by Felix Brooks
“That sucks, man.”
Brent got two blue melamine plates out of the cabinet, along with some oregano and red pepper. “This might be wishful thinking, but if I get a pro contract, maybe my parents could deal with my being gay. Cost vs. benefit, you know? Can you accept your gay son if he’s pulling down a million or two a year?”
His chest constricted. Waseem came and held him. Brent buried his face in Waseem’s neck.
The thought that his parents’ love could be conditional on his income—it tore him apart. But he’d heard the abusive way his father talked about LGBT people. Heard it all his life. And his mom was no better, couching her bigotry in Bible verses. He was glad he and Michael had managed to rise above their bullshit. But his sister shared their prejudice. He could lose all three of them.
Waseem’s hand stroked Brent’s hair. “I’m sorry this is so tough on you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.” Brent pulled back. “Who knows, maybe they actually love me enough that it won’t matter.”
Waseem cupped Brent’s face in his hands. “You’re a great guy. You will always have people in your life who love you. If it turns out not to be your birth family, you’ll find a new one. I know it’s too early for us to make plans, but I’m ready for a real relationship.”
“I hope that means you want to be exclusive.”
“That’s exactly what it means. Wherever this leads, I want us to always be friends first. If the relationship doesn’t work out, I hope we’re still able to respect and trust each other. That means a lot to me.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ll never lie to you, Waseem, and I’ll never cheat. That’s not who I am.”
“I know. Me neither.”
Every part of Brent hurt. No matter how things ended up with Waseem, his new identity would come with a loss. And if things didn’t work out with Waseem, it would just make everything worse.
Maybe being asexual was better. It would sure as hell make things easier.
But no, that wasn’t right, either. Asexual people were discriminated against, too. People acted like there was something wrong with them. At least, being demi, Brent could sort of fit in with society’s expectations. But being gay kind of canceled that out.
“We should eat.” Brent got out the silverware and handed a set to Waseem.
“You’re quiet again,” Waseem said.
“My sexuality is pretty messed up.”
“It’s complicated, that’s all. I know it’s a lot at once, but we’ll work through this. Maybe we shouldn’t have rushed into sex—”
“No, I want this. All of it. I’m not sure about much, but I’m sure about you. I don’t know yet if I can be a good boyfriend, but I want us to be more than friends. Hanging with Paige is fun and all, but the connection between you and me is different.”
Suddenly, he felt like he was jumping out of his skin. He paced to escape the feeling, or maybe just to calm his mind. He’d lost all sense of normal in his life. He couldn’t find his equilibrium.
Waseem came and hugged him. “Look, I understand things may be different with you than with the other guys I’ve dated. That’s okay. I never wanted a future with any of them. I’m with you because I think you might be the one. So, whatever you want from this relationship, that’s what I want, too. I care about you, Brent. Not some preconceived idea of what a boyfriend should be.”
“What if the stuff we did last night is all I can do?” Brent bit his lip.
“Then I guess we’ll figure it out.”
“You could get by never having a blow job again?”
Waseem scowled. “If that turns out to be a hard limit for you, I’ll adjust. There are gay men who think what we did last night is the truest form of sex between men. Genital to genital contact. The idea that only penetration counts as sex is a heteronormative construct.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
“And lots of gay men don’t do anal.”
Brent’s eyes widened. “I didn’t even think about that.”
Waseem chuckled. “It’s okay. One day at a time. Don’t overwhelm yourself. We’ll take this at your pace. And I don’t want you thinking that I’m disappointed, because I’m not. I’m with you. That’s all that matters to me.”
Brent’s throat tightened. “I don’t understand how you can say that.”
“Because I’ve done casual. And yeah, the sex was fun, but eventually, it just started feeling empty. I want a relationship. I want you. Sex is part of it, but it’s only a part.”
“That’s how I feel, too. You’re the one thing I’m sure of. Everything else is a mess, but not that.”
Waseem drew him into a kiss, soft and tender. “Pizza’s getting cold.” He took Brent’s hand and led him back to the breakfast bar.
As they ate, Brent tried to believe it could really be this simple and this good between them. But he was no fool. A guy with Waseem’s experience had certain expectations. If Brent couldn’t meet them, Waseem might be okay with it for a while. But forever? That might not be realistic. If Brent couldn’t be the man Waseem needed, it might break both their hearts.
Chapter 11
Before leading the guys in their workout the next day, Waseem met with Coach Swanson. The man was in his forties but still ripped—Nordic looking with a blond buzz cut and pale blue eyes.
Truth was, Waseem wanted advice about Brent and his personal situation. But it wasn’t Waseem’s secret to tell. He’d have to approach it obliquely. He started by reviewing the drills he had planned.
“You’re doing a good job with this,” Coach said. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. I’d like to think this is my calling—to help young people make the most of their lives.”
“You’ve got a talent for encouraging people without pushing too hard. Not everyone can do that. I’ve seen guys with good technical knowledge get frustrated when players wouldn’t simply do what they were told. Human beings aren’t machines—it isn’t enough to be tough. You’ve got to be compassionate, too.”
Waseem warmed at the coach’s praise. He had a huge amount of respect for the man. The Pirates had gotten a lot of negative press through the years about the number of out, LGBT players on the team. But the coach didn’t get distracted by that bullshit. He led the team to act as a cohesive unit, which wasn’t easy.
“For Emmett,” Waseem said, “I mostly want to keep him in maintenance mode. I don’t want him getting complacent—but with the scouting trials less than a month away, I don’t want him to strain anything, either.”
Coach nodded. “Agreed. The trials are designed to measure athleticism. They’re looking for solid performance that’s sustainable over time.”
His words buoyed Waseem. He stood taller, his shoulders erect. “The other three guys are stepping it up,” Waseem said, “focusing on their fitness for next season. Seeing Emmett so close to signing a pro contract is inspiring them.”
“It’s within reach for all of them if they apply themselves.”
Waseem agreed, but he did have one concern. “Discipline is still an issue for Niels. He doesn’t have the fire in his belly, but he is working hard.”
“He’ll be a senior next year, starting quarterback. The team is relying on him.”
“I’m trying to figure out what motivates him. His girlfriend is a huge fan of Emmett. Maybe her influence would help.”
Coach laughed. “Whatever works.”
“Demonté…he’s got real star power, although it’s raw. Even if he’s still a sophomore, he’s driven to prove he’s as good as he says he is. With the right guidance, he could reach Emmett’s level.”
“That’s why I don’t kick his ass more often for being a smart-mouth.” Coach smiled.
“Now, Brent…” Waseem’s body flushed at the mention of his name. He wished he could tell Coach the two of them were dating. If anyone was trustworthy, it was Coach. But Brent didn’t want anyone else to know, and Waseem understood that.
&nbs
p; “Brent has the discipline and determination,” Waseem said, “the passion on the field. But he’s going through some personal stuff right now. His head isn’t in it lately.”
Waseem bit his cheek. The situation was understandable, but it would need to change by fall. Football was a cerebral game. It wasn’t enough to be strong and fast.
“You think this is temporary?” the coach asked, concern lining his face.
“So far. He’s working out hard, but his concentration is off. I’m keeping an eye on him to make sure he’s careful and doesn’t push himself too hard.”
“Good. Someone as steady as Brent has got a real shot at the pros. Let me know if you want me to talk to him. And don’t forget about the mental health facilities on campus.”
“I think he’s getting the help he needs, but that’s not a bad suggestion.”
“And what about you? How’s the job search coming?”
“I’ve had a lot of interviews, but honestly? I get the feeling most places aren’t seriously considering me. They do the interview to check off the box, to say they interviewed the gay guy. The problem is the parents. It only takes one parent who thinks being gay means I’m a sexual predator to create a big stink. The school district doesn’t want that. I understand—but it’s not fair. I could be a good coach.”
“You’ll be a great coach. Let me know if I can make some phone calls. I mean that, son. I admire you as an athlete and as a man. It’s been a privilege to work with you for four years. I’m sorry it has to end.”
“Thank you, sir. I feel the same way.”
Waseem shook his hand before heading outside for the workout. Worry gnawed at him that Brent staying in the closet could have stronger repercussions than Brent realized. Getting into the pros was hard enough when you had a supportive family like Emmett’s. For Brent, it was one more huge hurdle to overcome.
***
After drilling on the field for an hour, the five guys headed to the weight room. At the suggestion of the trainer, Waseem upped the weight Emmett was lifting on the leg press. His stats on the jumps were acceptable, but that wasn’t good enough for Emmett. His orientation was a handicap in the world of professional sports. He needed to excel in every way he could.
Meanwhile, Waseem was holding Brent at twelve reps on the bench press. Brent was pushing to do more, and Waseem was glad to be there looking out for him. Brent didn’t have a good feel for his own limitations.
Waseem got the impression that Brent’s parents were responsible for that. They’d taught him to be achievement oriented, and maybe hadn’t given him the nurturing he needed. It was almost like while he was still in the womb, they had printed out a checklist of all the things he was supposed to accomplish, and he was going down them one by one.
In a lot of ways, he was a pretty conventional guy. Get good grades, be a good athlete, help your neighbor, make your parents proud. But when had Brent ever done anything for himself? Waseem would have to help him learn how to have fun. Because if he didn’t learn to take himself less seriously, things could get bad if his parents found out he was gay.
Waseem doubted that Brent’s parents would actually disown him. But still, a rift in the relationship would be one more change after so many in the past few weeks. Brent needed his friends around him, a strong support network. Waseem wanted to be part of that.
But the fact was, come football season next year, Waseem would be elsewhere, hopefully coaching high school football somewhere in North Carolina. He and Brent might have Sundays together, but that was it. Even if their relationship survived, Brent would need more than Waseem to help him through if his parents cut him off.
They hit the showers. Then, they headed to the cafeteria—all except Niels, who had a date with Claire. Waseem couldn’t believe the two of them were actually a couple, but Niels seemed to be serious about her. More than Waseem had ever seen him, at least.
Jake and Amber were already at the caf with their friends Glenda and Seth. The four newcomers got their food and joined them. Waseem hadn’t meant to sit next to Brent. It ended up that way when Emmett took the seat next to Jake, and Demonté the one next to Amber. Now Waseem would have to spend the whole meal not touching Brent, while a current flowed between them like an electromagnet pulling them together.
They were an unlikely group, the football players and the science nerds. Although Amber would have smacked Waseem pretty hard if he called her a nerd to her face. She looked like she could have stepped out of a fashion magazine. Even when she went running, she wore some cute little designer number, when everyone else was in sweats or a track suit that was starting to fade.
Looking at her, you wouldn’t think she was a biochemist planning to get a PhD at Johns Hopkins. Although she’d ask him, what does a biochemist look like? Why was he applying some stereotype to her, as if a fashion-forward Black woman couldn’t be a scientist, too?
He liked that about Amber, how she constantly challenged people to avoid lazy thinking. She knew who she was, and didn’t let anyone pull her down. Waseem had spent too much of his life letting people define him by stereotypes, and she’d helped him learn how to stand his ground without offending anyone. Although some would always be offended when people of color challenged their privilege.
Amber and Seth seemed to be in the middle of some kind of debate, and Waseem tried to figure out what they were talking about. “I support the Rare Earth hypothesis,” she said. “You astrophysicists talk about how there are billions of stars and tens of billions of planets—as if that somehow proves the universe must be teeming with life. Yet we have no evidence of how rare or commonplace life is. That’s not science. It’s conjecture.”
“Life here started almost as soon as the Earth solidified,” Seth said, “almost as soon as life was possible. Doesn’t that tell you life naturally forms when the conditions are right?”
“If that were true, then why isn’t new life forming all the time?” Amber argued. “All life on earth is descended from a single, primitive cell. As far as we know, biogenesis happened once in four and a half billion years.”
Brent turned to Waseem and said, “Football, you bet.”
Amber lifted her brows. “I’m sorry, are we boring you?”
“No, it’s fascinating,” Brent said. “I wish I could work big words like biogenesis into a sentence as smoothly as you do.”
“They don’t teach you big words in your economics classes?”
Brent chuckled. “You think scientists make assumptions without evidence? Economists are worse.”
“I can sum up economics for you in one sentence,” Amber said. “Societies where the poorest people have disposable income have strong economies.”
Brent nodded. “My dad’s job is to make rich people richer. The more you have, the more you think you need. And the more you think you deserve.”
“I don’t want a lot,” Emmett said. “I want to put my sisters through college. Help my parents build their retirement fund, after all they’ve sacrificed for me. Maybe set up a scholarship.”
“A lot of young pro players these days live frugally and save their money,” Brent said. “An injury could take you out at any moment.”
“Or in Demonté’s case,” Emmett said, “the coach might just realize he sucks.”
“You wait,” Demonté said. “One of these days, you and I will be pitted against each other in a championship game, and I’ll kick your butt.”
“I don’t see how that could happen, when we both play offense.”
Demonté rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Seth scowled. “Demonté, I just realized, I don’t even know what you’re majoring in.”
“Dumbass,” Emmett said. “He’s majoring in dumbass.”
“Music,” Demonté said without missing a beat. “After football, I want to be a music producer.”
Seth stared. “Music is your backup career?”
“That’s what happens when you’ve got more ego than sense,” Em
mett said.
“Dude,” Jake said, “that’s enough.”
“Demonté knows I’m only playing.”
Jake looked at Demonté. “Do you know he’s only playing?”
“Yeah, man. The guys on the team who suck, he encourages them all the time. He’s never got a good word for me, because he’s scared I’m going to be better than him.”
Emmett glared but didn’t say anything. Jake snuggled up against him.
“What about you, Glenda,” Waseem asked, noticing she seemed to be left out of the conversation. “You’re a geology major. What do you think about the odds of extraterrestrial life?”
“I’m on Amber’s side. I’m a Rare Earther, too. At least until there’s more evidence.”
“You people have no imagination,” Seth complained. “Two of the moons of Saturn have the potential to harbor life, and that’s just one planet in one star system.”
Glenda grinned at Seth, her eyes gleaming. “And if life is found on Titan or Enceladus, then we can have this conversation. Even then, microbial life might be abundant, but intelligent life?” She shrugged. “We might be all there is.”
Brent shook his head. “All this speculation is too much for me.” He picked up his cup and headed for the drink machine. Waseem followed.
They stood next to each other at the machine. The electricity between them was palpable. Waseem wished they could “accidentally” brush their hands or shoulders together. But too many eyes were on them.
“Whose idea was it to keep this on the down low?” Brent asked in a quiet tone, echoing Waseem’s thoughts. “It’s killing me.”
Waseem gave him a teasing grin. “That was your dumb idea.”
Brent shook his head. “The only life form I care about is you—and when I can get you naked again.”
