Career-ending injury.
Three words no one wants to hear, especially a rising football star who’d been dreaming since childhood about making it into the NFL.
“Doing okay, kid?”
I cracked an eyelid open.
Dad sat on the chair beside my hospital bed, his eyebrows pinched and lips in a thin line. His wide shoulders were hunched, evidence of his weariness.
Rain slashed against the gray window behind him, the flashes of lightning attempting to brighten the early morning sky that was as dismal as my mood.
“This fucking sucks,” I muttered, glancing down at the IV needle stuck into my arm, ready for the meds that would knock me out before going under the knife. A quaint little rest where nothing mattered, and I would wake once more to the heaviness clinging to me like a weighted blanket on a hot summer night.
I huffed a sigh and turned my focus on the bright, white ceiling above me, the scent of bleach and lemon cleaner burning my nose.
Week ten of my rookie season with Houston started with the expectation I would hit one thousand rushing yards while going head-to-head with New England. Shit had been on my side until I got tackled out of nowhere, my body spinning but right foot planted firm in grass and dirt as I went down. The pop in my knee had sounded like a gunshot, leaving me with a combined ACL and meniscal tear—the worst my attending surgeon had ever seen.
So much for being Offensive Rookie of the Year or making it into the Hall of Fame. And I could kiss the rest of my contract worth millions goodbye too.
Desolation stifled, and there would be no easy tossing aside its weight.
A code blue crackled through the speaker right outside my cubicle in pre-surgery, but I couldn’t find concern for someone else’s pain or grief. Mental therapy hovered on the horizon along with the physical type because I would spiral into despair if I didn’t. I had grit as Dad would say, but this devastation?
Soothing a weary hand over my face and scruffy jaw, I emptied my lungs with a defeated grunt when I should have been hungover from celebrating our tenth win of the season. “My teammates crushed the Pats last night, but I’m really struggling to believe my playing days are officially over, Dad.”
He squeezed my forearm, an offering of reassurance I wished could do more to comfort me. “I won’t bullshit.”
I snorted. Typical Dad telling it like it is. “Thanks for flying down here though. Means a lot.”
A brief nod dipped his head, his tired hazel eyes tracking over my face as though he was trying to root out how I dealt with this blow. His missing out on the NFL had been due to knocking up his girlfriend in high school, but he’d never once blamed me. He’d also never pushed his own dreams and expectations on me like some dads did, but his constant support had kept me fighting.
“I can’t imagine it was easy getting off work,” I said, more thankful than ever to have him as a role model growing up. Lots of kids weren’t as lucky.
“I’m the chief. I can do whatever the hell I want,” Dad said with a small smirk. “Seriously, though, we’re still short on help, but nothing would keep me from being here for you.”
“Never expected something like this to bring you halfway across the country.”
“We Foresters tend to see the light and not expect the worst.” Dad spoke what used to be true. He’d always been a pretty positive guy, but that didn’t allow for sugarcoating shit. I’d been that way too until my mom abandoned us. Expecting the worst came second nature now.
Mom—aka Darla—had up and left us both when I was fourteen. Even worse, Dad hadn’t known about the shit she’d been up to behind his back. The fraudulent checks. Maxing credit cards and not paying them. Siphoning money from the fundraisers she’d been in charge of as Pippen Creek’s Chief of Police’s other half.
She’d been a great wife and mom.
Until she wasn’t.
Dad and I had gotten super close after she’d gone, and I felt confident in the one parent in my corner who supported me no matter what.
“What the hell am I gonna do now, Dad?”
“At least you stuck to college and got your degree. I’m sure you’ll find work back home.”
The sticks of northern New Hampshire was the place I’d escaped from, and I wasn’t too excited to head there again. It’d been years since I’d set foot in Pippen Creek and for good reason. The people in my small town hadn’t ever been homophobic, but wariness had kept my mouth shut about my sexuality. I hadn’t even told my best friend Chaz because queer dudes didn’t step foot on a football field, and I’d had big plans since grade school and the talent to achieve them.
I had wanted a new start outside my hometown. To pave a path toward a winning season. Make a name for myself before retiring and figure out how to enjoy life off the gridiron because that was where most of my joy came from. While I’d managed to tick off that first goal of leaving no-man’s land, everything else had gotten tipped off a cliff where jagged rocks had shattered my dreams.
Someone pushing a clanging medical cart strode past the curtain that blocked me off from the rest of the patients waiting to be sliced open.
“Coach Bernard has been talking about retiring now for over decade.” Dad shifted on his hardback chair, rubbing a roughened hand over his gray-speckled beard. “Maybe your return will be the encouragement he needs to visit Arizona like he’s been dreaming of for half of forever.”
Return home to coach high school football. Could my life be any more cliche?
I grimaced rather than snort.
No fucking way my happily ever after would come about like a goddamn Hallmark movie. A marriage had taken place four years ago that ensured my lifelong heartache and loneliness.
“Yeah, we’ll see, Dad,” I said noncommittally. “Right now, I need to focus on healing. Probably gonna sell my condo down here and move back to Boston though. I at least have a few friends up there.”
Hell, not a single Houston teammate had reached out to me since last night’s win to see how I was doing. Coach and the head trainer had called for an update, but that was it. Guess no one cared their star running back was gone for good.
Life goes on, right?
Dad squeezed my forearm again as my eyes slid closed against reality. “Hang in there, kid. This shit sucks, but you’ll come out stronger on the other side.”
I appreciated his words of encouragement, but they did fuck-all to make me feel any better.
“Jamie Forester?”
A dude in scrubs and cap over his brown hair rounded the curtain with a smile on his face.
It’s go time—I’ve got this.
****
My Boston apartment window was cracked open, the cool evening air like a kiss on my bare skin. I sprawled naked on my couch, bored with my unemployment, missing football, and horny as fuck.
As expected, surgery hadn’t done jack toward getting me back on the field, but at least I could walk around with a barely noticeable limp and had finally been given the green light for heavier lifting. It’d been a long-as-fuck five months full of agonizing stretching, physical therapy, and sitting with a shrink to keep me from spiraling. Regardless of hours spent with my therapist, I still hadn’t figured out what to do with myself because nothing compared to rushing into the end zone.
I’d been celibate for a goddamned year too, and there was no one around I was comfortable enough with to help ease the restlessness brewing in my balls I toyed with.
Since my NFL career had been shot to shit, I at least didn’t have to keep my sexuality to myself. I wouldn’t call it a silver lining though. No matter how badly I needed to get laid, I couldn’t stomach a quickie with some random off Grindr. That shit just wasn’t for me. I needed some sort of connection before sharing my body.
Back in college when I’d been in the closet and desperate to get laid, I’d gone to crazy lengths to be able to afford the action I needed. I opened a faceless OnlyFans account, and with my body unmarked by tattoos, no one had known the muscled jock’s real name. I’d never done a collaboration and had quadruple-checked to make sure my live backgrounds and pre-recorded videos were clean as a whistle as far as telltale giveaways of where I lived before uploading them for salivating fans.
Jerking off and playing with my hole online had afforded me the financial ability to book someone through Elite Escorts MM. Not only did they ensure confidentiality, but I was also a paying client, which meant I had time to connect with someone before getting dicked down.
The second I’d laid eyes on the escort Zack, I’d been driven to meet him and eventually having him on top of and beneath me. Even before checking out how he preferred to please customers, I’d set a financial goal so I could book a night to get to know him. OnlyFans had given me that opportunity, and I’d taken advantage of the discrete escort service to ease that deep itch inside me.
I’d gone through those great lengths for a few nights with Zack because he looked like the guy who had owned my heart since childhood. He had the same muscular build, dark hair, and hazel eyes as Chaz, my best friend who’d married the third of our three musketeers from high school.
Last I’d heard, Chaz and Shelly were still together, happily married, and trying for a baby. Having to watch them first hold hands our sophomore year then start kissing over the summer had been as motivating for me to leave Pippen Creek as the drive to be drafted into the NFL.
My stomach turned over the memories assaulting me, so I shoved them from my mind and got back to my dick that had wilted somewhat. A few strokes over my length while thinking about sinking into a tight hole brought my hard on back to full life, but jerking off again just wasn’t going to cut it this time. Having no other options, I picked my cell up off the cushion beside me with my free hand, the other still playing with my shaft and soft sac.
As an escort, Zack had known exactly how to please. Give and take, he’d been a pretty good damn fit for whenever my need had grown too great and using a dildo on myself for my subscribers hadn’t been enough to satisfy my craving to be stuffed full.
And tonight, I needed Zack to wreck my hole. Hold me down and make me forget the shit of the last five months and my uncertain future since all my plans, my goals, had been torn apart and still bled.
I opened my bookmarks and frowned at finding his webpage on EEMM gone from existence. The dent between my eyebrows dipped deeper the more I searched Elite’s site. Zack was no longer listed as one of their escorts.
“Fuck,” I grumbled, scrolling through the remaining men on offer. I would have to start from scratch, but if someone caught my eye, I didn’t mind putting in the time to connect with someone so I could get off without having to use my hand.
And since I’d gotten a portion of my original contract, I could definitely afford the cost of one of Elite’s escorts.
None of their Tall, Dark, and Handsome or Dominants reminded me of the man I really wanted. Desperate, I switched over to the Twinks & Twunks category. Maybe I would get lucky.
I snorted as an image of someone from back home filled my screen, same as the first time I’d been scrolling for an Elite. Jimmy Riley was blond, pretty as fuck with big blue eyes, and a strict bottom. Far from my type and definitely not someone I was interested in building a connection with even if he was. Two years older than me, he’d been a mess back in high school from what I could remember, always getting into trouble with the law. The guy hadn’t ever been able to keep his mouth shut, but Elite Escorts MM were known for their discretion and had NDAs for a reason. I’d taken a chance in hiring a co-worker of his back then, but Zack could have been Chaz’s older brother, and I would give my left nut for one night with my best friend.
Chaz had been into girls from as far back as I could remember, so I hadn’t bothered with sharing my feelings and fucking up the best friendship a kid could have.
Still hadn’t.
As far as Chaz was aware, I’d been too focused on getting a few Super Bowl rings to bother with a woman while he’d gone and fallen in love with one.
I’d choked back tears when Chaz had pledged to love, honor, and respect Shelly until death parted the high school sweethearts. In my dreams, I’d been the person facing him, our hands clasped tightly between us as we made vows of undying love to each other.
That day had been the toughest of my life, even more traumatic than the popping sound that had ended my NFL career. Nothing could compare to the drawn-out agony of watching the person you loved fall for another and become so goddamn enamored with them, your friendship took an emotional backseat.
It’d been years since Chaz and I had talked but only because I couldn’t stand the pain of hearing his voice or seeing text messages about how happy he was in pursuing his own dreams.
All thoughts of getting a good dicking dissolved at the memories of how I’d lost my best friend and the ache in my chest that always accompanied it.
I tossed my cell aside and slouched farther on the couch, head tipped back and eyes closed. I’d have been a few thousand poorer and well on my way toward needing intervention if getting sloshed appealed to me.
According to Dad, Coach Bernard was ready and willing to hand over his whistle to me, just like he had figured. Hell, Coach himself had called and begged me to return. He wanted to retire knowing his boys would be looked after, that someone who loved football as much as he did would continue his goal of making something out of our small town’s team.
I held no such high hopes. Never had. Rarely did Pippen Creek even have a winning season. Hell, we barely ever had enough kids try out to make a team. I’d been the one and only Bobcat to get a college scholarship, and the fact I’d made it to the NFL had given me Hollywood status back home. That was what Dad claimed, anyway. I hadn’t been there since Chaz’s wedding to see or hear that kind of gossip for myself.
But that might be about to change…
I sat up, leaned forward, elbows on knees, and stared out my dark windows at the twinkling lights of Boston. Could I find contentment in Pippen Creek now that my dreams had been buried six feet under? Was it possible to exist in the same small town as my once best friend and his wife while pining for a taste of his mouth and the feel his body moving against mine?
Groaning, I closed my eyes and hung my head as my dick shifted between my thighs again. “Don’t get any ideas.”
Still, I took a long, hot shower and ended up jerking off to various fantasies of Chaz. On his knees in front of me. Bouncing on my dick. Filling my ass while staring into my eyes.
I came hard, gasping for breath and leaning against the tile wall when my legs threatened to buckle.
Probably a mistake even thinking about returning, but I missed football like a motherfucker and the high over fighting to win. I needed something to immerse myself in that would offer me a sense of the joy that had been torn from me with a single tackle.
I just hoped the choice didn’t lead to even more heartache.
Three words no one wants to hear, especially a rising football star who’d been dreaming since childhood about making it into the NFL.
“Doing okay, kid?”
I cracked an eyelid open.
Dad sat on the chair beside my hospital bed, his eyebrows pinched and lips in a thin line. His wide shoulders were hunched, evidence of his weariness.
Rain slashed against the gray window behind him, the flashes of lightning attempting to brighten the early morning sky that was as dismal as my mood.
“This fucking sucks,” I muttered, glancing down at the IV needle stuck into my arm, ready for the meds that would knock me out before going under the knife. A quaint little rest where nothing mattered, and I would wake once more to the heaviness clinging to me like a weighted blanket on a hot summer night.
I huffed a sigh and turned my focus on the bright, white ceiling above me, the scent of bleach and lemon cleaner burning my nose.
Week ten of my rookie season with Houston started with the expectation I would hit one thousand rushing yards while going head-to-head with New England. Shit had been on my side until I got tackled out of nowhere, my body spinning but right foot planted firm in grass and dirt as I went down. The pop in my knee had sounded like a gunshot, leaving me with a combined ACL and meniscal tear—the worst my attending surgeon had ever seen.
So much for being Offensive Rookie of the Year or making it into the Hall of Fame. And I could kiss the rest of my contract worth millions goodbye too.
Desolation stifled, and there would be no easy tossing aside its weight.
A code blue crackled through the speaker right outside my cubicle in pre-surgery, but I couldn’t find concern for someone else’s pain or grief. Mental therapy hovered on the horizon along with the physical type because I would spiral into despair if I didn’t. I had grit as Dad would say, but this devastation?
Soothing a weary hand over my face and scruffy jaw, I emptied my lungs with a defeated grunt when I should have been hungover from celebrating our tenth win of the season. “My teammates crushed the Pats last night, but I’m really struggling to believe my playing days are officially over, Dad.”
He squeezed my forearm, an offering of reassurance I wished could do more to comfort me. “I won’t bullshit.”
I snorted. Typical Dad telling it like it is. “Thanks for flying down here though. Means a lot.”
A brief nod dipped his head, his tired hazel eyes tracking over my face as though he was trying to root out how I dealt with this blow. His missing out on the NFL had been due to knocking up his girlfriend in high school, but he’d never once blamed me. He’d also never pushed his own dreams and expectations on me like some dads did, but his constant support had kept me fighting.
“I can’t imagine it was easy getting off work,” I said, more thankful than ever to have him as a role model growing up. Lots of kids weren’t as lucky.
“I’m the chief. I can do whatever the hell I want,” Dad said with a small smirk. “Seriously, though, we’re still short on help, but nothing would keep me from being here for you.”
“Never expected something like this to bring you halfway across the country.”
“We Foresters tend to see the light and not expect the worst.” Dad spoke what used to be true. He’d always been a pretty positive guy, but that didn’t allow for sugarcoating shit. I’d been that way too until my mom abandoned us. Expecting the worst came second nature now.
Mom—aka Darla—had up and left us both when I was fourteen. Even worse, Dad hadn’t known about the shit she’d been up to behind his back. The fraudulent checks. Maxing credit cards and not paying them. Siphoning money from the fundraisers she’d been in charge of as Pippen Creek’s Chief of Police’s other half.
She’d been a great wife and mom.
Until she wasn’t.
Dad and I had gotten super close after she’d gone, and I felt confident in the one parent in my corner who supported me no matter what.
“What the hell am I gonna do now, Dad?”
“At least you stuck to college and got your degree. I’m sure you’ll find work back home.”
The sticks of northern New Hampshire was the place I’d escaped from, and I wasn’t too excited to head there again. It’d been years since I’d set foot in Pippen Creek and for good reason. The people in my small town hadn’t ever been homophobic, but wariness had kept my mouth shut about my sexuality. I hadn’t even told my best friend Chaz because queer dudes didn’t step foot on a football field, and I’d had big plans since grade school and the talent to achieve them.
I had wanted a new start outside my hometown. To pave a path toward a winning season. Make a name for myself before retiring and figure out how to enjoy life off the gridiron because that was where most of my joy came from. While I’d managed to tick off that first goal of leaving no-man’s land, everything else had gotten tipped off a cliff where jagged rocks had shattered my dreams.
Someone pushing a clanging medical cart strode past the curtain that blocked me off from the rest of the patients waiting to be sliced open.
“Coach Bernard has been talking about retiring now for over decade.” Dad shifted on his hardback chair, rubbing a roughened hand over his gray-speckled beard. “Maybe your return will be the encouragement he needs to visit Arizona like he’s been dreaming of for half of forever.”
Return home to coach high school football. Could my life be any more cliche?
I grimaced rather than snort.
No fucking way my happily ever after would come about like a goddamn Hallmark movie. A marriage had taken place four years ago that ensured my lifelong heartache and loneliness.
“Yeah, we’ll see, Dad,” I said noncommittally. “Right now, I need to focus on healing. Probably gonna sell my condo down here and move back to Boston though. I at least have a few friends up there.”
Hell, not a single Houston teammate had reached out to me since last night’s win to see how I was doing. Coach and the head trainer had called for an update, but that was it. Guess no one cared their star running back was gone for good.
Life goes on, right?
Dad squeezed my forearm again as my eyes slid closed against reality. “Hang in there, kid. This shit sucks, but you’ll come out stronger on the other side.”
I appreciated his words of encouragement, but they did fuck-all to make me feel any better.
“Jamie Forester?”
A dude in scrubs and cap over his brown hair rounded the curtain with a smile on his face.
It’s go time—I’ve got this.
****
My Boston apartment window was cracked open, the cool evening air like a kiss on my bare skin. I sprawled naked on my couch, bored with my unemployment, missing football, and horny as fuck.
As expected, surgery hadn’t done jack toward getting me back on the field, but at least I could walk around with a barely noticeable limp and had finally been given the green light for heavier lifting. It’d been a long-as-fuck five months full of agonizing stretching, physical therapy, and sitting with a shrink to keep me from spiraling. Regardless of hours spent with my therapist, I still hadn’t figured out what to do with myself because nothing compared to rushing into the end zone.
I’d been celibate for a goddamned year too, and there was no one around I was comfortable enough with to help ease the restlessness brewing in my balls I toyed with.
Since my NFL career had been shot to shit, I at least didn’t have to keep my sexuality to myself. I wouldn’t call it a silver lining though. No matter how badly I needed to get laid, I couldn’t stomach a quickie with some random off Grindr. That shit just wasn’t for me. I needed some sort of connection before sharing my body.
Back in college when I’d been in the closet and desperate to get laid, I’d gone to crazy lengths to be able to afford the action I needed. I opened a faceless OnlyFans account, and with my body unmarked by tattoos, no one had known the muscled jock’s real name. I’d never done a collaboration and had quadruple-checked to make sure my live backgrounds and pre-recorded videos were clean as a whistle as far as telltale giveaways of where I lived before uploading them for salivating fans.
Jerking off and playing with my hole online had afforded me the financial ability to book someone through Elite Escorts MM. Not only did they ensure confidentiality, but I was also a paying client, which meant I had time to connect with someone before getting dicked down.
The second I’d laid eyes on the escort Zack, I’d been driven to meet him and eventually having him on top of and beneath me. Even before checking out how he preferred to please customers, I’d set a financial goal so I could book a night to get to know him. OnlyFans had given me that opportunity, and I’d taken advantage of the discrete escort service to ease that deep itch inside me.
I’d gone through those great lengths for a few nights with Zack because he looked like the guy who had owned my heart since childhood. He had the same muscular build, dark hair, and hazel eyes as Chaz, my best friend who’d married the third of our three musketeers from high school.
Last I’d heard, Chaz and Shelly were still together, happily married, and trying for a baby. Having to watch them first hold hands our sophomore year then start kissing over the summer had been as motivating for me to leave Pippen Creek as the drive to be drafted into the NFL.
My stomach turned over the memories assaulting me, so I shoved them from my mind and got back to my dick that had wilted somewhat. A few strokes over my length while thinking about sinking into a tight hole brought my hard on back to full life, but jerking off again just wasn’t going to cut it this time. Having no other options, I picked my cell up off the cushion beside me with my free hand, the other still playing with my shaft and soft sac.
As an escort, Zack had known exactly how to please. Give and take, he’d been a pretty good damn fit for whenever my need had grown too great and using a dildo on myself for my subscribers hadn’t been enough to satisfy my craving to be stuffed full.
And tonight, I needed Zack to wreck my hole. Hold me down and make me forget the shit of the last five months and my uncertain future since all my plans, my goals, had been torn apart and still bled.
I opened my bookmarks and frowned at finding his webpage on EEMM gone from existence. The dent between my eyebrows dipped deeper the more I searched Elite’s site. Zack was no longer listed as one of their escorts.
“Fuck,” I grumbled, scrolling through the remaining men on offer. I would have to start from scratch, but if someone caught my eye, I didn’t mind putting in the time to connect with someone so I could get off without having to use my hand.
And since I’d gotten a portion of my original contract, I could definitely afford the cost of one of Elite’s escorts.
None of their Tall, Dark, and Handsome or Dominants reminded me of the man I really wanted. Desperate, I switched over to the Twinks & Twunks category. Maybe I would get lucky.
I snorted as an image of someone from back home filled my screen, same as the first time I’d been scrolling for an Elite. Jimmy Riley was blond, pretty as fuck with big blue eyes, and a strict bottom. Far from my type and definitely not someone I was interested in building a connection with even if he was. Two years older than me, he’d been a mess back in high school from what I could remember, always getting into trouble with the law. The guy hadn’t ever been able to keep his mouth shut, but Elite Escorts MM were known for their discretion and had NDAs for a reason. I’d taken a chance in hiring a co-worker of his back then, but Zack could have been Chaz’s older brother, and I would give my left nut for one night with my best friend.
Chaz had been into girls from as far back as I could remember, so I hadn’t bothered with sharing my feelings and fucking up the best friendship a kid could have.
Still hadn’t.
As far as Chaz was aware, I’d been too focused on getting a few Super Bowl rings to bother with a woman while he’d gone and fallen in love with one.
I’d choked back tears when Chaz had pledged to love, honor, and respect Shelly until death parted the high school sweethearts. In my dreams, I’d been the person facing him, our hands clasped tightly between us as we made vows of undying love to each other.
That day had been the toughest of my life, even more traumatic than the popping sound that had ended my NFL career. Nothing could compare to the drawn-out agony of watching the person you loved fall for another and become so goddamn enamored with them, your friendship took an emotional backseat.
It’d been years since Chaz and I had talked but only because I couldn’t stand the pain of hearing his voice or seeing text messages about how happy he was in pursuing his own dreams.
All thoughts of getting a good dicking dissolved at the memories of how I’d lost my best friend and the ache in my chest that always accompanied it.
I tossed my cell aside and slouched farther on the couch, head tipped back and eyes closed. I’d have been a few thousand poorer and well on my way toward needing intervention if getting sloshed appealed to me.
According to Dad, Coach Bernard was ready and willing to hand over his whistle to me, just like he had figured. Hell, Coach himself had called and begged me to return. He wanted to retire knowing his boys would be looked after, that someone who loved football as much as he did would continue his goal of making something out of our small town’s team.
I held no such high hopes. Never had. Rarely did Pippen Creek even have a winning season. Hell, we barely ever had enough kids try out to make a team. I’d been the one and only Bobcat to get a college scholarship, and the fact I’d made it to the NFL had given me Hollywood status back home. That was what Dad claimed, anyway. I hadn’t been there since Chaz’s wedding to see or hear that kind of gossip for myself.
But that might be about to change…
I sat up, leaned forward, elbows on knees, and stared out my dark windows at the twinkling lights of Boston. Could I find contentment in Pippen Creek now that my dreams had been buried six feet under? Was it possible to exist in the same small town as my once best friend and his wife while pining for a taste of his mouth and the feel his body moving against mine?
Groaning, I closed my eyes and hung my head as my dick shifted between my thighs again. “Don’t get any ideas.”
Still, I took a long, hot shower and ended up jerking off to various fantasies of Chaz. On his knees in front of me. Bouncing on my dick. Filling my ass while staring into my eyes.
I came hard, gasping for breath and leaning against the tile wall when my legs threatened to buckle.
Probably a mistake even thinking about returning, but I missed football like a motherfucker and the high over fighting to win. I needed something to immerse myself in that would offer me a sense of the joy that had been torn from me with a single tackle.
I just hoped the choice didn’t lead to even more heartache.