by Saxon James
I chew on my thumbnail as I watch him, anxiously waiting for some sign the call is about Elliot, when his eyes go wide.
“Is he okay?”
My heart lurches, and I throw myself onto the couch next to him, pressing my ear to the back of the phone.
“… surgery, so we don’t have complete details yet.”
“Well, what happened?”
“A neighbor found him in his apartment building at the bottom of the stairs last night. But…” the man on the other end hesitates. “We’re not likely to know anything until he regains consciousness.”
“But he’s okay?” I hiss at Rainer, who bats me away and finishes up the conversation.
As soon as he hangs up, he runs a hand back through his hair and lets his eyes fall closed. “Thank fuck for that.” He sighs.
“What did they say?”
“Fractured kneecaps. Minor bumps and bruises over the rest of him.” Rainer peeks out at me. “I checked his apartment, though, and he definitely wasn’t there.”
“Could he have gone back after you left? It has been over a day.”
Rainer’s face twists up, and I know he wants to push back and make this into something more, but Elliot’s okay. We know where he is.
“Yes, because Elliot frequently makes a habit of falling down stairwells,” he spits.
“Obviously, it would have been an accident.”
“Or obviously someone is making it look like one.”
A shiver ripples down my spine. “Come on.” I get up and grab a jacket off the couch across from me. “Let’s go grab some things he’ll need for when he wakes up. Speculation is driving us both crazy.”
“At least that we can agree on.”
Elliot’s on heavy drugs when we arrive, and I try not to resent the fact Rainer is his emergency contact. I’m not in a hurry to let them know who I am to Elliot, but thankfully Rainer works his magic and gets me in too, without having to give up too many details.
I sit for hours, watching him sleep, listening to the hum and beep of the machines, stroking the bruising on his cheek, feeling like absolute shit for getting angry over Elliot ditching me.
The nurses come and go throughout the day, taking vitals or whatever, and they spend a whole lot more time than they probably need to reassuring me. I must look like shit. Worse even than Rainer, and I wonder if the poisonous fear and worry vying for dominance are making their way out onto my face.
My mood doesn’t improve when the details start to come in—emergency surgery due to swelling and suspicious toxicity reports. It’s late afternoon when Elliot finally starts to stir. His movements are sluggish and heavy, and I hurry to grab his hand and try to comfort him. There’s a good hour of him slowly coming around, some hand twitches, a shift of his shoulder, the attempt to move his damaged legs, and finally, a small groan.
I greedily take it all in, and when he finally opens his eyes, still completely void of recognition, I sag with relief. Rainer jumps up and presses a kiss to his forehead, but all I wanna do is curl into a ball and cry. These last few days have been too much.
When Rainer backs up, I stand and wrap Elliot in the lightest hug I can manage. My head rests on his chest, and as I stroke the back of his neck, his eyes turn down to me. Finally, there’s a spark of something there, and one side of his mouth starts to lift, pauses, then drops back down. His eyes fall closed.
I stay there until he’s asleep again.
***
Elliot comes back to me in drips. First the quirk of his lips and slow blinks as he processes what I’m saying to him. Then the groans of discomfort, his shifting back, the way he keeps slanting his hips in an attempt at relief. His gravelly voice runs smooth, and finally, a day after his operation, he rewards me with his light, clear laugh.
A day after that, it all disappears again.
I’ve been leaving to shower and change at Rainer’s place, which is twenty minutes from the hospital, and when I return with two coffees, Elliot takes his with a mumbled thanks before setting it on the table.
His frown is back this time, creasing his forehead.
“Everything okay?” I ask, reaching over to smooth my thumb across his brow.
He kinda flinches under my touch, but I try not to read too much into it. “I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “You should probably head off, though.”
“It’s okay, I only just got here. I’ve told Coach I need the week off.”
He shakes his head roughly. “Rainer’s got this, T. Go home, go back to work, and don’t worry about me.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. What kinda boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here for you?”
Elliot’s nostrils flare as he stares at the opposite wall. “An ex-one actually.”
His words smack me right in the face. “What?”
He won’t look my way.
“You’re… breaking up with me?”
“Yes.”
My heart is on the verge of breaking in two, but somehow I manage to pull it together. “Fine.” I cross my arms and lean back in the chair, trying to play it cool while internally, I’m freaking the fuck out. I think I might be sick. This can’t be happening again. “Still not going anywhere.”
“Taryn…”
“Nope. Dating or not, you’re coming home with me until you’ve recovered.”
“I’ll go to Rainer’s.”
“And stop him from going to Ibiza?”
Elliot’s determination slips when he realizes I’m right. He’s complained to me a few times about Rainer not getting on a damn plane and just going.
I force a cocky grin. “Lucky you have me, right?” And damn, I’ve never heard my words sound so bitter.
“I’ll hire a nurse.”
“Pretty sure carrying you up the stairs isn’t part of their job description.”
We glare at each other because he knows I’ve got him there. With Rainer gone, no family, and his apartment not an option, he knows I’m really all he has. The fight seeps from me as sadness kicks in. “Why are you doing this?”
He immediately looks away again. “I told you, I never wanted a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, until you did.”
The first tear that drops onto his cheek does it. I jump out of my chair and swipe it up with my thumb before pulling him into a hug. Seeing him like this is all backwards and knowing I’m goddamn powerless in this is killing me.
“Baby,” I murmur. “Tell me what’s really going on.”
“I’ve told you, you self-absorbed bastard.”
I snort. “Yeah, not buying it.”
“I didn’t fall down the stairs.” His shoulders drop, his body going pliant in my arms. “They knew, Taryn.”
The words fill me with ice. Each muscle in my back locks together until I’m pulling away from him stiffly, reminding myself to be gentle, reminding my fingers not to dig too tightly into his arms. “Who?”
“I don’t know. There was only one man but he was working for someone.” Elliot’s voice is low, barely a whisper as his lips form the phantom words. “He said… he said I have to leave. Quit bookmaking, go as far away as possible, and break up with you.”
My hands squeeze tighter, even with that reminder going off in my head. “That’s not fucking happening.”
“It has to, Taryn. They’ve planted a heap of evidence in my phone and work computer that will prove I was a part of this shit. And they’re going to pin it all on you.”
I straighten automatically, putting distance between us, even as I stare down at his stricken face. “They can’t do that.”
“I’m pretty sure they already have.”
“No. No. No fucking way,” I explode. My hands clench, and I’m itching to hit something, but only the need to be here, with him, keeps me from fucking shit up. “None of that is going to happen.”
Hell if I know how, but I’m going to fix it. Elliot isn’t going
anywhere except to my place where I can keep him safe. I pull out my phone and text my agent, asking him to hire me the best fucking security guard in the state. Multiple, if we need to.
“You’re coming home with me,” I mutter, fingers flying over the keypad. “I’m going to keep you safe, and I swear to god, if anyone tries to mess with you, I will destroy them with my bare hands.”
For the first time all day, Elliot’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Sweet, but…” He gestures to his legs. “There’s no way I want this happening to you.”
“It won’t.” I shake my head as I pace. A strong defense is a good offense. It’s always been a huge focus of the team’s, and I’ve always been good at following through. Screw whoever these people are who’re doing this shit, there’s no way they’re taking me down. I stew for a little longer.
“We have to report this.”
“Taryn, we’ve been over it. We don’t know who we can trust.”
“I do. I trust my coach. Completely. That might make me naïve, but I know he’ll believe me.”
“Babe, you could—”
“Shh…” I cut him off with a kiss. A small bubble of warmth finally grows in my chest with that one word from him. “All I want is for you to get better. I’ll fix the rest.”
And I fucking have to. The world has given me a second chance, and this time I’m not going to let anything get in the way. This time I’ll do anything to keep the guy who makes me feel alive, who paints a rainbow right over my heart, and sends love right down into my toes.
***
When I walk into my coach’s office, I keep reminding myself of Elliot. His usually bright face, his pouty lips, his beauty spot. The way his hair feels sliding through my fingers. I can’t say it helps though because I feel hands-shaking, stomach-churning sick. When I pull out the chair, it’s less about me sitting and more about getting my ass down before my knees give out.
“Thanks for meeting with me, Coach,” I say, trying to distract myself from what I’m about to do.
“Of course, Adderson. What happened? You said there was an emergency?”
“Yes, sir, there was.” I link my fingers together and squeeze so tight I’m surprised my knuckles don’t pop. “My boyfriend’s in the hospital.” I don’t know if he notices the way I stumble over the word because my mouth is as dry as Nevada, but if he does, he doesn’t draw attention to it.
There’s a long pause before, “Huh.”
I wait for him to go on. He doesn’t.
“I don’t wanna make a big deal out of this—”
“Is he okay?”
I frown at the question as my words die. “Umm, kinda.”
Coach shifts, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Well, which is it? He’s okay, or he’s not.”
“He is. For now. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
His arms unfold as he flings himself forward and starts riffling through the paperwork on his desk. “Right. If you’re coming out, we’ll need to call a press conference. Honestly, I’m surprised Mikhail isn’t here for this. Didn’t you tell him?”
I cringe at the mention of my agent, because no, I didn’t tell him. Dating a man isn’t something that needs to be managed.
“Hey, whoa.” I place my hand over the papers he’s flipping through. “No. No press conference or Mikhail.”
Coach tips his head to the side, clearly not following. “Then what are we doing here, Taryn?”
“I might be in a bit of trouble.”
So I tell him the whole thing, waiting for the uproar, but when I’m finally finished he draws a deep breath, walks over to his mini fridge, and grabs two sports drinks. He’s massaging the lines on his forehead as he hands one over. “A bookie, Adderson?”
“It’s not like I chose his job.”
“This is gonna be a whole damn clusterfuck.”
“Sorry.”
He waves a hand in my direction. “I’ll deal with you at some point, but right now, we’ve got to find out who’s in on this game fixing. It’s my last year before I retire and hell if I’m going out with my wins taken from me!”
“Any ideas?”
“None. And honestly, I don’t have time to figure it out with the team pissed about last week’s game, and Zane out for the season.”
My head shoots up. “He’s not playing again?”
“Not this year. Hopefully his ankle will heal up properly before next season starts.”
“Wow.” I run a hand over my head. “It’s not gonna be the same without him.”
“No, it won’t.” He narrows his eyes a little as he takes a long gulp of his drink. “Surprised he didn’t tell you, though. I thought you guys were close.”
I shrug. “We are, but he’s been a little weird lately.”
“He know you’re gay?”
I stiffen out of habit at the sound of the word coming from Coach. There’s no judgment there, though. “No.”
“Interesting. You know there will need to be a press conference, if you’re planning on going public with this man of yours.”
There is absolutely, no fucking way that will be happening. “Did you hold a press conference when you met your wife?”
“Taryn—”
“Or for Zane each time he gets a new girlfriend? What about O’Brien or Edgerton or when Trace got married? Where were the press conferences for them?”
Coach gives me a dry look. “I know you think you’re making a point.”
“Because I am. And I’m also putting my foot down. I’m not going to hide anymore, and honestly, after the hospital, I’m not sure I even have that choice because I haven’t exactly held back.”
He kicks out his seat and drops into it.
“Elliot’s going to be living with me while he recovers, which means I’ll be bringing him to games, and who the fuck knows? We might even make out in front of people.” And as terrifying as that thought is, the more I talk, the more freeing it feels.
His mouth screws up to the side, but thankfully he holds back on saying something about guys kissing other guys. “When are you going to tell the team?”
Eesh, now there’s a thought. Telling a locker room full of muscled athletes that you’re attracted to other men. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“They’re your team, Taryn. This is where I draw the line. Don’t you think they deserve to know before they hear about it from wherever?”
Deserve it? No. I don’t owe them anything. But I know where Coach is coming from. The thought of telling them makes me feel sick, but at the same time, it means no more hiding. Maybe they’ll be assholes to me about it, maybe they won’t. But I’d rather be there to defend myself if needed. “I can’t sit around waiting to tell them. It’ll drive me crazy.”
“Well, the team’s here now. It would only take me ten minutes to get them into the meeting room.”
“Now?” My voice is dangerously close to a squeak.
“Your choice. But sooner is better than later, right?”
“Right.” I nod numbly. “I guess I’m doing this.”
“Good. And while you might not want a press conference, it could be out of your hands. In an ideal world, this wouldn’t mean shit, but there will be an impact, Taryn. You play professional fucking football for a living. Your job is to make plays so we fill the stands. Ticket sales will take a hit.”
He’s right, but I’m not backing down, even though I still feel like I could hurl. “The most important thing I can do is try to normalize this. If they want a press conference, they can go right ahead, but I won’t be there.”
“You will be if they force you, kid. Don’t forget you’re under contract, and there are going to be a whole heap of people who aren’t okay with this.”
“I know.” I sigh and kick at the desk leg. “Why… why do you seem okay with it?”
He shrugs and clears his throat. “I’m getting old, and when that happens, this kind of shit does
n’t seem to matter a whole lot. Damned if I understand it, but you show up, you play hard, so that’s all I give a shit about.”
I nod, some of the stress easing, but I know this is only the beginning.
“And the team will keep their opinions to themselves. They don’t have to like you, but they do need to be professional. Reminding them of their contracts should keep some of them in line.”
“Fine, let’s do this,” I say. Because while Coach might not be a dick about this, and my team might even, mostly, be okay, I know there will be some. Some assholes with big voices and small… brains, set on being damn bigots about something that has nothing to do with them. I’m not making it into an argument or a game. I love Elliot, it’s real to me. It’s… it’s fucking normal.
And now that I’ve shared us with someone else, I’m ready to burst. Because Coach knows, and he didn’t start throwing things.
Coach knows, and he still wants me on the team.
Coach knows, and he’s officially, unequivocally on my side.
***
Somehow, the safety of Coach being on my side doesn’t stick around as I wait for the meeting room to fill up. I sent Elliot a quick text to let him know what I’m about to do, and he’s called me about four times and sent a slew of messages checking to make certain I’m sure.
Talking to him about it isn’t an option right now because I don’t want a single thing to make me walk away from this moment. Now that I’m here, right on the cusp, it would be so easy to back down and pretend like this was all nothing. But as easy as it would be, it doesn’t feel right. Standing here, with the words on my tongue and Elliot on my mind, does. And though I’m sure Liam will think I’m doing this for Elliot, he’d be wrong. Sure, the circumstances aren’t great, but if I’d really wanted to go on hiding, I could have.
But I don’t.
Because I’m ready.
Sitting on this side of the room looking on feels weird, isolating, and it’s only as I’m looking back at my team that it occurs to me how fucking many enormous people are in this room. I mentally cross my fingers that I make it out of here alive. Dramatic, yes, but also kinda valid.