by Eden Finley
“I have Ava’s phone number—the PR rep,” Lennon says.
When I cock my head at him, he shrugs.
“We’ve kind of become friends.”
“Give me the number.” Damon’s voice is authoritative, and this is exactly why I knew to hire him the moment I met him. “Then get a flight to New York, and I’ll call you.”
“Are you still in Boston?” I ask.
“Nah, Maddy and I drove back last night after the game. Stay off all social media just in case, try not to draw attention, and I hate to say it, but maybe you guys should go separately to the airport. I dunno if you’re coming out and announcing your relationship, but you don’t want to add fuel to the fire before you can tell everyone yourselves.”
Way to put the pressure on something that’s too new to define for real. Yesterday, I may’ve called him my boyfriend, but as Lennon was quick to point out, it’s too early for that. I also don’t know how telling everyone we’re dating will affect Lennon’s career. In all this time, I’ve never even asked if he was allowed to get involved with an athlete he reports on.
“Think about it,” Damon says when I don’t say anything. “And if there is any paparazzi, always say no comment. It’s going to be okay.”
I don’t know if I believe him, but I want to. Matt won the Super Bowl the same year he came out. Surely, this won’t hurt my career too much. Maybe.
“What about my editor?” Lennon asks. “He’ll probably call again.”
“Don’t answer,” Damon says. “Only answer my calls, and we’ll speak soon.”
Silence descends as Damon ends the call, and now I’m the one avoiding eye contact with Lennon.
I need to wrap my head around the prospect of this actually happening. Years of trying to avoid this moment all comes down to a single photo and a rumor.
That’s kinda fucked up.
As per Damon’s instructions, Lennon and I leave the hotel separately and head for the airport in different cars.
I go home first to return my parents’ car and to get my charger and grab my shit to go back to my place in New York.
Ma and Dad look worried as they drop me curbside for the flight.
“I need to go to New York to talk to my agent, guys. It’s not a big deal.”
Yeah, I’m back to lying to my parents. If this comes down to press conferences and a media circus, I’ll give them a heads-up, but I don’t want to worry them for no reason or get Ma excited about the possibility either. If there’s a way out of this, I’m sure as hell going to take it, because this isn’t the way I wanted it to happen. Not by a long shot.
“I’ll be home in a few days. I might catch the game while I’m there, and hang out with Len—uh, Clark.”
Lennon thinks it’s hilarious my family won’t drop the name, but I find it hard to remember. He was only Clark to me that very first night I met him. In the six months following, he was the random guy who gave me hope, and now … now he’s the guy I want to have a future with if this doesn’t all blow up in our faces.
I’m about to invite the whole world into my life, and I don’t know two things: one, whether Lennon would be up for that, and two, if he even wants to continue this in the first place. We both travel for work, and unless he gets assigned to my team every year, our schedules are gonna clash. All I know is I want to try, and once this mess is over, whether I come out or not, I’m gonna make damn sure he knows how much I want to try. I think there will be a lot of naked time in the convincing process, and if that’s what it takes, then I guess I’ll have to be okay with that. It’ll be such a hardship.
I manage to get on the same flight as Lennon, but it fucking kills me to walk past him at the gate and pretend I don’t know him. It hurts even more when I glance back and see this complete and utter look of remorse on his face.
I sit across from him, a few seats down from where he is, and take out my phone. Shit. Still dead. When I move to a seat in the corner beside a wall with a power outlet, I feel Lennon’s burning gaze follow me.
The phone takes forever to power up, and my leg bounces while I wait.
Me: I wish I could sit with you right now. I want to hold your hand.
Lennon: Is that another Beatles joke?
Me: No, I just really want to touch you. After these last few days, I can’t imagine not touching you again.
There’s a pause where he stares down at his phone before he starts typing. With how fast his fingers move and how long it takes, I’m expecting more than the two words that come through.
Lennon: Me too.
I don’t know what to think of that. Especially when he refuses to look up at me.
Me: You look like your cat died. Most guys would love their … boyfriend type person to come out for them.
I watch for Lennon’s response as he reads my message, but when his eyes meet mine, he scowls.
Me: Too soon to joke about it?
Lennon: It will always be too soon. I may have fucked your career.
Me: My career will be fine.
Lennon: I may have fucked MY career too.
Me: Are there rules against us being together?
Lennon: No. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t know how it’ll work for a male reporter in a same-sex relationship with an athlete, because it’s never happened before, but for women, they’ve been discredited in their “biased” articles and hardly get any work.
Fuck. We’ve been so focused on my career we didn’t discuss his. I’ve been selfish in the past about my obsession with hockey, but I’ve never felt as bad about that as I do right now.
Lennon doesn’t make eye contact again, and I know this because I don’t take my eyes off him until the flight is called.
Being in first class, I board early, and then I sit and watch every person get on the plane, because I need Lennon to acknowledge me as he walks by. A smile … something.
When he appears, something warms my gut, and a sense of desperation takes root, but all that’s squashed when he walks by without even looking at me.
All I want to fucking do is talk to him, Damon and the media be damned.
I get the sinking feeling this is more than Lennon feeling guilty over possibly, maybe, ruining my career.
If my private life is going to be splashed all over the media, I want to at least have something to look forward to. But maybe he doesn’t want that life. He said his family are private people and want him to hide who he is. Maybe some of that has rubbed off on him. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t want the media breathing down my neck either, but that’s the career I chose. Lennon didn’t choose to be on this side of it.
The entire flight to New York, I keep overthinking everything. From what the media knows to what Lennon’s thinking and everything in between.
And when we land at JFK and find Damon waiting for us, I know for certain all my overanalyzing was for nothing because whatever’s going to happen has already begun.
Damon greets us with a grim smile. “Ava’s getting a hold of the GM and coach, and we’re meeting them all at the arena.”
Yup. There’s no stopping this.
I will not vomit. I will not vomit … Okay, I’m probably gonna vomit.
Chapter Twenty-Four
LENNON
I’ve been trying to remain calm this whole time, but I’m about to freak the fuck out.
This is too much. Too much pressure, too fast, too … everything.
Ollie needs to not take me into account. If he makes his statement today and then we don’t work out, how much resentment will he hold toward me?
Ollie didn’t take this step with Ash for a reason, and after a few months of back and forth between us, and two days after we hook up, he’s being forced to face the media.
Two days.
It’s like the universe really does want to cockblock us, because this can’t end well. He comes out, he’ll resent me for putting him in this position. He stays closeted, we’ll be constantly paranoid about being found ou
t.
My head is screaming at me to leave. Get out now before I make the same pathetic mistakes adolescent Lennon made, but I’m too far gone for him to let go.
When we arrive at the arena and head through the back corridors to the pressroom, Damon heads inside, but Ollie pulls me back.
“Are we cool?” he asks.
We haven’t spoken since before we left Boston, because I basically don’t know what to say to him. Everything is on the line. For both him and me, but right now I’m only focused on what it could mean for Ollie.
I finally find my voice. “Don’t do this for me.”
“What?”
“If you get a chance to squash the rumors in there, take it.”
Ollie lets out a loud breath. “I’m so fucking confused. I had one guy who pushed me to do this, and now another who doesn’t want me to do it.”
“I want you to do it for you.”
“A bit late for that now, isn’t it?” The bite in Ollie’s voice makes me step back.
“I can’t handle being the one who got you outed when you’ve been able to keep it a secret for six fucking years. I don’t want to be responsible for ruining your future.”
Ollie looks confused. “That’s your issue? This is in no way your fault.”
“You say that now, but—”
His arms go to my shoulders, and he steps closer. “I will never see it that way.”
It’s hard to believe that when he’s caught up in this moment where he has no choice in the matter.
“This isn’t the way I wanted this to happen, but now that it is, we can only look forward, and when I see my future, I see you.”
My breath catches in my throat. “How? We both live out of suitcases, our schedules are nuts, we don’t have anything in common except for our love of sports even though hockey still leaves something to be desired—”
Ollie kisses me and kisses me hard. My back pushes against the brick wall of the cold corridor, and when his tongue pushes into my mouth, I moan.
When he finally lets me up for air, he whispers against my lips, “That’s how.”
I stare up into his eyes, unable to find the ability to fight his flawed logic.
His giant hands cup my face. “We’ll take this one step at a time. I know there’s shit we both have to work out in terms of our careers, but you’re the only person who’s ever understood me, and it’s not you who’s pushing me over this line. It’s the media. I want this. Us.”
I want to accept what he’s saying so badly that I hold onto the tiny wisp of hope he’s giving me and kiss him again.
“Oh, thank God.” The voice comes from the entry to the pressroom, and as Ollie steps back, the coach appears in my line of vision. “I was sure it was gonna be a drug or prostitute problem. Maybe a DUI.”
Ollie huffs a tiny laugh. “No, sir, just your run-of-the-mill homosexuality.”
The coach waves him off. “The league’s been preparing for this day, because you’re certainly not the first.”
“Just the first foolish enough to get caught?” Ollie’s light tone doesn’t match the sad look on his face.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” his coach reassures him.
Ollie takes a deep breath and holds my hand. I don’t stop him.
Inside the pressroom, there’s no media yet, but all the key players are here. The GM, the coach, Damon, and Ava.
She’s on the phone in the back of the room, pacing behind the chairs set up for people in the press.
The GM leans against the long table at the front where the players and coaches sit during conferences. “We thought we’d sit down first and talk about what you want to happen here and how we go about it.”
Ollie’s hand tightens on mine. “I really don’t know. I’m a little out of my element.”
“Ideally, we would’ve told the rest of the players first,” the coach says. “But they’re scattered all over the country now.”
“Ideally, I could’ve come out after we won the Cup, but that didn’t happen either,” Ollie says.
“Next year,” the coach says with resolve.
“None of this is ideal,” Damon says. “But what do you want to get out of it? Are you telling them your whole life story about knowing you were gay when you were five years old and painting a picture of a lifetime of secrecy, or are we going the whole ‘it’s not a big deal’ route? Are you announcing to the world you’re gay or introducing them to your partner?” He gestures to me.
“I’m not part of this,” I say before Ollie can respond. “I can’t be. This has to be Ollie’s thing.”
Damon nods in understanding, but he seems to be the only one. Makes me feel like a dick, but there’s no time to explain myself. This is about Ollie.
Ava approaches, now off the phone, her lips pursed together. “Can I ask where you got your sources from about Ollie being outed?”
“My coworker at Sporting Health,” I say.
“Did he mention Ollie’s name?” Ava asks, her tone cautious.
I try to recall. “I answered the phone, and his first words were ‘Ollie’s gay, isn’t he?’”
Ava glances down at her phone and then back at me. “Are you sure about that?”
“What’s going on?” Damon asks.
“I’ve been calling around some other friends in PR. Rumor mill is circling around New Jersey and what happened during the game last night between Sorensen and Healy.”
“So, there’s a chance this isn’t happening?” Ollie asks, his face alight with hope.
I shake my head. “I don’t get it … he said the article is ready to go.”
“But not Ollie’s name specifically?” Ava asks.
“I …” I feel all eyes on me. “I … I don’t know. I saw the article about us, and then got the call asking if Ollie—” I remember now. “Kevin never said Ollie. He said he. He’s gay. Who else could he have been talking about?”
“Well,” Ava says, “as of this morning, Kip Healy is on suspension, and Caleb Sorensen isn’t. There’s talk of a press conference happening in New Jersey, and the unconfirmed rumor is they got into a fight over Sorensen’s sexual orientation. Is it possible your coworker got a scoop on that story?”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish. Fuck, not only did we screw up in public, but now I’ve made him come out to his complete management team?
“Call your editor,” Damon demands. “Now.”
It takes a few seconds for me to make a move, but when I finally do, my hands shake. My fingers tremble as I pull up my contacts and hit dial.
“It’s about time you called me back,” Harry growls into the phone.
Like Damon asked, I’ve been avoiding my phone calls.
“Did Kevin tell you I’m not confirming anything?” I ask.
“Why the hell not? It’s your job to report, so be a damn reporter.”
“It’s not my job to out athletes, and I won’t help you do it.”
Four pairs of eyes burn into me, but I don’t know how to ask who he’s talking about without giving Ollie away.
“I thought we were better than that,” I say.
“If we don’t report on this, someone else will, and they’ll get the online hits and revenue.”
Harry’s always been interested in numbers and hits and generating money for the magazine, but he’s never, not once, asked me to write an article or publish an article that could be considered tabloid-y.
“How did Kevin find out anyway?” I ask.
“Are you admitting you already knew and never said anything?”
“I already told you I’m not going to be a part of this.”
Come on, come on, come on, give me a name.
“Sorensen outed himself when Healy called him on his shit and the gloves came off.”
A relieved breath leaves me in a whoosh. “Gotta go. Bye.” I can’t end the call fast enough, but when I’m met with the expectant stares from everyone in the room, I feel about two feet tall. “Uh … s
o, it’s not Ollie.”
All the shoulders in the room sag and relax.
“Thank fuck,” Ollie says under his breath, but then he lifts his head. “Who is it?”
“It is Sorensen. What Ava said seems to be the story. Healy somehow found out Sorensen is gay and taunted him or whatever. Maybe provoked him on the ice.”
“Would explain why Healy’s the one to be suspended when Sorensen threw the first punch,” Ava says.
Damon reaches for Ollie, who’s staring at the floor. “You okay, man? This is over. Done. You don’t have to do this anymore.”
Ollie looks like he’s going to vomit though. “Yeah. I do.”
He still wants to come out?
“Why?” I ask. “You said you weren’t ready, and this is your out.” I told him to take the out.
Suddenly the pressure is back, sitting on my chest and dragging me down.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think I am ready, but after today, with this close call … I know I need to take control if I want this to come out the way I want it to. And I know if it was me being the one forced out today, I would kill for someone to stand behind me and say ‘me too.’ I can’t let Soren do it on his own. It’s lonely enough as it is in this industry.”
The admiration I have for Ollie grows, and I have to do everything in my power to remain standing a few feet away from him instead of what I really want to do, which is go to him and wrap myself around him.
Damon claps Ollie on his shoulder. “Then let’s do this.”
“I’ll call Jen, the PR rep for New Jersey, and set something up.” Ava holds up her phone and walks over to her pacing spot at the back again.
“You’re sure?” the GM asks Ollie.
Even though Ollie’s still pale, he nods.
“Then we’ll do everything we can on our end to make sure this is as smooth and painless as possible for you.”
So hard not to blurt out “Just like losing your virginity,” but now’s not the time for jokes.
Chapter Twenty-Five