“And that’s great. But it’s not at all about you.” Chris stared at Brandon.
Frank glanced at Brandon, who’d stood up and come closer, and Frank didn’t like that icy expression on his face. “I can assure you that nothing he and I have done was risky by any stretch, not that it’s any business of yours. We’ve always played safe on this field. Anything less would be crazy.”
Brandon stepped close, giving off a cold menace that had nothing to do with Stefan. Just murderous anger that radiated from him. Frank moved a bit closer to him, if only to catch a punch before it came.
Geoff turned to Chris. “Bottom line is that you should have safeworded or raised the issue off the field. None of this bullshit was called for.”
Chris snorted derisively. He spat in the grass and glared at Brandon. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to get barrel-tapped by Typhoid Stef—”
“Oh, fuck you!” Brandon launched himself towards Chris, but Frank grabbed him and held him back. Brandon struggled against him, eyes still locked on Chris. “Fuck you, you son of a bitch.”
Geoff stood in front of Chris, a hand up and ready to block him if he decided to have a go at Brandon. “That’s enough. Both of you.”
“Take it easy.” Frank held Brandon tighter, both embracing and restraining. “He’s not worth it, and you know it.”
Brandon struggled for a second against Frank’s arm, but then relaxed. Exhaling through his nose, he turned his head away. Frank kept a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
“You guys have a problem, you sort that shit out here. Not on my field.” Geoff waved a hand at both Chris and Brandon. “You’re both sitting out this game. Everyone else? Get some water, refill your paint, and let’s get back out on the field.”
Everyone scattered. Frank squeezed Brandon’s shoulder again. “You want to get out of here?”
Brandon nodded.
“Get your gear together.” Frank dug out his car keys and handed them to Brandon. “I’ll be right there.”
“Okay.” All the fight had left Brandon. He picked up his mask and marker and didn’t look at Chris.
Frank and Chris, however, exchanged murderous glances. Wisely, though, the fucker took his gear to the other side of the ready area.
As Chris walked away, Mike joined Frank. He glanced at Chris’s back and shook his head. “Sorry about all that.”
Frank waved a hand. “Not your fault. I’m going to get Brandon out of here, though. Maybe we’ll try again another weekend, but . . .”
“Understood.” Mike nodded. “I’ll let Geoff know.”
“Thanks.”
Frank didn’t say anything in the car. Neither did Brandon. At least not until the field was long out of sight behind them.
Brandon kept his eyes fixed on something outside the passenger window. “Do you think I am being reckless?”
“By sleeping with me?”
“Yeah.”
Frank swallowed. “We’re careful. Very safe. And you were careful with . . .”
“Stefan.” Brandon kept his gaze fixed on something outside the window and absently fingered the abstract tattoo on his arm. “That’s where my name came from. My partner’s name was Stefan.”
Frank swallowed. “And you two were careful, right?”
“Always. And I was that careful with everyone before and after him.”
Frank put a hand on Brandon’s leg. “Then you’re not being reckless. But if you’d rather not take the risk, I’ll understand.”
“What? No! I’m not suggesting we stop.” Brandon looked out the window again. “But playing with other guys. My job. Maybe that’s . . . maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
“Maybe not.” Frank squeezed his thigh. “You don’t have to . . . it’s your decision entirely. There’s other work to be done anyway. The Garden’s making enough to pay more staff behind the bar, in security, wherever. Raoul’s definitely up for a raise, and . . . ah, damn. I don’t want you to worry about this shit or money.”
Of course, any john could be carrying the virus. Precautions could fail. Maybe Brandon already had it. Outside a test, and regular updates, it was impossible to tell. The thought made him sick.
Frank tensed his jaw. “Do you think you can tell me about Stefan? Not if it’s too painful. I don’t want to tear all the scars open again.”
Brandon took a long, deep breath. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything you’re willing to tell me. He was obviously a big part of your life. I’m curious about him.”
Brandon rested an elbow below the window and rubbed the back of his neck. “I met him at the VFW. Veterans of Foreign Wars. Couple of my buddies and I were eligible to join after our Iraq tours, so we checked it out. He was one of the bartenders on weeknights. I wanted to learn to tend bar, and he said he’d teach me.”