Unexpected Dreams: Dream Series, Book 4

by Isabelle Peterson

  Above his basic information, there were several pictures. The primary photo was him in his Chicago Smoke soccer jersey, and several pictures were action shots of him playing. Curious, I clicked the “More images” button and there were hundreds of photos. Sweaty Tanner on the field. Celebrating Tanner on the field. An exuberant half naked Tanner whipping his Jersey over his head screaming something, probably celebrating a win. And his bare chest… I just stared. My mouth watered, and I had to adjust my shorts, my seemingly constant erection whenever Tanner came to mind, now painfully straining.

  I continued to tap the arrow at the bottom of the screen propelling me to the next image. Hundreds of him playing, or huddled with his team, or sitting on the bench, sometimes happy, sometimes disappointed. I paused when I came across a photo of him dressed in a suit. My cock went from being rock hard, to twitching, and throbbing. He cleaned up gooooood. Then I noticed the person standing next to him. He had his hand on Tanner’s back, and was smiling at Tanner. Like he was with Tanner. Suddenly, I got a tad possessive. Then I felt a little played. If this guy was Tanner’s … partner… then what was that kiss last week all about? Maybe it was his manager? Maybe I was reading into this all wrong.

  I clicked on the image, which brought me to an article about Tanner receiving an award, and attended with partner Jonathan Koning, a prominent Chicago defense attorney. I noted that the article was printed in 2011. Hoping (?) that the article was outdated, I Googled “Tanner Williams” and “Jonathan Koning.” Right up at the top, a link for OutInChicagoMag.com. Clicking the link, I was brought to an article published 5 weeks ago about Tanner, his retirement from the Chicago Smoke, his new position with the Sonoma County Conquistadors… and that Tanner is now recently single.

  Score! Wait, what? I was happy that Tanner was single, and technically back on the market. I tossed my iPhone aside and dropped my head into my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. Why was I torturing myself? Was I really going to explore whatever the fuck was going on in my head? A part of me said no, but most of me, especially my dick, said “Hell, yeah!”

  The TV erupted in gasps. “That was a tough hit on Williams. He is not moving, Carl. This doesn’t look good,” one announcer said.

  “No Tom, it does not. That was a hard hit. Aaaaannnnd, yup. There it is. Petronelli drew a red card for that hit, too. He… is… outta here!!” the other announcer chatted back.

  “Let’s take a look at what the referees saw,” the first announcer said.

  I stared at the screen watching Tanner not move, not really hearing what the announcers were saying anymore. The image changed to the action that was just before the foul, and Tanner’s not moving. It was clear that the Toledo Chargers player intentionally took out Tanner as Tanner made a rush on the ball. Petronelli, as his jersey said, swept Tanner’s leg from behind, and Tanner landed squarely on his back. Likely got the wind knocked out of him. I watched carefully to see if Tanner’s head hit the ground. He could have a concussion.

  The video feed returned to live. The team had surrounded Tanner, and the head coach, along with a couple of medics, were kneeling beside him. The announcers continued to talk, something about a rivalry between Petronelli and Tanner. Meanwhile, I was willing Tanner to move…get up…blink…move a foot…anything. I almost felt sick to my stomach.

  The camera was now showing another Chicago Smoke player yelling at Petronelli and being held back by referees. Suddenly, the Chicago Smoke player who was yelling was shown a yellow card by another referee. I made out the referee saying something about a verbal foul, but I just wanted the camera back on Tanner. I wanted to see if he was moving yet.

  As if the camera guy heard my thoughts, Tanner filled the screen. He was just being pulled up to a sitting position, to an uproarious applause in the stands. I wanted to applaud too, but I wasn’t sure that Tanner was really okay, so I just sat there and held my breath. Suddenly, Tanner hopped to his feet, flashed his brilliant smile, and waved to the crowds. Now, I joined in with the applause.

  I grabbed my phone and pulled up the email app. I sent Tanner a quick email saying that I watched the game and I hope he wasn’t hurt too badly. I stood and stretched, turned off the TV, and went to bed. I’d had enough excitement for the day.

  I couldn’t believe how stupid I was in tonight’s game. My head was definitely not in it.

  Jared Petronelli and I went way back, to when he used to play for the Smoke about ten years ago. He hated me, just because I was gay. Although if you’d asked him, he’d never cop to it. If you asked me, I would say that Jared was gay, but not willing to admit it.

  At the end of his contract with the Smoke, he wasn’t offered a renewal and was a free agent. He, of course, blamed me, but hey, the managers and coaches liked me. When I was on the field, I did my job. Jared was a winger, but not a very good one. He let his emotions get in the way. After the Smoke, he was picked up by the New England Revolutions, but with a significant salary cut. He was with New England for only a year before he was let go. I had a good laugh that he was playing up east where gay tolerance was very high. Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island were fairly gay friendly states. I often wondered if his bigotry got him into trouble there, but nothing surfaced in the papers or online. He played for two other teams until he landed with Toledo two years ago.

  At any rate, I knew to always watch my back when Jared was on the field, and tonight? My head was elsewhere. My head was already on the San Jose game in a week and a half. When Greg was going to be in the stands watching.

  Getting the wind knocked out of you is never fun, and in front of fans, and on a live broadcast, even less so. Fortunately, any concussion was ruled out. Doc said to take a day or two to recover, but I would be fine for practice by Tuesday.

  Now that the interviews were over and I was showered and dressed, I grabbed my things to head home. Getting into my Jeep, I grabbed my cell phone and checked my messages. My mom had seen the hit and texted me. I quickly messaged back that I was fine and would be back to regular practices on Tuesday. Ever since Dad died, she’s been a Nervous Nelly. I understood. Besides, it was nice that she cared.

  I noticed that there was an email, so I clicked to check it out. Seeing it was from Greg, I nervously opened it, afraid that he was suddenly not coming to Chicago now. When I read his message, my face broke out into the biggest smile.

  Hi Tanner,

  Caught your game on TV tonight. Great game. Looking forward to watching live. Although, I hope you don’t encounter another ‘Petronelli.’ Hope you’re doing okay from that hit. See you later this week.

  Greg

  He cared. Not only did he watch the game. He was concerned about the hit. Jonathan never watched my games. Sports weren’t his ‘thing.’ Maybe Greg had never kissed a guy before, which, I still found shocking, but maybe he’d just never met the right guy. Maybe that ‘right guy’ was me.

  CHAPTER 9

  Sunday morning I woke up with my thoughts still a jumbled mess. After a light breakfast, I decided that I needed a healthy dose of God to help get my head on straight. I dressed in pressed khakis and a button-down and headed out to find a church. Embarrassingly, church hadn’t been a part of our family life. As I drove in search of a place for Sunday morning mass, I wondered if weekly service had been a part of our lives, would Elizabeth still be here.

  I had grown up in the Roman Catholic Church and remembered one on Elm Street. As I approached St. Thomas the Aquinas Roman Catholic Church, the doors were closed. I looked up their service schedule on my phone and noticed that their “summer service schedule” had worship at either 8:00am or 11:00am. It was 9:35. I had missed the mark there. Not feeling like ‘hanging around’ until 11:00am for the next service, I continued to drive.

  The next church I came to was the Napa Valley Lutheran Church, and it was now 9:50am, and their next service was going to start at 10:00am. Lutheran. Martin Luther. German monk. Rigid German thinking. That sounded good. I pulled into the parking lot and h
eaded in.

  Inside I picked up a bulletin from the front door to look at while I waited for things to start. At the top of the paper it stated: “God’s work. Our hands.” That sounded promising. Sitting in a pew with only an older couple seated there, I looked around at those seated in nearby pews. I saw single people, young couples, older couples, and young families. My stomach dropped when I saw a couple seated just a couple pews in front of me off to the left. A pair of men. Maybe they were brothers.

  The service started, and another shock was served my way when I noticed that the priest, or pastor or minister or whatever the presider at a Lutheran service was called, was a woman. Glancing down at the bulletin, I noticed that there was a Pastor Emily noted in the header, and a couple of male pastors as well, and figured this must be Emily. We were encouraged to “welcome” those around us. As I greeted the few people around me, my eyes continued to return to the two men. My mind was either trying to make any pair of men I saw a gay couple, or I’d kept a blind eye to couples that have likely been all around me all the time.

  I focused on the service, and the messages tapped into the Holy Trinity, as I remembered from my younger days going to church with my parents, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. However, Pastor Emily’s homily was not the fire and brimstone I remembered or expected. Rather her messages, based on the scriptures read, were about love and acceptance.

  “Today will be a quick message. As I sat, meditating on the scriptures for today the common theme is obvious. Did you hear it?” A few of the congregation nodded. “Bottom line, the scriptures today spoke of acceptance. Giving in. Realizing that God does not make mistakes. He knows exactly what He is doing. He loves each of you with all of your unique talents and skills. Sometimes things haven’t worked out like you thought they would, but God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, rather he puts lessons in your path, all the while shaping you.

  “I look around this congregation and know many of you personally. I know of your struggles and hardships. Some of you,” her eyes rested on mine for a moment, “are familiar or are visiting just for today.” She moved her eyes to others seated in the church and continued. “But I am certain that you have also struggled. Maybe you’ve been struggling recently and came here to find answers. Know this, God put that thought in your head. He brought you here. You are all exactly where, and who, you were meant to be. Listen to His voice in your heart. He’s calling to you… He loves you. Show Him that you love Him too by not just loving those you are expected to love, and those sitting with you today. Love yourself enough, and trust in Him enough, to be who you are. To be who He lovingly created. Sadly, some people are corrupt.” Here it comes, I thought. “Some people are evil.” This is it. She’s going to look at me again. She knows. Or she will look at the pair of men. She didn’t look my way or at them. “But those people didn’t hear the whisper of God today. They are not giving in. He whispered to them, just as He did to you. You came. You accepted. You gave in. You are here to hear and know that God loves you just the way you are. Love Him and give in to His will. You will be rewarded.”

  Pastor Emily continued to speak about the rewards those in bible received and so on, but my mind was chewing on my struggles, and the ‘whispers’ I was hearing. Was I really receiving divine intervention here? This was creepy. I’d often heard of stories like this, where a person goes to church and hears precisely what they needed to hear, and I’d hoped for that today. I did not expect the messages I was hearing. I expected to be ‘told’ that gay was wrong. I brought my attention back to the soft-spoken woman at the pulpit as she wrapped up her message with, “Let all that you do be done in Love. First Corinthians chapter sixteen; verse fourteen.”

  I didn’t hear much after all of that. The rest of the service was typical and robotic with the collections and preparations of the gifts. Pastor Emily’s messages continued to ring in my ears. God’s love is unconditional, and your love should be, too… He doesn’t make mistakes… You are exactly who you were meant to be.

  At the end of the service, I looked around quickly and spotted the two men. They were talking with an older woman, and holding hands…like boyfriends. Quietly, I exited. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath of the fresh morning air, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on.

  “Welcome to our church,” I heard a familiar voice say next to me. I opened my eyes and was looking right at Pastor Emily.

  “Oh, hi. I’m not…” I let my sentence trail off. I can’t tell her I’m not really a church goer. That would be rude.

  “You look familiar,” she said.

  “Oh, um, I’m a local. We’ve probably just crossed paths in town,” I suggested.

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to have you. I’m Pastor Emily,” she said extending a hand to me.

  “Greg Fairchild,” I managed, and shook her hand.

  “Oh. Phoebe’s father?” she asked. I nodded, fear flooding me a bit. Did she know me? Did she know Tanner? Did she know about Tanner? Was she judging me? No, of course not. Her homily was about acceptance and not judging one another. “I thought you looked familiar. Is Elizabeth with you today? I hope she is well.” She knew Elizabeth? She doesn’t know that we…

  “Yes,” I choked out, and forced a smile, tired of feeling like a royal idiot standing there while this nice, Godly woman talked to me. “Only Elizabeth and I…we’re… no longer together. Elizabeth’s living in New York now,” I confessed. That’s what you do with men…or women…of the cloth, right? “So, how do you know Elizabeth and Phoebe?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. My daughter is Angela. She was good friends with Phoebe in high school,” she explained. “How is Phoebe doing? Is she home for the summer? She went to a college in Ohio. Do I have that right? Angela stayed at school in Maryland working in a hospital for credits toward her nursing degree.”

  “Oh, Phoebe’s good. Thank you. But no, she’s in New York, as well. A summer internship with a TV station, and she’s transferred to NYU,” I said. I started to fidget with my keys, searching for a nice way to bow out of this conversation. I had a headache that was growing and a mind that couldn’t quite process anything anymore.

  “Well, we welcome you with open arms here, no matter what your life situation is.”

  “Thank you, Pastor.” I shook her hand, and quickly left.

  I drove to the Oxbow Market, a collection of a dozen or so vendors. The place was always abuzz with activity, which would suit me just fine right now. There was a place that made sensational coffee, and next to that, a marvelous pastry shop.

  I bought a newspaper, changing up from my customary phone apps to read the news, and sat with my cappuccino and biscotti. I flipped through the paper absentmindedly and sipped my coffee when a familiar man came up to my table.

  “Mr. Fairchild, right?” I nodded, but didn’t know the name of the guy talking to me. He extended a hand and said, “Mike Del Vecchio. I teach history at Napa Valley High. It’s Bradley, Carter, then Phoebe, right?

  I took his hand and shook. “Yes. Consider me impressed.” Slowly, I recalled going to open houses at the high school early on. However, I hadn’t been in the school since Phoebe’s sophomore year. Once Elizabeth took over as the Parent Teacher Association’s secretary, I left the school stuff to her. Besides, I was working hard to afford college tuition for three kids, as well as keep up with vacations, and things. …At least that’s what I had told myself.

  “Great kids. All three. What are they up to these days? I heard through the grapevine that Carter is in Pompeii.”

  I nodded and smiled. “Yup. Archeology major took a semester abroad last year to do some excavating in Pompeii. He absolutely loves it. He even worked this whole summer there, and somehow finagled another semester this year. He was in the dirt last year, but I guess he’s doing tours of the ruins now. But yeah, he loves it.”

  “He was always the one with his hand up in class, and his assignments being too detailed instead of not enough
. And Bradley and Phoebe?”

  “Bradley’s just starting his MBA this year, still at U of M. He’s involved in some long term project with its faculty, and loved the internship and something about continuing to work with them this year. And Phoebe changed majors and schools. She’s now in New York. NYU.”

  “Wow! You must be one proud papa! And how is Mrs. Fairchild? The PTA misses her. Don’t get me wrong. Mrs. McMarron is doing a good job, but Elizabeth left really big shoes to fill.”

  “She’s doing well,” I simply said, not feeling like telling everyone that our marriage failed. Although why I felt the need to keep this little bit to myself, I couldn’t figure out.

  Another tall muscular man walked up to us and clapped a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Hey, hon.”

  Hon?

  “Hi babe. John, this is… I’m sorry. What’s your first name again?”

  “Greg.”

  “Right. This is Greg Fairchild. I taught his three kids. They’re all in college now.”

  “See, I told you you were getting to be an old man,” John joked.

  “Greg, this is my partner. John St. James.” John extended a hand to me, which I took. His grip was like a lumberjack!

  “Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile, although, I barely heard it. My head was still ringing with Mike’s comment, ‘this is my partner.’ “Husband, come September thirtieth, though.”

  Mike beamed.

  “Nice to meet you as well,” I said, surprised to learn that one of my kid’s teachers was gay. Did Phoebe or the boys know? Would I have known had I gone to more open houses? Did Elizabeth know? I asked myself. Did the school board know? my Republican brain wondered.

  “What do you do, Greg? Do you teach with Mike?” John asked, bringing me back to the present.

  “No,” I laughed, the thought of me teaching, enough to snap me out of my stunned thought that Mike and John were partners. “I don’t have the patience for a hundred kids,” I said.