'm not taking anything. It's just that everything is more . . . complicated . . . than what I've told you." He sighed. "I know. You're here to listen." He raised Jeff's hand to his lips and kissed it.

"That's one of the reasons I love you."

"Let's talk about Greg for a moment." Phalen looked up, suddenly wary.

"What about him?"

"Phalen, you've been intentionally ignoring him. He cares for you, a great deal. You're hurting him with your behavior. I know you've got a lot on your mind, but please, try and think of his feelings."

"I don't want to hurt him, Jeff. It's just that . . ."

"Hmm?"

"I'll try and behave better. I like Greg . . . a lot. It's nice how the two of you are finally getting to know one another. I . . . like . . . him." The words had become slurred. It appeared the combination of revealing part of his secret and the feeling of Jeff's hands gently caressing his back was enough to allow him to fall asleep.

'He looks like a little boy,' Jeff thought as he watched Phalen in the dim light. 'A little boy who thinks he's feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.' He smiled to himself. 'This is probably the first time he's ever experienced something like this . . . his own personal moral dilemma.'

Phalen mumbled something in his sleep and turned onto his side, dragging the blanket with him and bringing his knees to his chest. Jeff smiled at the sight. 'All he needs to do is suck his thumb and the picture of the little boy sleeping would be complete.' He watched in silence for a few moments longer.

"G'night, lover," he whispered, and then moved to the side of the bed, wincing as circulation returned to his legs.

He limped from the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and into the darkened living room. Greg was sitting on the sofa with his legs stretched out in front of him, his bare feet resting on the coffee table and a bottle of beer in his hand. He looked over his shoulder as Jeff hobbled into the room.

"S'what I get for sitting in one place for half the evening," Jeff mumbled, sinking into a seat opposite his brother. "Phalen's finally fallen asleep, and I didn't want to wake him by moving."

"Is everything okay?" Greg chuckled as he rubbed the toes of one foot over the sole of Jeff's foot causing him to jump. "When I got home, I heard you guys talking. So, is Phalen okay," he asked once more.

Jeff heaved a sigh, moving his feet away from his brother's reach. "No, not really, though I did learn a little of what's bothering him."

"Good. It means he's opening up, at least a little."

"Not much. He admits there's more to what's bothering him, but says it's . . . too complicated." Jeff was silent for a moment, seeming to review what Phalen had told him, before continuing.

"Well, it seems he heard a couple of his teammates talking to one another about some drugs they're taking. Illegal stuff. He's agonizing about whether to tell someone what he knows. He doesn't want to get the guys into trouble, but he's thinking that it might not be too late for them to get some help so they can overcome whatever it is they're taking. He also is thinking about the team. He doesn't want to be the one to cause two major players to have to leave, but he also mentioned the bad publicity the team would receive if word gets out that a couple of the players are using drugs. He thinks the entire team will be implicated."

"A lot to be carrying around. Do you know if he has decided what to do?"

Jeff shrugged slightly. "I think so. I don't think he'd have been talking to me, otherwise. It may not seem like it, but he's a pretty private person. He keeps lots of his thoughts to himself. People who don't know him well only see his laughing and joking side. The serious side is just as strong and lies just below the surface . . . along with his emotions." Greg silently stared past Jeff's shoulder, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking?"

He refocused on Jeff. "I'm trying to figure out if there's any way the guys Phalen knows could have anything to do with what's going on with me at work."

"You?"

Greg sighed, toying with his now-empty beer bottle. "One of my patients came to me recently and asked me about some pills I had allegedly asked someone to deliver to him. The person had given them to him in my name. I think we got it straightened out with the clinic supervisor in attendance, but I wonder what else might be going on that I'm not aware of yet. I take being a doctor very seriously, and I don't like someone using my name."

"Do you know who gave the pills to the guy?"

Greg slowly nodded. "Yes, I know him. He's a student who worked in the clinic for a while. He's an angry young man who seemed to have developed a particular dislike of me because of my accent. He complained a number of times to other staff that he couldn't understand me, and that the school should hire Americans before foreigners."

"That's ridiculous! Whomever is qualified should be hired. Besides, you are an American. You were born in Los Angeles!"

"Yeah, well he doesn't know that, and I do have an accent. I've even had a patient or two ask me to clarify something because they weren't sure what I said. This guy though, is something else."

"Do you think that what's going on at the clinic, and what Phalen's experiencing can somehow be connected?" Jeff gave his brother a hopeful look and seemed disappointed when Greg shook his had and shrugged.

"I don't see how. I don't think the . . . miscreant, I've been dealing with has any connection with the baseball team other than through my patient." Greg thought a moment and then shook his head. "I'm sure Phalen and Carl know one another, but I don't see how there could be a connection to Phalen's behavior unless the kid who doesn't like me is also selling drugs."

Greg thought a moment. "I don't want to think that about anyone, even someone as despicable as him. I think he's just focused on me because he's a xenophobe, and he thought he could get me into trouble with the pills because I'm a doctor."

"Do you think you should see Larry and ask him for his opinion about things? I mean, from a lawyer's point of view?"

"I don't know. I hadn't thought of that. I don't think I'm going to be needing a lawyer to defend me against anything. At least I hope not."

"Even so . . ."

"I'll think about it. What I'm most concerned about though is Phalen. Something's happening that centers around me. Something I've done, or not done . . . or he thinks I've done." Greg shrugged. "I can't imagine what it might be."

Officer Gentry lowered the cell phone from his ear, reviewing the conversation with Dustin, he had just finished. 'The boy's running scared,' he thought to himself. 'How would I know what happened to his customers . . . the guys on the baseball team?' He could just imagine the little blond bastard looking over his shoulder, not knowing what was happening, but knowing something was going on over which he had no control.

He quickly dialed a new number. "Officer Gentry here. Have we got the wire tap in place for the Dustin Sullivan case?" He grinned in anticipation.

"Good. I imagine he's about ready to do something stupid." He corrected himself with a chuckle. "I mean, I think he's probably just about to do exactly what we want him to do . . . lead us to his supplier."

Officer Gentry listened for a few moments before continuing. "Yeah, he just called me, all in a panic over whether I knew anything about the disappearance of some of his customers." He chuckled once again, responding to something the person on the other end of the line had said. "As if I'd know!"

"Yeah, I agree. Something about that kid makes me want to wipe his face across the side of a very rough rock. He likes to think of himself as a big, tough man." Officer Gentry laughed, imagining what Dustin would be thinking if he know how close he was to spending a very long time behind bars.

"A few hours behind bars will teach him what truly tough guys are like."

He didn't even have a chance to knock. The coach looked up as he approach. "Hey, Phalen!" He gave him a friendly smile. "Is there something I can do for you?" He gestured to a seat opposite his desk. "Close the door before you sit." Phalen closed the door and then sat down, unsure where to start.

"Now." The coach repeated, the smile remaining in place. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Phalen nodded slowly. "Yes sir. You can relieve my mind so I can sleep." The coach's eyebrows rose slightly. 'How long has it been since he's had a good night's sleep,' he wondered, noticing Phalen's haggard expression.

"I'll do my best to help, but, first, what are we talking about?" He paused a moment, unsure what else to say. The young man was slouched forward, hands gripping the arms of the chair. "Take your time."

Phalen gave him a shallow nod and then swallowed, tried to speak, and when the only sound to emerge was a dry croak, he cleared his throat. "We're talking about drugs . . . on the team." He bowed his head.

"You?" The coach's voice was grim, and he gave silent thanks when Phalen looked up in alarm.

"No sir! I've heard something, and seen stuff. I've been weirded-out not knowing what to do. I don't want to hurt anyone or get them in trouble, but I can't sleep, or study or . . . do stuff, for the team. I'm a mess at school . . . at home. It's all I think about."

"Go on."

Phalen nodded and swallowed once before continuing. "I finally figured everything that's been driving me crazy boiled down to a question of right and wrong. It would be wrong of me to know something . . . bad, was going on, and not report it . . . right?" The coach opened his hand indicating it was up to Phalen to decide.

"Well . . ." He took a deep breath. "I know of two guys on the team who are using illegal drugs. I also know who's selling the drugs to them."

The coach gave him a noncommittal, "go on."

"Hugh Benford and Ken Morrison. I heard the guys talking, on the other side of the lockers. They didn't know I was there. I was resting a moment before taking a shower. I guess everyone else musta been in the showers or had already left. The three of us seemed to be the only ones in the locker room. They were talking about the drugs they'd been taking, saying how dependent they've become on them, and stuff. A couple weeks ago I saw them talking with a guy named Dustin in the locker room. I don't know his last name. He's short and blond . . . sorta angry looking. I thought something was weird then, 'cause they acted so . . . strange. Sorta guilty-like." He grinned in recollection. "I was dressing a few lockers away from them. I jokingly told 'em they were acting like they were doing something illegal." He shook his head at the thought.

"Then, the other day in the weight room, when the guys said they had to leave to go to the bathroom, I could see them meet up with this Dustin guy right outside the locker room door. They talked for a couple minutes then the guys dug in their pockets and gave Dustin something. It looked like money, 'cause he counted it. Then Dustin gave each of them something that they took into the locker room. When they came back to finish with their weights, they weren't carrying anything."

Phalen sat back in his chair and rubbed his face. "Ah, geez. I feel awful."

"Don't!" It was an order. The tone of voice caused Phalen to look up in surprise. The coach's face remained grim.

"I . . . suspected . . . something was going on with those two. But, to set your mind at rest, you weren't the first person to tell me about them. The police spoke with me a couple days ago. Both Morrison and Benford, as well as this Dustin fellow, are being watched . . . not by me. I don't know how the police heard of what was going on. I don't really care to know."

"The guys need help coach. I think Dustin's the bad guy in all this. I . . . I wanted to say something so the guys from the team could be helped before they got any deeper. Dustin doesn't care about them, other than as a source of money. He's a slime ball." Phalen looked abashed at having offered his own opinion.

"Sorry, it's not my place to say who is good and bad, but . . . that's what I feel."

"For what it's worth, Phalen, I feel the same way. Sometimes good people do bad stuff. That doesn't automatically make them bad. I've known Benford and Morrison for a few years. I know they're not bad men, though it seems they have made some bad decisions. We've all done that at some point." He gave Phalen an encouraging smile. "I'll see what I can do to make sure the guys get help. Is there anything more you'd like to tell me?"

Phalen seemed to think for a minute, and then shook his head in a resolute gesture. "I guess . . . I'll be able to do better in practice now that I'll be able to sleep. Not carrying this around will be a big relief. It has been weighing me down." The coach gave him an understanding nod and stood, signaling the end of the meeting. They both walked to the office door where the coach shook his hand and then patted him on the back.

"You're a good man, Phalen. You did the right thing by trying to help your teammates. So often, people refuse to get involved." The coach gave him an understanding smile. "I could tell for the past couple weeks that something was bothering you. I'm pleased you decided to get things off your chest."

"It sorta still doesn't feel right, but thanks. Someone's gotta stop that Dustin guy."

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I always welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send a pic of the character(s), please ask.

In addition to the first 'Phalen' story, I have three other stories you may want to read. 'Leith,' and 'Chris' are located in the Nifty College Section. The third story is called 'Wesley', and is located in the Adult Relationships section. I hope you enjoy them all.

Best wishes,

Roy Reinikainen roynm@mac.com suomalainen_abq@mac.com