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Hearing Darren’s brothers cheer him on gave Isaiah a rush. They were cheering for his guy. He and Darren hadn’t said anything or made it official, whatever that meant, but Darren was his. At least that’s how Isaiah felt. Judging by Darren’s reactions on Thursday and their texts and phone calls since, Darren felt the same.
The crowd deflated as the keeper stopped what should have been Darren’s third goal. His guy leaned over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. At least, that was what Isaiah thought. When the keeper tried to bring the ball out, Darren turned, strong as ever, and forced an errant kick that went out of bounds.
“Smart play,” Jack said as Harrison lined up for the throw in.
“Big D is crushing it,” Bill—or was it Billy?—said. “You’d think they’d put someone to shadow him.”
“Last time they did that, Harrison nearly scored. We’re too good for them,” someone else answered.
Isaiah agreed—Darren was that good. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. Sweaty, flushed, decked in his blue Harrison uniform, he looked like a poster for Harrison’s soccer team. His poster boy.
His. Like it was a fait accompli already. Hell, they’d kissed once. It was a wonderful kiss, but that was all. Isaiah wanted so much more. Wanted to show Darren just how much he wanted him. And if all goes—
Darren went down in a heap, his legs taken out from behind by one of the other team’s defenders. The crowd roared in anger and jumped up.
Isaiah called his name and strained to get a better view.
“Those assholes,” Jack’s brother, Marcus, said. “They just put that guy in the game to take Darren out.”
“What?” Isaiah asked.
“Marcus is right,” Jack said. “That guy must be a scrub. He hasn’t played all game. See how clean his uniform is? Fuckers put him in to hurt Darren.”
“Hurt him?” He strained to look over the crowd. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.” Jack stared at him for a second and turned back to the field. “He’s up already.”
Darren was on his feet, being held by two of his teammates. The crowd was still booing and shouting at the player from the other team. Isaiah hadn’t seen Darren mad often, and nothing like this. A third teammate ran up and grabbed Darren’s face in his hands. He shook him, yelling at him to stop.
“Stand down, Gage! Stand down!” the coach shouted.
“Why is our team mad at Darren?” Isaiah asked.
“They’re not mad, they’re trying to calm him down so he doesn’t retaliate and get tossed,” Marcus said. “Which was probably Kutztown’s plan B if the tackle didn’t take him out.”
Darren threw up his hands and walked away. His teammate shadowed him, but Darren didn’t try to go back. Isaiah’s heart dropped back into place, and he kept watching his guy.
The crowd cheered, and Isaiah tore his attention from Darren and turned where everyone else was looking. The referee was in the face of the guy who tackled Darren and held up a red card. A louder roar erupted, followed by taunting of the ejected player with an off-key modified “nah, nah, nah, hey, hey, hey goodbye.”
One of the frat brothers shouted to Darren, and he turned toward them. He smiled and waved.
He froze as he locked gazes with Isaiah. Darren’s eyes widened, followed by a full-face grin. He pointed with two fingers just before his teammates pulled him toward an on-field huddle.
The crowd settled back as the referee set the ball for a free kick. Isaiah kept his attention on Darren—until he caught Jack staring at him from the corner of his eye. He turned, not sure what to expect.
Jack’s brow was furrowed as he looked back toward the players in the huddle. When Darren snuck a glance at Isaiah, Jack turned too. His lips twisted into a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow as Isaiah felt his face flush.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said in a knowing way. He chuckled and turned back to the game.
Isaiah was annoyed at first, but he had nothing to be ashamed of. He absolutely wasn’t embarrassed that he liked Darren. In fact—
“Go, Darren!” he shouted just as his guy launched the ball toward his teammates massing in front of the enemy goal.
The brothers of Pi Kappa Phi flooded the paths leading back to their house, and Isaiah got swept up in their euphoria. Darren got his hat trick, making them pay for the cheap shot they’d taken at him. Harrison had won 4-1.
When time expired, Darren was mobbed, doused in Gatorade, and back-slapped into tomorrow by his raucous teammates. Watching how alive Darren was when he could be true to himself gave Isaiah a pang of regret. Darren only let this side of him out on rare occasions. In a weird, possessive way, it felt like he only showed that face to Isaiah. His guy, his face.
