Fair Catch

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Fair Catch Page 12

by Leigh Carman


  “So?” I flop on my couch and close my eyes, putting my feet up on the coffee table. “What’s your point?”

  “My point,” Leo snaps, shoving my feet to the floor before sitting next to me, “is that you’re a miserable prick without him. Maybe you should call the man. Maybe you could try again.”

  A strangled laugh escapes. “Are you seriously encouraging me to be with Van? A closeted jock?”

  Leo pats my leg. “Listen, honey. I love you. You’re my best friend. I want you safe and happy. As much as I despise the fact that Van is in the closet, I get why he can’t come out. I do.” When I give Leo a dirty look, he continues. “I know, I know. I never in a million years thought I’d defend a closeted guy, but seeing you like this….” He waves a hand and huffs loudly, as if I offend him with my very existence. “Well, I’d rather you be his secret boyfriend than watch you shuffle around like a walking corpse.”

  I shift my eyes away from Leo. My chest tightens painfully at the thought of Austin exposing Van in the tabloids. If I stay with Van, that’s exactly what Austin would do. Money isn’t enough for the bastard. He needed to take his revenge on me for leaving him. The ultimate punishment. Keeping me from being happy. From moving on. Austin’s threat to release the pictures came with another stipulation. Despite giving Austin the money he asked for, he demanded I break up with Van. Otherwise he’d still sell the photos, money or no money.

  “I can’t, Leo. It’s not that simple.”

  Leo squeezes my knee. “Tell me, then. You’re my best friend, T. I care, and you’re scaring me. It’s like you’re not here even though you’re sitting next to me.”

  I bite my lip, unsure if I should share my burden with my friend. I’m about to open my mouth and spill my guts when the shrill ring of my phone pierces the silence. Under Leo’s intense scrutiny, I pull it out and answer without looking at the screen.

  Big mistake.

  “Hello, love.”

  All the blood in my head rushes down to my feet, leaving me dizzy and unbalanced.

  Austin.

  “Toby, who is it?” a very concerned Leo whispers, shaking my arm while I’m frozen like a statue, phone stuck to my ear.

  “Are you there, love?” Austin asks.

  “Yes,” I croak, hardly able to speak.

  “I need you to meet me about something.” Austin’s voice is smarmy and arrogant.

  “I already did what you asked. Please, just leave me alone.”

  Leo is staring at me, shock evident on his face. The room begins to spin around me. Too fidgety to sit, I stand on wobbly legs and move away from Leo’s sharp ears, leaning on the nearby kitchen table to keep from collapsing.

  “Oh, Tobias, my dear, we’re just getting started. Or did you want me to show those pictures of your hunky boyfriend to TMZ? I bet they’d give me a couple mil at least. I can see the headline now: NFL Star is a Closet Fag.”

  “Stop. Just stop. I’ve done everything you asked. All of it.” I press a hand to my temple, the throbbing making my vision blur.

  Leo appears at my side, his wide eyes conveying his unspoken concern.

  “I’ll text you the time and address to meet tomorrow. Don’t be late.” When the phone disconnects, it slides out of my hands, clattering on the tabletop.

  “Toby?”

  I don’t feel Leo’s arms go around my waist, and when he talks, it’s as if he’s speaking through a long, narrow tunnel. My body goes slack, and I crumple to the floor, Leo’s petrified face the last thing I see before the pinpoint of light shrinks and everything goes black.

  WHEN I come to, Leo is pacing in front of my door. I watch his bright green Chucks going back and forth from where I’m lying… on the floor?

  I sit, and the room spins and tilts, causing my stomach to clench.

  Leo rushes over. “Toby, stay down.” He gently pushes me back, and I notice a pillow has been placed behind my head.

  “W-what happened?”

  Leo frowns, his face pale with worry. “You fainted.”

  “I fainted?” I practically shout. This time I sit all the way up and refuse to lie back down, nausea or not. I swallow back the rising bile and saliva pooling in my mouth. “Why? How?”

  “Toby, I don’t know. You got a call, answered it, and next thing I know, you’re going down like a guy in the back alley of a gay bar. I’m just glad I was here to help ease your heavy ass to the floor.” Leo kneels next to me. “You could have hit your head on the table or the tile floor. It was really scary, T.”

  A loud knock on the door is accompanied by a booming voice. “Paramedics!”

  Leo hops to his feet and hurries to unlock my door.

  “You called an ambulance?” I shriek, horrified and now quite put out by my friend’s good intentions. “Send them away. I’m fine.”

  Leo shoots me a glare that could kill, then spins on his heel and flings open the door. Two men dressed in navy button-down shirts and matching pants hurry into the apartment. One is carrying a bright orange medical kit that reminds me of my dad’s tackle box. The other has a large black nylon bag slung over one shoulder.

  “He’s right there,” Leo says, pointing at me.

  I scowl, unable to lambast my friend for calling paramedics with the men in question already in my apartment, bustling through the door with their equipment. I feel especially ungrateful when they immediately drop to my side and begin fussing over me. As much as I love Leo and know he was doing the right thing in calling for help, the last thing I want is attention, not when my heart is about to burst through my chest from anxiety.

  “I’m fine,” I insist, standing up. I move a bit too fast, because my vision shimmers and I wobble a bit.

  “Sir, why don’t you have a seat on the sofa, and we’ll check you out real quick,” a gorgeous dark-haired medic says.

  “Honestly, I’m okay,” I protest weakly. The paramedic merely chuckles and guides me to the couch, putting his arm around my waist to help. Once he has me settled, Leo drops to the cushion next to me and holds my hand in both of his.

  “Let them check you out, T. You look awful, you’re pale as a ghost, and you passed out.” Leo sounds somewhat less freaked out now that the paramedics are here. Of course, I don’t miss the sly glances he and the dark-haired medic share, or the blush that spreads across Leo’s cheeks.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  I stay silent while they go through their battery of tests—blood pressure, temperature, checking my eyes, ears, and mouth. They ask a billion questions and come to the conclusion that I haven’t been eating enough, so it’s probably low blood sugar combined with stress. They all hover while I drink a glass of orange juice and tell me to check in with my doctor if the symptoms don’t subside.

  Leo escorts the paramedics out. Again, I don’t miss the quick exchange of phone numbers between Leo and the hunky medic, or the way his eyes gleam as he returns to the sofa.

  “Well, I’m glad someone got something out of this entire episode and the disintegration of my life,” I huff, rolling my eyes.

  Leo blushes deeper. “Yes, well, he is gorgeous. But,” he says as he turns toward me with his “you’re about to get the third degree” face on, “more important is, who the fuck was on the phone and what did that person say to turn you practically catatonic. And why the hell is your life disintegrating?”

  My stomach twists, and that damn bile rises in my throat again, along with the orange juice I just consumed.

  “You’re green again, Toby. Tell me. I’m freaking out here!” Leo’s volume increases, and his eyes shimmer with tears. “You’re going to make me mess up my eyeliner, and then I’ll have to reapply.” He sniffs and flutters his lashes, fanning his eyes with both hands.

  I lean over, putting my elbows on my knees and dropping my head to thread my hands behind my neck. As much as I shouldn’t say anything, I need someone on my side. Someone to lean on.

  “Austin. It was Austin,” I whisper.

  “Your ex! The bas
tard who cut you off from everyone and got pissy when you didn’t hand over all your hard-earned money?” Leo’s voice has raised an octave to near-hysteric proportions. “The abusive one?”

  “Yes. That’s the one.” I slump back on the couch and let out a long sigh. “He wants money.”

  “Well,” Leo says snidely. “That fucker can just find a tall bridge and jump the fuck off. You don’t owe him a goddamn thing.”

  I close my eyes and fist my hands at my sides, wishing it were that easy.

  “Toby… you… you aren’t giving him money, are you?”

  I don’t answer, but the strain in my jaw increases as I grind my teeth.

  Leo flies off the couch to stand in front of me, tutting like a brightly colored bird. A very angry bird. “Oh, hell no! Tell me you didn’t give that bastard any of your money, T.”

  I open my eyes and try to meet Leo’s rage-filled eyes, but shame floods my body and I can’t.

  “Oh my God, you did!” he squeals, grabbing my shoulders as if trying to shake some sense into me. “Why would you do that, Toby? What the ever-living fuck were you thinking?”

  About to lose my shit, I push his hands away. “I-I had no choice, okay? Just… just let it go, Leo.” I run my hands down my tired face, smothering the desire to scream at the top of my lungs as frustration boils over.

  Leo’s gaze narrows, and he cocks his head, looking even more like a bird. A parrot, actually, his blond fauxhawk standing up from his head like a cockatiel’s crest.

  “What does he have on you?” My gaze flicks over to Leo’s, and I know I look guilty when Leo gasps loudly. “Holy shit. He’s blackmailing you.” Leo drops back next to me on the couch, taking my hand in his. “What does he know, T? I’ll help you get out of it. This is so wrong.”

  “You can’t help, Leo. I can’t do anything. I have to pay him or else—” I bite my lower lip so I won’t reveal any more information.

  Leo gasps again, a hand flying to cover his gaping mouth. “Van. It’s Van, isn’t it? He knows.”

  How the hell does Leo always know? I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to hold back the aching agony, but a tear escapes, trickling down the side of my face.

  “You’re paying him to protect Van.” Damn Leo for being so smart. “That’s why you broke up with him. Oh my God, T. You have to tell Van.”

  This time I’m the one who leaps to my feet. “No way, Leo. I’m not telling him anything. It would destroy Van if he knew that my ex has photos of us kissing and hugging and holding hands. Photos that would out him and probably kill his football career. He’d hate me.”

  Leo stands, going toe to toe with me, one side of his lip pulled up in a sneer and a dark look in his eyes. Even though he’s a few inches shorter than me, Leo suddenly seems larger than life.

  “Fuck that, T. It is absolutely Van’s business, which means he should know. He doesn’t hate you, you idiot. You broke his damn heart by kicking him out and refusing to give the man an explanation or a choice in the matter. Now his career is on the line, or at least his reputation, and you’re hiding it from him. That’s bullshit, T.”

  “I’m sure his heart isn’t broken, Leo.” I sniff, wiping at my dripping nose with a sleeve. “We hardly knew each other. Besides, he’s hot, rich, and famous. He can have any guy he wants.”

  Leo raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “Duh. He wants you, you dumbass!” Leo throws his hands up in disbelief. “I saw Van in the hall right after you dumped his big, gorgeous ass, T. I know what heartbreak looks like, and you definitely destroyed him.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about Austin or the pictures, so what’s the point in telling Van? All it will do is stress him out!” I press my hands to the sides of my head, wishing I could wipe my mind clean and quiet my brain, if only long enough to spend five minutes without thinking about the strong, beautiful football player—his touches, his kisses, his hard body, his green eyes….

  “I need to be alone. I’ll call you later, Leo.”

  With that, I shuffle to my bedroom and close and lock the door. A minute later, I hear the front door snick shut. Once I’m sure I’m alone, I drop onto my bed and sob.

  Van

  “THIS IS the one,” I say confidently. “I can feel it.”

  “You sure, man? Because I gotta say, I’m tired of running your ass all over the city for you to turn your nose up at every single house we see.” Cal gives me a put-out look.

  “I told you to stay home, Cal. You’re the one who insisted on coming house hunting with me.”

  “Yeah, that was before I knew what a damn finicky pain in the ass you’d be about picking a house. I thought it would take about an hour. Now we’re going on—” He glances at his watch. “—four hours.”

  “Let’s go inside, shall we?” The too-flirty real estate agent bats her eyes at me and walks by, her high heels clicking on the paved sidewalk.

  Cal whistles low enough that the woman can’t hear. “She sure does like you, Archer.” He shakes his head. “What a waste.”

  I burst out laughing. Now that Cal knows about me, it’s like a weight has been lifted from my chest. Having just one person in my professional life know and accept me as a gay man has made it seem as if maybe anything is possible. Cal’s easy acceptance gave me the courage to make some other changes in my life. Since it’s our bye week, I decided to start by getting rid of the huge, hideous marble and gilded monstrosity I call home.

  The agent opens the door, stepping aside so we can enter. She leans forward just enough for her breasts to brush against my arm as I walk past. I can honestly say this is the first time I’ve wanted to willingly tell someone I’m gay, if for no other reason than to get her to stop her desperate attempts to get into my pants.

  Instead I bite my tongue and face the woman. “Miranda, I think we’ll take a look alone. You can wait here, and I’ll find you if I have any questions.”

  Four hours of her using any and every excuse to touch me or make suggestive comments or stick her tits in my face and I’ve had enough. I ignore her confused and hurt expression, as well as the fake pout she displays, and head down the main hall, Cal at my heels.

  “Cold, man, you’re cold.”

  I glare at him, and he chuckles. “I wonder if she’d still be upset if she knew I preferred my dates to be a little more muscular.”

  “I didn’t know you had a type, Van. Good to know.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I joke, punching my friend in the arm.

  Fifteen minutes later, I know I’ve found my home. I inform Miranda, and she says she’ll start the paperwork to make an offer. Cal and I climb in my car and head toward his place to drop him off.

  “So now that we’ve ditched your number-one fan,” Cal says, grinning, “tell me what all this is about.”

  “Huh? All what?” I jam on the brakes when an idiot in a shiny black Mercedes cuts us off. Once he’s merged in, I continue in the heavy traffic.

  “New house, new clothes….” Cal glances at me, and I feel my cheeks heat up.

  “You know I hate that house, Cal. I put off finding a new one for way too long. As for the clothes, I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to grow up?” My usual baggy jeans and sweatshirt or team T-shirt have been replaced by body-hugging designer jeans and a fitted green tee. Even my usual athletic shoes are gone, tan suede ankle boots in their place. I feel more like myself than I ever have before, shedding the jock look and going for clothes that capture my true personality.

  “Hmmmm,” Cal hums.

  “Hmmm, what?”

  “Nothing. I’m just thinking.”

  I huff. “I didn’t know you were capable of thinking.”

  “Shut the fuck up, man,” Cal laughs. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Just don’t get pissy if you don’t like what I gotta say.”

  I glance over at my friend and teammate before focusing back on the road. “All right. Go ahead.”

  “What I think is you’re a twenty-five-year-old m
an, and you’ve been hiding who you are for the last ten years at least. Am I right?”

  I nod, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.

  “So you’ve been doing everything you’re supposed to do, get a college scholarship playing ball, be the popular guy, pretend to date a bunch of chicks in college and probably high school too. Get drafted, move into the mansion, play hard, break records, win Super Bowls….” Cal pauses to stare at me. “Am I close?”

  “Yeah, so? You could say the same about most of the guys in the league, Cal. It’s not any different from anyone else.”

  “Ah, but that’s the problem now, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” I turn into Cal’s neighborhood, filled with upscale but reasonably sized modern homes.

  “You’re not like any of the other guys in the league. Everything is a lie. Well, not the football, but all the other shit. The girls, the house, the sloppy jock clothes… none of that is you. The real you.”

  I pull into Cal’s driveway and stop next to the garage.

  “What’s your point, Cal?”

  “Something happened since rehab this summer. You don’t have to tell me, and I’m not gonna ask, but I think you’re tired of hiding. You’re shedding the mask one piece at a time. You started by buying new clothes, clothes you probably always wanted to wear but were afraid of people seeing anything but a muscle-headed, skirt-chasing jock. Now you’re moving into a house that fits you. Not the you people expect to see. The real you.” Cal pats my shoulder and opens his door. “When you’re tired of hiding the rest, you let me know. I’ll be there with you, Van.”

  Cal’s words have left me speechless. He exits the car and goes inside, leaving me to mull over what he said. I think about it the entire way home. Once there, I go straight to my man cave slash office, one of the only rooms I can stand being in, and pull out a bottle of whiskey. I down a quick shot and cap the bottle, then put it back in its spot on the shelf.

  Am I peeling back the fake layers? Is this all just a way of telling myself I’m ready to come out? To stop living the lie?

 

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