“Don’t worry,” Adrián said, stroking my hand. “Like I said, they’ll fine me or they’ll release me, and I’ll go free agent. To be honest, I hope they go that route. Fuck them. All of them.”
“But—you told . . . How . . . ?”
“Because I’m tired of lying and hiding. And if they don’t want me back because I’m a big bisexual linebacker, then fuck ’em.” Adrián winked. “’Sides, like I said, I’m about to move in with you. You can be my sugar daddy.”
This time it was my laugh bordering on hysteria. “You crazy bastard.”
“I know, right? But Rocky had it coming. He was gunning for you.”
“Yeah. I believe it.”
Adrián held my gaze, his sweaty hand still holding mine.
“They said you’ll be fine, Simeon. You answered all their questions, counted all the right numbers, and you never once showed any confusion. This is just precaution.”
It was exactly what I needed to hear, and it was exactly what the trainers had been saying for the past several minutes, but somehow coming from him . . . I believed it. Because Adrián, my beautiful brash asshole of a lover, wouldn’t lie to me. He’d mock me, tease me, and challenge me, but he wouldn’t lie to me. And I knew there was no way he would be able to smile right now if my career was about to end with an illegal hit from a homophobe with a weird vendetta.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered. “Even though you’re giving them a reality TV show right now.”
Adrián looked up at the EMT. He turned his face sideways, suspicious. “You filming?”
“Uh. No.” The guy looked at us both and scooted towards the front.
“Good looking out,” Adrián said to his back.
“Don’t be a pain in the ass,” I muttered. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”
“I know, but I have to be here. I wouldn’t have been able to function without knowing you were okay.” Adrián squeezed my hand tighter. “I was scared. Really scared. So if I’m able to say you’re fine, it’s because the trainers managed to convince me. And I was a wreck.”
“A wreck how?”
“Crying. Shaking. Like . . . in front of the country and probably on twenty thousand GIFs by now. We better be trending.”
“Oh shit.”
“Right?” Adrián rolled his eyes at himself, grinning wryly. “But guess what the good news is?”
“How is there any kind of good news?”
“Gavin Brawley probably thinks I’m pretty cool. Considering how he stonewalled me on Thanksgiving, I think that’s a step up.”
He’d declared his love for me on national television, and now he was worrying about what Gavin thought. This had to be a fever dream.
“This isn’t a real conversation. Can’t be.”
“It is.” Adrián rubbed my hand, grinning down at me. “And you know what else is gonna be real? Me getting you home in one piece so I can play Nurse Bravo.”
“Kinky-sounding. Maybe take it easy tonight since I’m down for the count.”
His face clouded over at that, red eyes narrowing at me. “Don’t joke. If your trainers say you’re fine, then you’re fine. Above anyone, those guys are the only people I trust with your life. Well, and Gavin and Marcus. And your mom.”
My mother. Fuck. She’d gone home and must have been freaking out.
“I need to call—”
“I texted her as soon as I talked to the trainers and right before I conned my way onto this ambulance.”
I relaxed on the stretcher. Tension I hadn’t even realized was still inhabiting my aching body released, and the pain eased up a little more.
“Thank you. You’re scoring all the brownie points with my loved ones today, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but what about with you?” He went back to stroking my hand as his voice dropped lower. “Are you pissed about all this? I know I just took matters into my own hands, went full speed ahead with my mouthing off and rage, but I couldn’t help it.”
“Why?” I asked softly. “All I’m worried about is how this will affect you.”
“I know.” Adrián sighed. He wiped his eyes, but his eyelashes were still clumped together from moisture. “This just matters to me more, Simeon. Being here with you. At the end of the day, there’s only one of you. I needed to know you were okay. And not because of a tweet or a news report or a rumor. I needed to see it. To see you.”
How was this real? So much of it seemed like a dream, but there was no way the feel of those rough, callused hands was anything but reality.
“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Please?”
Adrián leaned down to brush his lips to my forehead then to my lips. It was brief, chaste really, but he managed to pour every ounce of affection into that touch. I sighed when he pulled away.
“Besides,” Adrián said, holding my hand tighter. “I’m not even mad. I’m kind of happy it went down that way.”
“Because you’ll be the subject of every single newsroom for weeks?”
“Hells yeah. And a Lifetime movie. Shit, they better find someone fine to play me.”
This time I didn’t try to hold in a laugh.
“God, Adrián. You damn lovable fool man. I fucking love you.”
“And I fucking love you too.”
I closed my eyes again. The pressure that had been building inside me and manifesting in phantom injuries began to dissipate. There was nothing but the sound of the sirens, the radio, the low voices of the EMTs, and the comforting weight of Adrián’s hand. His presence by my side.
I couldn’t imagine what would happen because of his actions—with the media, his fans, or the League. All I could imagine about the future was that we would be going through whatever came our way together. And with him by my side, we could take on the entire world.
Epilogue
Adrián
Watching my dad grill burgers alongside Joanne Boudreaux, who’d made delicious sides from scratch, was as close to surreal as anything had ever been.
The fact that several of the Barons were present for the Grant Street Center benefit barbecue just made it even more dreamlike. But it was real, and it was happening, and me and Simeon were grinning broadly and handing out plates of food as my mother collected the donations.
“This is nuts,” I muttered while grinning winningly at the next person in line. “What if we run out of food?”
Simeon glanced back at the dozens of coolers. “Nah, that ain’t happening, love.”
“Well, what if—”
“Hush,” Simeon said in one breath before saying “Take care now!” in another to one of the people who’d lined the block to donate, get some boss food, and snag a glimpse of the famous athletes involved.
When the next person was going down the assembly line of NFL stars-turned-food servers, Simeon nudged me.
“You worry too much. This was your idea, and everyone loves it. The reporters are practically jizzing themselves about this exclusive. And looky there—” He nodded over at our parents. “They’re basically besties now.”
I followed his gaze and had to blink another couple of times to make sure the vision wouldn’t disappear before my eyes. Coming out to my father had been taken out of my, and my mother’s, hands after my big declaration at my last game of the season. After the adrenaline had faded, and I’d returned home with Simeon, panic had set in. Not about the NFL, but about my parents.
And they’d stayed silent for almost a week. I’d thought it was a sign of them officially writing me off . . . but it hadn’t been. Week two of post-coming out drama had started with my father calling me with a “game plan” about getting out of my contract if they gave me shit, and potential teams who would pick me up in a heartbeat. He’d tried to ignore the big bisexual elephant in the room, but my mother hadn’t allowed him to.
Turns o
ut, he’d been bracing for the news since that first photo at the diner. He’d fucking known all along, and he’d come to terms with it on his own. He still wasn’t impressed by my fight with Rocky, though.
Week three of post-coming out drama, and my new suspension, had started with me getting an intense fine for my attack on Rocky Swoops . . . which had been paid by the rest of the Predators. It had taken an incident like that for my team to step up and show that they could be decent people—which they’d done by supporting me and apologizing to Simeon on behalf of Rocky. Rocky had gone radio silent since then. No statement, no mention of his own suspension, and his social media had all been deleted. He was just gone.
Part of me worried. I’d been doing a lot of reflecting, especially about the time we’d been roommates, and now I was wondering if Rocky was queer and closeted. Deeply closeted and self-loathing. But I hated that I even cared. Simeon found it sweet. I thought I was turning into a sucker.
“Hey look, it’s Brayden.”
I followed Simeon’s gaze to see Brayden, who’d grown a good six inches in the past six months, and his parents (both of them) having an animated discussion with Noah. Noah was talking a lot with his hands, and his loud Queens accent carried enough for me to distantly realize he was talking about Brayden working part-time at an LGBT community center.
“How’d Brawley find himself such a do-gooder?” I asked, shooting a glance at the hulking Viking of a tight end. He didn’t even smile as he dropped loads of potato salad on each plate. Fucking grim reaper. “Jesus, does he ever smile?”
“He smiles at his do-gooder,” Simeon said. “Just like you get all cuddly and sweet with your QB.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I’m still waiting for that giant Facebook post about how amazing of a boyfriend I am.”
“Jasmine is helping me draft it, but she thinks boyfriend is too casual, since we’re living together now.”
“True that. How about . . . companion? Lover?” I handed a drink to another donor, grinning widely. “Hey, question for you—”
The lady raised her eyebrows, looking from me to Simeon in shock. “For me?”
“Yup.” I leaned forward, popping my dimples. “Do you think I should call Simeon my boyfriend or my companion?”
“Oh good Lord.” Simeon looked up at the sky. “Someone please save this man from his self.”
The woman burst out laughing. “How about partner? Or soul mate?”
“Soul mate!” Simeon crowed just as I said, “Partner works.” We looked at each other and snickered before he threw an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a half hug.
She looked between us and laughed again. “You two are adorable.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the photogs snapping away. They lived for this shit. And shockingly, the NFL was loving all the feel-good publicity that our collective queerness had brought on. I’d expected to lose endorsements or for my agent to struggle trying to save my career, but . . . it seemed like the world was evolving more rapidly than I’d given it credit for. And at the end of the day, even if I’d had to cut my losses and move on, Simeon was worth it. Our new life together was worth it.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked, nudging me. “If you’re making big plans for what we’re gonna do after the cookout . . . keep in mind the boys are coming over.”
“So you gotta stay quiet while I fu—”
Simeon’s brows crashed down. “No, sir. Keep it discreet or keep it shut.”
I laughed. “I was kidding anyway. That’s not why I was smiling.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yup. I was smiling because I’m happy.” I glanced at our parents again, unable to help another grin as Joanne pointed to the grill and schooled my father on how he was overcooking the meat. “This is in the top three best days of my life.”
Simeon greeted another donor, quickly scribbling off an autograph. “I’m right there with you, boo. But what are your other two?”
“The day I was drafted,” I said quickly. “And . . . finding out I was gonna be stuck working with you for two months. If it wasn’t for that, none of this would have happened. We’d still be stubborn assholes who hated each other. Well, I’d be an asshole.”
“I don’t know about all that. Soul mates have a way of finding each other.” Simeon managed to not crack up for all of five seconds before breaking. “All right, Noah said that to me, but he’s right. I think we would have found each other. Once you took your head out your ass.”
“I dunno. It was pretty far up there.”
“I’m glad you know that, but either way . . .” Simeon glanced around just as I had a moment ago, and the smile on his face was so warm that it was hard not to drop the drinks and pull him close. “You and me belong together, Adrián Bravo. There’s no way either of us could have wound up with anyone else.”
He was right. I knew he was right.
So I smiled back and, audience be damned, pulled him into a kiss.
Santino Hassell was raised by a conservative family but grew up to be a smart-mouthed, school-cutting grunge kid, a transient twenty-something, and eventually transformed into a grumpy introvert and unlikely romance author with an affinity for baseball caps. His novels are heavily influenced by the gritty, urban landscape of New York City, and his desire to write relationships fueled by intensity and passion.
He’s been a finalist in both the Bisexual Book Awards and EPIC Awards, and was nominated for a prestigious RITA award in 2017. His work has been featured in BuzzFeed, Huffington Post, Washington Post, RT, and Cosmopolitan.
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