The Rainbow Clause

by Beth Bolden

  Colin pulled him even closer. “Yes. Make sure you don’t forget it, either.”

  The next morning, Colin texted Jemma while Nick was in the shower: advice much appreciated. But I’m good now.

  Her response back was immediate and insistent. Well? Did you make a big move? THE big move?

  Colin blushed, as an array of images flashed through his memory.

  Kissing Nick.

  Touching Nick.

  Nick’s lips around his cock.

  But it wasn’t necessarily just the sex that Colin focused on when he thought about last night, even as fucking incredible as it had felt. He’d loved hanging out with Nick, each offering snippy comments about Gossip Girl and growing sleepy, cuddling together on the couch. And then heading upstairs, and the awkwardness Colin had feared never becoming an issue. Wordlessly, Nick had grabbed his cell phone charger and had slid into the opposite side of Colin’s bed.

  They hadn’t exactly cuddled all night, but Colin couldn’t deny that waking up to see Nick’s dark hair against the pillow next to his had been a life-changing moment.

  The sex had been awesome. But there was something deeper about waking up the morning after, both trying to hide their morning breath, all while not being able to take their hands or eyes off each other.

  When Nick had finally slid out of bed, claiming he desperately needed a shower, Colin hadn’t been able to help the giddy smile that now seemed permanently plastered to his face.

  He couldn’t express all of this to Jemma in words, and frankly he didn’t really want to. So he just sent her a blushing emoji and hoped she would leave it be. He should have known better.

  Her next text came in even quicker. Really O’Connor? Gonna make me drag it out of you? Or should I have Gabe text Nick?

  Colin typed out his reply, his smile still giddy despite Jemma being a pest. Gabe loves you a lot. But probably not that much.

  He put the phone down and decided that this morning he could forgo his normal run and maybe share a romantic breakfast with Nick. He could make Nick breakfast, Colin realized as he scrubbed down in the shower. He had eggs and some frozen sausage in the freezer, and he could even go out and grab some pastries and fresh orange juice.

  Throwing on shorts and a t-shirt, he ran a haphazard hand through his hair and called it good. After all, Nick hadn’t seemed to mind this morning.

  “Hey O’Connor,” Nick’s voice echoed through the bathroom. Colin looked up and Nick was leaning in the doorway, looking like model in jeans and a t-shirt. “I’m starved.”

  “I was about to go out and grab some groceries and make breakfast.”

  “Or...” Nick said slowly, “we could grab breakfast together?”

  Colin didn’t need Nick to explain the expression on his face. He was concerned that Colin’s first instinct was to stay on his island and avoid the world.

  “Right, that makes more sense,” Colin said, like it wasn’t a big deal. And it wasn’t. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. It was just breakfast.

  He grabbed his keys and they climbed into the car. When they were driving over the bridge, Colin glanced over at Nick. He didn’t want to bring it up, but he thought of leaving it unsaid was even worse. “I’m not a recluse. I swear to god, I’m not agoraphobic, not that there would be anything wrong if I was. But I’m not. I just...it’s easier sometimes. Actually, it’s always easier.”

  “I didn’t think you were,” Nick said, and his voice sounded as open and honest as it usually did. But then he continued, and he had, as Colin liked to think of it, his reporter voice on. “But it does surprise me that you would choose the easiest way out. I thought you lived to prove the world wrong. To fight injustices, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “I think that’s Captain America,” Colin said wryly.

  Nick’s smile was smug and impudent. “Easy mistake. You sorta look alike. You know, blond hair, blue eyes, ridiculously tall, built like an eighteen-wheeler.”

  Colin pulled into the diner parking lot that he used to frequent a lot more often. He had been staying home an awful lot, more than he’d realized. Something to think about.

  “You are not the first person to say that,” Colin said, secretly very glad they could switch so easily from serious conversation to teasing with so little awkwardness. But he also knew Nick, and he had a feeling that this subject wasn’t one that Nick was going to let go of so easily.

  “And yet,” Nick said, hand on the steering wheel, his eyes sparkling and impudent in the sunlight, “the first to truly enjoy it.” He got out of the car, and Colin knew he had the smuggest expression on his face. Because how was he supposed to walk inside with a hard-on in his shorts? These loose athletic shorts didn’t hide much, and with Nick’s comment, it was suddenly very hard to think about anything else, even with his stomach grumbling.

  He got out of the car, thinking of his great aunt Beatrice and her smelly pug, and jogged up next to Nick. “You,” he said lowly right before they approached the door, “are a menace.”

  “Really?” Colin said as he jabbed a finger at the top of the written agenda Helen had just distributed to everyone at the conference table. “The Rainbow Clause meeting? And you even managed to find the time for a rainbow graphic?”

  Helen shrugged. “That is what we’ve always called it, isn’t it? Seems as appropriate now as it did then. And I didn’t do the graphic, I have a new assistant and he’s basically useless, so I have to give him really simple tasks.”

  “You should be happy; you practically have a catchphrase,” Mark said.

  Colin grimaced. This meeting was frankly ridiculous even without the lame rainbow graphic hovering next to the meeting title. How many meetings did one need to come out of the closet, anyway? Before the last two months, he would have said exactly one.

  The one where he told Helen and the Piranhas organization what he’d decided to do.

  Instead, it turned out there was always yet another meeting needed to hash out more interminable details. At the last one, Helen had brought in a rack of clothing, and, with her assistant, proceeded to suggest that Colin wear more pink and purple.

  Now that he thought about it, his incredulous reaction might be why Helen had a brand new assistant.

  At least he was able to bring Nick to this meeting. Colin glanced next to him, trying to keep it cool, because he was not ready to reveal to Mark and especially Helen that he had discovered the man he very much wanted to be his first public boyfriend.

  Nick was doodling what looked like penises on his Rainbow Clause agenda. Flushing, Colin hastily looked away, wondering if he’d discovered what Nick really felt about these endless, infuriatingly-circular meetings.

  “I’m not using the Rainbow Clause as a catch phrase,” Colin said, because he suddenly realized that both Helen and Mark might actually consider this a legitimate idea.

  “Of course you’re not,” Helen said briskly, shooting a daggered glare in Mark’s direction.

  “Actually,” Nick piped up, because he’d seemingly run out of paper to draw hairy-looking dicks on, “I’m going to use it.”

  Colin gaped at him. “What?”

  Nick shrugged. “I think it’d be a great title for the article.”

  “You…uh…what,” Colin repeated, no longer caring if he was intently staring at the man in front of Helen or Mark. He was terrible at non-verbal communication, but Colin hoped his sour lemon expression of we’re definitely going to be discussing this later was clear enough.

  “It’s cute, it’s catchy. It’s self-explanatory. It doesn’t need to be a catch phrase to be effective.”

  Apparently, Nick hadn’t gotten the memo.

  Colin exhaled and leaned back in his chair. Helen and Mark both made approving noises, and this meeting, designed in the pits of hell, moved on.

  “I’ve finalized the interview schedule,” Helen said, passing out more sheets of paper, also adorned with rainbows.

  Colin focused all his frustration on the undeserving ra
inbow, glaring at it so hard he was a little surprised it didn’t spontaneously combust.

  “I really think he needs to be with Anderson Cooper first,” Nick piped up.

  Colin did a double take, and then realized that he’d exclusively focused on the stupid rainbow instead of actually reading the list of interviews. As he skimmed the list of names and filming dates, he broke out in a cold sweat.

  “I can’t do all of these,” he said, his voice wavering embarrassingly at the end of his sentence. “I thought…I thought I’d do the article, and then maybe one or two, like, small shows. I don’t want to make it too big of a deal.”

  He really, really should have known better. He should have known when they’d had to hold countless meetings discussing every single annoying detail. He should have known when they tried to micro-manage his behavior. He should have known when they’d nicknamed the stupid clause that had been written into his contract.

  But somehow, he’d remained oblivious – almost certainly on purpose, he realized now – because if he’d known the extent to which this would be publicized, he might not have gone through with it, no matter how much he wanted to be free.

  Helen leaned over the gleaming expanse of conference table between them. He wasn’t sure what kind of wood it was – something expensive and rare. Something bought with the profits of the PR machine that ran this team. Colin stared at it, trying to focus on the grain of the wood but couldn’t.

  “Mr. O’Connor,” Helen said in a voice which she only used when she had reached a new level of frustration with his reticence, “tell me, do you know how many athletes currently playing in the National Football League have announced their sexuality as something other than heterosexual?”

  Colin felt Nick’s hand brush his leg, his fingers dig into the material of his jeans. The sensation seemed to ground him for a split second, but not enough, not nearly enough.

  “Michael Sam –” Nick started to say. he couldn’t even get the rest of the words out before Helen cut him off.

  “Doesn’t count,” Helen said. “He was barely drafted, barely made it off the practice squad, ended up in Canada and then retired. And, I didn’t ask you.”

  Abruptly she stood, and started pacing back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the practice fields. “There’s a reason we wrote the Rainbow Clause instead of encouraging Mr. O’Connor to come out before or right after we drafted him. We thought, with a little more experience in the NFL under his belt, and with some more playing time to adjust both the fanbase and the other players to him as a person, his revelation would be far more accepted than Michael Sam’s was.”

  Nick’s voice was just as harsh. “Michael Sam is an American hero, and I don’t like the way you’re talking about him.”

  Colin watched as Helen swiveled around to face Nick. “I appreciate that you’re partially here for sentimental reasons, Mr. Wheeler,” she said, “but I’m not. I’m here to sell game tickets and season tickets and jerseys. I want just as much support for Mr. O’Connor as you do, but you’ve got to let me do my job.”

  Colin knew exactly what doing her job would probably mean for him – a complete inability to stay under any radar at all, going forward.

  “The marketing opportunity here is endless,” Mark inserted, because of course he never knew when to shut the hell up. “You’re going to be the most recognized man in America.”

  Colin jerked up, his chair screeching on the floor as it flew backwards.

  Nick was up half a second later. He’d kept his distance, despite sitting next to him, since they’d walked in the room. But now Colin felt him place a reassuring hand on his shoulder as Colin faced down Helen and Mark.

  “Listen,” Nick said soothingly, his voice low and calm, “I know it sounds crazy. I know it sounds awful, but you’re pretty recognizable now. And there isn’t a way to do this that doesn’t end up with you becoming more well known. It’s big news. You’re not technically the first, but Helen’s right, they set things up so that you might have a little more success in the end. That’s a good thing.”

  Helen seemed to have caught on when she spoke up next. Colin wanted to ignore her, but he’d gotten himself into this thing, and panicking now when he was already sure this was the course he needed to take wouldn’t get him anywhere.

  “These are all very sympathetic and easy interviews,” Helen said. “We’ll practice. You’ll see all the questions ahead of time. There won’t be a single surprise. All you’ll have to do is tell the truth.”

  Like telling this truth was easy. Colin already knew it wouldn’t be. Nick had warned him that this would be hard. Colin wished he had listened more. Had asked more questions. Had not just stuck his head in the sand and hoped it would all turn out okay because he had the goddamned Rainbow Clause.

  He looked back down at the list of interviewers.

  Anderson Cooper.

  Ellen.

  Jimmy Fallon.

  Ryan Seacrest.

  “What about the sports networks?” he asked.

  “We’ll do some call-in stuff with them,” Helen said. “But most of the sports side is going to be covered by the article Nick is writing. And good news, I just got confirmation that Five Points has worked out a deal with Sports Illustrated. Looks like you’ve just booked your second cover.”

  Colin sat down and tried to process. Couldn’t, really. He landed somewhere around laugh so you don’t cry. “Maybe they’ll put me in rainbow swimming trunks this time around.”

  Mark actually started to nod his approval of this idea when Colin shot him a withering look.

  “It’ll be classy. The whole thing will be, I promise. I want this to work just as much as you do,” Helen said. Sadly, Colin believed her, because she wouldn’t shoot herself in the foot. She still needed to sell the tickets, get butts in the seats, and sell his jersey.

  “Fine,” he said softly.

  Colin was terrifyingly quiet as they reached the car.

  “Are you okay?” Nick finally had to ask, because he was afraid he’d overstepped his bounds in the conference room, given both Helen and Mark a clear indication of what was going on between them, and that Colin was panicking over the entire coming-out process.

  Both were bad news. The real problem was that one was fixable, while the other was not.

  Nobody – not Nick, not Helen, not Mark, nobody – could make this process easier on Colin. It would be hard every time he was faced with a new person he needed to tell. And while Nick had struggled at points with even telling one person, they were expecting Colin to get on national television and tell millions.

  “Not really,” Colin said.

  Nick’s heart ached for him.

  “And don’t say it gets better,” Colin added with a wry tone.

  “Even if it does?”

  “Especially if it does. I just want to not think about it. To not worry about it. To just face it when it comes and let it happen.”

  “Well,” Nick said hesitantly, “you’re also about to become rather more recognizable. Is there someplace you’d like to go before that happens? We’ve got time and nowhere else to be.”

  “Like the pizza parlor?” Colin asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

  Nick laughed. “No, like...someplace other than here. Somewhere other than Miami.”

  He wasn’t quite ready to tell Colin that after winning the National Championship and the Heisman and then being drafted first in the NFL, topped off by that cover on Sports Illustrated, that he was already recognizable. Coming out wouldn’t necessarily change that as much as Helen or Mark might expect it would. People already knew who Colin was. But it was a good excuse to get out of town, get Colin off his island, and distract him for the week Nick had remaining in Miami.

  “The guys are always telling me how great the Keys are,” Colin said slowly. “But I’ve never been.”

  Of course, with a nearly unlimited bank account and resources, Colin would pick something with
in easy driving distance. Nick didn’t even know why he was surprised anymore.

  “You want to go to the Keys?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Colin said, more decisively this time. “Yeah, I think I do.” He glanced over and even if Nick had wanted to, he couldn’t have missed or mistaken the look in those baby blue eyes. “With you, definitely.”

  It was such a heady thought; frittering away their time even more lazily than before, but after the events of the last few days, with a closeness that Nick had only dreamed could be possible.

  “Then,” he said, reaching over and weaving his fingers with Colin’s, “let’s go to the Keys.”

  It was hard for Nick to conceptualize, even after years of being around professional athletes and their notoriously flexible schedules, that Colin could decide to go to the Keys, get on the phone with his assistant as they drove towards the house, and have the next week cleared in ten minutes.

  “You’re in charge while I’m gone,” Colin told Lindsay, and Nick had to hide his smile behind his water bottle at her shocked silence. She’d wanted more responsibility, but she’d not really expected him to hand it to her.

  “Of course,” she stammered.

  “What I mean is,” Colin clarified, “I’m not taking my laptop. I’m not going to look at email. I’ll answer Mark’s calls, but they’d better be important. Text me if you need anything.”

  “What about Helen?” Lindsay asked, which went a long way in explaining to Nick how much Lindsay knew. And who she was probably really reporting to.

  “What about her?” Colin huffed, clearly still bothered by the earlier meeting.

  “You have a really big thing coming up, and I know Helen’s gonna want to talk to you.”

  Yeah, Nick decided, there was no ‘probably’ about it. Lindsay might work for Colin, but she was definitely reporting to Helen. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He knew how Colin would feel about it, if Nick ever decided to tell him, but Nick knew Helen was eminently capable at her job and part of that was keeping a whole team of professional athletes from doing stupid shit.