“You’re a fucking disgrace,” my attacker sneered. “The world will be a better place once there’s one less fag in it.” As the blows continued, I wished I’d passed out when he was choking me, just so I wouldn’t have to feel the spikes of pain every time he made contact. I tried to scream, but was stopped by the tread of the boot stomping on the side of my face. Mercifully, my world went black after that.

Chapter 2

I felt bad for the guys. I knew how much it sucked to go home at the end of the regular season, but I could only imagine what it felt like to have such a strong start to the post season, only to lose it due to one play. I’d tried calling Drew a few times after Jason called and asked me to come down to Bar 42 but he wasn’t answering his phone. That wasn’t unusual. I figured he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone and was probably off driving around somewhere, trying to settle down a bit before facing anyone. That’s what I would’ve done in his position.

Had the Mavericks won their division, the scene on Brady Street would have looked much different than it did when I pulled up. There were still plenty of people out having a good time, but many seemed to have cleared out after the game ended. After all, it was a weeknight and most people had to work in the morning. Rather than park in front of the building, I found a space a couple blocks away. I missed Milwaukee when I was out in Seattle, so I often found myself doing little things like parking further away than I needed to, just so I could walk around and enjoy my hometown a bit. Someday, I hoped to get back here, although I wasn’t certain if that’d happen as long as I was still playing baseball. It wasn’t unheard of, but it also wasn’t common for a team to pick up a player they’d dumped off to another city. It’d take a perfect storm of events for the Mavericks to take me back in another trade deal. And I was all too aware of the fact my season’s stats weren’t anything teams would be gushing over as they tried to find a way to acquire me.

The night was cool and clear, not a cloud in sight. A few people nodded in my direction as I walked down the sidewalk, but no one seemed to truly notice me. That was fine because if anyone did, it’d mean they were a baseball fan and chances were good they’d start asking stupid questions. The few times I’d left the house since coming home and had been recognized, Mavericks fans had wanted me to weigh in on the team’s odds of going all the way this year. When it wasn’t that, they were asking how it felt to know that my former team was in the post season while I was sitting on my ass at home. I usually refrained from telling them the truth. It felt shitty. I hated sitting alone in the living room watching the game because my buddies were playing. I toyed with the idea of buying a ticket in the cheap seats, but that would have been asking for drunk idiots to interrogate me. I didn’t need that type of shit in my life.

My good luck ran out as I got to the end of the first block. A group of college age kids stumbled out of one of the bars. They were all decked out in their Mavs jerseys. Rather than hang around to see if they’d recognize me, I ducked into the alley that dumped out next to Bar 42. It wasn’t the scenic walk I’d been hoping for, but it was dark and isolated enough that I wouldn’t have to worry about other people.

I heard something in the distance as I got closer to Bar 42. It sounded like an argument, but I could only make out one voice. I quickened my pace, clueless as to what I thought I’d be able to do if there was a fight taking place. I sure as hell wasn’t about to stick my nose in where it didn’t belong. I’d had a decent year in Seattle, but that didn’t mean my place on the roster was secure for next season.

I knew the score. Teams weren’t too eager to sign a fresh contract on a thirty-five-year-old player. My prime had long since passed and I was biding my time until I faced the reality that no one plays forever. I could only hope I’d proven myself to be a solid enough player that they’d be willing to send a contract to my agent. That wouldn’t happen if I got into any sort of trouble because the head office of the Seattle Storm had a zero bullshit policy for drama.

I stopped in my tracks as I rounded the corner. It was a moment of truth. Three buildings up, I saw a man curled in the fetal position on the ground, trying to protect himself from the kicks to his stomach and ribs. The aggressor spat at him as he continued using the other guy as a human soccer ball. My previous worries about my fate in baseball flew out the window. When faced with a person who seemed in desperate need of help, I couldn’t just stand there or walk away.

“Hey, what they fuck is your problem?” I screamed as I sprinted down the dark alley. That startled the asshole and he took a step back and looked in my direction. With him facing me, I could see how big he was. I didn’t consider myself to be small, but it was apparent that he had both height and weight on me. I charged toward him, thinking only about the unmoving form on the ground. “You’ve made your fucking point, asshole! Knock it the fuck off!”

“Fucking fag had it coming!” the assailant bellowed. “Unless you want to be next, I suggest you turn the fuck around and forget you saw anything.”

The guy took a step toward me, but almost as quickly, he turned and ran the other direction. I debated chasing after him, but there was little chance I’d be able to take him down and restrain him until the cops arrived, so I made a mental note of what details I had been able to catch and turned my focus to the man bleeding onto the pavement. I kneeled down beside him as I pulled out my cell phone.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the female dispatcher answered.

“There’s been an assault in the alley beside Bar 42,” I informed her, trying to keep my tone level. “The victim appears to be unconscious.”

“Police and paramedics have been dispatched to the scene,” she responded. I could hear her tapping away at her keyboard.

I put the phone on speaker and set it on the ground next to me. Blood coated the man’s faded blue jeans and white button-down shirt. I knew it was a bad idea to move him, but I couldn’t leave him lying with his face pressed into the ground. I cradled his neck and slowly rolled him to his back. My stomach churned as I stared at his battered face. This had to be some sort of hallucination. If I looked past the cuts, bruises, and swelling, I could make out Drew’s strong jaw and high cheek bones. But that was impossible. Drew was inside with the guys, probably half in the bag by this point.

“Sir, did you hear me? Sir?” The dispatcher’s voice sounded muffled. Sirens wailed in the distance, but they were too far away. They needed to hurry, to get Drew to the hospital and help him.

“Please, you have to make them hurry! He won’t open his eyes.” I slid around so Drew’s head rested in my lap, stroking the matted hair away from his face. “Drew, wake up... Come on, you can do it...”

Drew moaned, but still didn’t open his eyes. I fought the urge to either cry or puke as I listened to the dispatcher ramble soothing words that did shit to calm my nerves. I knew I should hang up and call Jason, but the last thing the cops and paramedics needed was a swarm of concerned and pissed off ball players trying to find out what happened to their teammate. There’d be time to call him after Drew was taken care of.

I shielded my eyes as the bright lights of a squad car bounced off the buildings in the alley, adding a headache to my list of discomforts. One officer rushed to my side while the other jogged down to the end of the alley to stop anyone from gawking. An ambulance soon followed and the officer instructed me to leave Drew in their hands while he asked me a few questions.