Page 50 of Built To Perform

And then, after a long and pointed stare, he nodded. Just once, watching his team captain’s face as he did it.

It was Carlos who broke the tense silence, as he slipped his arm around my shoulders. “Donny, fetch lil bro a glass of water?”

The junior disappeared, apparently already knowing where Jefferson’s kitchen was.

Carlos glanced up, giving Jefferson a wry look. “Sit down, my friend. Looming like that makes nobody feel any better.” He smiled, to soften the critique. “And look, he’s here” - he squeezed me, pointedly - “he’s safe, he’s with us. That’s what is important, yes?”

Jefferson’s expression still glowered, but he settled himself into a chair opposite the sofa.

Donny returned, holding out a glass. Winked at my sheepish look of thanks as I took it from him.

He’d found ice cubes for it. Something about that, such a little thing but a thoughtful one, made my throat tight all over again.

“I’m sorry, guys,” I said, quietly. Watching the ice drift, feeling the growing chill against my fingertips. “For being... trouble.”

Carlos snorted. “You think you are the first trouble we’ve faced together?” He jerked his chin at Brayden on the other side of me. “That one, he is a menace. A trail of sticky boys and girls with broken hearts behind him. This innocent-looking junior” - Donny grinned, face angelic - “has a growing taste for public play, which Coach has already caught him at once. I know we certainly didn’t teach him such things.”

Donny’s grin became a smirk, unrepentant even though he couldn’t quite hold my eye.

“And your team captain embodies loyalty to a fault, and promises so much, and then ropes in his long-suffering teammates, his friends, his brothers, when the juggling balls become too many.” He flashed Jefferson an exaggerated glare. “Usually at the end of term, in the depths of finals, when everyone is panicking over exams and papers.”

I smiled, at Jefferson’s almost bashful expression, but also at Carlos’ list.

“And what about you? What trouble do you bring?”

The handsome Brazilian drew himself upright, eyebrow raised. “I am the only exception, of course.”

Donny snorted. “His only flaw is that he’s perhaps too humble.”

Carlos gave him a look. “Why don’t you take whatever’s vibrating in your ass right now, and use it to plug your mouth instead?”

The junior only laughed.

“He’s right, though,” Brayden interjected. “About trouble, I mean. Not Carlos being perfect. Sorry, bro.”

Carlos shrugged, his expression still haughty.

“But yeah, families are trouble,” Brayden continued. “Because honesty comes with trouble, most of the time. If you’re not telling me the truth, all the shitty parts and all the good ones too, then you’re not trusting me like a brother should.”

I nodded, slowly. Trying to find the right words for the question still churning my stomach.

“What if Coach... I mean, after what you all said to him...”

I didn’t dare finish the sentence; risk bringing something terrible into being, just by vocalizing it.

So many possibilities, all of them capable of knocking me on my ass and leaving me there.

Jefferson grunted, watching me with that level, unblinking stare. The one that said he’d seen every dire thing my imagination had been capable of picturing, the whole damn list of them, and still had no intention of backing down.

“You don’t leave a brother behind,” he said.

And that was that.

#

Not embarrassed, then, but self-conscious. Hyper aware of what my big bros had seen, this fresh side of me. The sting of their intervention - carrying me out to Jefferson’s truck! - and the itchy eyes left behind after my tears. Paranoid that they’d change around me, now: tread more carefully, treat me more delicately. A projected fragility I couldn’t bear to think about.

I glared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Angry at my pessimism, for how readily I’d come to question my teammates’ assurances. The speed at which I’d gone from seeing their support as an absolute, to assuming they’d want to wash their hands of me.