Fair Catch

by Leigh Carman

  Van sits, stunned, before pushing up from his chair and coming to a stop in front of me.

  “Please, Toby.” His voice hitches, and I can see his fingers twitching. Hesitant, he raises a hand to my face. I turn away from his touch, closing my eyes to stop the burning behind my eyelids. A single tear escapes, trickling down my cheek.

  “Good-bye, Van,” I whisper.

  I open my eyes in time to see the agony on his handsome face. His own eyes shimmer wetly. It takes all my strength to let him walk out of my life when all I want to do is beg him to come back, hold me in his strong arms, and love me.

  But that’s not reality. The reality is, Van will never be the man I need. That man is only a fantasy. I close the door and slide down the peeling paint until I’m sitting on the floor, and I cry until there’s nothing left.

  Van

  “WHAT THE fuck is wrong with you, Archer?”

  I throw Griff a hostile glare and poke at the steaks on the small charcoal grill in my ridiculous backyard. It’s filled with sculpted hedges, an enormous pool with a weird fake rock formation and waterfall, and a full outdoor kitchen that I’ve never used.

  “Man, you have been a real bitch lately. Maybe you need to come by the club, get a nice piece of ass and fuck the anger out of you,” he says when I don’t answer.

  I slam down the tongs and scowl at Griff. “Fuck you, Freeman. Nothing is wrong with me.”

  Griff laughs, polishing off his beer before fishing in the cooler for another. He shakes the icy water off his hand and slicks his hair back with it, the water turning his red strands to a dark auburn. “You’re right. You’re always a prickly bastard. Only now you’re more prickly than usual. So… what’s going on?”

  I pick up the tongs and transfer the steaks and sliced vegetables to two plates, then place them on the outdoor table. We eat in silence for a few minutes while I decide how much to say.

  “Remember the last guy you brought me at the club?”

  Griff tilts his head back, thinking. His eyes light up when he remembers. “The one you told me you had to have? The hottie with the amazing ass and incredible blue eyes?”

  I frown at Griff’s description but nod. “Yeah, that one.”

  “That was a while ago, Van, but who could forget that sweet thing? I swear, if you hadn’t picked him, I would have—”

  “Don’t,” I growl, pointing at Griff with my steak knife. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

  Griff puts down his fork and sits back in his chair, giving me a strange look. “Holy shit,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “You like him.” My cheeks burn, but I don’t deny Griff’s statement. “Oh my God,” he laughs. “You really like him. Wow, I can’t believe it. Van Archer, in love.”

  My shoulders tense. “I’m not in love.”

  He snorts. “Riiiiight.”

  “I’m not,” I repeat, clutching my utensils so tight the metal digs into my palms.

  “So, when do I get to meet the guy who snared you with his magic dick? For real this time, not as some booty call I deliver up to you.”

  I slam my fist on the table, rattling the dishes. “Goddammit, Griff. Don’t fucking talk about him like that!”

  Griff holds his palms up. “Whoa! Calm down, Archer. Jesus.” His expression is amused despite, or maybe because of, my irrational anger.

  I exhale and stare at my plate. “I can’t introduce you. He refuses to go out with me.”

  Griff wipes his neatly trimmed ginger-colored beard with a napkin and puts his elbows on the table, folding his hands under his chin. “Well, Van, to put it bluntly, he can’t actually go out with you, because you can’t take him anywhere.”

  My mouth drops open, and I snap it shut. Fury bubbles inside, but before I say something stupid to my best friend, I hunch over my plate, feeling shitty and pretty damn unworthy.

  “You’re right, Griff. I can’t come out. The job or any other reason doesn’t really matter. Toby deserves better than to be shoved into the closet and kept as my dirty little secret.”

  “Let me ask you something, Van.”

  I glance up at Griff from my half-eaten steak, bracing for an inquisition.

  “Do you care about the kid?”

  “He’s not a kid.” Griff raises an eyebrow, and I realize I’ve just exposed more of my protectiveness for Toby, like it or not. I sag in my seat. “Yeah, I think I do.”

  Griff chuckles. “I’d say you more than care about him, Van. For whatever reason, this one has gotten under your skin. And if you say he’s not a kid, doesn’t that make it his decision whether or not to be with you, knowing the consequences and all the bullshit that comes with it?”

  I sit quietly for a moment. “It is his decision, Griff. But I’m pretty sure I fucked it up beyond repair.” I tell my friend about my run-in with Toby and his friend, and what those assholes, Ronnie and Justice, said and did, and how I stood there and let it happen. I nearly break down when I explain Toby’s cold dismissal the next day.

  “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Van. You didn’t stand by and let anything happen. You intervened and stopped those idiots you work with from hurting anyone and from getting thrown in jail and locked up for a hate crime. That’s not nothing.” Griff finishes off his last bite of steak and pushes his plate away.

  “I guess,” I respond, but his words don’t stop me from feeling like a piece of shit.

  “Well, the way I see it is you have two choices: let him go and move on, or do something about it. Go after him, show him he’s more than a quick lay.”

  I finish my dinner in silence, letting Griff’s advice sink in. Hours later, I’m still wondering what I should do.

  Maybe I’ll never know. Maybe I’m too much of a coward to admit which choice I want to make or what I’d have to do to make it happen.

  I climb in bed and turn out the light, my mind still filled with visions of Toby, gorgeous and smiling and happy to see me. Too bad it’s only a dream.

  The question is, am I man enough to make it a reality?

  Toby

  NO SOONER do I drop my yoga mat and bag on the floor and close my front door than there’s a quick knock followed by Leo breezing past me into my apartment.

  “Hello to you too, Leo,” I say sarcastically, too exhausted to deal with him right now.

  He stops and stares at me, scanning up and down my sweaty body. “Well, isn’t that just perfect,” Leo quips, giving me a petulant pout. “I’m glad you’re in a bitchy mood, because that is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  I glare at Leo. “Bitchy mood?”

  He throws it right back at me. “Yes.”

  “Fuck you, Leo. I can’t deal with this right now, so just turn around and leave if you’re going to give me shit.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  I scratch the back of my head and struggle to keep my composure. “What, Leo? You obviously have something to say, so say it.” I brush past him into the little kitchen and put a kettle on. I love coffee, but this seems like a conversation that will require a calming chamomile instead. Plus, Leo despises coffee.

  Once the teapot whistles, I pour two mugs. Cream for me, plain for Leo. I hand one to him. He sits on the couch and crosses one leg over the other, all scrunched up as he sips his tea, both hands wrapped around the cup.

  “Well?” I ask impatiently, sitting on a beat-up old armchair across from him.

  Leo purses his lips and sets his mug down on the coffee table. “Toby, I love you. You’re my best friend. You’ve lived next door to me for almost a year now.” He reaches out and puts a hand on my knee. “Tell me what’s going on. You haven’t been the happy, smiling, ‘zen-like’ guy I know.”

  Leo makes air quotes around the word “zen-like” while giving me a crooked smirk.

  I sigh, putting my own cup down and slouching into the chair. “I don’t know. I feel… empty. I can’t explain it.”

  Which isn’t true. I could explain it, but I can’t tell L
eo about Van. About how he came here begging for another chance over a month ago and I sent him on his way. I can’t and won’t out him like that, even to my best friend.

  “Hmmmm,” Leo hums again.

  “What is ‘hmmmm’ for, Leo? It’s annoying. If you think you know something, why don’t you tell me what you think is wrong with me?”

  “Okay,” Leo says, ignoring my rude tone of voice while flicking his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think ever since the run-in with those homophobic jocks, you’ve retreated into yourself. You let those assholes get to you, and now you’re afraid to go out and be yourself, preferring to hide here in your hovel. A hovel you don’t even have to live in because you’re some sort of genius software millionaire. You’re afraid every guy is going to be like your douche-bag ex, controlling and abusive, and those jocks reminded you of that.”

  My jaw tightens, and I stare at my friend.

  He raises one of those damn perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Am I close?”

  Besides the Van factor, which I never told him, he’s impossibly close. Leo is a very perceptive man. Always has been. I just never stopped to think he could be studying me.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve avoided going out with me, which, I’ll admit, you always try to do, because you’re boring, Toby.” Leo grins, removing his hand from my knee to pick up his tea and lean back on the couch. “But you’re different now. Sad. Withdrawn. I miss my friend.”

  Moisture stings the backs of my eyes. I use the heels of my hands to press at them before I embarrass myself.

  “Toby, you don’t have to hold it all in, sweetie. Maybe… maybe if you told me what’s going on, I could help.” Leo is being sincere. He actually cares.

  “I’m lucky to have you for a friend, Leo. I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk.”

  “You’re not a jerk, Toby.” Leo sips his tea and grins. “Well, you have been lately, but I forgive you. So, stop avoiding my question and tell me what’s going on.”

  I sigh, slouching farther into the horribly uncomfortable chair. “I was seeing someone.”

  “What?” Leo jerks upright so fast he nearly spills chamomile on his immaculate outfit.

  “It wasn’t much, just a few dates.” I cringe internally at my use of the word “date” when what Van and I had hardly counted as dates. More like a couple of hard fucks and sucks with few words exchanged.

  “Okay, so a few dates, then what?” He’s perched on the edge of the couch, dying for me to spill. If I wasn’t so emotionally drained, I’d laugh. My life is a soap opera.

  “Then he screwed up, I forgave him, and I told him to hit the road.”

  “Screwed up how?” Leo asks.

  I can’t tell Leo that Van was one of the “homophobic jocks” at the bar. It’s too embarrassing. Plus, I won’t invade Van’s privacy like that.

  “Let’s just say what he did was a deal breaker for me and leave it at that.”

  Leo is dying to ask for details, I can tell. He’s nearly bursting with questions. Thankfully, he lets me off the hook. “Okay, so if it was a deal breaker, it’s good you stopped seeing him.”

  I don’t answer, choosing instead to stare into my mug of tea as if the liquid held all the answers.

  “You care about him,” Leo whispers.

  A tear escapes, and I brush it away with the back of my hand.

  “I’m sorry, T.”

  “Yeah, well, it is what it is.” I sniff and rise from the chair, bringing my half-full mug into the kitchen. I wash it out and put it on the drying rack. Leo joins me, doing the same with his own cup.

  “If you care, T, maybe you can give him a second chance. Maybe he truly made a mistake and regrets it.” Leo takes my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. “Sometimes second chances are worth it.” He pulls back, letting go. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

  I nod, following him to the door.

  “Toby?”

  “Yeah.”

  Leo bends over and picks up a white envelope off the tiny square of tiled floor just inside my apartment. “It’s for you. Someone must have stuck it under the door.”

  “It wasn’t there when I came home,” I say, taking the letter from Leo.

  “Not when I came in either.”

  When I make no move to open it, Leo gives me a thoughtful look. “I’m going to go, T. If you need to talk, I’ll be right next door. I have to work this afternoon, but tonight, we’re going out.” I open my mouth to protest, and Leo stops me. “Somewhere low-key. We’ll grab dinner.”

  I smile at Leo’s thoughtfulness. He knows a loud club is the last place I want to be. “Thanks, Leo.”

  With a blond flash, he’s out the door. “Talk to you later, T!”

  I walk over to my desk and drop into the office chair, tracing the envelope with shaky fingers. My name is written in blue ink, the letters scrawled messily across the front, obviously handwritten by a man.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s not Austin’s handwriting; of that I’m sure. It’s been a while since I’ve heard from him anyway. Who else would send me something?

  With a deep breath, I slide my finger under the flap and tear the top open. I reach in and pull out the contents. It takes a minute to figure out what I’m holding, but when I do, my pulse goes from fast to supersonic. Once I stop freaking out and am able to control my body with a few deep breathing exercises, I unfold the accompanying letter and read.

  Chapter 6

  Van

  I CHECK my suit and tie in the mirror one last time before letting out a long, loud breath. This is it. Opening day. The preseason games are over, my injury is completely healed, and I was cleared to play in all but the very first preseason game.

  The drive to the stadium isn’t particularly long, but my mind is going a mile a minute. Not with all the things I need to do to mentally prep for the game. No, my brain is filled with images of Toby.

  It took almost a month after Griff’s little speech at my house to stop being a pussy and come up with a way to reach out to Toby without seeming pathetic or desperate—both of which I readily admit I am. I ended up sending him a couple of tickets for opening day in one of the luxury boxes so he won’t feel uncomfortable among all the rowdy fans. Whether or not he’ll come has kept me up more than one night since I had the tickets hand delivered to his apartment.

  I clutch the steering wheel and pull into the employee lot at the stadium, flashing my ID at the guard. Grimacing, I murmur to myself as I park, “Man the fuck up, Archer, and stop mooning like a goddamn schoolgirl.”

  Nothing I do stops my stomach from performing nausea-inducing flips. Part of the nervousness is normal to experience before any regular season game. Yet I know, deep inside, most of my anxiety comes from not knowing if Toby will come today. If he’ll accept my peace offering or if he tore the tickets up and tossed them in the trash, treating my gift like the garbage I was that night at the bar when my teammates harassed his friend.

  Fuck. He’s not going to show up.

  In the locker room, I ignore the chatter of the other players, quickly stripping down to my Under Armour shirt and compression shorts, and head for the training room.

  Walt is busy with Calvin, so I cross to the far side of the room and sit on the mat, stretching and doing a few of the yoga poses I learned over the summer. Most from the middle-aged female instructor who replaced Toby after I fucked everything up. She wasn’t nearly as fun to watch.

  “Van!”

  I look to see Walt beckoning me over to a treatment table.

  “How’s it feel?” the trainer asks as I hop on the table, facedown, for him to check my hamstring.

  “Good as new.”

  Walt pokes around and massages some. “No pain?”

  “None.”

  “All right, you can go suit up, then.”

  I climb down and nod at him. Back in the locker room, I sit in front of my large, polished wood locker, head down, and clear my mind of everything
but the game. It takes a few minutes longer than usual to push out all the images of Toby, but eventually, I’m able to run through my pregame meditation.

  One piece at a time, I put on my uniform, transforming from Van Archer, twenty-five-year-old single gay man, to Sullivan Archer, shit-talking star wide receiver for the LA Wild Cats. Usually, suiting up fills my chest with pride and accomplishment, knowing my hard work has paid off. I know I’m one of the best players in the league.

  Today my chest feels hollow and empty. The burden of living two lives weighs on me like an invisible anvil strapped to my back, pressing down, a constant reminder of my inability to openly be myself.

  Coach calls everyone over for our pregame talk, and I snap out of my funk.

  Focus, Archer. Right now, the game is all that matters.

  Only, I’m not sure that’s true anymore. Even if it isn’t true, there’s nothing I can do about it, so I join the group of players huddled around the coach.

  What’s one more lie to tell myself? It’s what I’ve been doing my entire life.

  AFTER PEELING off my ridiculously tight uniform, which seems to shrink two sizes during a game as well as become sweat-soaked enough to make wrestling out of it an Olympic sport, I take a shower. My entire body aches all the way to my bones, so I linger under the hot water. I took more than a few hits tonight, a couple of which are going to leave some pretty big bruises.

  I’m only half-dressed when the vultures descend, cameras and microphones barreling into a room filled with men in various states of nudity as if none of us deserve the dignity of clothing before they intrude.

  They fan out around the locker room, and lucky me, a pair beelines right for me and a tall blonde woman thrusts a microphone up under my nose. “Van! Do you feel like the season is starting out how you hoped it would?”

  “Well, we won, so I would say it’s a good start,” I answer dryly.

  “Are you and Colton Rivers coming up with any more new plays like that one you pulled off in the third quarter?”