JOSEPH SHUFFLED BACK, CREAM-COLORED CLEATS DIGGING INTO THE DIRT OF THE EARTH AS HE RELEASED THE FOOTBALL WITH MORE FORCE THAN HE'D INTENDED.

He watched it spiral into the dull blue sky and then slam into his captain's hands and, by extension, his chest. Michael stumbled backward a little, cutting his eyes in his direction and furrowing his brows.

"What the hell is going on with you today, man!?" He tucked the ball under his arm. "You been throwing this bitch hard as hell for the last hour!"

The blond wiped away the sweat accumulating on his forehead and waved the other boy off, walking over to the metal bench to grab his duffel. He was the one that asked Mike to come out and toss the ball around in the first place to blow off some steam.

He just wanted to know why he was doing more talking than throwing. Unzipping the black bag and snatching the water bottle out, he drank half and then took a seat. Resting his forearms on his knees and hanging his head between his thighs.

Joseph screwed his eyes shut and let out a harsh breath; it felt like he was losing Jericho all over again. He's done almost everything just to get close to him, so why? Thinking back to the cell phone conversation he overheard made him angrier every time.

Whoever this guy was has had some sort of history with him. Was he an ex? A friend? If that was the case, why was he talking down to him like some kid? He didn't even have a name for this asshole, none of it made any sense, and the anonymity was driving him crazy.

Focusing on the positives of that situation and breathing exercises were the only things keeping his anger from boiling over. Jericho in his arms; body warm despite the unreasonably cold temperature inside of the school. The faintest scent of vanilla on his soft skin.

The hair climbing his nape in tight coils and his gold herringbone chain circling the brown-haired boy's neck, sitting pretty like there was no other place for it. He inhaled, held, exhaled his breath for five seconds, and then raised his head so his eyes could re-adjust to the sunlight again.

"You look smitten as hell right now for a dude who was throwing like he wanted to kill somebody not even a minute ago; why you got that goofy-ass smile on yo face now anyway?"

Joseph scowled almost instantaneously and flipped him the bird, running a hand down his sweaty face and then stuffing his water back into his bag. "Jericho," he leaned back onto the bench and stretched an arm across the back of it, squinting his eyes to look up at the other. "It's always him, isn't it?"

Michael's lips formed a straight line. "How long you been feening for ol' boy?" He untied his durag and ran his free hand down his dyed, olive green waves. "Two, three years now?" Folding it up and stuffing it into his backpack.

"Feenin'?" Joseph shook his head and let out a short laugh, "Mike, I love him. I think I have for some time now. You already know that's my baby, even though he drives me up the fuckin' wall."

He mumbled that last part and stood back up, turning around to pack his penny, practice jersey, cleats, and other equipment into his bag, and pulled out his slides. He peeled his socks off and slipped them on quickly, facing the green-haired boy again when he didn't respond to his previous statement.

"What?"

He asked this while pulling his duffel bag over his shoulder and fishing his car keys out. Head cocked and his eyes, narrowed and dark.

"Nothing," Michael sighed, "but man, you don't tell him about the shit going down with your brother, he's going to get roped into that. You know damn well what happened to that lil' white girl last time. You can't take the fall for his ass again, had everybody thinking you were some creeper for weeks."

The blond raked a hand through his hair and nodded, "Yeah, I know. Just not sure how to tell him yet." Waiting for Michael to finish collecting his stuff so they could walk to the parking lot.

"Don't trip. I know you'll figure it out, catch you later."

Eventually, they parted ways, and Joseph was dumping his stuff into the passenger seat, and hopping into his truck, driving back to Iron Hills Pasture.

His family was, for lack of a better word, odd, but in a conventional way. His dad was quiet, his mom, a gynecologist, was optimistic and outgoing, and his older brother hated him.

The quarterback was the spitting image of his father, but his personality was almost the polar opposite. They were both a little arrogant; all of them were actually.

But, where Jacobi was more stoic and quiet, Joseph was like an open book, and he was charismatic and social, just like his mom.

He comes from a family of farmers; his grandmother, Gemma, on his dad's side, received full custody of the 500 acres when her husband passed away. Jacobi was her only son, so naturally, the farm was handed over to him and his wife Ava around 30 years ago when she became too old to work the land.

Now Tyler, Gemma's husband, had to do a little more than agricultural work to make ends meet, or so he said. And, the job he did wasn't exactly the definition of legal either.

Tyler was an arms trafficker, and he made it his golden purpose in life to introduce Jacobi to the trade too so he could carry on his so-called legacy.

He succeeded and then some because, with only a little convincing, he was able to get Joseph's older brother, Hunter, on board with it as well. His dad was mostly retired from it now, though. The blond, however, didn't want a damn thing to do with the illegal shit.

Joseph was content with working the land; his dad understood his decision, but the real problem was that it led to a strain in his relationship with his brother. Hunter assumed that his brother thought he was "too good" to join.

Hunter was what people would usually call the black sheep of the family; he was the cliché "bad boy" with a troubled past when he was in high-school too, of course.

But, he didn't just play the part; it went well beyond that; slinging coke, covering his body in questionable tattoos, and flunking out of school was simply the tip of the iceberg.

The man was in and out of prison for illegal gun possession, assault, battery, and violating parole from age sixteen until he finally got out, got clean, and started trafficking at twenty-one.

Hunter took his job very seriously, and that was both a good and a bad thing. He was a miserable asshole, and his temper and lack of patience were not a pretty combination, but it took something exceptional to rouse his interest.

What's more interesting to a nosey older brother than his younger sibling's love life? That's where the problem started. Joseph knew, for a while, that his brother had a personal vendetta against him.

When they were younger, his favorite thing to do was terrorize his friends and screw up all of the relationships he got into. A lot of people stopped hanging out with him because of that, it happened in the past, and he wouldn't put it above him to do it now.

He'd managed to keep his home life so private that not even Jericho knew he had a brother, and that was fine by him. As long as Hunter's crazy-ass didn't know about him, everything else would be fucking peachy.

Joseph was treated better than Hunter because his dad saw himself in his brother. Even though he was older, on the dean's list for years, and did a majority of the work on the farm he wasn't cut any slack.

So, he dropped out, quit working the farm and joined their grandpa's business. If their father Jacobi didn't want to acknowledge him, he would force him to look. This led to several disagreements between them until his brother finally moved out of the house and into the neighboring city.

Now, he only comes by the farm for holidays or to speak to his old man about business shit. He wouldn't have it any other way because the farther away he was, the better. Joseph pulled onto the land and drove through the iron gate, passing by the tractors plowing the fields, animals grazing the area near the barns and the orchard.

In about three more minutes, he was entering the driveway to the estate, going through another gate to the garage area, clicking a button on his keys, and opening one of the three garage doors.

His house was one of the more unreasonably large structures built on the land; His mom has Jacobi's childhood home demolished and rebuilt into a one-story modern farmhouse. Limestone and brick exterior; 5 bedrooms, 6.5 bathrooms, theater room, guest house, pool; all the fixings.

Their house looked like it belonged in a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, not rural North Carolina. As much as he hated to admit it, it was kind of embarrassing.

The blond parked next to his dad's black pickup, which was right next to his mom's powder blue BMW, and got out so he could grab his things from the other seat and enter the house.

"Pop!?"

He yelled, voice echoing throughout the empty entryway. If his dad wasn't outside, he was more than likely in his office or asleep, so he headed to his room—bed, couch, tv, fireplace.

The only remarkable things were the medals, certificates, and trophies in glass cases or on shelves covering three out of the five of his cream walls from years of sports.

The floor to ceiling windows let in such an excessive amount of natural light that he didn't even need lamps in his room, just the recess lights when he was studying late. The only part of the house that made it feel like a home, in his opinion, was the view of the rest of the farm.

It made the trek to his room worth it. The quarterback dropped his bag on the black leather sofa after taking his phone out, sat down on the edge of the king-sized mattress, unlocked it, and checked his text messages.

There were a few hundred in the football team's group chat because all they know how to do was run their mouths and throw a ball. Two from Jessica because she can't leave him be to save her life, and none yet from Jericho.

He usually tried not to let it bother him too much. He couldn't because everyone had boundaries, right? He's tried to convince himself that was the only reason; speaking face to face was preferable anyway, but today it fucking pissed him off.

As long as he's known him, Jericho's never let anyone talk to him crazy, but this guy could just say anything? Tomorrow, he had to wait an entire day for an explanation or call him.

It wasn't incredibly hard to see that Jericho wasn't used to positive physical affection, on having too much attention directed toward him; Joseph was the opposite.

Parties, kickbacks, sports, even school-sponsored activities. He craved physical touch and thrived as the epicenter of attention in most social situations.

The brown-haired boy shied away from or avoided it altogether. So, Joseph had to be careful with how much affection he showed him in public.

The blond was stubborn, though. He'd be damned if Jericho shared that beautiful world he hid inside of those steel walls to protect himself, with anyone else because that was the guy he fell in love with.