Second Chances by T. A. Webb Page B

out of him, because then he got really pissy, and fuck that noise. “Put up or shut up, Hetboy. Looks like I’m up by four already, and all that’s really running is your mouth.” He turned, glared at me, and took a shot for three. It went in, and a flicker of a smile started to show on his lips as he grabbed his crotch and tilted his head at me. “Fuck you,” he growled and took off down the court again.
    We played in silence for about another twenty minutes after that, and then the pace started to slow down. “Let’s take a break and go sit in the sauna. I could really use the heat, man,” he grumbled.
    He headed to the locker room, and we stripped down, put on our towels, and headed into the hot room. I was used to him being naked around me now and didn’t really bother to steal glances. I flat out looked. He always strutted a little when he noticed. The boy liked being looked at, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.
    We settled down, and I poured a ladle of water on the hot grill, making the steam rise up. The quiet time and the steam room were my treats to myself after a hard workout or a bad night. The heat seemed to draw all the tension out of my system, leaving me feeling drained and empty but good.
    “I need to ask you a favor. I fucking hate to do it, and you can say no and I won’t hold it against you, but I really, really need you to help me,” he blurted.
    Shit. This must be a doozy if he was this worked up over asking me to help him out with something. “What do you need? You know if I can, I will,” I told him. And I meant it.
    He sat there, looking down at his boots and not saying anything. I stayed quiet and waited it out. A man had to have his pride.
    “I’m behind two months on my child support. Jeanine’s threatening to not let me see Jason until I get caught up. Things’ve been better with her, but she’s only working part-time and needs the money. Business hasn’t been good the past couple of months, and I just don’t have it,” he admitted quietly.
    He looked up into my eyes, and what I saw there hurt me. His face looked so scared and resigned.
    “I need to borrow some money. I promise you I’ll pay it back. We can sign a note and make installments or whatever. I just can’t not see my son.” His voice cracked. To see this rock of a man broken over not seeing his little boy, it would have taken a better man than me not to be moved.
    “I can lend it to you. How much do you need?” I asked.
    “Fourteen hundred dollars.” He looked down and winced.
    Well, shit. It wasn’t like I didn’t have it, but it was in my savings account. I used a credit union, and I’d have to go there to withdraw the funds. But the bigger concern to me was loaning money to a friend. The quickest way to fuck up a relationship with a friend or family member was to loan them money. Been there. Done that.
    You know, the general rule of thumb is don’t loan money you know you won’t see again.
    “How about this?” I thought out loud. “I’ll loan you the money, but every time I get a massage, we’ll deduct that much from the balance ’til it’s paid off. We can put it in writing, so we’re both covered, and that way we both feel better about it.”
    “Thanks, man.” The relief in his eyes plain. “Let’s go take a shower and get some breakfast. Can we write it up and do it today?” There was hope on his face now, some of that tension released.
    “Yeah, but you owe me some damn mighty fine massages. Double massages. Triple! You got to grow four more hands,” I joked to lighten the mood. He looked at me and laughed.
    “I can arrange for another guy to come over and give you a four hand massage. Or you can bring your man and I can do you both,” he offered, more like himself again.
    As if.
    Brian didn’t like anybody touching him. Those years he’d spent in foster care had damaged him in ways that hurt me to see. Made me want to track down some of those motherfuckers who posed as