Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

gives me a once over and shakes his head when he returns from the discus throw.
    "The fuck you do now?"
    "I twisted my ankle."
    "I see that. And?"
    "Someone else ran into my lane. I ran into him and fell."
    "You just ran into him, huh?"
    I glare at Drew and don't answer him.
    "Bad time to fuck up your ankle, man."
    "No shit, Big D."
    "You need anythin'?"
    I roll over carefully onto my stomach. "You could give me a massage, baby."
    "Fuck you, lazy bitch," he laughs. "'m busy."
    I give him a put-upon sigh and roll back over, smiling.
    ****
    Depending on the number of schools attending, track and field meets are usually either one- or two-day events. And they're very long days, starting around nine or ten in the morning and going until nine or ten at night. This meet is a single day event.
    For the athletes, the days are fairly boring as we wait between events. Everyone cheers on their teammates, but they also bring things to keep them busy: e-readers, MP3 and video players, hand-held video game devices, books, food, card games, etc.
    Even with all of the typical distractions, I'm going out of my mind. Sure, everyone makes stupid mistakes. But I know better. My coaches know it. Drew knows it. Heath knows it. Hell, the whole team knows it.
    But the guilt I feel doesn't derive from the team's disappointment. I feel guilty because those people whose opinion matters to me know I made a huge mistake today. Their disappointment brings me guilt.
    And Heath's censure bothers me more than I care to admit.
    I am so not ready to face the implications of these thoughts.
    My ankle needs to be elevated to keep the swelling down. The coaches tell me they don't want me to stand up unless I have to pee. But when the time comes for the distance relays to run, I can't stop myself from grabbing the crutches and going to watch, no matter how much my ankle protests.
    And I keep lying to myself, telling myself I'm not going just to watch Heath run. Because I am.
    He looks good. He smiles at the other guys on my relay team, and I realize I haven't seen his real smile directed at me since Drew showed up at the house at the beginning of the semester.
    The starting runners take positions and the relay begins. The first runner does three laps around the track, the second runner does one, the third runner does two, and the final runner does four laps. I usually run the anchor leg, so Heath will also go last.
    "I know that look." Drew moves forward to stand at my side so I can see him peripherally without twisting.
    "What look?" I feign ignorance.
    "That 'I'm interested' look."
    "'Interested?' In what?" Answering questions by repeating back the question is never a good delaying tactic. Drew knows me too damned well anyway.
    "In your roommate, judgin' by your line of sight."
    "Well, it wouldn't be the stupidest thing I've done today, would it?"
    "By leaps an' bounds, Fleury. You're askin' for trouble."
    "I know."
    The first two baton passes are clean. After the current runners complete their first lap of two, the anchors take their positions on the track for the final pass, including Heath. We're in good position going into Heath's leg.
    "You sure about this?"
    "No."
    "Fuck, man."
    "Only if I'm lucky."
    "An' if you're unlucky?"
    "You'll hear about it pretty quick. The walls are thin."
    "No shit. I'll hear about it either way." Drew's room is next to ours.
    "So wish me luck."
    "G'luck. You gonna need it."
    Heath starts running as Rich reaches the passing zone. For a few tense moments they fumble to get the baton solidly in Heath's hand. Just as they reach the end of the passing zone, Heath brings his arm forward, baton firmly in his grip.
    I breathe.
    "You worried?" Drew asks.
    "Of course."
    "He's a good runner."
    "I know that. He's shit with the batons, though. Impatient. Distrustful."
    "You should help him with that."
    "I might if he'd accept my help."
    "Make him," Drew says.
    I'm not entirely certain Drew means track at this point. Wishful thinking on my part, perhaps. I can't bring myself to ask him to clarify though.
    Heath keeps up a great pace for his mile and still has something left to push it faster at the end. He and the relay come in second place by a nose. I'm proud of him. The relay team jumps on him, thumping him on the back and rubbing him on the head. He's so happy.
    And gorgeous.
    Then he notices me watching him. His smile fades. Mine falters.
    He looks away.
    Where the fuck do I go from here?
    CHAPTER 4 – WATCHING AND WAITING
    We