Frank’s heart sank. He put a hand on Brandon’s shoulder, and his heart sank a little deeper when Brandon shrugged away. “Brandon . . .”
Brandon stopped. The glare on his mask almost obscured his features, but Frank could still see him close his eyes for a moment. Then he looked at Frank through their masks. “Just . . . give me a minute, okay?”
“I . . . okay.”
Brandon walked away. Frank watched him, not sure he could have followed if he’d wanted to. His chest ached as he watched the kid go, and that ache turned to fury as he heard escalating shouts behind him. Chris’s voice. Mike’s. Someone else’s. There was no paintball fire going on. Just shouting. And there was Geoff heading Chris’s way, so this thing would be settled one way or another in short order.
Up ahead of him, Brandon crossed the boundary from the field to the ready area. He tore off his mask and threw it. It hit something solid, the impact making Frank jump, but Brandon didn’t even flinch. He dropped his gun on one of the folding tables and ran a gloved hand through his hair as he sank onto one of the chairs. Elbows on his knees, he rubbed his neck with both hands.
Frank grimaced as he watched him. He glanced back at the others. There was still plenty of shouting going on. Sharp gestures, Geoff stabbing Chris in the chest with a gloved finger. It was impossible to see faces with everyone wearing masks, but the body language and elevated voices said enough.
Frank was tempted to go back out there and give Chris a piece of his mind, but with the way that exchange had affected Brandon, Frank was as likely to give Chris a piece of his fist. Better to let Geoff handle it.
He headed towards the ready area. Brandon didn’t look up.
Brandon’s mask was on the ground against one of the coolers. Frank picked it up, dusted it off, and walked over to Brandon.
“You okay?”
Brandon nodded. Sighing, he sat back and looked up at Frank, and Frank’s stomach twisted as he caught a glimpse of the Brandon he’d seen in his dream a few nights ago.
“So the guys here know?” Brandon asked. “About you?”
“Geoff and Mike do.” Frank handed Brandon his mask, then took off his own. “Apparently they aren’t the only ones. I don’t disclose unless it becomes important.”
Brandon held his mask in his lap, idly thumbing the strap as he stared at the grass with unfocused eyes. “I’m sorry. For causing it to—”
“Don’t you dare apologise for anything.” Frank sat beside Brandon and put an arm around his shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.” He pulled his hand back, took off his glove, and put his arm around Brandon again. This time, he stroked Brandon’s hair with his fingertips. “Maybe it’s better that the guys know about me, but I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” Because now the story would spread. Hot as Chris was, Frank didn’t trust him as far as he could kick him up a hill.
Brandon sighed, and Frank was afraid he’d recoil again, but Brandon tugged off his glove with his teeth and then put his hand on Frank’s leg. “I guess this kind of thing happens.” He met Frank’s eyes. “That’s the game we’re playing.”
Only I pulled you in on my side, and there are things here I can’t protect you from. “That’s what’s driven me so deep underground. Easier to . . . deal with than . . .” He gestured aimlessly. “This. It’s not that I don’t like playing, it’s what happens if I win. Or lose. That freaks me the fuck out.”
“Did you use to play?”
“Before I caught it? No.”
“Any idea where . . .?” Brandon still touched him. Touch. The main thing he’d been afraid to lose when he’d told people about the results. That nobody would ever touch him again, kiss him again, even hold him again. That people would be freaking out over using his cutlery, his mugs, that people would freak out just being anywhere near him. He’d thought he could live without sex, but not without touch.
He sighed and kept his voice so low nobody but Brandon could hear him, and even Brandon needed to lean closer. “Best guess? In prison.”
Brandon jerked a bit, but didn’t pull away.
“I went for possession with the intent to distribute. Couple years.”
“Drugs?”
“Human growth hormone.” Frank almost laughed, but didn’t have either the air or the humour to do it. “Supplements that weren’t legal. I was taking them, had a good source. Easy money. Nothing you can’t still get in some of the more hard-core gyms.”
“Okay.” Brandon just listened.
“I was pretty seriously into all that. Not quite competition standard, but I got used to being big. Trained with rough guys, North London gangs, rough guys, as I said. That connection might have got me busted, but, yeah, I went for that. Maybe that was the only thing they could pin on me. Hell, it was the only thing I did. I was a bouncer back then.”