by Eden Finley
“I don’t recommend getting photographed blowing each other.” Jackson winks. “Just sayin’.”
Damon agrees. “Let’s knock that one off the list.”
“What we talking here?” Miller asks. “Press conferences, TV interviews, what?”
Damon leans back in his chair. “Actually, I think a softer approach with you two would be better.”
I shift in my seat. “Softer how?”
“We wait until training camp and come out to the team and management first. If there are problems, one of them might leak it, but we can deal with that as it happens. There have been gay men in sports for years, where teams have known and the rumor mill has worked overtime, but it’s never been exposed. Build a team of people you trust who know so you have support when it comes out. If it leaks, it leaks, and we can control what is said or be ready to defend if it’s something we don’t like. I also think a print interview would be better than an on-air press conference like Soren and Strömberg.” Damon smiles. “And I know just the guy to do it.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Strömberg’s boyfriend is a journalist. Come to the Stanley Cup final in Jersey with us, and we’ll introduce you.”
I look over at Miller who seems a little stunned. I nudge him. “You okay?”
He nods but doesn’t appear any calmer. He was fine a minute ago, wasn’t he? Now he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Before he can respond, Damon cuts in.
“We’ll take this at your pace, guys. Talon, I’m gonna need to have access to your agent so we can work out something together. Until then, keep doing what you’re doing. Train and focus on the upcoming season. I promise we’ll make it work.”
“I don’t understand hockey,” I say. “Skating is hard enough. Who decided to add sticks and a disc and call it a sport?”
Miller leans in and speaks quietly. “Shh. There’s nothing scarier than hockey fans, and I’m too pretty to get beaten up.”
“Pfft. You could kick all their asses.”
He slinks down in his seat. “You’re horrible, and I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.”
“Aww. If there wasn’t so many people around, I’d kiss you, you big sweet giant, you.”
We’re here at the arena early, and we’re the first of Damon’s posse to arrive. The stands fill with buzzing energy and a need to be victorious. The anticipation and the atmosphere is slightly different than the football crowd, but it still fills me with the adrenaline high of chasing a win.
“We’re going for New Jersey, right? Because of that Soren guy?” I ask.
“Yeah, but if you ask me, Vegas has it in the bag.”
I gasp. “You follow hockey? Do I know you at all?”
Miller shrugs. “I was reading up on Soren and kinda fell into a hockey hole.”
“Hockey hole … I swear I saw a porno titled that once.”
Miller snorts.
Jackson and Noah are the first to arrive, and they sit next to us.
“You ready for what’s coming?” Noah asks, and we both give Jackson an inquisitive look. Did he out us to his husband?
“Six weeks until we report for training camp,” Jackson says and then mouths “Assholes” at our insinuation.
Oops.
“I think we’re ready,” I say.
“Sure,” Miller says, but I don’t even think he believes it himself. Training is still going relatively slow, and there’s no way we can definitively say one way or the other Miller’s ready to go back to work.
The other guys begin to arrive, and the last is Ollie Strömberg with his boyfriend, Lennon—the dude who’ll write our coming out article when we’re ready for it. He just doesn’t know it yet. Lennon’s adorably nerdy with his neat blond hair and glasses. Doesn’t help he’s next to his boyfriend who’s almost the size of Miller and covered in tattoos.
Damon said we should hang out with them, get to know Lennon, and if we’re not comfortable, we can use someone else, but as Lennon tells us he’s got a freelance gig writing editorial pieces about gay men in sports for Sports Illustrated, and Soren, Strömberg, and Jackson have all signed on, I already feel confident in his ability to write our story too.
Watching Damon and his friends is a weird experience. One I hope to be a bigger part of soon. Once the seed was planted, all I’ve thought about is being out with Miller and letting the rest of the world know how in love with him I am.
Should probably tell Miller first.
Oh, right. That. I’m waiting for the perfect moment. I dunno when that’ll be, but I’m pretty sure while he’s balls deep inside me isn’t the right time. Or when I’m inside him.
These guys are so free with each other. The little touches, the obvious glances …
Having sex with Miller earlier today didn’t do the trick this time. I want to touch him.
Being put in a box and told to stay in there has never sat well with me, so I know, on some level, we won’t be able to keep it a secret for long.
I thought it was the right thing to do, but it’s become clear that this comradery between this group is what we need in our lives. This type of support. And we should give it to Jackson as well as ourselves. But we need to do it right.
Doesn’t stop me from paying more attention to them than the game.
I find it almost ironic that any relationships I’ve had in the past have been exploited publicly. Not that any of them have been serious. Hell, I’ve never even said “I love you” to anyone. The one time I want to be in public with someone, and I have to pretend we’re not together.
The group is planning to head to a gay bar afterward, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle that. Miller and I have been outside our bubble too long already. But as the game winds down, and the arena empties, Miller tells the others we’ll meet them at the club.
“We’re really gonna go to that?” I ask on the way to the car.
“You don’t want to?”
“No, I want to. Probably too much.”
Miller smiles. “Need a little road head on the way to tide you over until we get home?”
In the parking garage for the hockey arena, I glance around to make sure no one’s within hearing distance. There’s a crowd of people making their own way to their cars, and none of them are paying us attention, but I still can’t do what I want to, which is take Miller’s hand.
Miller knows me too well. He grabs my forearm. “You okay?”
“I’m just realizing shit.”
“Man, you should write a philosophical self-help book and call it Realizing Shit.”
When we stop by my rental, I resist the urge to pull him into me for a hug. Instead, I force myself to click the unlock button on my key fob and climb in the car.
As soon as Miller’s in the passenger seat, he reaches over and rubs his hand over my cock. “Totally wasn’t kidding, by the way.” He leans in as if going to lower his head, but I stop him. He sits up straight again and frowns at me. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
“This is going to sound weird.”
“Oh, honey, everything out of your mouth is weird.”
The term of endearment shouldn’t make me all warm and fuzzy, damn it.
“I don’t want sex,” I blurt.
“Holy shit. That is weird.”
“All I want is to hold your hand, kiss you, and claim you as mine.”
“Aww, Marc. I am yours. Wholly and completely yours. Have been for years.”
We lean over the center console, and our lips come together in a kiss unlike we’ve shared so far. It feels like permanence and a promise to each other.
Miller’s tongue lazily strokes mine in an act of comfort and support. It’s not urgent and needy, and I’m thankful for the tinted windows.
“Fuck,” Miller whispers. “You might not want sex, but I do.”
I chuckle. “Later. You told the guys we’ll meet them.”
“We can blow it off and blow each other instead.”
“As fun a
s that sounds, we probably should make an appearance. That Lennon guy is there, and we have to make sure we want him to do our interview.”
Something like hesitance crosses Miller’s face. “Right. The interview.”
“Having doubts?”
He forces a smile, and he must forget I know him well enough to know when he’s about to bullshit me.
“Not about us,” he says.
That doesn’t really answer my question.
“Let’s just go talk to this Lennon dude and see if we even gel with him.”
“And if we get photographed going into a gay bar?”
“We follow what Damon says. We don’t admit anything but don’t deny it either. If there are unconfirmed rumors circulating, it’ll make the fallout more cushion-y.”
Miller shakes his head. “I still can’t believe this is a conversation, you know?”
I shrug. “I went through something similar with Moxie, but that was more scheduling outings so we were intentionally photographed to make the world know our relationship was still going strong, even when it wasn’t. It was kinda exhausting.”
“It’ll probably be the same for us once it’s all out. You ready for that?”
Part of me thinks he’s hoping I say no. I squeeze Miller’s hand. “I’m more than ready, because it’s different with you. With her, it felt like an obligation. With you, it’s a necessary evil I’ll gladly do because it means I get to be with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
MILLER
Talon and I converge on poor Lennon while the others hit the dance floor. That Soren guy is sitting at our high-top table, but his gaze is firmly planted on Ollie who’s dancing with Jackson’s little brother. The tabloids are pushing for Soren and Ollie to get together, but from what I’ve seen tonight, Ollie and Lennon seem solid. Public I-love-yous give that impression.
While I know Talon and I can’t have that relationship yet, we are taking steps to get there. I keep flip-flopping between wanting to do it and running the other way. We went from knowing this can’t happen to organizing coming-out interviews in what feels like the blink of an eye.
And I don’t know if I’m ready.
But we’re here now, there was no paparazzi outside the bar, and this Lennon guy is right in front of us.
“Hey.” I push a drink in front of him. “For you.”
His eyes widen behind thick-rimmed glasses. “Thank you.”
“So, the Sports Illustrated thing,” Talon says. “That’s cool.”
Lennon’s face lights up. “It’s been my dream to write these kinds of articles ever since becoming a reporter, and it’s awesome they’re letting me do these editorial pieces. It’s a brand-new avenue for the magazine. They’re going to be more personal and call out industry problems when it comes to LGBTQ players, so it’s an honor to be involved.”
Score one for Lennon.
Talon and I share a glance.
I nod. “It’s important, that’s for sure.”
Lennon’s eyes get a sad shine to them. “Matt said what’s been going on with the team behind his back. It’s annoying it’s still an issue.”
“Yup.” My throat goes dry, because it’s one of those things, isn’t it? It’s something we’re supposed to accept, but it’s a hard pill to swallow. To be with the person I love, I have to take measures to make sure I don’t lose my job over it.
And until the meeting we had with Damon, I hadn’t thought of everything else to consider either—like the Warriors’ ticket sales. They were steady this past year after Jackson came out, but we had a really good season. What will happen when the news gets out that we not only play for the same team, but we … play for the same team, so to speak?
Lennon stares at me as if he said something, but I’d tuned out.
“Sorry, what?”
“How’s your recovery going?”
I go to answer when I think better of it. “Off the record?”
“That bad? I promise it’s off the record. I technically don’t have a job right now. Well, I do, but it’s for Ollie’s team doing press releases. The Sports Illustrated gig is freelance, and it’s restricted to queer men in sports, so you’re safe.” He winks.
“I, uh, well, yeah …”
He must confuse my stammering for a recovery issue. Not the second thing. “I’m sorry. It must suck not playing. Do you think you’ll be ready for the season?”
If I’m honest with myself, no. I’m not where I should be, and I’m nowhere near where I was this time last year leading into training camp, but like I’ve been doing with Talon, I keep face. “I’ll make sure I’m ready.”
Because what else can I say? What else can I think? I can rehab for another year and hope to be picked up next season as a free agent when my contract runs out, or I can beg and plead with the Warriors’ management team to sign me again, but I need to show them I’ll be physically capable of doing the job.
“I’m depressing you,” Lennon says. “Sorry.”
“All good.” I glance over at Talon again, and he nods toward Lennon with a smile. Guess he approves then.
Something doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what, but I wake with a knot in my stomach and the dreaded feeling that what we’re doing today is too soon. Or wrong. Or we haven’t thought it through properly.
I tell myself it’s nerves. Coming out to the world is a big deal, and we didn’t think it was going to happen this soon. Or at all. I mean, it’s not like we’re actually coming out today—we’re just doing an interview that Lennon is supposed to sit on until we’re okay with releasing it. But Talon went from talking about doing it in years to doing it soon, and now it feels like it’s right this second. I’ve been hesitant but on board, but I’m wondering if that’s only because it’s been an idea, not an actual plan. Maybe I’ve been thinking it wasn’t going to happen at all. Because faced with the reality of it, it’s becoming too much.
Too much pressure. Too much of a risk. Just … too much too soon.
Damon and Talon’s agent, Alan, have organized for our interview to happen in a hotel suite in Manhattan, and it’s all been very hush-hush. I don’t think Lennon even knows why he’s coming today.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Talon’s agent asks him. I want to answer No, I’m not! But he’s not talking to me. They’re huddled in the corner of the high-end hotel room whispering to each other as if I can’t hear them. Newsflash: I can. And their conversation makes the knot in my stomach tighten. “This is risky.”
Talon turns to glare at him, and Alan throws up his hands.
“Okay, fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. This doesn’t affect Miller as much as it does you. You have further to fall. You’ve already pissed off some major endorsements with your ‘scheduling conflict.’ Meanwhile, you’ve been sitting on your ass training a lost cause.”
Now I can taste bile. Nice. Talon blew off endorsement deals for me? I suspected as much, because huge stars like Talon generally have a busier schedule off season than when we play. Hearing it for a fact makes it worse—like it’s the actual truth instead of an insecurity I can try to rationalize and dismiss.
“Last I checked, I pay you to support my decisions,” Talon says through gritted teeth.
“You pay me to do what’s best for you.”
“For my career, you mean. Having Miller on the field with me is what’s best for my career. You need to remember that.”
There’s a knock at the door, and Damon lets Lennon in.
“Thanks for coming.”
Lennon smiles at him. “No problem. What’s with all the secre—”
He stops short when he sees Talon approach me and land his ass on the ornate love seat next to me. I was reluctant to sit on it at first in fear of breaking it. It doesn’t look like it can hold me, let alone Talon as well. Its flimsy legs still unnerve me.
Lennon’s blue eyes shine bright behind his thick-framed glasses.
“This is all top secret for now, but I
know I can trust you,” Damon says.
“Of course.” Lennon’s glance flits between Talon and me. “But can someone tell me straight up what’s going on? Because I think I’m jumping to all the wrong conclusions here, seeing as I’ve just been hired to write about LGBTQ players, and now I’m about to sit down with the biggest quarterback in the league and his college roommate. I’m trying not to salivate over here.”
Damon claps his back. “You’re not far off the mark.”
Talon reaches for my hand. “Miller and I … we’re … well … our story is kinda complicated.”
“Not that complicated,” I say. “I’ve wanted him since we were teenagers, and I thought I’d never get him.”
Lennon’s hand goes to his heart. “Aww. This is so awesome.”
“Rules,” Damon interjects. “They can refuse to answer any question you ask, and Alan and I can object as well. This article is not to hit the stands until we give you approval, but it might have to be released at short notice if this gets out before we planned it. That’s the only reason you’re getting advance warning about this, and you’re the only interview we’ve approved.”
“Done, done, and easy. I won’t tell Sports Illustrated about it until you’re ready. They’ll want an official photoshoot, but that can be done short notice if needed. After my last pushy editor, I’m not going to risk the story being released before any of you are ready.”
Damon smiles. “I knew you were the right guy for the job.”
“You mean apart from him being your client’s boyfriend?” Talon quips.
“I trusted Lennon before he even knew Ollie,” Damon says. “We ready to do this?”
“Yep. Let’s do it,” Talon says. His confidence hasn’t wavered, but the ill feeling in my stomach won’t go away.
Something isn’t sitting right with this, and I don’t know if it’s because I can practically feel Talon’s agent glaring daggers at me or if it’s still the off feeling from this morning.
This is what I’ve wanted nearly my entire adult life—Talon and me together.
