Complete Opposites

Shane:

It’s late August, the Sunday before classes start, and I’m wheeling my lonely suitcase down the third floor hall of the boys second year dormitory. I am about to begin my sophomore year at North Central College but in some ways I feel a little like I did a year ago – like a scared freshman. I just don’t know what to expect. I am a planner. I thrive in an environment rooted in neatness and order. Predictability. My class schedule is exactly what I signed up for. My on campus job is all lined up and waiting for me. Everything I can control is in perfect order. That leaves just one unknown. One not so minor aspect of the next nine months of my life. Who did the school decide to room me with?

Last year, my freshman year, they roomed me with Riley. We were the ideal match. He was as neat, clean, quiet and private as I was. We were respectful, if not friendly with each other and within just a couple of weeks, we had learned how to coexist in our tight quarters with little to no disruption to each other. He was the perfect roommate because rooming with him was the closest thing to rooming alone.

If only rooming alone was an option. Solo dorm rooms are more expensive than doubles, and being the youngest of six kids, my parents are pretty tapped out. My presidential scholarship is the only reason we could afford this school in the first place. It’s a good school and I’m glad to be here. My first year was a success that was made easier by the unspoken agreement Riley and I had to give each other privacy and space. I had been looking forward to rooming with Riley for three more years. No such luck.

A month ago, Riley texted me. He said that he had accepted an opportunity to study abroad for a semester and he wanted to let me know that he wouldn’t be back until January. Great. Now I have to start from scratch. Again. There is no way the school will let me be solo in a double room for a whole semester. No. I’ll get stuck with some transfer student or someone else whose roommate bailed on him, probably because he was the worst roommate in the history of roommates. Last year I had won the roommate lottery with Riley. There is no way lightning could strike twice.

As I continue down the hall, I hear loud voices. It’s quite the ruckus; almost like a party. My heart sinks as I realize the noise is coming from my assigned room. The door is open and there are five giant, oversized guys filling the small space. I don’t even know which bed is mine, but since both beds are being used as couches, I already feel violated.

I stand in the doorway not knowing what to say, so I say nothing. At least the background music isn’t blasting. The five giant jocks continue to talk and laugh in an easy dumb jock way that a small part of me is jealous of. A really small part. It’s a full minute before one of them finally notices my presence.

The one with chubby ruddy cheeks points and laughs, “It’s Alex P. Keaton!”

It’s only now that I remember I’m wearing a tie and a suit jacket. I came here straight from a brunch to celebrate my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Suddenly my own cheeks are as red as the ruddy guy’s cheeks. Now they all laugh.

It’s obvious that these dudes are all on the football team. North Central is a small liberal arts school, but inconceivably, we have an amazing football team that is the number one ranking team in NCAA Division III. Last season, they had a perfect 14-0 record and won the national final. I know all of this not because I play football, but I am a fan. I attended all of the home games and even a few of the nearby away games. I actually recognize some of the guys standing in my room right now. But I still don’t know which of them is my roommate. Presumably it is not either of the two who continue to sit on my bed. My bed, because it is on the side of the room that does not have sports posters plastered all over the walls and piles of clothes strewn about the desk. Too many pairs of massive sized sneakers are haphazardly toppled right in front of the door just waiting to trip me with my regular sized feet.

I know that football practices started a few weeks ago, but the room feels like it’s been lived in for months, not weeks. I haven’t even completely cleared the threshold yet and I already feel like an unwelcome visitor in my own room. Shit. I think I’ll be spending a lot of time in the library this year.

One of the other three guys presses a button on a Bluetooth speaker and the music stops. He says to his teammates, “Okay, guys. Time to clear out.”

With surprisingly little argument, they do just that. The ruddy dude says to me, “See you around, Keaton.” Two others pat the top of my head while the fourth straightens my tie. Am I like a toy to them? Fuck me. Did I have to be in this damn suit today? On the bright side, with those other four guys gone, the scattered sneakers are gone too. The remaining guy, my apparent roommate, stands before me in socked feet. His side of the room is a disaster. His bed, his desk, his dresser are completely littered with clothes and trash, but he has a shoe rack against his wall with twelve pairs of well-cared for, neatly aligned and very large sneakers.

I move to fully enter our room but he stops me with his palm in my chest. “I have one house rule,” he says. Like the room is his and not ours. “No shoes in the room.” He looks down at my pristine, shiny, black leather dress shoes expectantly.

Seriously? This slob of a human won’t allow me into my own room until I take my immaculate shoes off?

I scoff. Why is this happening? I know who this guy is. He is the star running back of the football team – which is the pride of the school. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I didn’t know who he was. I wish my roommate didn’t have a bright spotlight shining down on him. And I really wish that Cam Smiley wasn’t so damn gorgeous.

Cam:

My new roommate scoffs at me as he slips out of his dress shoes. He points at the mess that is my side of our room and says, “You have house rules? Seriously?”

I shrug, “Just the one. What can I say? I like a clean floor and I take care of my shoes. I guess I’m a sneakerhead.”

He picks up his shoes and I notice a small hole at the big toe of the sock on his right foot. He notices me noticing and for the second time in the five minutes since he appeared in the doorway, he blushes.

I pretend like I saw nothing. I point to the wall on his side of the room, “I brought a shoe rack for you too.” I take his dress shoes out of his hand and set them on the top shelf. “I take the shoe thing seriously.”

He shakes his head, but I think I notice the slightest curl of a smile playing at his lips.

I stick out my hand, “I’m Cam.”

He scoffs for a third time, “No duh.” We shake. “I’m Shane.”

He has a firm shake for someone who is not on the football team. I look him up and down. He’s at least five inches shorter than the shortest guy on my team. I tell him, “My teammates really aren’t bad guys. I’m sorry they… Look, I’ll make sure they know not to touch you. That wasn’t cool and it won’t happen again.”

Last year, he was in my Psychology 101 class. I already knew his name is Shane, but right now, this is the first time we’ve ever spoken. He never wore a suit to class before. I’m assuming he has a reason.

He sees the question on my face, “I just came from a family thing.”

“Got it.”

He rolls his bag all the way in and lays it on his bed. I try to not be obvious about watching him. I need to have a roommate and I need that roommate to be someone different from me and different from the other people in my life. That certainly seems to be the case with Shane. Is he too different? Nah. It might take a little time, but I can be charming as fuck. I’ll win him over.

I say, “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I am going to step out for an hour. That should give you time to unpack, settle in and change your clothes. When I come back, I’m taking you out for a get-to-know-our-new-roommate dinner. Just you and me.”

Shane:

I guess I don’t get a say. I guess I’m going out with my new roommate tonight. My new roommate who is the complete and total opposite of me in every way. He is messy, loud, bossy, popular, athletic… Riley was like my twin. Well, twins with a cold, distant relationship. And even though Cam and I have less than nothing in common, Cam being Cam will try to pull me into his orbit. I will do my best to resist, but sharing a room with him, I am bound to be sucked in at least a little.

My therapist would be happy about these unfortunate circumstances. I’ve always craved privacy. I’ve never had many friends. It probably stems from growing up with five siblings. Quiet, privacy and personal space were all foreign concepts to my family.

I’m in jeans, a green polo shirt and holding a pair of tan VANS when Cam walks in after exactly one hour.

I ask, “Do shoes have to be carried into the hall and put on outside of the room?”

He laughs, “I will allow a ‘shoe zone’ of five feet from the door.”

I shake my head again. I want to be mad at him, but instead, I find that I’m smiling.

North Central College is on the edge of downtown Naperville. We walk the few blocks to Potter’s Place and Cam, without asking my preference, requests outdoor seating. It actually is a lovely night, but still. He could have asked.

Cam:

I only allow the uncomfortable silence between us to go on until we place our orders. Then, I proclaim, “Time to get to know each other!”

He stares at me blankly. Like I just spoke in Greek.

I clear my throat, “Tell me all about Shane.”

It doesn’t come easy. I have to probe and prod…it’s like pulling teeth. I learn that he is the youngest of six. That he is majoring in Biology and ultimately wants to work in veterinarian services. He has always preferred relating to animals over people and wants to help animals to help people. He doesn’t have a family pet at the moment; they lost their fourteen year old dog a little more than a year ago, before he started his freshman year. With all of his brothers and sisters being older and gone or leaving, his parents have not decided on a next pet situation yet. He was economical with his words when discussing his family and completely absent of words when I asked about friends and significant others.

As we both eat our fajitas, he says, “What about you? You have to have a girlfriend, right?” His eyes roll up and down the length of me that he can see sitting at this table.

His scrutinization makes me blush a little. I shake my head. “I had a girlfriend in high school a few years back, but she ghosted me when I was going through some stuff that was too real for her. I haven’t dated anyone since.”

We both realize that I’m being vague, but I’m not just going to blurt everything all out at once. Some stuff, I’ll share and some stuff, I won’t.

“Why do you even have a roommate? You are the young phenom of the best football team in your division. Shouldn’t you have your own private dorm room, if not your own off-campus house?”

I grin at him, “Phenom?”

“I watched the games last season. You might have been a freshman, but you quickly replaced the starting running back because you’re amazing. You are why the team was undefeated. Why don’t you have everything you want?”

But therein lies the rub. Everything I want. I had that last year and it didn’t work out so well for me. I had my own housing, I had friends who weren’t really friends. I had freedom and privacy and everything I thought I wanted. I ended up drunk from power and from alcohol. I was only eighteen and I was screwed up big time.

I tell Shane, “I’m messed up last year and because of that, this year, I am not allowed to room on my own. I had to agree to that to maintain my scholarship.”

The look on his face tells me he knows of at least some of the trouble I got into during my rookie year. He also looks suddenly concerned. “Don’t worry,” I say. “You will not be held responsible for me. I see a therapist and I have been clean and sober for seven months.”

He looks relieved, “Is football your focus? Is it your goal to play in the NFL?”

“Dude, our school might be the best, but we’re a Division III team. There’s like a thousand guys out there way better than me. The NFL is not out there waiting for my arrival.”

He looks surprised. Maybe even a little disappointed. “So, what do you want to do after college?”

“I want to go into sports psychology.”

“Like building a winning mindset?”

“That’s part of it. It’s a lot of things. Mostly mental health for athletes. Helping athletes through whatever they are going through. Grieving, sexual identity, gender identity, stress, pressure, fame, success, failure, fatigue, self-worth. Athletes go through the same mental challenges everyone else does, but are often presumed to be tough and stuff can go unaddressed. A sports psychologist is many different things to many different athletes.”

Shane:

Wow. I knew about his troubles from last year, but I didn’t (and still don’t) know what caused them. Cam isn’t just a jock. He is self-aware. He knows his talents and he knows his limits. It’s awesome that he wants to help other athletes with their mental health struggles in his post-college life.

I ask him about him. He tells me that he is an only child. He says, “My mom died in a car accident three years ago. She had always been my number one fan. My dad is great, but I miss my mom every day. I guess I haven’t coped with that loss very well. It’s part of why I derailed last year and almost lost everything. It’s also why I see a therapist every week and cannot live alone. But it also gave me perspective on what I really want to do with my life.”

“I’m so sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks.”

I look him in the eyes. “I see a therapist too.” He looks at me expectantly, so I continue. “I have social anxiety. It makes no sense. I came from a large, loving family. I have suffered no tragedies in my life. I just prefer being alone. I know it’s not a healthy or fulfilling way to live, so by choice, I’m working on it. But still, it’s how I’m hardwired.”

“Shane, it’s not weird or wrong. You are who you are. I am who I am. I kind of think we compliment each other. We’re complete opposites, and because of that, maybe we can help each other.”

“How?” I ask.

“You can help to keep me grounded and I can gently nudge you outside of your comfort zone a little.” He dips a chip in some guacamole. “I meant it when I said that you’re not responsible for me, but I’d like to be able to talk to you. You know, about things I won’t say to my teammates. No pressure, but maybe we can be friends at some point. I don’t have any real friends.”

He surely has lots of unreal friends. Fans. Hero worshipers. But not friends. Neither do I.

He continues, “And you can talk to me too.”

I’ve already talked to him more in one night that I talked to Riley in a whole semester. I look at my new roommate and I nod.

Cam:

So, that’s what we do over the course of the next few weeks. We talk to each other. I know there are things we haven’t told each other yet. There are certainly things I haven’t told him and I suspect that goes both ways, but we’re slowly building a friendship.

I think.

We’re still total opposites. We still drive each other a little crazy. He continues to be exasperated by how messy my side of our room is. And I’m irritated by how neat and tidy his side is. I feel like messing things up sometimes just to rock his world a little. We also like very different books, movies and music. And when it comes to video games, we’re not even in the same universe.

Yeah, we drive each other a little crazy, but we also confide in each other. We established a vulnerability that first night and have a bond that we’re both still figuring out. But still, I think he misses last year’s arrangement. I know sometimes he wishes I was more like Riley.

The good news is that between his classes, my classes, his labs and his job and my football practices and games, we don’t have too much time to get on each other’s nerves. But if that’s such a good thing, then why do I kind of miss him when he’s not around?

Shane:

He knows I went to most of his home games last year. I play that down though and I never talk about his games or his performance when we’re together. I hold onto that for just me. And I don’t just go to the home games either. About half of the away games are close enough for me to drive to. So I do. But still, I don’t tell him. It’s not that he’s arrogant – he’s really not – but he just doesn’t need to know that I kind of think he’s a halfway decent guy. The truth is, he’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had. How sad is that? This jock dude who is six inches taller than me, seventy pounds (all muscle) heavier than me, and shares no similar interests with me at all, is becoming a real friend.

Yeah, I need to slow that shit way down.

It’s Saturday afternoon and I am in the stands at Elmhurst College watching Cam’s Cardinals as they manhandle the competition. Being an away game, there are very few of us Cardinals fans in the stands. And since I don’t flamboyantly cheer and I wear nondescript clothing, I am not presumed to be one of them.

There are four guys behind me that do not seem to be rooting for the home team either. They actually don’t seem to be rooting for either team. Because they are right behind me, I can hear almost everything they say. Over the course of the game, I begin to understand that they are Wheaton College kids. Not actually on the football team, but superfans. It’s like their scouting other teams. I pull out my phone and discretely check the Cardinals’ schedule. Sure enough, next Saturday, we play Wheaton College at home.

I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but it’s hard to not hear them. I learn more about them than I would ever want to know… One of them just broke up with Stacey and another is thinking about dumping Debbie. These four guys know a lot about each other. They live together, sharing one off-campus house. They begin to comment on Cam’s performance. How could they not? He’s dominating the game yet again.

The apparent leader of the four seems to be named Justin. He says, “There’s no way we can beat them. Not with that running back they have.”

The others have agreed with everything Justin has said all afternoon and they agree with this too. One of them suggests, “Maybe he’ll get injured between now and next week and won’t play.”

Juston grunts, “We’re in the fourth quarter. This game’s almost over.”

“Maybe he’ll get called away on a family emergency,” another suggests.

“Didn’t this guy have some problems last year? Some self-medication issues?”

“That was a long time ago. He’s clean now.”

I can hear the shrug behind me.

“People fall off the wagon. It happens. Maybe he just doesn’t make it to the game next week. If Cam Smiley plays, we don’t win.”

They are certainly right about that.

Cam:

Another week goes by. Shane doesn’t know that I know he goes to my games. Even some of the away games. Does he go because I’m his roommate or because he’s that big of a fan? Or does he go because he’s beginning to reluctantly consider me to be a friend? I’m spending less and less time with my teammates outside of practice and more and more time with Shane.

We seem to be helping each other. Most of our talks happen at the end of the day, before going to sleep. It’s easier to open up and be vulnerable in a dark room without having to see the other person. Although, my mind always seems to conjure up a perfect image of Shane while we talk. His dark blonde hair, his blue-green eyes. A few leftover freckles from the summer sun. He just pops into my head and then I struggle to shake him free.

It's Homecoming weekend and there is a big party/dance kind of a thing tonight after the football game. I have been bugging Shane all week to attend. I know his therapist would want him to go and so do I. He should. He needs to meet more people. I haven’t convinced him yet. It’s hard to imagine him alone in our room, reading or studying on his bed while the whole rest of the school is at the party. Actually, that’s not hard to imagine at all. I’ve seen it a dozen times and it’s only mid-October.

Because it’s gameday, my practice this morning is light. Mostly just sprints and warm ups. Most of my energy will be spent during the game itself. After most of the other guys leave, I hang back and meet with our offensive coach for a bit. We talk about Wheaton’s defense and review a few new plays we have in mind. By the time I make it to the locker room to hit the showers, the place is pretty much deserted. After toweling off, I slip into some fresh sweats and head out of the fitness center. The rear exit is a shorter walk to the dorm, so that’s where I head.

As I clear the door, I get grabbed. Something is pulled over my head and I can see nothing. Hands are all over me. I’d guess about eight of them. That would mean I am outnumbered four to one. I can’t shout because one of the eight hands is covering my mouth over whatever is covering my head.

An unfamiliar voice says, “Don’t fight it and you won’t get hurt. We just have a pregame Homecoming surprise for you.”

Another voice laughs. I have no idea who these guys are. But when I find that I’m being shoved into the backseat of a car with two guys flanking me on either side, I begin to worry for real.

Shane:

I’ve been doing work in the science lab all morning. I’m heading back to our room and it’s a few hours before gametime. As I approach, I see the same four football players loitering in the hall who were in my room two months ago, the day I moved in. Cam has done a good job of keeping these guys away from our room since that day.

They seem relieved to see me as I approach with caution.

The ruddy-faced one is the spokesman, “Shane! Thank god! Have you seen Cam?”

I shake my head, “We both left at the same time this morning. He went to practice and I went to the lab. What’s going on?”

“We can’t find him. No one has seen him since practice ended. He stayed longer than the rest of us, but now he’s missing.”

“Missing, how?”

“We don’t know. He’s not answering his phone. Texts go unread. We’ve searched the fitness center, the dining hall, really the whole campus, except for your room. But we’ve pounded on the door. If he’s in there, he’s ignoring us.”

I tell them not to worry, but something doesn’t feel right. “Maybe he’s off clearing his head before the big game.”

Ruddy-Face scoffs, “He doesn’t do that shit.”

I shrug, “His dad is coming tonight, right? Maybe he’s having lunch or something with him?”

“Without his phone? He would have answered us.”

I get my key out of my pocket, “Maybe he’s taking a nap. He is a deep sleeper. Thunderstorms don’t wake him.”

They all anxiously await as I nervously insert the key into my door. The door swings open and the room is empty. His wallet and phone are on his dresser. He only leaves them here when he’s at practice, at games or in the shower.

I ask, “Did you try the showers here in the dorm?”

All four of them nod.

One of them asks, “You don’t think he’d…” the thought is left unfinished, hanging in the air.

Ruddy-Face shakes his head, “No way! Our man is long over that shit.”

“But dude. Where is he then? We didn’t see it coming last year either when suddenly…” Another unfinished thought.

But I’m with Ruddy-Face. Cam would not… He just wouldn’t. He’s been clean and sober for nine months now. We talk every night. He seems like he’s in a really good place, mental health wise. Unless there are things he’s not telling me… No. I know Cam. Ruddy-Face does too. But what happened to him then?

Ruddy-Face hands me his phone, “Put your number in here.”

I do as I’m told. I hand it back to him and he texts me a test message. “You call if you see or hear anything. The team is supposed to meet ninety minutes before the game. That’s in just a couple hours. We need to find him.”

The four of them take off.

My spidey-sense is tingling. Then I remember Elmhurst last Saturday. Those four Wheaton College guys sitting behind me in the stands. Was their talk not so harmless?

Fuck.

~~

I start to panic as I drive north. I don’t know where I’m going. I mean, my GPS is guiding me to Wheaton College, but once I get there…what then? I have no freaking idea. I need a plan. Let’s start with what I know. It’s not much. It’s a ridiculously short list of items. There are four of them. I had caught a couple glimpses of their faces so I should be able to recognize them. The leader’s name was Justin. They live together in off-campus housing. They probably won’t recognize me. That’s it. Is that enough? It’s what I’ve got.

I considered calling Ruddy-Face with what I know, but I decided not to. First, I could have this all wrong and if I do, I shouldn’t be pulling the four of them away from real efforts to find Cam. And second, if I’m right, The five of us stomping and barging around the town and campus will only raise flags and take away the element of surprise. If I’m right, those Wheaton guys have no idea that I’m on my way. If I find their house and Cam is being somehow held inside, my solo non-threatening presence will get me pretty far. Hopefully.

As I get closer, an idea comes to mind. I stop at a downtown pizza place and buy two large and one small along with a bottle of Gatorade. I drive in a circle around campus and come to a grid of streets nearby where the houses look like they might be occupied by students. The yards have no family feel to them.

I find a place to park on one of the streets and I take a deep breath. I feel my anxiety building. It’s at this moment that I realize that I haven’t felt much anxiety lately. Cam is the reason why. Our late night talks,  just his presence in my life… But right now, anxiety is back with a vengeance. If I even find him at all, what am I about to walk into?

I leave the small pizza and the Gatorade in the backseat and I grab the two large pizza boxes. I pick one random house, walk up to the front door and ring the bell. “A nice looking boy a year or two older than me answers. He looks confused.

I say, “I’m sorry. The person taking orders at the restaurant was busy and got some things messed up. I have a pizza order, but the address is wrong. All I know is that it is in this neighborhood. Four or five guys and one of them is named Justin.”

The cute boy apologizes and tells me I have the wrong house. He does not know a Justin. Over the next thirty minutes, I try five more houses spaced out on different blocks only to get the same negative response at each. It’s my seventh house where I meet a guy who knows who and where Justin is. He gives me directions and I’m only four houses away. I sigh. Pizza delivery people are overworked, underappreciated and underpaid.

Okay. Showtime. I approach the door of the house that I was informed is Justin’s. Could Cam really be inside somewhere? Has he been kidnapped? What is going on in there? I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.

After what feels like forever, the door finally swings open. I can feel my heart beating in my chest. I recognize the dude before me as one of the guys from last week at the Elmhurst game. It is not Justin, but he is one of the four. I need to get inside and see if I can find evidence of Cam being here.

I hold up the pizza boxes and say, “These are for Justin.”

The guy shakes his head, “We didn’t order pizza.” He slams the door, putting his sizable hip into it. I shove my left foot between the door and the doorframe, preventing the slam. With the weight of his body behind it, my foot gets crushed and I have to force myself to not cry out in pain.

I elbow the door back open, “I know you didn’t. The football team paid for these. They have a message for you too. They said, they know what your doing and the pizza is a ‘thank you’ from them.”

That makes him pause. He calls over his shoulder, “Justin, the football team sent us pizzas. As a thank you.”

I take the opening and step inside. Not wanting to get shut down again before confirming Cam’s presence or absence, I push past this guy and cross over into the front room.

The door guy calls out behind me, “Hey! Stop! I’ll take those.”

It’s too late. There’s Cam, sitting upright in a chair, all four limbs tied to the chair itself. When he sees me, his eyes almost pop out of their sockets. The other three guys all jump up off the couch, not having expected company.

The biggest guy is closest to me. I pass him the pizza boxes and he stupidly takes them. With his hands occupied, my right hand lashes out in a devastating palm strike that crushes the big guy’s nose. I could both feel and hear the crunch. He goes down fast in a heap, pizza spilled everywhere. Blood spurts from his nose. He’s done. The pain is surely overwhelming. Blinding, really. He won’t be up anytime soon.

But now the element of surprise is over. The remaining three guys now know that I am much more of a threat than I appear to be. All three of them are several inches taller than me. They are all a good forty pounds heavier than me. And suspecting the possibility that I could take them each one on one, they come at me all at once in a triangle formation. This is smart on their part, as at best, I could only focus on one of them at a time. And if I did attack one of them at this point, the other two would absolutely pummel me. It would be over. I need to do something that will shift the element of surprise back into my favor.

As they close in, I get an idea. I don’t love it, but I can’t think of anything else. This is going to suck so hard.

I let them seize me.

They are shouting, screaming really, about what I did to their friend. And over their screams, I hear Cam demanding they let me go.

Two of them grab me by the arms and twist them behind my back. My plan is working. They are back to thinking I’m a weakling. An asshole who lucked out with a sucker punch and needs to be punished. Justin stands before me. He tells his friends to shut up. He looks me hard in the eyes, searching for something. He says, “You sat in front of us at the game last week. You heard us talking.”

Cam shouts out again, “Let him go! You’ve got me. He means nothing to you. Don’t hurt him!”

There is real fear in his eyes. There is fear in my eyes too. No way those guys let me go now. They know what I heard them say last week. They know that I know they kidnapped Cam. They know that I know where they live.

I start to brace myself for the blow that is about to come. The blow that has to happen so I can turn the tables once again. I’m held captive as Justin winds up with a killer’s look in his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch him!” Cam yells and fights against his restraints.

Justin delivers a powerful uppercut to my gut. It does the job and then some. There is no acting needed as I double over in pain, squealing and gasping for breath and forcing back the bile that builds in the back of my throat.

Cam screams, “Noooooo! Shane!” and thrashes violently.

I think Cam’s scream helps my cause. They think I’m done. The two big guys holding my arms let go as I crumble to my knees. Except I never make it down to my knees. With my arms once again mobile, I elbow each of them between the rib cages and suddenly it’s their four knees that hit the floor. I had known Justin’s big blow was coming. While it hurt like a fucking son of a bitch, I was able to expel my air and brace myself. These guys were not expecting my perfectly placed jabs and the wind was knocked out of them. Three down and one to go.

Justin’s eyes bulge and he winds up to punch me again, but I am no longer restrained. He never makes it past the wind up because I headbutt him in the nose, which pops and spurts blood like his friend who is still rolling around in a mess of spilled pizza. And now Justin won’t be getting up anytime soon either.

But I am worried about the two guys I elbowed. Once they get their wind back, they’ll be threats again. Before that can happen, I have to take further action. So, I break each of their right arms. Since they’re both still trying to find their breath, they don’t put up much of a struggle. I straighten the first guy’s arm and rest it on the seat of the couch, creating a forty-five degree angle. With my uninjured right foot, I stomp at the elbow and his arm cracks and bends in a way that arms are not meant to bend. He must have some of his air back, because he manages to howl. I repeat the clinical procedure on the other guy and the threat is finally over.

My adrenaline begins to recede and with it, the pain in my crushed foot surges back into my awareness. Fuck, it hurts. And so does my stomach. My eyes are watering, my gut is burning and my breathing is ragged. I survey the scene around me. Satisfied that none of them are in any condition to pose any further threat, I finally fall to my knees and bury my face in my hands.

“Shane!” Cam shouts as he continues to struggle.

Yes, the pain in two places is crippling, but I’m emotional over the realization that I was almost too late. What have they already put him through? What did they plan to do next?

I force myself to shake it off. I drop my hands from my face. I shuffle over to the chair on my knees and I go to work on freeing Cam.

Cam:

I have been stunned speechless since the moment Shane walked in this house carrying two boxes of pizza. I have been confused, shocked and in awe. At first, I was terrified that these guys were going to kill him. No offense to Shane, but he is a fraction of the size of any of those guys. But Shane methodically took them all down, one by one. My brain is having trouble believing what my eyes just witnessed.

Shane pulls a Swiss Army Knife out of his pocket and begins cutting my bindings. As he does so, he asks me, “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Oh my God! That asshole hit you! Are you okay?”

He tries to conceal a grimace as he lies to me and says, “Totally.”

He has the last of my bindings cut and I am finally free. I jump up and hug the shit out of him, careful not to hurt him around the middle. He squeezes back. It feels good. We’ve never hugged before. Actually, we never touch.

Setting him down, I ask, “Where are we? Who are they? My head was shrouded until we were inside this house.”

“I’ll answer all of your questions once we get the fuck out of here. I refuse to be the idiots in the horror movie who just stand there as the evil killers come back to life. Let’s get to my car.”

He takes a step forward with his left foot and almost collapses. He winces in pain. “My foot blocked the slamming door and now...” He trails off, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in himself.

I squat down in front of him and say, “Hop aboard.” I carry him piggyback style as he grips my shoulders and directs me to his car, three blocks away.

He insists he’s okay to drive as the injury is to his left foot. I help him into the driver’s seat.

His car smells like pizza. He reaches behind my seat and hands me a small box and a bottle of Gatorade. He says, “I know it’s not the healthiest pregame dinner, but time and options were limited. Eat and drink up. I can get you back before the start of the game.”

I can’t believe he thinks I’m still playing in the game after he got injured risking his life to rescue me. I shake my head. “I’m not leaving your side. We’re going to the emergency room and getting your foot x-rayed.”

“No.” He hasn’t started the car yet. He turns to me, “You are so going to play that game and trounce and humiliate any and everyone who has anything to do with Wheaton College. Wheaton College is where we are right now. You have revenge to exact upon them.”

He really means it. I can tell he won’t change his mind. If I have any hope of getting him medical attention, it won’t be until after the game. I really want to hug him again but its too awkward in the car. I ask him, “How did you find me?”

He tells me a complicated story about going to my game in Elmhurst last week and hearing these guys talking in the seats behind him in the stands. It seemed like it was just talk, though. What if he got injured? What if he had a family emergency? What if he fell off the wagon? Shane didn’t actually suspect a plot to abduct me. But when I turned up missing, he remembered what he’d heard. He then went into investigative mode and against all odds, tracked me down.

He starts the engine, “Besides, it’s Homecoming Weekend. Everyone is counting on you. And your dad is coming to the game. You have to play. You have to win.” He taps the box in my lap, “Did they feed you? Eat this.”

Not only did my roommate, my new friend, save my life, but he brought me dinner too. I take a slice. “I have so many questions.”

“I already answered them.”

“How could you walk into that house alone? Why didn’t you call the police? Or at least bring some of my teammates with you?”

“And tell the police what? Some guy named Justin said some weird shit a week ago in Elmhurst. I don’t know who he is or where he lives. I don’t know that he did anything at all. Find him and rescue my friend. They would have laughed me right off the phone.”

“My teammates would have believed you.”

“Probably. But I didn’t know anything. I couldn’t risk having them stop their own search. What if my hunch was wrong?”

His hunch wasn’t wrong. He was almost killed saving my life. And he did get hurt.

He continues, “The more people I would have brought, the bigger the chance things could have turned out badly. I knew those guys would underestimate me. I was no threat to them. But once I took the first guy down, they got the idea that I might be more than a slight nuisance. I needed them to get back to thinking I wasn’t a threat. That’s why I had to let them get me. And hit me.”

He let them do that to him. He had the bigger picture in mind and his plan worked brilliantly. But it was a crushing blow and I can see he’s in a shit-ton of pain that he’s trying to hide from me.

Shane asks me, “You really didn’t know where you were? Or who they were?”

I shake my head, “All four of them sneak attacked me walking out the back of the fitness center. They put a bag over my head and I never saw a thing until I was tied up inside of that house. I could have been anywhere.”

“What was their plan?”

“To keep me tied up until after the game.”

“And then they were just gonna let you go?”

“Not exactly. Once we were inside and they let me see their faces, I knew it wasn’t going to end well. They weren’t looking to murder me.” I clear my throat, “They were going to make me get drunk and then dump me somewhere near the Homecoming party after the game so I could be ‘found’.”

“They were going to…” He stammers, “They were willing to ruin your life over the outcome of a football game?”

“They told me that they knew about my troubles last year and they were going to make it look like I went on a weekend bender or something. They said that even if I remembered some of what really happened, no one would have believed me. I didn’t know their names. I didn’t know where they held me. I would have been found drunk. No one would believe my story and at some point I would even begin to doubt myself.”

He looks at me, “I would have believed you.”

I get a lump in my throat, “Because you heard them talking last week.”

“No. Suppose I didn’t hear what I heard,” he says. “History or no history. Drunk or sober, I would have believed you because you are you and I know you.” We’re at a red light and he holds my eye.

Hearing him say that makes my eyes sting and mist up.

He returns his eyes to the road. “They expected you to just willingly get drunk?”

“They had a Plan B if I wasn’t going to cooperate. They showed me some syringes they had and strongly implied that I would prefer to be drunk than high on whatever shit they were prepared to shoot me up with.”

“Oh my god! They would have drugged you? Fuck!”

“But they didn’t get the chance to. You saved my life.”

He scoffs.

“No, really. If I wouldn’t have willingly gotten drunk, who knows what shit was in their needles. They could have overdosed me. I’m serious.”

He pulls up to the doors of the fitness center. The game starts in twenty minutes.

I say, “I can’t just leave you here.”

“Yes, you can. I’m fine. The school, your dad, everybody needs to know that you’re safe and that you’re gonna beat the shit out of that team.”

“You need to go to the medical office. You need to get checked out.”

“I’ll think about it. Now get to your game. You’re way late!”

I give him another quick hug, “Where did you learn how to fight like that?”

“That’s a story for another time. Go!”

So I go.

And I win.

The game ends and for the second time today, I take a shower in the locker room, but this time, I am not alone. My teammates surround me and I do not get abducted upon exiting the facility. There’s about an hour before the Homecoming Dance/Party, so we all have time to go change and get ready. I head back to my room.

Shane:

For the first time in my college life, I do not attend the Cardinal’s home game. There was no way I could manage parking the car, hobbling my way to the stadium then navigating the extra huge Homecoming crowd of fans to an available seat. Not with my sore foot. Plus, my social anxiety is flaring at the moment. I need a little down time. So, I park my car and hop on just my right foot all the way back to my dorm room, where five hours ago, I learned that Cam was missing. If I plot the events on a mental timeline, I think they only had him for about seven hours before I freed him from his shackles. But still. They were going to make him get drunk. And if he hadn’t complied…? They were prepared to drug him.

Finally in my room for the first time since I left it at 7:00am this morning for the science lab, I collapse on my bed. I must have drifted into sleep for a little while because the light in the room has changed dramatically when I open my eyes.

I roll onto my back and lace my fingers together behind my head. I hurt four big guys tonight. They deserved it, but did I go too far? Between the busted noses and the broken arms, they are going to be in a world of hurt for a long time. I wince as a wave of pain roils through my foot.

The next thing I know, my cheeks are wet. I didn’t even realize it, but I’m crying. Of course, that’s the moment that Cam walks into the room. He has that fresh shower, postgame smell and glow to him. I smile through my silent tears.

When he registers my face, he makes a b-line for me, “Oh my god! Are you okay? Is it your stomach where that fucker hit you? Is it your hurt foot?” He turns back to his side of the room where he keeps a sizable first aid kit that probably all of the athletes on campus have. He selects a tube of cream and sits next to me on my bed.

I shake my head, “I’m fine.”

He cautiously places my injured left foot in his lap. My shoes are still on. He says, “This cream is for bruises. It relieves pain and speeds the healing process.”

I nod, “I’m sorry I’m breaking your one house rule, but I was afraid that the shoe was the only thing holding my foot together.”

He laughs, “You have special permission to break any rule you want.”

He begins to slowly untie my Nike high-top sneaker. He is gentle as he slips the shoe off and examines my foot visually through the sock. He holds it up and examines it closely from all angles. So far, it looks like a normal foot. He carefully peels off the sock revealing that the skin along my instep is red and inflamed. He squeezes his bruise cream into his hand and begins a tender application. Once thoroughly applied, he begins to soothingly stroke the uninjured part of my foot and I tense up. As Cam and I have gotten closer to friendship over these two months, we have not really made physical contact. Since that handshake on that first day, we haven’t touched at all, until the hugs and the piggyback ride earlier. We’ve had a touch-free relationship to this point. But right now with my bare foot in his lap, this is an unexpected intimacy.

“Did you go to the medical office and get checked out?” He asks as he continues to caress my foot.

“I really am okay. A little sore, but okay.”

“A little sore?” He gives me a look and jiggles my foot, “I don’t think there are any broken bones in here, but I’m an aspiring sports psychologist. I don’t know sports medicine.” He places my foot against his chest, over his heart, giving it a little hug. “Don’t try to keep what you’re feeling bottled up just because I’m here now. Let it out. It’s healthy.”

“I don’t even know why I was crying. It’s a combination of overwhelming emotions. This might come as a shock to you, Cam, but I don’t usually freely express my feelings. For me, this was a year’s worth of emotion crammed into one day.”

“Shocking.” He chuckles. He puts my uninjured foot in his lap and begins to undress it.

I shift uncomfortably, “Um, this foot is fine.”

The shoe is on the floor and the sock is halfway off, “I can’t leave you unbalanced. Besides, I’ve been told I give good foot rubs.”

I’ve certainly had no complaints so far.

He asks me, “Is now a good time for you to explain your mad fighting skills?”

“No, it’s not. You have a party to go to.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sitting this one out.”

I am too. But that was probably a given.

I ask, “Did you win the game?”

He beams, “54 to 3.”

I beam back, “Nice.”

“The MVP of the game isn’t even on the team.”

I feel my cheeks pink up. “Was your coach mad that you were late? What did you tell everyone?”

“I told some of my teammates a CliffsNotes version of the story – by the way, you should expect some serious man hugs coming your way from at least half of the football team.”

I smile.

“I told my coach that I lost track of time. He assumed that I meant that I was spending the afternoon with my dad and I didn’t correct him. He let it slide.”

“Good.”

“My turn. Tell me all about you being a human lethal weapon.”

I roll my eyes, “Cam, I didn’t—”

“You saved my life. This goes way beyond some meaningless football game. If they had stuck that needle in my arm, who knows what might have happened?”

And that’s why I was crying before. What if I hadn’t gone to last week’s game in Elmhurst? What if I hadn’t been sitting in front of those guys. No one would have had the clues needed to find him. Maybe something really bad could have happened. A relapse, a new addiction, an overdose…? Maybe I did save his life. And I’d do it again in a minute, regardless of the risk. He’s Cam. He’s big, kind, sweet, beautiful Cam.

He continues to massage my foot as he awaits my explanation. I sigh, “I’ve been studying martial arts since I was thirteen. My dad insisted on it.”

He asks the question with a cocked eyebrow.

“I was always one of the smaller kids in my class and probably not on my way to being a supersized adult. He thought that as a g—” I stop myself before completing the word, then I go ahead and finish the sentence. “As a gay teenager on his way to gay adulthood, my dad wanted me to be able to take care of myself.”

Cam:

Worry crosses his face. He says, “I know I should have told you sooner. Like first thing probably. You are my roommate after all, but it’s not like I date or anything. My sexuality won’t affect your life in any way. Or our…friendship… Unless you… Are you okay with me…?”

“No!” I almost shout. “Of course I’m okay… I mean, I didn’t realize…” I take a breath and try again, “Are you ‘out’ here at school?”

“Well, I’m not not out.”

I make a face.

“I mean, I haven’t told anyone, but only because it hasn’t come up. I would. I’m not hiding it.”

“You never told Riley?”

He shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“We weren’t…,” he looks me in the eyes and holds it, “Riley and I weren’t friends.”

I swallow, “You said you don’t date or anything. Why not?”

He shrugs, “I haven’t seen you dating. I’ve seen like every girl on campus checking you out, but you didn’t even make a date for the dance tonight. What’s up with that?”

I clear my throat, “You obviously ‘came out’ to your parents when you were thirteen if I am understanding your story correctly.”

He nods.

“That’s something that I haven’t done yet.”’

His eyes bulge.

I sigh, “There are so many labels to choose from and even I don’t know what’s most accurate. Let’s just say that I’m queer.”

“I—”

“Right. Me too. And before you ask, I’ll tell you that you are the only person I’ve ever said those words to. Not my dad, my friends at home, my teammates here… No one.”

I set his foot down and reposition myself next to him. I begin to unbutton his shirt, “Relax,” I say. “That was a massive punch you took earlier. Some bruise cream will help.”

He tenses and his breathing becomes uneven as my fingers work his buttons lower. After the last is undone, I spread open his shirt. His upper stomach is red and inflamed. I can actually see the shape of four knuckles. I wish I could go beat the shit out of that fucker right now. How dare he hurt this beautiful boy. But then I realize that Shane already took care of that task for both of us. In an autopilot state, I bend down and kiss his stomach where he took that punch.

He quivers.

I tell him, “I plan to do that every day until all evidence of the incident has faded to nothing.” I kiss it six more times.

He gulps, “Okay. I won’t stop you.”

I laugh. And then I mutter, “I could kill that asshole for laying his hands on you.”

“And for almost killing you.”

I begin to rub some cream on his stomach. He winces, so I’m sure to be gentle. His stomach looks so smooth and innocent. It’s lean and vulnerable, but I know there is a layer of muscle under the cover of softness. The punch he took would have crumpled most humans. They would have been down for the count. But not Shane.

Having applied the medicated cream, I set the tube on the side table. I let my fingers explore his lower belly below his bruise. Near his waistband.

He giggles, “What are you doing?”

“Examining you for further injury.” I prod, poke and stroke from hipbone to hipbone.

He squirms and laughs, “I have no further injuries.”

“You can’t be sure. I’ll be the judge of that.”

I circle his round innie belly button with my index finger and he giggles some more. It’s good to know that he’s ticklish. That will be fun to explore further another time, but not tonight. We have the rest of the year to figure out which of us is more ticklish. I carefully slip his shirt all the way off. How have I never noticed the physique of the very hot man I share this room with? For whatever reason, this is the first time I’ve seen him shirtless. My eyes can’t stop dancing all over the mesmerizing contours of his arms, his chest and his abs. He is both hard and soft at the same time. Delicate and tough. My fingertips glide over every bump and curve and he sprouts goosebumps all over his body. But I do not tickle him, at least not torturously so. His pants are tented at the crotch and so are mine.

I have to know what he tastes like. I lean down to kiss him, but he surprises me by planting a palm in my chest. He looks me hard in the eyes again and says, “Cam, you do not owe me anything.”

Shane:

I know he thinks I saved his life. I don’t need to be thanked any more than I already have been. What do they call this? Pity sex? No. Mercy sex. I don’t know. But that’s not what I want. Not from Cam. Even if he is queer – which I had no idea until just minutes ago. But just because the most gorgeous guy on campus (who also happens to be both the star of the football team and my roommate) happens to not be heterosexual, does not mean that he wants this to happen too.

Whether we both happen to be into dudes or not doesn’t change the fact that we are still both complete and total opposites. I might not be the nerdy wimp he presumed me to be, but he’s a jock. While he says that none of his dozens of friends are real friends, he is still Mr. Popular and I have always been a loner. His side of the room is a safety hazard. He listens to weird music, plays the wrong video games and yet I am fascinated by him. But he’s becoming my friend, my first real friend, and I won’t ruin that. Unless he genuinely… But how could he? He is him and I am me. Yes, I came to his rescue. And, no, I’ve never desired anyone more than Cam Smiley, but how could he desire me back? I am decidedly not desirable.

As he moves in to kiss me, it takes all of both my mental and physical strength to put up my hand and stop him. I tell him that he owes me nothing.

He actually laughs, “Shane, I have a confession to make. The school isn’t making me have a roommate as a condition of my scholarship. It’s my choice. The problems I had last year were real. I was still grieving the loss of my mom when going away to college shook my life up like a snow globe. I was living independently and I did not handle things well. The school would let me do whatever I wanted. I wanted a roommate. Someone to just be here, who I could talk to. Someone who was going through different things than me. Even more than having someone who I could talk with about my shit, I wanted to be able to focus on someone else too. Give and take. A two-way connection. I had no idea who that roommate would be, my only stipulation was that it NOT be one of my teammates. It turned out to be you.”

“Lucky you,” I quip.

“Shane, I recognized you from that Psych class last year. We never talked, but I noticed you. I was not disappointed when you showed up all cute that first day. You stood in our doorway all dressed up in that suit, looking at my friends sitting on your bed. You looked like you desperately wanted to wake up from a nightmare.”

“Only until I realized which one of you was my roommate. Of course I knew who you were. Who doesn’t?”

“Everyone and no one.”

I just keep looking at him.

“But now? You do. Shane, I’m not trying to thank you. I’m not pretending…”

He takes my hand and places it between his legs where there is an obvious (and massive) erection beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. “Maybe you think my words are lying to you, here is evidence of the truth. I don’t have a raging erection because I feel like I owe you something. You are smart, kind adorable, hot and I desperately want the lower half of your body to be as naked as the upper half currently is.”

I giggle. My hand is still on his rock solid shaft.

He finds my own bone through my tented jeans, “And just maybe you find me to be not so bad either?”

“Cam, you are undeniably the hottest guy on campus and that is a clear bonus, but it’s everything else.”

“I’m a slob.”

“Yes. A sweet slob who has the biggest heart. These last two months I’ve been more confident and social than I ever have before.”

“You certainly were not lacking in confidence tonight.”

I blush, “You bring it out of me. You are going to be the most awesome sports psychologist. You’ve done more for me in two months than six years of therapy has come close to accomplishing.”

“And you’ve helped me at least as much. Just being there and being willing to really talk to me, beyond the superficial stuff. Not to minimize the amazing superhero you were tonight, but this is about so much more than that.”

“I’m so glad I made it in time before they caused real damage.”

He grins at me, “You’re freaking Sherlock Holmes and Superman in one. I don’t know how you did it. You’re not just hot, you’re fucking brilliant.”

I grab his neck, pull him down and kiss the shit out of him. It only occurs to me right now that I’ve been dreaming – no, fantasizing – about this for two months now. He slows me down and I follow his lead. He lavishes me with playful nibbles and pecks that gradually evolve into passionate kisses and eventually our tongues meet. I make room for him and he stretches out next to me on my bed. We kiss until our mouths are raw and red.

Cam stands up and pulls off his shirt. He is a spectacular spectacle to behold. And I so want to behold him. His perfect form belongs on the cover of a sports magazine. He steps out of his shoes and rejoins me on the bed, but this time, his head is at the foot of the bed. He buries his face in the soles of my bare feet, kissing them and nibbling at my toes. I giggle. But then he slides my body lower and I realize what’s about to happen.

Cam:

I start to work at his button and zipper. His hands simultaneously grapple at the drawstring of my sweatpants. We each wiggle free of our confining bottoms and our erections spring free. I have never been so close to someone else’s penis before and Shane might be a smaller guy than me, but in this arena, small is not a word that comes to mind. I will have fun officially measuring him at some point, but for now, I’ll estimate his length at just shy of an impressive eight inches. And as it throbs millimeters from my face, I get final confirmation that Shane wants this too.

I take his manhood in my hand and he gasps from my grip. He follows my lead and I’m as hard as he is.

Shane says, “Maybe you should switch from football to baseball. You’ve got quite the bat to work with.”

“Look who’s talking,” I grip him again playfully and he moans.

I kiss and lick all up the left side of his shaft, slither my tongue across his slit (that drives him crazy in the best possible way) and then massage my tongue down the right side. It’s suddenly hard to concentrate on what I’m doing to him because his mouth action on me has me seeing skyrockets. I fight through it and take his balls in my mouth. He moans and does the same to me. I slather and suck up the underside of his shaft and smile to myself when I make his knees knock together. He gets his revenge when he copies my move and I almost kick a whole in the drywall with my foot.

The appetizer is over and it’s time for the main course. I grab his ass cheeks in both hands and pull him close. He is still as hard as hard gets. Our game of follow the leader continues as he does the same to me. I take in as much of his length as I can. I turn my head back and forth and create some twisting friction action and he hums into my dick, still copying my moves. I grip his bubble butt harder and take him in further, challenging the limits of my ability. He actually seems to be taking me in deeper than I am him. Being the competitive type, I am not willing to be outdone. I go deeper and my lips form a tight seal at the base of his shaft. He’s keeping up with me just fine. I massage his butt and suck on his pole like a candy cane. 

We go at each other with reckless abandon and I know that I am getting close. I signal this to him with a little “humph” sound and he does the same. We keep up the intensity and within a minute, I am about to blow. I begin an aggressive slide up and down him and he is close too. Right as I explode in his mouth, I catch his burst in the back of my throat. We might be opposites in many ways, but right now, we are in complete sync with each other.

~~

I’m dressed again, and sad that Shane is buttoning his shirt. Sometimes life isn’t fair. But hey. He’s my roommate. If I hide all of his t-shirts, he’ll be forced to sleep shirtless every night.

I pick up his feet and put them in my lap. I carefully begin to put his socks back on as he says, “I can do it myself.”

I grip his ankles, “Don’t take away my fun.” I go to work on the second sock. “Are you hungry?”

He nods.

I fire off a quick text and a reply comes immediately.

“We’re gonna pop into the dance,” I say. “The guys say there’s still plenty of food.”

“Even if I could dance, I can’t dance right now.”

I’m slipping on his left high-top. “You can’t walk either. It’s piggyback rides for you until you’ve healed.”

He smiles at me, “I’m okay with that.”

He might be okay with the piggyback rides, but I can tell he has reservations about popping in at the party. “We don’t have to stay long,” I assure him. “I told you before, the guys want to thank you. Like it or not, you have a fan club now. You know, appearances can be deceiving. They’re actually good guys.”

“I can see that,” he says. “They were certainly worried about you when you were missing. I mean, they weren’t worried about losing the game. They were worried about you, Cam. I have no doubt they would have went to war with me for you had I enlisted them.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. It’s nice to know people care. I go to work on tying his other shoe, “Tomorrow morning I have breakfast with my dad before he drives back home.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell him about what almost happened. That would be hard for a parent to hear.”

I nod, “ But there is something important I want… That I need to tell him. I want you to join us.”

He shakes his head, “That’s family time. I’ll see you after.”

“He’ll want to meet you.”

“Because I’m your roommate?”

“No. He’s gonna want to meet my boyfriend.”

He smiles and kisses me. “I’d like that.”

He hops on my back and we’re off to greet our fans and conquer anxieties.

Two weeks later:

Shane:

I’m back at the off-campus house of Justin and his cohorts at Wheaton College. I knock and after a long wait, Justin himself answers the door. It takes him a minute, but he finally recognizes me. His nose looks mostly healed, but he still has two black eyes as reminders of what I did to him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Tough talk from a guy whose ass I kicked a couple weeks ago. I say, “Had I known what you planned to do to my friend when I was last here, I would have done a whole lot more to fuck you up, you filthy piece of shit.”

He smiles an ugly smile, “My friends are home too. This time we won’t underestimate you.”

Cam steps into view from the side of the porch, “Will you underestimate me? You laid your nasty hands on my boyfriend when I ordered you not to. That’s not okay. How dare you touch him. You are about to experience some real pain.”

“We still have you outnumbered.”

“Don’t two of them still have broken arms?”

“We have a couple more friends over. There are six of us.”

Cam grins, “The six of you would be hopeless against my friend alone. But against the six of us? You have no idea how much we’re going to enjoy this.”

Justin looks confused, “Six of you?”

Ruddy-Face and his three buddies appear from the other side of the porch. “That’s right. Six of us,” he says.

We push our way inside and close the door behind us. It’s good to have friends.