by S. E. Harmon
“Nothing good comes of telling people how to live their lives, honey.”
“Kelly.” My father stuck his head out the door, and we both glanced up. He smiled at us both as though we were just too cute and pointed at me. “That Kelly.”
“Yeah?”
“Ari called. He said Blue’s okay. A little banged up but okay. He thought you’d want to know.”
They were both looking at me with concern, so I cleared my throat. “Thanks. Mom, why don’t you let me clean up out here?”
She kissed me on the cheek as though she knew exactly what I was up to, linked arms with my father, and headed inside. Finally alone, I robotically stacked plastic cups without paying attention to what I was doing.
I could deal with the secrecy, the not coming out. But I didn’t know how many more years of football stuff I could take, and that was a real problem. Blue had told me himself that football was his life. So where did I fit in?
I came back in time for the postgame interviews. They flashed to the locker room, and there he was. Even with the injury, he was the MVP. He looked sweaty, gorgeous, and well rehearsed as he gave his smooth vintage Blue answers.
The reporter gave him a smile as she stuck her mic in his face. “How do you feel about today’s gameplay?”
“We came together as a team and did what we had to do. When the team works as a unit, we can accomplish incredible things.”
“Do you think Barrow should’ve been ejected from the game for that hit?”
“I think the refs make the calls, and we have to abide by those calls.”
The reporter smiled as though that were just the answer she expected. “So… are the rumors true? About you being off the market?”
He hesitated for a moment, and then his face creased into a familiar smile. “Yeah. They are.” He dragged a hand through his hair as though even he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “His name is Kelly, and he’s amazing.”
“Britton! Britton!” The room exploded with noise, both from my family and on the television, as the reporters lunged forward with questions. They talked over each other so loudly I couldn’t decipher what they were saying.
Blue, you brave freaking maniac. We’re in for it now.
Despite my clammy hands and the fear that suddenly made my stomach a very interesting place, I was proud of him—so proud I could burst, so proud I was… missing the fucking interview. I shushed everyone and focused in on the tail end of what he was saying.
“…understand that it’s going to be a bit of an adjustment, and we’ll be doing a press conference about that at the right time. So if you don’t mind, I’d like the next question to be about the game, guys,” he said.
The reporter who asked about our relationship next was clearly hard of hearing. “Is the organization supportive of you living openly with a man?”
“Our GM and coaching staff are behind me one hundred percent, and we all want what’s best for the Outlaws’ organization. But we’re here to talk about football, not my private life. Anyone else?”
“Is this going to affect your position with the Outlaws?”
“That’s it, guys. Maybe you should give some questions to some of these other amazing players. I certainly wasn’t out there by myself.” Vintage Blue didn’t look flustered at all. He gave them a smile to put them at ease. “Thanks for your time.”
My dad actually shut off the TV, and you could hear a pin drop. I could feel every eye in the room on my blushing face. They seemed to be waiting for me to say something to justify how amazing Blue said I was.
All I could manage was a quiet “Oh boy.”
CHAPTER 23
Blue
I SHOULD’VE known better than to think the press was done with me. As I quickly changed out of my gear, I could hear them milling about in the hallway. There probably wasn’t even a reporter left elsewhere in the entire fucking city—I was pretty sure if I turned on the news right then, I’d just see a couple of spinning empty chairs. Apparently real news like murder and politics had taken a back seat to my sexuality, and they loitered outside the locker room, waiting for the scent of blood.
I was never more glad for Ari’s steady, experienced presence next to me as I hurried through the phalanx and smiled and waved as though nothing was wrong, as though all was right in my world because we’d won, as though a few of my teammates didn’t want to punch me in the fucking face.
My father was by my car by the time I made it out. As we walked, Ari chattered beside me about an exclusive interview he’d already lined up for me, but I couldn’t have been less attentive. My entire focus was narrowed down to the gleaming gray Cadillac idling next to my SUV.
I took my time stashing my gear in my back seat, and when I finished, he was out of the car and waiting by my door, arms crossed.
He interrupted Ari midsentence and demanded, “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” I asked evenly.
He just looked at me. “You know what I’m talking about. Is it true that my son is a goddamned fa—”
“I’m bisexual,” I cut him off neatly. “But yes. It is true.”
He stared at me as though he couldn’t even begin to compute those words. I had a strange moment there, a moment where I thought he might actually accept it, a moment where I thought he might not like it, might not understand it, but he’d go with it because I was his son—I was still Britton, I was still me. And then reality crashed in, right around the same time his fist met my face.
Pain blossomed in my jaw, my teeth, my eye sockets… even my sinuses burned. I’d been hit in the face a few times in my day, and I never got used to the way it made everything on your face hurt, not just the point of impact. I barely kept from crying out, but pride wouldn’t let me make a sound.
“Fuck,” Ari breathed as I grabbed my jaw and staggered a few feet away from them. Ari moved toward me, and I held up a hand.
My father might be getting up there in age, but his punch still hurt like a motherfucker. When I lifted my shocked gaze to his, his face was chalk white, and his pupils almost eclipsed his eyes. He looked half-afraid that I’d hit him back and half-expectant, like he wanted me to. I drew some satisfaction from the fact that he was cradling his hand as though the punch was just as painful to give as to receive.
My jaw throbbed again, and pain shot through my skull. Almost as painful to receive.
“Blue, are you okay?” I saw two of Ari as he leaned in, his green eyes dark and worried-looking in his tanned face.
“It’s fine.” The two Aris merged after I blinked a few times, and I looked at my father coldly. “He still hits like a bitch.”
“Still?” Ari looked a little sick to his stomach. “Britton, you can’t just let him—”
“It was a long time ago.” I shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“Maybe we should call the police.” He pointed a shaking finger at my father. “Randall, I’ve stood behind you for a long time now, but this… this is uncalled for.”
My respect for Ari went up. It took a lot of balls to stand up to my father. Maybe when Ari was finished, he’d show me how it was done.
“This is between me and my son,” my father finally managed.
“Should I get security?” Ari demanded.
I shook my head and instantly regretted the motion. “Go home.”
“But—”
“It’s fine.” I gentled my tone. “I got this.”
Ari stood there for a moment, his mouth pursed in frustration. Then he spun on his heel and stalked toward his car, muttering and cursing audibly, expensive suit coat flapping in the breeze. He got into a silver Audi with blackout taillights, and we both watched as he squealed out of the parking lot.
“Looks like you lost a fan,” I said.
“I never liked him,” he said dismissively.
That really wasn’t true, but I didn’t call him on it. “Are we done here?” I finally asked, and his face flushed red.
“Don’t do that. Don’t treat me like I’
m an annoyance.” He huffed out a breath. “I can’t believe you’d do this after all I’ve done for you.”
“I’m not doing anything to you. In fact, this isn’t about you at all. It’s about me and Kel—”
“Don’t you even say his name to me,” he yelled. “I knew he was bad news. I knew it from the start. I never wanted you hanging out with that kid. He ruined you—ruined all my fucking hard work.”
“I did the fucking hard work. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but at some point, I’ve got to live my own life. I gave you your championships, the Super Bowl rings, three of them—you and this entire goddamned city. When is it enough?” When he looked away, his throat working, I wanted to shake him. “When?”
“I thought you loved the game, loved it as much as I did.” He didn’t look at me, and he clenched his hand into a tight fist. I hoped the bruised knuckles there swelled like grapefruits. “You weren’t supposed to be doing it for me. You were supposed to be doing it for us.”
“I did. I do. But things have to change. If I’m going to have any future in football, it has to be my way from now on, not the way you wanted it.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”
Suddenly I felt very tired. “You still have Ian, Dad.”
“Your brother is a very good ball player, but he’s not you. He has to work very hard just to be average in the game. He’s not the Blueprint. He doesn’t have the natural-born talent, and that’s not something you can teach.”
“Dad—”
“Britton.” He looked at me pleadingly. “You. You were supposed to be my legacy.”
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “But I’ve already given you a legacy in this game, one any father should be proud of. You don’t have to agree with how I live my life. And that’s your loss.”
His jaw firmed, and he looked like he wanted to hit me again. I warned him softly, “You get one.”
I wouldn’t take another. I watched him wrestle with that. We both knew if he hit me again, I’d lay him out flat. Period. But I felt like I deserved the first one—not because I was bisexual, not because I was living with a man, not even because I’d disappointed him or because I’d “ruined” everything.
I deserved it because I’d lied.
I lied for a long time about who I was and what I wanted. I almost let him turn me into a caricature of a man, some football hero who wasn’t even real, a perfect machine that did the right things, said the right things, and dated the prettiest girls. I hadn’t been honest with myself for a long time, and by doing so, I’d hurt the man I loved.
I was done with all that shit. If that was what it meant to be the fucking Blueprint, then I would tear it up and draft another. Maybe it was time to be a different shade of Blue.
He saw the decision and the determination on my face. “You’re not my son anymore,” he said, eyes flashing with something dark and ugly. “Not until you give this up.”
Figures. He stared at me as though he were waiting for me to take it all back, but I just shook my head. “Have a nice life, Randall.”
My father might have given up a lot for me to succeed, but fuck, so did I. I sacrificed having a normal life to achieve what my father wanted—what we both wanted. Now he had exactly what he always wished for—two sons in the NFL, plenty of money, a big house Ian bought for him, a nice car that I purchased, a bigass TV we got him together to watch us play and show us off to all his friends. I gave him what he wanted.
It was my turn.
I hit the button on my car door and got in without looking at him again. My phone rang, and when I answered, it was stadium security. I assured them I was no longer in the parking lot and I didn’t need any assistance. If my jaw weren’t sore as hell, I would’ve smiled. As it was, I just grimaced. Apparently Ari had called them after all. Guess I wasn’t the only one done taking orders.
My father was still standing in the same spot when I drove off.
I’d give him time to cool off, time to see what he really wanted. But I wasn’t willing to beg, and I wasn’t willing to say I was something I wasn’t—not anymore.
My phone buzzed again and jarred me out of my reverie. I’d been driving nearly ten minutes on sheer autopilot, and I was lucky I hadn’t plowed into a light pole. I hit the button on my steering wheel. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
Even the sound of Kelly’s voice was enough to make the knot in my stomach start to uncoil and become a little less Gordian. “I will be.” I sighed. “I just had a confrontation with my father, and let’s just say it did not go well.”
“Oh baby.” His voice went all soft and husky, and my stomach relaxed some more.
I gnawed on my lip. Kelly wasn’t going to be happy with what I said next, but I might as well get it over with before he saw me and freaked out. “He hit me in the face.”
There was a pause, and then he growled like a wild animal. “That motherfucker.”
I had to grin, sore jaw and all. God help the next person who injured me. “Will you calm down?”
“Calm down? I feel like I could take him apart with my bare hands!”
I remembered my father’s words just then, and my grin fell. “He said I’m not his son.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I know a whole lot of people who are ready to adopt you.” Kelly still sounded angry. “My dad would probably trade both Kennedy and me for you.”
“I would.” I heard the confirmation from his father in the background and some muffled scuffling and laughter.
I had to laugh. “He’s on.”
“My mother wants to know if you want her to leave you some spaghetti.” I could hear voices in the background asking questions, and Kelly finally swore. “Hold on, people. I’m only one person. Kennedy wants to know if that’s your kombucha tea in the fridge, and if it is, can she have it?”
I felt a little lighter. “Of course she can.”
There was a pause. “Wait, that’s my fucking tea. Put that down, wretch!” I heard people talking over one another in the background, and then Kelly’s voice again. “No, I’m not giving Blue any more messages. Vultures, the lot of you.”
A door closed on his end, and the ambient sound in the background faded down to nothing. He sounded more serious as he asked, “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah. Talking to you helps.”
“Talking to me in person would probably help even more.”
“Probably.”
There was another pregnant pause between us, and then he made an irritated sound. “Is that all you have to say?”
I tried not to laugh at his aggrieved tone. “Was there something else?”
“Are you coming over or what?”
“I don’t know.” I pretended to think. “It’s been an awfully long day.”
“You can rest just as easily over here as over there.”
“Ask me nicely.”
“Blue.”
I finally chuckled. “Of course I’m coming over there. Where the hell else would I go?”
“Good. You can help me field some of the questions from these maniacs.”
“Your family? They seem perfectly okay with everything.”
“Don’t let them fool you,” he whispered. “My mother twisted my ear until it nearly came off, Blue. She gave me a lecture about keeping secrets and never being too big to get an old-fashioned whoopin’.” At my chuckle, his whisper intensified. “I’m serious! She threatened to make me get a switch.”
“Your mom is like, five feet tall, Kel.”
“With an arm like Mike Tyson.”
My chuckle turned into full-blown laughter. There was a lot of strength in those deceptively delicate hands. “I think you’ll live.”
“My parents want to talk to us, you know.”
“Congratulations or warnings?”
“A little of both, I’d say. Underneath it all I think they’re really excited and trying to be stern. Oh, and Kennedy ask
ed me to pass on a message. She’s glad we finally got our shit together, and she’s glad you’re not having any more… erectile dysfunction issues.” At my affronted silence, he hurried on. “Her words, not mine.”
“That was one time, a long, long time ago,” I sputtered. “Remind me again why you told your sister about that?”
“We were in a different place.” I could practically hear the laughter in his tone. “All I’m saying is, be prepared for the Cannon Inquisition tomorrow.”
“Bring it on,” I declared. “I’m going to blame most of this on you anyway.”
He was still grumbling as he hung up on me, and I had to grin.
Family was something special, but the definition of who and what family could be wasn’t set in stone. Sometimes your family was comprised of the people you shared genetic markers with, the people who saw you take your first steps, the people who showed you how to walk and talk, and the first people you created memories with, memories that would last forever.
Thoughts of my father crossed my mind then, and my mother and Ian, who had been conspicuously silent since my postgame interview. And then I thought about what I had waiting for me at home—some of Kelly’s mom’s spaghetti, maybe my kombucha tea—if Kennedy hadn’t made off with it—and Kelly.
My Kelly.
He’d smile that soft smile that always made my stomach do Olympics-worthy flips. I’d burrow my face in his lap, against his stomach, and let him idly card his fingers through my hair. His fragrance would be the strongest there, with that scent of ocean and salt air that he swore was manly cologne but we both knew was body splash. Then the questions would begin. Oh, the fucking questions. There were going to be many, and he wasn’t going to let me sleep until I answered every single one.
I guess I wasn’t going to be lucky enough to keep my biological family in my life. But maybe, just maybe, I’d cobbled together something even better.
CHAPTER 24
Kelly
IT WAS damn near midnight when the side door opened and a light went on in the hallway. I put the TV on pause, sat up on the sofa bed, and listened to Blue quietly moving about. If I had to guess, it sounded like he was taking off his shoes, his coat, maybe checking the locks like he always did. The light went off, and he came into the living room on socked feet.