I ignored her, pulling away from the drive at a crawling pace. I could see out of the corner of my eye that she was keeping pace with the car right up until the moment I was going too fast for her. Only then did she give up the physical chase—but by the look on her face, which I could see in my rear-view mirror, she wasn’t giving up the chase on this encounter any time soon.

  Chapter Four

  Diego

  I tried to get in touch with Connor as best I could over the next few days. It was a stupid idea to put anything in writing in case another iCloud hack happened, and practice was always way too busy to get time with any one team member alone. On top of that, though, I couldn’t be sure whether or not he was avoiding me. He hadn’t answered or returned any of my calls, for one thing. Of course, that might not be deliberate. As a professional athlete myself, I knew how many demands on a person’s time could prevent you from making those calls back. I knew how difficult it was.

  But surely this was a pressing issue to deal with, and better to deal with it sooner rather than later. Shouldn’t he answer me so we could schedule a time to hash it out?

  Without the chance to talk to Connor, I had been wary of making any decisions about the matter—and that included telling my management. I hated keeping anything like this from my agent, who was completely trustworthy and would be able to help us in a heartbeat. But without Connor’s say-so, it felt like a betrayal to confide in anybody at all. After all, it wasn’t me who would be outed if she made a mistake and the news got out. It wasn’t me whose life would change.

  After all, the press already hounded me. I was sure it could get worse, but at least I was already used to the storm. When he pulled up outside my house on that morning, he looked like he’d seen an army of ghosts instead of a bunch of freelancers with gossip blogs.

  Granted, that was a little reductive. Some of them were more dangerous than that. He seemed to have encountered one of them. For a while now, my team and I had been wary of Alicia Bell. She had an almost obsessive fixation on my sexuality, and the sexuality of everybody I hung out with. It was as though she was desperate to out somebody. Maybe that was unfair. Maybe she just knew that stories about gay relationships between football teammates were big sellers, and she needed that kind of momentum for her career. Whatever it was, it was frustrating, and we had tried to bring her contact with me to a minimum.

  Every now and again, it was necessary to agree to her interview requests. Sometimes, silence seemed more suspicious than your answer. Unfortunately, as I was still in the vacuum, trying to find a minute to discuss options with Connor, my agent seemed to believe this was one of those times. One Friday morning, she gave me an apologetic look as she led me between press rooms.

  “Okay,” she said. “This next one won’t be fun, but I figured it was better to get it out of the way while there’s nothing for her to pick at.”

  I knew before she even told me. “It’s Alicia, isn’t it?”

  Tammy winced. “I’m sorry, hon. She’s got some strange conspiracy going on about last week’s game, or something? I figured we could throw her this bone, since there’s really nothing for her to get at today.”

  I swallowed, still not sure what I could say. Tammy knew me too well to miss this, and her eyes traced over my hesitation.

  “What? Don’t scare me.”

  I cleared my throat, letting her lead me into a spare room before I answered. “I actually can’t tell you yet-”

  “Oh my God, Diego.”

  “I know,” I said, holding up my hands. My bad. “But it’s not my secret to keep. Honestly, I don’t know if he even fully understands himself yet.”

  “Is it-”

  “Don’t guess,” I asked, cutting her off. “Please. It’s not for me to say. I’m sorry; I should have warned you. I didn’t think.”

  “Well, she’s in there waiting now,” said Tammy, biting her lip. “Whatever it is, she’s going to try her best to get it out of you. If we cancel, it’s only going to get worse. She’ll know she’s onto something.”

  “Maybe granting her the interview threw her off the scent a little,” I said, hopeful. “Normally we’d say ‘no’ if there was even a kernel of a story there.”

  It was doubtful. I could see it on Tammy’s face, as well as feeling it on my own. Alicia Bell always thought she was onto something, and there was little we could do to discourage her until she hit a hard ‘no’ all by herself. It was diligent, I supposed. There was no better personality trait for a gossip writer. But man, was it ever hard to navigate when you had something to hide.

  “Just try your best,” she said. “She can’t force you to say anything. You’re good at this, you know?”

  As she led me towards the interview room, I couldn’t fight the dread that landed on me. However hard I tried, I knew I was heading into a spider’s web. It suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t the only one, either. Maybe he deserved some warning. Maybe he was just going to have to trust Tammy as much as I did.

  “Hey,” I said, turning on my heel just before we reached the room. Just out of earshot. Still, I kept my voice casual and quiet—just in case. “Could you give Montana a call for me? We were going to go for drinks later.”

  My eyes did most of the talking. Luckily, Tammy knew better than to acknowledge her understanding out loud, though I could tell from the look on her face that she understood.

  “Sure,” she said, nodding as she continued to open the door. “No problem. Here; let me get that for you… hi, Alicia. You’ve got about fifteen minutes tops.”

  “Thank you, Tammy,” said the reporter, her eyes already rooted to me. If she was trying to stare me out, she’d have a hard time. Connor may have been a little flustered by her on that morning in the car, but I wasn’t so easy to break. I was used to her. “I won’t need longer than that. Hi, Diego.”

  “Good to see you,” I said, not giving anything away as I sat down and shook her hand. “How can I help?”

  “I think I can help you, actually,” said Tammy. The door clicked as Tammy left, and Alicia’s thin, feline smile sharpened. “I’d love to help you break the story about you and Connor Montana.”

  “The story?” I asked. “That we… went for drinks the other night? Surely the news cycle’s busier than that.”

  Her smile didn’t falter. “Let me start at the beginning. A source tells me that you and Connor were discussing homophobia after the game last week.”

  “Uh...” I cast my mind back. I was pretty sure I knew what she was referring to, but the less certain I seemed of all my interactions with Connor, the better this would be. People who were just casual friends didn’t memorize every single thing they said to one another, after all. “Sure, I think I remember that.”

  “Great,” she said. It didn’t feel great. As innocuous as this subject seemed, whenever it sounded like Alicia Bell was getting everything she wanted, you could be sure that you were in some kind of trouble. “Tell me about it.”

  “I can’t exactly remember what started it,” I lied. Our coach was an asshole, but I wasn’t about to throw him to the wolves. It wouldn’t be worth the aggravation, for one thing. I liked playing for the team, and if I rained down this kind of bad PR on them… well. I might not be playing here for long. “I think he just wanted to know what it was like to be gay as a professional athlete. What kind of homophobia I encounter on a day-to-day basis. He was kind of surprised about the extent of it.”

  “He didn’t have any stories of his own to tell?”

  I furrowed my brow. “I mean… as far as I know, he’s straight.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” said Alicia, voice thin and sugar-sweet. What was she driving at here? “I’m asking if Montana had anything to contribute to that conversation, or whether he was just… listening and learning.”

  “Listening and learning,” I repeated. “Sure. You could call it that.”

  “I see,” she said. “Under your tutelage.”

  “Not in a formal way.”

  “You’re very defensive, Diego.” She drummed her nails on the table between us. Whoever her manicurist was, they did an excellent job; the witchy, shimmery purple looked great, and it suited her to the bone. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured her. “I’m just… cognizant of the fact that ambiguous quotes sometimes get taken out of context by third parties.” And by you, Alicia. “I think it would be unfair of me to let that happen.”

  “Would it be such a bad thing if the news cycle tomorrow said that Connor Montana was a closeted gay man?”

  I pursed my lips at her. “It would be inaccurate, so… yes. It would.”

  “You and Montana are close, then.”

  “We’re teammates. Friends.”

  She shook her head. “Close enough to go out for drinks together. To talk about something as personal and important as experiencing homophobia. You know about his sexuality.”

  “That’s not such a major thing.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Montana doesn’t really talk to the press. His sexuality isn’t public knowledge. As far as we know, he’s as reluctant to talk about his personal life in private as he is in front of the press. For you to be so certain he’s straight makes me believe you have knowledge I don’t.”

  It was clear that she believed something else entirely, but I chose not to call her out on it. That was the last thing I needed.

  “See,” she continued. “I also happen to know that you and Montana were at Ringwald’s last night. Then you moved to Bar 40. Then I lose you for a little while, but after that you’re back in the same area at The Cove. After that...” She held up her hands. “Strangely absent from all the local bars.”

  “I’m not sure how you’d know that.”

  She chose not to answer, instead leaning over the table. “Between you and me, the most damning evidence comes from my source at Uber, who claims there are some very interesting stops logged in your account.”

  “I’m... pretty sure that’s illegal.”

  Alicia spread her hands. “Perhaps it is, on their part; perhaps it isn’t. I’m not publishing anything. I’m in the clear. All I can say is that I’ve seen evidence to corroborate these claims, and that they are pretty interesting. So tell me, Diego Delgado. Exactly how close are you and Connor Montana? Very close? Or was last night’s wedding just a drunken mistake?”

  It only took a heartbeat for her to win, and for me to lose.

  It was too quick. My immediate reaction was one of shock, and it must have shown on my face; hers changed instantly to one of triumph, and I was forced to realize that a lot of what she was saying was pure conjecture. She couldn’t prove that we got married. It had been a lucky guess based on that Uber data—which she absolutely should not have, as far as I was concerned. Still, I’d given the game away now. I could come in with a ‘no’ if I wanted to, but it’d be useless.

  Alicia knew. And it was all my fault.

  I took a deep breath, trying to wash away the frustration and the anger and the panic. I was going to have to stay calm. “Alicia,” I started, my voice as even as I could manage. “Do not run with this story.”

  “You know that I have to,” she said. It might have been the first honest sentence she’d ever spoken to me. I could even detect a note of apology in there, which faded out a little as she continued. “And you know that I’m going to.”

  “Off the record,” I said, tapping the table firmly. “But when we’re ready, it will all be yours. Full exclusive—within reason, on your terms. He’s just not ready yet. Please just hold off for me.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You can,” I shot back, running a hand through my hair. “What’s stopping you?”

  “Everything. Look, I know you hate what I do. Everybody in your position does, and I get it. It’s dirty work, but it sure pays the rent. You know when it doesn’t pay the rent?” She paused. “I’ll tell you. It doesn’t pay when you find the story of the year and bury it on some vague promise of a controlled release later. Because maybe we get to that point, Diego. Maybe we do, and it works, and it’s huge, and it makes my career. But I worked this out already, and that means somebody else can work it out too. Every second I hold this back for you, the chance of that increases, and I’ve got nothing.”

  “You’d still have the exclusive,” I insisted. “That’s not nothing.”

  “It might as well be.”

  The worst part was that I knew she wasn’t wrong. It was the person who broke this story that’d see all the benefit. They’d get the reputation as the Sherlock Holmes who figured this out. They’d be the one getting the reputation and the work out of this. Doing me a favor out of the goodness of her heart would be very kind, but it would also be sacrificing the kind of paycheck that could stave off financial instability. The kind of paycheck that could pay a year’s rent upfront. That could pay her mom’s rent too, if she needed it.

  I didn’t like it, but I understood.

  “Do you have a comment you’d like to give me?”

  I shook my head, willing to try one last time. “I’m serious, Alicia. Please don’t.”

  “That’s your official comment?”

  “This is still off the record,” I said, though I knew she already knew that. She was still just trying to provoke me. Damn it, she was good at her job. I could almost respect it, if it wasn’t so deeply founded on other people’s misery. Today, that misery was mine; tomorrow, it’d be Connor’s. I sighed. “No. No official comment.”

  “Alright,” she said, packing up and seeming thoroughly unfazed. “Well, if you change your mind, Tammy knows how to reach me. Thanks for seeing me today.”

  I couldn’t answer. I watched her leave the room, feeling that uncomfortable twist of guilt and nausea in my stomach. Tammy emerged at the doorway a moment later.

  “That bad, huh? I saw the look on her face as she headed out.”

  We met eyes, and it didn’t take her long to understand. She flopped down into the chair opposite me—the one Alicia had just occupied as she planned to ruin Connor’s life.

  “Alright, Tammy,” I said, weary and worn. “I guess it’s time you heard it.”

  Chapter Five

  Connor

  Already, the life I once lived had completely gone up in smoke.

  The fact that a football player had turned out to be gay should not be front-page news in this day and age, and yet it seemed that nobody had informed the press. Though neither me nor my management had confirmed anything yet, they were all running riot with the story of my drunken marriage to Diego, gossiping among themselves about whether we had been secretly dating for a long time, discussing the supposed ‘sexual tension’ that had always been visible on the pitch to those who knew what they were looking for, and sometimes quickly tossing around the theory that it had just been a stupid drunk joke between friends.

  But the way they were handling the story was almost irrelevant. In truth, whether they were being sensitive about the story or not, there were still photographers camped outside my home at all hours. I still couldn’t climb into my car without being begged for a comment—or, quite frequently, asked where Diego was.

  My sexuality was being tried in the public court of the media. But the debate was so stressful that it felt like a punishment; in the end, it didn’t matter what decision the jury came up with. It had already suffered. Innocent or guilty, gay or straight, I would never be able to go back to my old life in peace.

  For a couple of days, I couldn’t help but blame Diego. We hadn’t had time to discuss a serious plan in that short car journey to his home, but I figured I had made it clear that this wasn’t something I was ready to announce to the public. At the time, I believed he was on board with that. As the storm fell, however, it didn’t seem that way. I didn’t answer any of his many calls, but his people told my people that it had been a mistake. That Alicia Bell had tugged the truth out of him.

  How exactly, I insisted, could he say ‘we got married’ by mistake?

  After a few days, I cooled down. I remembered the way that Alicia had pressured me, even through the car door. I allowed my team to relay the full story of what had happened in the interview, and began to understand how the error might have happened. I came to realize that Diego felt terrible about all of this. I even felt I wouldn’t hate having the opportunity to see him alone again—just me and him, hashing this out without the layer of well-meaning but ultimately obstructive trained professionals between us.

  Then, the perfect opportunity arose all by itself—because we were benched.

  Coach Bullion called us in for a meeting while our story was still running in ticker tapes across the bottom of mainstream news programs. I arrived when Diego was already in the room, head slightly hanging and expression serious as he fixed his attention rigidly on the coach. For a second, I was stung by the idea that he was avoiding me. Then I remembered that I’d just spent several days dodging his calls, and wondered if that might not have been a little unfair—both the ignoring, and the assumption that Diego was doing the same back to me.

  Before I could say anything, Coach Bullion leaped in.

  “In case you’ve both forgotten, you play for a football team. That’s what you’re famous for. God knows it’s stupid that you’re famous in the first place, but… that is the reason why.” He paused, standing up from the desk. “So why in god’s name have I spent the last few hours fielding phone calls about the two of you getting married?”

  “You know how the press are,” answered Diego, into the awkward silence. The sound of his voice was troubling, mostly because it had lost the certainty and confidence I had heard him speak with only a week or so prior. I couldn’t help but feel responsible for that. “You can just ignore them; we don’t expect you to stand up for us any more than they really expect you to talk shit about us.”

  “Shut up,” said the coach—which seemed unfair, since he had deliberately waited for one of us to reply. “It’s a waste of my time and my focus. You both sure as hell aren’t focusing on your game while this garbage fire is going on.”

 

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