Here is the latest chapter of this story. As usual, my thanks to Flip for his editing assistance, and to Nifty for providing this forum. It's the holidays, folks, give the site some support!
The usual disclaimers apply. this is a work of fiction, so if you think you recognize yourself or your Uncle Darrell in it, you're wrong. It contains depictions of sexual activity between guys, so if that's not your cup of tea or if it's illegal to read it wherever you may be located, by all means don't read it. If you enjoy this story, you might also like my earlier Nifty story, "Seal Rocks," which is also here in the HS section, with the final chapter posted in April 2011. I welcome all comments, critiques, flaming condemnations (well ,not so much that one), notes of abject adoration (much nicer), or other input or responses from those who read this. Thanks again.
When the World Changed Part 19
Brady and David both awoke early, a bit before the wakeup bell, and slipped together into the bathroom to perform their morning chores. David helped Brady out of his bandages, and Brady stood guard as David quickly cleaned himself off and darted back into the room before the crush of boys arrived. Brady then became a major focus of attention, partly because of his own injuries (the many disturbing colors of the bruise on his side fascinated his hallmates) and partly because of his knowledge of David's whereabouts and condition. "He's fine, really, just bruised from the fight. He really doesn't want to be a spectacle, so cool it with him, OK guys?" Most seemed understanding and willing to comply, but Brady could feel the tension, the desire to ask millions of questions.
The two of them walked to Geiger for breakfast together, through a light misty rain. Brady could feel the eyes of the other boys on them both. David strode along at his usual breakneck clip, head down. It hurt a bit for Brady to keep up. Doug and Dunc caught them about halfway, and flanked them for the rest of the walk, keeping them shielded from prying eyes and questions.
The dining hall fell quiet when they entered, the eyes again watching their every move. Brady couldn't protect David here, since they at at different tables, but he tried to watch as much as he could, to see what sort of reception David was getting. He was surprised to see a number of boys come up to shake his hand or pat him on the back. It seemed to him an odd reaction.
Dale Capaldi, a junior who ran cross country, leaned across the table toward Brady. "So Tanner's like a pint sized Ali, huh? I didn't know he had it in him."
Brady stared blankly back at him. "Huh?"
"Fieldstone told me. Everybody knows. How Tanner stood up to Stud Douggie. Gave him a black eye and a bloody nose and all. Man, I'd have loved to see that, even though Tanner got messed up some too. About time somebody stood up to that asshole."
A few other boys at the table began gossiping rapidly in whispers, to the same effect. It appeared that when he was taken to see Dr. Leeds the previous night, Douggie had sported a large shiner and a bloody nose. This was, Brady realized, he result of his fight with Ian, though he hadn't noticed it at the time. But somehow the word had spread that David had done it, and he was now regarded as a sort of hero for the feat. As Capaldi chatted excitedly with another junior boy at the table, Bill Fieldstone walked by. He paused a moment, listening to the conversation, then glanced at Brady and winked.
Brady leaned back in his chair and tried not to laugh. He knew it would hurt - just trying to keep from laughing hurt enough to begin with. David wasn't just a victim of some undefined but probably savage assault, he was the kid who stood up to Stud Douggie. Maybe he wound up going down, but he went down fighting. The proof was right there on Stud Douggie's face. Brady shook his head at Fieldstone's genius. It was the perfect counter-rumor, and it caught like wildfire precisely because just about everybody at the School wanted it to be true. They all yearned to have the nerve to face down Stud Douggie. Brady saw David blushing deeply, acknowledging the praise and back slaps and handshakes that seemed to be pouring over him from every angle. The sense of relief David felt was visible to Brady, and mirrored his x`own. It took several minutes for the Masters to get everybody into their seats and quieted down.
When the meal ended, a crowd quickly formed again around David, boys congratulating him and praising his courage. David shrugged, his cheeks bright red, and pushed through as quickly as he could. Evan, Doug, Dunc, and Brady managed to surround him, and they strode back out into the wet.
David waited until they were decently clear of other people before speaking. "OK, whose bright idea was that story?"
Brady grinned at him. "Capaldi said Fieldstone told him. I think it was mostly Bill. I mean he's like the hot shot senior, everybody'd believe him. Pretty cool, huh?"
David regarded Brady for a moment with a curious gaze. "Yeah," he finally said, dropping his eyes to his shoes. "I just worry about owing Fieldstone anything." He sighed. "As long as they don't all wanna duke it out with me now to prove their manhood or something."
"They gotta come through me, Davey," Evan said with a laugh. The spread of this story, deflecting attention from what he knew had happened, visibly made Evan feel more comfortable.
David smiled. "That's good, 'cuz Conover's not gonna be any damn help for a while here. He's wrapped up like a Goddam mummy."
Their laughter rose and hung over them in the damp air, along with their spirits. None of them could believe things had turned so well.
Stud Douggie wasn't at his desk in Spanish. Whispers around the room indicated that he and Ian had been removed from campus the previous night and kept someplace else - Storeman's house, or a wing in Leeds' place reserved for such purposes, or the infirmary (that led to further speculation on how badly David had messed Douggie up, that they kept him in the infirmary). Dr. Cortes had trouble getting their attention to get class going, and their focus on the imperfect subjunctive was, to say the least, imperfect.
Not long before class ended, the door swung open, and Stud Douggie slunk in. "I gotta get my notebook, sir," he murmured, eyes on the floor. Everyone in the class craned their necks to get a look at the damage as Douggie moved slowly across the room, with a visible limp. "Wow," Alan Black whispered to Brady, "look what David did to him!"
As he turned with the notebook to leave, Stud Douggie's eyes met Brady's. Both froze for a long moment, and Stud Douggie's face clouded with barely suppressed fury. He looked like he was trying to come up with some really vicious remark, but his powers of invention were failing him. Brady wasn't sure if he should be scared or laugh. The silence stretched out, until Dr. Cortes cut in: "All finished here, Sr. McShane?"
Stud Douggie turned his angry stare on Dr. Cortes. "Yes, sir," he muttered, and started out. From, his desk near the door, Brady heard him snarl, "Cortes, you cock" on his way out.
The sound of everyone exhaling when the door closed was quickly frowned out by excited gossip. Dr. Cortes ignored the disruption, probably realizing he had no hope of quelling it, for a few minutes at least. The bell rang before he even tried.
Now Stud Douggie's condition became the subject of the day, rather than David's. The consensus quickly formed that David had kicked his knee with some sort of karate move - "Like in Goldfinger or something," Prescott Hills said with an air of authority.
"That wasn't a kick, that was like a throw". Someone in the pack of boys seemed skeptical. "A judo throw."
Prescott was serenely undeterred. "Well, something like that, then. Judo. or karate, or something. I mean he was really gimped, right?" The crowd murmured its assent. "So, there you go," he concluded with satisfied finality.
This logic seemed impeccable to everyone. Brady moved slowly down the stairs behind them listening. It hurt to take the steps too fast. Unbelievable, he thought,
As soon as he was free at the start of third period, he went to the north end of the second floor, a part of the building he'd never ventured to before. It was where the upperclassmen had math, and no room was more feared than Mr. Taber's. He taught juniors an accelerated course that combined two normal years into one, and set those who survived up to take a full year of calculus as seniors. The idea of such a course, not to mention the term "calculus" itself, lent an intimidating air to the whole hallway. He heard Mr. Ricks, the Math Department chair and the other Calculus instructor, tearing into some senior whose name Brady couldn't remember over some error on homework. He hurried past the closed door, afraid he'd be seen and yelled at too.
He knocked on the frame of the opened door to Mr. Taber's classroom, not willing even to peek around the corner to see if he was inside. "Come in, Mr. Conover," came the crisp reply, in Mr. Taber's unique snapping (and vaguely effeminate (though Brady didn't understand that term very well yet) tone.
Mr. Taber was seated, ramrod straight, at an impossibly tidy desk, grading tests. He held his left hand up, index finger raised, for about ten seconds as he scribbled slashingly on the paper before him. "Incomprehensibly stupid," he breathed in disgust as he finished. He set the paper precisely onto a pile to his far left, folded his hands on the desk, and looked up. "Thank you for waiting. Sit down, please."
Brady fairly dove (as much as he physically could) for the nearest seat. Mr. Taber's voice stopped him in midair. "Not in the back of the room, Mr. Conover, up here. We need to talk."
"Y - yes, sir. Sorry, sir." He walked quickly to the front of the class and sat at the desk directly in front of Mr. Taber's. He stared resolutely at the desktop, amazed at how clean and unscarred it was - no chips out of the wood, no crude graffiti or random letters scratched into the surface. It was immaculate.
Brady knew Mr. Taber was watching him. "You needn't be nervous, Mr. Conover,": he said in what he obviously regarded as a soothing tone, but which came out more as a directive. "You are in no jeopardy here. You are merely a witness at tonight's proceeding."
"Tonight???" Brady looked up at Mr. Taber then, his eyes wild with terror. "It - it's like today? I mean tonight?"
"It is, like, tonight, yes," Mr. Taber answered in slow clipped individual words. "Mr. McShane has insisted on being present, which is entirely reasonable given what his sons are charged with doing," he cleared his throat a little, with an air of distaste, "and his many contributions to the School."
Brady frowned a bi. "Does that mater? Will it matter?"
Mr. Taber's eyes grew hard. "It is not my intention that it shall matter one bit," he snapped. "Now, I know you told Dean Storeman what happened, as you remember it, last light." He pulled a small stack of papers from his desk drawer, carefully paper clipped together. He removed the paper clip, set it beside his inkwell, and lifted the first page crisply. "I would like you to tell me once more, , so that I may review it against Dean Storeman's note or his discussion with you."
"B - well, he didn't, um, take notes, sir."
One corner of Mr. Taber's mouth cracked a slight icy smile. "Dean Storeman is quite good at remembering such discussions, almost verbatim, Mr. Conover. I have hys description of your interview with him here. Please begin."
It took surprisingly little time for Brady to recount events, with Mr. Taber occasionally asking questions. He hesitated when he got to finding David in the room, only to have Mr. Taber look at him steadily over h is reading glasses. "I'm quite aware of what happened to Mr. Tanner. I also know what is being said about it, which I am only too happy to help to spread by whatever indirect means are at my disposal. But in here, and in the Committee, you need to be exact and entirely honest. That is important."
"Yes, sir," Brady whispered, and he described David's condition. Mr. Taber's cheeks reddened, and Brady noticed his knuckles tighten on the papers in his hand.
"Very well," Mr. Taber said when Brady had finished. "Now, it is also important that, if you are asked if you reviewed your account of events with anyone, that you indicate you did so with me, and that I did nothing to prompt or suggest and part of it. Nor did Dean Storeman last night. That is correct, isn't it?" Brady nodded. "Then if you are asked, as with any other question, tell the truth."
"Sir," Brady said quietly, trying to hide his trepidation, "wh - what's going to happen at this - this, hearing, I guess it is? And when is it?"
"It will be held this evening, in Dr. Leeds' office," Mr. Taber answered. "Dean Storeman will inform you of the time. Dr. Leeds, and the faculty panel, will hear what happened, from Mr. Tanner and you, as well as any additional statements that either of the McShanes or other people on their behalf wish to make. It is not a formal proceeding, and as I said, you, and even Mr. Tanner, are only witnesses. I understand your concern, but it is groundless." Here-clipped the papers and placed them back in his desk drawer. "You may go now. Thanks you for coming by, Mr. Conover, Mr. Billips will notify you when and where to appear."
Brady stood to leave, wincing a bit from the twisting motion necessary to get out of the desk, around the writing surface attached to it along the right side. "And Mr. Conover?"
"Sir?"
Mr. Taber cleared his throat slightly. "Thank you for your actions in this. You were courageous, and selfless."
Brady blushed. "I - I was just angry, sir."
"Yes," Mr. Taber answered, his face softening almost to a human level for the first time Brady had ever seen. "I know."
As Brady closed the classroom door behind him, he looked up to see Fieldstone leaning against the wall about thirty feet down the hall, grinning slightly. He jerked his head for Brady to follow him. He led Brady into an empty classroom next to Mr. Ricks'. The sound of Mr. Ricks' voice next door, still berating some unfortunate student came through the wall in tones of muffled outrage.
"So," Bill said, dropping to sit atop a desk, "you OK today?"
"Yeah, fine," Brady answered, watching Fieldstone carefully, trying to figure out what was going on. He felt suddenly wary in Bill's presence.
Bill nodded, still smiling. "So I assume you've heard what everybody thinks happened now?"
Brady couldn't help smiling a little himself. "Yeah, that was, that was cool. Thanks."
Bill jumped from the desk and threw one arm outward, gesturing toward the window and the campus beyond. "Can you believe how these jerks buy this stuff? That was so easy to do it was ridiculous," He stepped toward Brady. "You and Tanner are in the clear now. Especially Tanner. He's the hero of the day, man," He was very close to Brady now, and as he leaned in toward him he whispered. "And we managed to break a little ice, too."
Their lips met for a second before Brady pulled away nervously. "C"mon, Bill, don't. Especially not here, for God's sake."
Fieldstone's eyes glittered. "You liked it, Brady. I know you did. So did I, OK? It's all right to do it, believe me." He moved back in to kiss him again, one hand sliding onto Brady's hip.
Brady took a step back, his breathing shallow. "Please, man, don't." He wasn't at all sure he meant it - that he really didn't want Bill to kiss him, and kiss him hard to boot, but his mind was suddenly filled with images of Doug, his face traced with tears, his eyes reproachful and hurt.
Bill stepped back a little. "OK," he said calmly. "OK. Maybe I came on a bit too strong here. And maybe that story I've been helping to spread has, you know, a few holes in it. People might start to notice those, at some point. That could be a problem, I think."
Brady's shallow breathing stopped for a long second. "You - but David -"
"Tanner's a big boy, he can take it. Or he can transfer. His family's connected enough, he could enroll at Lawrenceville next week. Might be best for him. A whole new start, right? Put the whole bad experience behind him and all that crap. Don't you think?"
"Bill, you can't -"
"I wouldn't. I don't want to." Fieldstone's cheeks were unnaturally ruddy, even for him. "Just come here for a minute." He stepped back along the wall away from the door, out of sight from outside.
Brady followed, unable to think what to do or say. When Bill kissed him this time, he didn't resist, and after a few seconds it started to feel really good. His arms slid around Fieldstone's tight body, their tongues moving rapidly against each other. He was incredibly hard, and felt Bill's erection against his leg. Fieldstone's hand was squeezing his ass now, then sliding between their pressed together hips and gripping the bulge in the front of Brady's pants. Brady let out a frantic moan and buried his face in the crook of Fieldstone's neck, kissing any bit of skin he could reach. His crotch started to grind against Bill's thigh.
"That's right," Fieldstone whispered to him, "just enjoy it." Then his tongue flicked into Brady's ear, and with another moan Brady stiffened against Fieldstone, trying to stop the orgasm he knew wasn't far off. He was whimpering and shuddering, his face slick from their combined spit and his sweat.
Fieldstone leaned back to survey Brady, grinning. He gave Brady a few seconds to recover his breath, then kissed him softly again. "We're going to have some real fun soon, Brady. Just trust me, OK?"
"OK," Brady managed to whisper, wondering how his hand got so tangled in Fieldstone's hair. "S - sorry."
"No sweat." Bill stepped back, ran his hand through his hair to flatten it back down, adjusted his tie, and turned. "Take a minute so you look normal when you come out of here, OK?" Then he was gone.
Brady fell against the wall, striking it with his shoulder and sending a jolt of pain through his ribcage. He felt flushed, and clammy. His underwear was palpably wet in front; hi wondered if it showed through his pants. Thank God I'm wearing the dark suit today, he thought. He wondered if there was time to slip into the bathroom at the end of the hall and jerk off. It sure as hell won't take long, he mused. His hand strayed into his pocket and felt around. Yup, definitely leaky down there.
The door opened, and Brady froze in panic. Mr. Aherne, a chubby middle aged Master who taught geometry to most of the sophomore class, was a full three steps inside before he noticed Brady. "Mr. um, Conover, isn't it>" Brady had to swallow hard to speak. "Yes, sir, it is."
Mr. Aherne nodded. "Why are you in here, son?"
Brady was blank. "I, uh - well, I - I just, I saw Mr. Taber -"
"Oh, yes, the DC hearing tonight," Mr. Aherne nodded gravely, setting some books and papers on his desk. He looked up with a sympathetic smile. You really are going to be fine, son. It's not about you at all." He strode over to Brady and clapped his shoulder lightly. "Don't you worry about any of it, all right? You, and Mr. Tanner - you're both going to be fine."
"I, uh - yes, thanks you, sir," Brady spluttered as he realized he had a way out of the situation. He shrugged nervously. "I just get kind of, you know -"
"I know, son. You had a terrible day yesterday, and now having to appear at DC only adds to it. But I promise you it's not about you."
Brady started quickly toward the door. "Yes, well, thanks sir, I, um, I appreciate it."
Mr. Aherne smiled very pleasantly at him. "No trouble at all. You come in here anytime you like, to talk, or just to hide out for a bit if things seem a little too much. I'm always ready to listen."
As much as he wanted to get the hell out of there, Brady felt a sudden rush of real warmth and relief. "Thank you, sir. Th - that means, well, it means a lot. Um, bye."
He hurried down the hall to the stairs, hoping his jacket hid his erection. Use the bathroom in the basement, he thought. Fast.
Doug and Dunc were waiting outside Brady's room when it came time for lunch, flanking the door as Brady ran in to drop off his books. "We'll wait for David, too," Dunc said calmly, but with an air of finality that Brady wouldn't have dared to question even if he wanted to. Evan and Alan Black joined them within the next minute.
David strode into the room, looked about, and blushed (as far as Brady could tell, anyway - it was hard to see the color on his face given how badly he was bruised). "Guys, this is nuts. You don' have to do this."
"Course we do," Dunc said in the same authoritative tone, and David offered no resistance (which surprised Brady - David was naturally contrary enough to object just out of general principle).
David glanced at his face in the mirror attached to the inside of their room door. "I look awful," he muttered. "Some hero I look like."
Brady grinned. "Hey, if the shoe fits."
David glanced at him. "I suppose I should have you thankFieldstone for the cover story," he snorted. "Hope you didn't have to do anything too scandalous to get him to help." Brady's eyes widened for a moment, and David regarded him with an odd cock of his head.
"OK, let's go, we don't wanna be late," Evan said. The moment passed, and the group started out for the dining hall, with Brady and David in the center of their classmates' protective wedge.
David was, to his great discomfort, even mor‚ of a celebrity than he had been during breakfast. Brendan McCracken himself leaned past Evan to pat David on the back. "Way to not take shit from people, Tanner." He turned his glance to Brady. "How you doing?"
Brady felt guiltily happy to have someone fuss over him and not David for a change. "I'm OK, just gotta let it mend I guess."
McCracken nodded and turned back to his table. Brady felt suddenly guilty he hadn't asked anything about McCracken's hand, but then Brendan was so apparently indestructible it seemed a minor annoyance for him at most. Several other boys were talking rapidly and enthusiastically now to David. Doug, however, was watching Brady, a slight smile playing about his lips. Brady flushed, grinned, dropped his gaze, and slid over next to Doug.
"Seriously, are you OK?"
"I'm fine. I'll be fine. I - I'm just worried about Davey."
Doug smiled. "He's never been this popular in his life, I think. Do him good."
"I hope so."
Bill Fieldstone strolled casually past the group from about ten feet away, glancing at Brady and smiling, his eyes slightly hooded. Brady felt tingly and ashamed under that gaze, even from a distance.
He had time after lunch to relax for a few minutes alone in the room, so he flopped on the bed as best he could and closed his eyes. Doug had him pushed up against a classroom wall and was kissing him, while Fieldstone paced angrily in and out of the door, glaring at them. "Hey!" Bill yelled loudly. Brady froze. "Hey!!!"
"Hey!" David shouted a third time, finally waking him up. He swung the door closed, threw his books onto his bed and faced Brady. "OK, Conover," he said, "what's going on?"
Brady blinked, trying to recover his wits and get the dream out of his head. "I - what d'you mean? I. I was like asleep. I just -"
"Not what I mean. What'd you do to get Fieldstone to get this story out about me and Douggie? It's really stupid and like ridiculous, you know - me taking him on. I'd be in a body cast." He sat on his bed, trying not to show how much the movement hurt him. "Look, I appreciate it. I really do. It's like saving me, from, from a lot of, you know, awkward questions, and shit. But it's bullshit, and anybody with half a brain is gonna figure that out sooner or later. Fieldstone's got no reason to cover my butt. So why's he doing it?"
Brady tried to avoid eye contact. "Look, you're not the only guy around here who doesn't like Stud Douggie, or Ian either. Maybe there's no big conspiracy and it's just he wants to see them get kicked out."
"Then why make what Douggie did sound less awful? Don't you know what he did to me?? Are you fucking blind?"
"You really want people to know what he did?" Brady said, challengingly. "Of course I know what he did! Christ, I changed you out of your bloody bedsheets and underwear, Davey. I know you think I'm like stupid, but I'm not a total Goddam morn!!! If Frazier doesn't show up when he did, I was gonna get it too."
David's bruised face blanched. "What?"
He realized David didn't know. His tone softened, he felt suddenly embarrassed, and a bit ashamed. "Douggie was, he was gonna, you know, put it in me, and all. He had me sort of lassoed. I couldn't move, or stop him. and Ian freaked when he saw what Douggie wanted to do, and then he told him what he'd already done to you. I guess Ian didn't know that. And they started like fighting, and that's when Frazier showed up. That's where Douggie got his shiner and his leg hurt and stuff."
David was sitting on his bed. "I thought you did that," he whispered.
"Wish I had. But I couldn't. I got jumped, and he was like grabbing at my ribs, and it hurt so bad I just - I gave up, OK? I was gonna let him do it. I couldn't stop him. And I feel like shit, for being such a pussy, and -"
"Sssshhh," David said, holding up a hand. Brady felt his cheeks burning and his eyes getting bleary. Christ, be thought, all I do these days is fucking cry. What's wrong with me. David sighed. "Why didn't you tell me that?"
Brady laughed weakly. "Well, it's been kinds busy, in case you didn't notice."
David looked up at him. "Got that right," he answered. "So," he continued, "I'm supposed to believe that Fieldstone just has a kind heart and he's being nice to me?"
Brady blinked. "Is that so hard to believe?"
David snorted derisively, but before he could say anything the door flew open. David's father stood in the doorway, his hair windblown, his eyes hollow and deep set, as if he hadn't slept properly. His mouth worked jerkily for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly, before he simply opened his arms. David hesitated a moment, then flew to the embrace, his face buried in his father's dress shirt. His father's face pressed down into David's hair.
Brady felt as if he was intruding on a painfully private moment. He tried to slip out the door, but David's father stopped him with a gentle wave of his hand. "No, Brady, please stay," he whispered, pushing the door closed with one foot. "I'm so sorry," he said to his son. "I was on rotation all night and couldn't get a replacement. I came as soon as I got off."
David stepped back and tried to smile, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "It - it's OK, you came soon as you could. Is - is Mom coming? Does she know?"
David's father's face worked uncomfortably again for a second before he spoke. "She sends her love," he said. David's face turned stony, and he stepped back to sit on the bed, eyes hooded. "She knows you were hit, and hurt, but not - not the full extent. It's very hard to get out from where she is quickly, Davey, that's the nature of the place. You get away from it all. It took me several hours to get through to her at all."
David stared at the floor. "Glad you got hold of her. She must be - relieved."
"Don't think badly of her," his father said, sliding onto the bed next to David. He lifted David's head in one hand and examined him. "I have to say, you look better than I thought you would."
"Thanks, that helps a lot."
A slight smile curled his father's lip as he leaned in to kiss his son's forehead. "You are such an obstinate jerk," he said. "Brady, I'm grateful for you taking care of David. I understand you got hurt yesterday as well. Are you all right?"
"He's my brave defender," David said in a mocking tone. Brady grinned in spite of himself.
"I'm fine, sir. I just - I wish I could have done more, for Davey. I feel like -"
"Will you just shut up, Conover? I don't need you talking like that." David wore a thin smile, but also looking at him intensely. "You tried, OK? That - that's more than most guys would've done."
Brady didn't know what to say. His cheeks reddened some more (as if that was possible), and he turned to his desk. "I think I should just, like, cut out of here for a bit, OK?" He grabbed his notebook and Earth Science textbook and slipped out the door.
Doug was standing in the hallway. "I saw Mr. Tanner - or I guess that's who it is, anyway. You OK?"
"Yeah," Brady said, exhaling loudly. "I just - I kinda felt like I should get out of there."
Doug nodded. "Makes sense." Brady was trying to avoid eye contact with him - the memory of Fieldstone kissing him, and how he had reacted, was heavy upon him. Doug ducked his head down to look at him. "What's going on, Bray?"
Brady met his gaze for a moment, then looked away again. "I just - it's all so weird, man, . . . "
Doug smiled. "I know." God, does he realize how that makes me feel, when he smiles? Brady could smell him - not a nasty body odor sort of thing, but just Doug, some faint particular marker that he was aware of only when close to him, and it made him momentarily dizzy. Can I just fall against him and hold onto him? Would he think I was just weak from being hurt and all?
"You OK Bray?" Doug's question cut through his reverie, he realized he'd been staring blankly at Doug for several seconds.
"Fine, yes," he answered rapidly, looking down and running his hand through his hair. "I, uh, I guess I need some sleep and all. Stop asking that, OK?" he added, trying to make it all into a joke.
"I bet you could use that," Doug said, smiling again and rubbing his back for a moment. Brady again threatened to lapse into his fugue state, where the only Doug and his scent and his feel and his voice occupied the universe. He shook his head vigorously to clear it, and noticed Doug step back quizzically. He paused before he spoke again. "Well uh, you'll have time this afternoon. I mean you're not going to practice, right?"
Brady hadn't even given this a thought. He was hurt. He couldn't practice. He couldn't play football, for God only knew how long. A huge chasm had opened in his life. He leaned back against the wall. "I - I dunno," he said faintly, trying not to let the hurt show. "I - maybe I can like retrieve balls or something." He felt a sense of gaping loss. .
Doug appeared doubtful. "Maybe," he said. "But I think you shouldn't like try anything that might make it worse, you know? Running, or stuff like that. I mean, it'd probably hurt, right?" Brad reluctantly nodded. "Just cool it for a few days. I mean it's not like you enjoy hitting the damn sled!"
Brady laughed, but without much conviction. "Yeah, that I could go without." But part of him suddenly longed for the toil of it all.
Doug sensed his mood. "It'll be fine, Bray. A week or so, you'll be back at it like always, right?"
"Right. Real soon." But how many weeks were left in the season? Could he recover in time to play again at all? "I - I should get to class," he muttered, swinging too quickly away to get moving. His shoulder hit the wall, lightly, but with enough force to send a wave to pain through his right side. He gasped and fell against the wall, his eyes watering.
Doug was at his side at once. "Take it easy, man," he whispered, his arm around Brady's back to help support him.
The pain, and all that was happening and had happened, threatened to overwhelm him in that instant. He fell against Doug, his chest trembling. "Oh, fuck," he repeated several times. "Oh fuck."
"OK, Bray. I'm right here."
"I know." He longed to stay right like that, pressed against Doug, his arm sturdily around him, for a long while. "Thanks," he mumbled shakily.
Doug stepped back a few seconds later. His hand clapped Brady lightly on the back. He grinned easily. "Love ya, man. Just take it easy, OK?"
"It's OK, I'll be - what!?" But Doug was already striding down the hall, loose limbed and bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Brady stood frozen for several seconds after Doug vanished down the stairs. Did he just say he loved me? Did he mean - well was it - what the hell?
The questions roiled in his mind all the way to class, and distracted him during class as well. He didn't hear a thing.