But, remembering the post-match locker room screaming now, my brothers tell me my face twisted in rage, and I was howling louder than Tucker when he lost his tooth.
Shit. Tucker.
“Gordon, come on, boy.” I tug him back toward the house. My twin needs to get back to the training facility today to get his mouth fixed, and Tucker is terrified of the dentist. I’ll never understand it. I absolutely love having my teeth cleaned. The dentist gets all up in there with that scraper, and my mouth feels like a million bucks by the time I’m done.
Regular people only go to the dentist twice a year. But since we have one right there on site and nobody else takes advantage, I get my plaque scraped every few weeks. Tucker? Hell, he asks me to pretend to be him when it’s his turn for mandatory oral health checks. It used to work withDoc Boman. Something tells me the new dentist won’t be fooled.
It’s hard to imagine keeping my cool with a woman like that leaning over me, complimenting my gums. But I don’t want to think about her right now. I should be focused on my enormous humiliation.
I walk back inside, and the stench of my living room almost knocks me on my ass. We seem to have blended whiskey with strong beer. No wonder my guts feel like there’s a rip tide in there. I concentrate on focusing my eyes on the microwave clock and see that it’s just past nine.
This is fine. We have time.
I offer Gordie a biscuit and tread carefully back into the living room, where Tucker is starfished on his stomach on my rug. I nudge him with my toe, which is wet from the grass. I’d laugh at how gross this is, but I’m too fucked up. “Fucker, bro. We gotta get your mouth fixed.”
He grunts.
I crouch next to him and manually peel open one eyelid. “Don’t make me spit on your eyeball.”
His pupil contracts, and Tucker springs into a sitting position. “How are we related? You’re vile.”
“Apparently.” I think again of chasing after Adam for six fucking months. Six months of me calling him and initiating our hangouts. And then I was so overjoyed by any scrap of attention I wrecked everything by blab-bragging.
Sure, Adam was always down for the physical stuff. I guess that’s all I’m good for. Although, evidently, not even that good if he’s so eager to do that shit with someone else.
A thought invades my brain fog. “Tuck, what if he gave me a disease?”
My brother sighs, fully awake now. He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re safe, right? You use the basket?”
I sigh. Our parents always insisted each Stag kid had a “safe and satisfied” selection, no questions asked. Even nowthat I’m a grown-ass adult, Mom still restocks the wicker basket on my fridge whenever she drops by. Condoms, lube, pamphlets for HIV prevention…
I nod. “Yeah. I use the basket. But, you know, none of that stuff is foolproof.”
Tucker flops over with his head in my lap. He drags his palms down his face. Then he winces and opens his mouth, revealing the jagged edge of a tooth broken off near the gum. “When’s the last time we got tested for shit? Not since pre-season?”
I shake my head. “I don’t even know. I didn’t get called for randoms this year.”
Tucker sits up, then stands, clutching his ribs in the same spot where mine ache. “Well, you’re taking me to get my face fixed. You can just ask Doc to check your junk while we’re there.”
With this extreme vote of confidence, Tucker and I shove our feet into shoes. I grab a baseball cap from the peg near the door, and my brother helps himself to get another one, which was probably his first time. I pull my phone and keys off the table by the door and see that I’ve missed approximately 7,000 calls and messages.
“Fuck me. I need to change my number.”
Tucker peeks over my shoulder and looks at his phone. “I only missed 45 messages from Mom. And twelve calls from Brian.”
At the sound of our agent’s name, it appears on my phone screen as the device vibrates in my hand. I lean against the wall by the door and answer.
Brian, as usual, does not waste time with greetings or small talk. “A-Stag, this is a shit show. Oy vey, this guy you were schtupping is making problems. Did you know about any of this? Don’t answer that. I’m meeting you at thefacility.”
He hangs up, and Tucker and I leave the apartment. Gunnar and Odin will let themselves out later.
Tucker squints into the sun as we walk toward my Escalade. “Did Bri say shtoop? What’s that?”
I unlock the doors and slump into the driver’s seat. “Using context clues, I’m guessing it means fuck, Fucker.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
I shake my head and start to drive. Coming out as bi when I was in college was, thankfully, a non-issue for my teammates and has remained that way. There’s another out-player on the Fury, too, although people usually refer to us both as gay, even though I’m super bi.
