“Bullshit,” said Diego. “We’re fine.”

  But I had to stay quiet, because I knew Artie wasn’t wrong here. Diego was used to this kind of whirlwind, but I was not, and it really had been affecting my concentration. Admittedly, if I knew that everybody on the Packers—including coach himself—had my back, then it would be much easier for me to throw myself into training and forget about the outside world. As things stood, I had been panicking about how they’d respond to all this. Panicking about having this exact meeting.

  “You can complain all you want,” said the coach, eyes more on me than on Diego. He seemed disappointed in me. Somehow, I felt that was more to do with the fact that I had married a man than the fact that I had gotten distracted. “Either way, you’re both benched.”

  “What?”

  Diego was still doing the talking for me. I sure as hell didn’t know what to say. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. Was this really happening? Right in the middle of such a great season?

  “This is bullshit,” Diego continued. “You ask the rest of the team. I’m sure that’s not what they want. Nobody cares about any of this stuff.”

  “I care,” said Coach Bullion. “And management is backing me up, so I guess it’s my word that matters. You focus on sorting this nonsense out and then we’ll talk. Dismissed.”

  “But-”

  “Dismissed,” he repeated, firmer this time.

  I looked at Diego. His frustration was written all over his face, but he held it in. Instead of complaining, he stood up and headed straight out of the room, silent and fuming. I swallowed, spared a quick glance at coach, and then followed suit.

  It wasn’t like I had much to say to him, either.

  Out in the corridor, Diego was already making his way out. I chased after him, calling out after a moment’s stuttered hesitation. “Hey—Diego. Wait.”

  To his credit, he stopped and waited for me without a pause. He had every right to keep walking after how I’d ignored him, but he was a kind man. Always had been. I swallowed back the unfamiliar feeling welling up in me and shook my head. “You know he can’t keep us on the bench for long, right?”

  “It’s wrong,” he insisted. “We shouldn’t be taken off in the first place. That line-up for the last game worked. We’re on course for a good season. And he’s just going to throw that out because… what? He doesn’t like gay people? Damn it.”

  He turned away, repeatedly clenching his fists. Part of me wanted to reach out and touch him, but it didn’t seem like the right time.

  Instead, I reached out with my words again.

  “Hey. I mean… for the record. I’m sorry.”

  Diego looked back at me, brow slightly furrowed. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Not this,” I said, casting my eyes down. This was difficult to say. Why was it so difficult? “I mean… I didn’t call you back. Or anything. I just didn’t know what to say. That’s all.”

  “Oh, that.” To my surprise, he smiled. It was a weak smile, but genuine all the same. “Yeah, don’t worry. I get it, you know? I mean. It’s frustrating, ‘cos I want to help you. I think I can do that. But you’ve got to just take your time. I know that.”

  We looked at each other for a few long moments. I felt a sudden stirring, wanting to be alone with him. Maybe back in my car—maybe somewhere more private. But this wasn’t the time. I nodded and turned away again.

  “Maybe we can sort something out. You know, once it’s… dealt with. Annulment or whatever.”

  “Sure,” said Diego, a little cautious. “But just… so long as I know what I’m agreeing to...”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. That wasn’t easy to say aloud either. My heart felt like it was about to break out of my rib cage. “Just drinks, I guess. Just… talk.”

  He nodded, slow and serious. “Alright,” he said, after a pause. “You’re on. Drinks.”

  As we headed back to the car park together, united in strange silence, I couldn’t help but feel that he was disappointed. Had he been expecting me to say that I wanted to date him or something? If so, he was leaps and bounds ahead of me. I wasn’t even sure that was what I wanted yet, especially not if this was how the press would treat me every day of my life.

  Not that it was a choice, of course. I knew it wasn’t. But surely I wouldn’t feel this reluctant to accept that I was gay if it was actually true?

  I drove home in silence. I tried not to listen to the radio these days, wary of hearing the announcers make reference to my situation either with a news story or with a joke. Without any music or chatter to occupy me, my mind fixed solely on Diego. On the way he had accepted my apology without any inference that it had been necessary to apologize. On the way he jumped to confront Coach Bullion without fear while I sat in cowering silence. On the way I had hurt him with my interest in ‘just drinks’.

  On his full lips, and broad shoulders, and the way his jeans fit against the curve of his ass.

  I hadn’t even noticed that I drank that detail in, and yet here it was hovering in my mind as I parked my car and slipped wordlessly past the photographers and journalists outside my home. Already, I was learning how to push past them firmly but without violence, just like Diego did.

  I hoped this wouldn’t be the new normal forever.

  Still, what gripped me more than their presence today was Diego, even though he was miles away by now. I could no longer ignore the pressing attraction I felt, exploring the texture of how it felt to think about another man that way. I tried not to think about it too much as I stripped off my clothes and headed into the shower, already hard before I had finished undressing—already touching myself before the first drops of water hit me from overhead. I contemplated the strength in his arms, and the confidence in the way that he held himself. I pictured the tight fabric of his uniform, stretched across his body.

  I came quietly, forehead tipped against the bathroom wall, and focused on my heartbeat instead of on the way I felt.

  Whether there was guilt or satisfaction or more desire there, I did not want to know.

  Chapter Six

  Diego

  I knew that it was foolish to think that Connor might be ready after such a short period of time. Hadn’t I just spent a week telling myself that exact same thing, trying to manage my disappointment that he wouldn’t take my calls? So it didn’t make sense that I was so stung after our interaction in the hallway.

  I just thought, for a second, that I’d seen a flicker of attraction in him. I let myself believe that he’d come around to the idea. And coming back down from that hope was painful.

  Luckily, I knew exactly who to call.

  Toby Mendez and I had been friends since I arrived on the team. Of course people assumed that we were dating. Two gay guys on the same football team? It was unthinkable to them that we might not be attracted to each other, or that we might just get along as friends. But in truth, that was exactly how we did get along. Sure, there may have been some playful flirtation between us, but that was just in both of our nature.

  Okay. More than flirtation. But that didn’t mean we felt anything more than friendship for one another. The public wouldn’t understand that. Neither would Connor, which was why I hadn’t really told him the full truth that evening.

  In any case, the kind of no-strings entertainment that Toby and I had together was exactly what I needed to take my mind off things. He understood almost the whole story between Connor and I. In fact, he had been one of the first people to call when the news broke, and I had seen no reason not to tell him the truth. The only thing we hadn’t discussed was exactly how I was beginning to feel about Connor.

  As it turned out, however, we didn’t really have to. He’d already guessed it for himself.

  “You know I’m going to have to yell at you if you call me ‘Connor’ tonight, don’t you?” he asked, his tone of voice playful as he poured me my first drink. His place was the kind of playroom that bachelors dreamed of—a big open space with its own bar, which we were both leaning on right now. “Just so we’re clear.”

  “I am not going to call you Connor.”

  “You sure?” he said, passing the drink over—and then taking the glass back to refill it, smirking, once I had immediately downed it. “Because I’m not stupid.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “I don’t know,” said Toby. “Falling for a closeted guy is kind of stupid.”

  “Who says I’ve fallen for him?” The look he gave me answered that question, so I continued on. “Look, it’s just… messy. I feel bad about it. It wouldn’t even be out in the public sphere if not for me. Can you imagine trying to come to terms with yourself under that kind of pressure?”

  Toby wrinkled his nose. “I mean. He had years to come to terms with himself before you turned up in his life. You’re beautiful, but… I’m sure he’s seen other men before. Shit—he would’ve seen you before, just not up close.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” I insisted. “You know that. Sometimes people don’t find out until the truth is staring them right in the face.”

  “Evidently,” said Toby. “I’m not trying to be unkind. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. But I guess he really means something to you, huh?”

  He passed my refilled drink back. I didn’t down this one—just held it in one hand, looking intently into the dark whiskey inside the glass.

  “There’s absolutely no way we’re going to fuck tonight,” said Toby, stepping around the bar and giving my shoulder a rough pat. “Not even a chance. You’re like a lovesick teenager right now; you’d probably cry the second we were done.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Close enough, though, right?”

  He led me over to the couch, and we took seats on opposite ends. I exhaled heavily, taking a sip of my drink as I considered the situation. He was probably right. This whole thing with Connor was already messy enough without adding another layer of guilt to the situation. It wasn’t like screwing Toby tonight was going to distract me for very long anyway. What would be the point?

  He wasn’t who I really wanted.

  “I’m just trying to be a good friend here,” he told me. “I’m not trying to fuck you up. But maybe you should work on getting over Montana before you start messing around again.”

  “I know,” I said. “I appreciate it, you know. It’s weird. I’ve never really gotten attached to somebody this quickly before.”

  “It’s not the guilt?” Toby asked. “Because if you just feel responsible for outing him, then… that’s not really a good enough reason to stick around waiting for somebody. That’s not a good place to start.”

  I considered it for a moment, then shook my head. “It’s not just the guilt. Even before that, when we woke up in the car together. It might even be because we’re married. I know it doesn’t mean anything. Not really. But something made us feel so close that night, you know? We were drunk, but we weren’t out of our minds. There had to be something real there.”

  “It wasn’t a joke…?”

  I didn’t need to wait to answer this one. “Definitely not.”

  “How do you know?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t, really. I don’t have any proof. It just doesn’t feel like a joke. It doesn’t feel like something he would joke about, either.”

  We sat in silence for a while, sipping at our drinks and listening to the music from the apartment below. I hoped that Toby knew I appreciated his company, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. Strange how that could happen, even to me—that strangled masculinity that prevented me from just speaking plainly about what I felt. I had publicly rejected that nonsense so many times. Why could it still grip me now?

  In the end, he shuffled closer to pat my arm again. “Well—look. These things take time. You don’t have to do anything right now. In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t. You just have to ride it out.”

  I nodded. For the first time ever when I wasn’t alone, I let my hand come to rest over a certain spot on my chest—a spot where, beneath my shirt and against my bare skin, I wore my wedding ring on a chain. Whether Toby understood what I was doing or not, I didn’t know—but I felt grateful to be around somebody who wouldn’t judge me. Who understood why it hurt.

  “Listen,” he said. “He’s got a lot on his plate. I’ve been watching you, sure. But I’ve been watching him too. I’m pretty sure once he’s had time to process everything, there is going to be something there.”

  I looked up. Maybe I wasn’t making it up after all. “You think so?”

  “Oh, come on,” said Toby, throwing me a sidelong glance. “He spaces out looking at you as often as you space out looking at him. It’s no wonder coach is mad about it.” He paused. “I don’t know if he needs to be mad enough that he’d risk losing our next games by benching, you, but… there it is.”

  I sat up a little straighter, suddenly filled with renewed frustration about that. “That is bullshit, right?”

  “Total bullshit,” said Toby, putting his empty glass down. “He’s a complete ass. As soon as all this has blown over, I really think we need to address how homophobic he is. The public needs to know.”

  “You think they’d care?”

  Toby shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess once Connor comes out—or even if he doesn’t, with all this press—we’re going to be by far the gayest team in the NFL. If the LGBT community is going to get behind any team, it’s ours. Maybe that’ll give us the leverage we need to get him out, or… at least get him through some goddamn diversity training.”

  “Maybe,” I said, pondering the thought. At least, I tried to. Toby was right; I was fixated on Connor, and the mere mention of his name had my head spiraling back into thoughts of him all over again. I probably couldn’t have hooked up with Tony tonight even if he had let me try. Things had changed somehow in my heart. If I wasn’t careful, this situation could easily end in a real mess.

  Chapter Seven

  Connor

  Even with my career crumbling around me, and the media beginning to report that Diego and I had been benched, there was nothing I could do but continue to go to practice and work out as though nothing had happened. That meant I had to spend time with both Coach Bullion and Diego every day, but I didn’t feel as though I had any choice. My mind felt turbulent.

  My heart wasn’t exactly calm and relaxed, either.

  I felt that I was being watched all the time. Either Artie was fixing me with an unkind stare as I completed my reps, seeming to try and stare the gayness out of me, or my fellow teammates were keeping an eye on me. The latter, at least, was kind. I hadn’t detected any animosity from them. In fact, they all seemed pissed at coach for the way he had treated both me and Diego. Still, knowing that they were all keeping an eye on me, and were so concerned about my well-being, was a little stifling.

  I just wanted everything to go back to normal. Couldn’t the whole world see that this wasn’t as interesting a news story as they were treating it to be?

  I had just washed up after another tiring practice when I felt another set of eyes on me. Again, they weren’t unkind eyes. This time, they belonged to Toby Mendez. More so than everybody else—apart from Diego, of course—I felt that he might understand. Of course, he had never endured the embarrassment of having his drunken marriage broadcast around the world, but he knew what it was like to endure the unique hostility you encountered as an athlete ‘accused’ of being gay. As though it were a crime. As though it mattered at all.

  As though I knew whether I was gay or not, and keeping it a secret. I was still as clueless as everybody else.

  Almost.

  This time, though, the compassionate gaze didn’t keep its distance. Seeing that I had spotted him, Toby began to make his approach through the changing room, his shirt still slightly sticking to his skin after his hot shower. Maybe the media would soon start speculating that I’d had an affair with Toby, too, but I had never found him attractive. Clearly he was a good-looking man, but only Diego had ever stirred this confusion in me. Even so, I was a little intimidated as he approached.

  Why was Diego interested in me, with somebody like this around?

  “It was starting to get awkward,” said Toby, leaning against the wall beside me. “Just staring at you. Figured after you caught me I’d come over and talk. How are you holding up?”

  “Uh… I’m upright,” I answered, zipping my bag closed. “You know. There are people who haven’t left the outside of my house since last week, and it seems like I can’t go more than half a day without being assaulted by voicemails from family members who are affronted that I didn’t tell them ‘my secret’. But… you know. Other than that.”

  He gave me a lopsided smile, dropping his bag to the floor. Evidently, he planned to stand here and talk for a while. Couldn’t I just go home? “You know what you should do is call them back and tell them that if this shocked them, they’re not going to believe what comes out next week.”

  I scoffed. “Trust me. They’re not that good at taking a joke.”

  “Well, they can learn,” said Toby. “You’re going to have to. It’s the only way to cope with the bullshit, half of the time.”

  “Honestly?” I said. “I don’t want a sense of humor. I want to walk into my house by myself and relax when I shut the door.”

  “It’ll slow down,” Toby assured me. “It might not feel like it right now, but… something else will dominate the news cycle at some point. They’re still digging for information right now, so they feel like they have a lot to go on, but… no story has enough legs to run for very long anymore. There’ll be another scandal. Another Buzzfeed quiz to promote.”

  “This isn’t what I’m built for.”

 

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