The Quarterback

by Mackenzie Blair

Matt traded spots with him to get under the spray. “Given it that much thought, huh?”

  “Yeah, I guess I have,” Trevor replied. “I’m heading out there to interview at the start-up after Christmas.”

  “No shit.” Matt wasn’t sure how he felt about Trevor already moving on and so far away. He knew graduation was coming, but until now, it hadn’t felt real.

  Trevor nodded. “The business is small but growing fast. They’ve got a lot of video games they’re going to launch next year. Sounds like a cool place to work. Not as uptight as the traditional consulting firms, and I sure as hell am not going into banking.”

  “Even if the bankers all looked like Leo?”

  “DiCaprio?” Trevor asked, scrunching up his brow. “Not my type.”

  Matt swatted him on the ass. “Hey! He’s blond and blue-eyed. Screw you.”

  Trevor shut off the water and grabbed their towels. “He’s old and squishy. Plus, I like to date jocks. It’s always been my fetish.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Matt snapped back, but he was smiling. He wanted more days like this. He didn’t want it to end.

  He realized he was now thinking about graduation and after. Damn, he really needed to think about applying for jobs. But who the hell had time with football?

  Matt unlocked the door and stepped outside. And realized someone was there. He slammed the door behind him, blocking Trevor from sight, keeping him hidden. He prayed it wasn’t someone he knew, but dread was already forming in his gut.

  He looked up and saw that it was O’Donnell leaning against the sinks. Of course the bastard would be back at Trevor’s dorm. And the bastard looked pissed.

  “What are you doing here?” Matt tried to sound normal. “These dorms are empty.”

  “I’m staying in my girlfriend’s room while she’s away. And it looks like you’re staying with your boy toy.”

  Matt gulped. Oh shit. Deny. Deny, deny, deny. “What?” he asked, trying to look genuinely confused.

  “For fuck’s sake, Matt, it’s not a soundproof door. Jesus, you’re boning that pretty boy!”

  “What’re you talking about?” Matt said, pushing past O’Donnell to escape. He had to brazen this out. No other option. Not with O’Donnell. Because O’Donnell would tell Fischer. And Fischer would go to the dean.

  But when Matt hit the hallway, he realized he had nowhere to go. Trevor had locked the door behind them. He was so screwed.

  Matt turned back to face his doom and saw that O’Donnell was dangling Trevor’s keys in his hand. “Let’s go,” O’Donnell commanded.

  He pushed past Matt, and headed toward Trevor’s door. Matt stood paralyzed in the hallway outside the bathroom.

  Trevor opened the door, peeking out. “What do you want me to do?” he whispered, looking a bit sick to his stomach. Matt probably looked the same way.

  “Stay here,” Matt said.

  And then Matt followed O’Donnell into Trevor’s room. As soon as the door closed behind them, O’Donnell whirled on him in a rage. “This is fucking insane, man. We saw you at Homecoming with Jocelyn. You banging both of them? Or are you a puff through and through?”

  “Watch it,” Matt growled.

  “The hell I will,” O’Donnell roared. “You shut this shit down, or I’m going to Coach.”

  “Are you blackmailing me? You’re such a bigoted fucking bastard!” Matt shouted back, clenching his fists. Damn, he wanted to beat the hell out of this guy.

  “Oh, is that right?” O’Donnell snapped, looking up as if asking for divine intervention. “Listen here, asshole, I want to win Nationals. You may not want to go pro after this, but I do. That’s my shot. So, keep your dick out of his ass. If the dean finds out, you’re done. And we’re screwed without you as quarterback.”

  Matt stared at him. “Willing to play with a fag as long as you win? How fucking noble.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Matt, don’t be a drama queen. I hate the dean as much as you do, but he’s offering to pull some strings, okay? Get scouts to consider me. I need football. I need it. I’m not good at anything else. I’m barely passing my classes. So yeah, I’ve sold my soul to the devil. And . . .”

  “And . . .” Matt urged, confused as hell. What was O’Donnell talking about? He hated the dean?

  “It makes me feel like shit, okay?” O’Donnell said, suddenly slumping in defeat. “I hate the things I’ve said . . .”

  “You do?” Matt was utterly thrown. “Then why the fuck do you say them?”

  “Partly because of Fischer. His family, like, pays for shit that I can’t afford,” O’Donnell admitted in a small voice. Matt almost felt sorry for him. It reminded him of Trevor, trying to make ends meet however he could. But O’Donnell wasn’t done. “And I have to keep Dean Warner off my back, okay?” O’Donnell added, dejected.

  “Why is he on your back in the first place?” Matt asked.

  “He saw me holding hands with my boyfriend last summer.”

  “He what?” Matt felt the world spinning off its axis. This was all kinds of wrong. He’d clearly slipped on the tile in the bathroom, hit his head, and this was a hallucination. But the hallucination just kept talking . . .

  “Malik and I both have a lot to lose,” O’Donnell explained.

  Malik, Matt thought. His boyfriend’s name is Malik?

  “He’s in the military,” O’Donnell continued. “He doesn’t want to be out to his unit. And you know the dean, he looked ready to murder me. So I lied and told the dean we’d been praying, holding hands for his buddy who died.”

  “Is this a prank? Are you punking me?” Matt actually looked around for hidden cameras.

  “Oh, shut up. You think I like spilling my guts to you?” O’Donnell snapped, sounding tortured.

  Matt finally looked at him. Really looked at him. The guy was freaking out. This was real, very real. And the more Matt thought about it, the more he remembered just how close they’d been freshman year. One night, after their first game, they’d snuck back onto the field, not to get drunk or pull a prank or anything, just to take it all in. As they’d sat on the fifty-yard line, O’Donnell had promised to have Matt’s back once he made it to quarterback. Not if, but when. That had meant a lot to Matt back then.

  O’Donnell had been cool; they’d been buddies.

  There was also that one time he’d almost thought O’Donnell had been checking out his ass . . .

  “You did check out my ass after the West Alabama win freshman year,” Matt accused. “In the showers.”

  This caused O’Donnell to stop his nervous pacing. “Really? That’s where you’ve landed?”

  “Sorry, it’s a lot to take in,” Matt defended. “Go on, keep explaining. I’m starting to believe you.”

  “Well, the dean bought my praying story enough. He believes I’m this devout Baptist. Now I have to go with him to church every Sunday. But he was still watching me like a hawk, so when Fischer started going off on his rants . . .”

  “You went along with the homophobic remarks,” Matt concluded. ”Did you have to pick on Jamal?”

  O’Donnell rolled his eyes, and with his guard down, the arrogant asshole face removed, he seemed totally . . . different. More like a big hulking teddy bear.

  “Have you seen how much pussy Jamal gets?” O’Donnell replied. “He was the best target I could pick. Besides, we were hazed harder as freshmen.”

  “Shit, I’m still in shock over here.” Matt sank onto Trevor’s bed. “Talk about an unexpected twist, man.”

  “Yeah, well, you can worry about it later. But you’ve gotta back off your guy. I’ve heard others make comments in the locker room.”

  “You sure you didn’t start those rumors?” Matt countered.

  “Have you been listening at all? We all saw what went down at Homecoming. You looked like you wanted to hurl when you said Jocelyn was your girlfriend. And you never have sex with women. Ever. Your boys’ bragging ain’t fooling anyone. The guys notice.”

  “Wa
it! Is that why you have a girlfriend? As a cover? Does she know?” Matt exclaimed.

  “She’s a lesbian.” O’Donnell shrugged. “We don’t fuck, we just pretend to. Her parents are crazy conservative.”

  “What?” Matt shouted, flopping back onto the bed. He rubbed his hands down his face, trying to process all this. “You are really good at this subterfuge, man. Give up football and join the CIA.”

  Because seriously, he would have never guessed in a million years.

  “Did you always know I was gay?” he asked, wondering how he could have been so clueless.

  O’Donnell shook his head. “I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure until the frat party a few weeks ago. I saw the way you looked at him.”

  “How did he look at me?” Trevor asked from the doorway.

  They both whirled to face him.

  Trevor shrugged unapologetically. “I was eavesdropping.” He entered the room and shut the door behind him. “So, how did he look at me?”

  “With disgusting, lovesick eyes,” O’Donnell replied. “Except when you danced. Then it was obvious he just wanted to tap that ass.”

  Trevor met Matt’s eyes for a moment. Lovesick. Yeah, it was true. But they hadn’t said it to each other yet. And now . . .

  “Listen,” O’Donnell said. “I know this sucks. But I’m telling you, people are starting to wonder. Jocelyn’s been telling everyone it was all a publicity stunt. You’re not as slick as you think you are. Nor are your boys. Seriously, they really think the guys bought you having a threesome with two cheerleaders?”

  “I am the quarterback,” Matt replied defensively, a bit annoyed for his straight alter-ego.

  “Yeah, and you were playing it like you were saving it for a girl back home. Better strategy, man. But it’s too late now. Look, if I caught you, someone else will too. We’re in the Championships. You’ve got to end this shit. At least until the end of the year.” O’Donnell held Matt’s stare for a long moment before turning to Trevor.

  “Sorry, man,” O’Donnell said to Trevor. “For a lot of shit. But Lancaster’s got an entire team to think about. A Southern Division II college is not ready for a gay quarterback. And I’m worried—I’m worried the team might turn on him.”

  Matt knew he wasn’t wrong. Some of his teammates might be cool, but there were enough who wouldn’t want to play with him, at least not right away. Even if the dean let him keep playing, if his teammates didn’t cover him on the field, he could get seriously injured.

  “Think about it,” O’Donnell said. “I need you to win the National Championship. A lot of us do. Don’t let us down.” And, with that, he headed out.

  Trevor and Matt didn’t speak for a long time. Trevor just turned to his closet and quietly got dressed, pulling his long wet hair back into a ponytail.

  “Do you use a hairdryer?” Matt asked for some stupid reason.

  Trevor shrugged, not looking at him. “Sometimes.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” Matt said, hearing his voice crack. Oh shit, he was not going to cry. But O’Donnell was right. Continuing was too risky if there were already rumors.

  “I know,” Trevor replied quietly.

  “I think we need to cool it, you know, just for a little while. I didn’t realize people were talking. And the dean’s watching the team so closely, watching me. He’s just sadistic enough to find a way to fuck me out of my scholarship if he found out I was gay. And I think my dad’s seriously overextended, so if I lose the scholarship . . . I’m screwed. I’ve got to graduate, Trevor. I’ve got to. I want out of here so badly.”

  Trevor turned, and Matt almost crumbled when his boyfriend took him gently in his arms, kissing his neck. “I know, babe, I know. It’s okay.”

  And then Matt did let a few stupid tears fall. Because, fuck, it wasn’t fair. He was happy, finally happy. He almost felt like a normal college kid, and he was so over football and hiding and stupid Bodine college politics.

  Trevor was going to get out. He was going all the way to California. To San Francisco, for god’s sake. But Matt felt trapped. So trapped. He had his sisters to think about. His dad could retaliate against him through them. He couldn’t risk that. It was all so damn unfair.

  Trevor just held him, stroking his back, until Matt finally calmed down. Then Trevor gently pulled away, stepping back a few paces. “So . . . maybe I’ll see you in the new year,” Trevor said quietly.

  “Trevor . . .” Matt whispered, not sure what he could say.

  “Or do you have spring training or something?”

  Matt jerked his head in a nod. He’d be expected to help train the sophomore that would be taking over for him. “Maybe it won’t matter so much then.”

  Trevor gave a forced smile. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see how it goes. You just worry about winning the Championship.”

  Matt turned away and quickly dressed. He didn’t want to see Trevor crack, because then he’d probably throw away everything—his scholarship, his team—just to keep holding on to him.

  And Matt couldn’t do that. Too many people were counting on him. He quickly slipped on his shoes and sweatshirt. Then he strode over to Trevor, who actually leaned away from him. Shit, that hurt. Matt took a shaky breath. “Look, this isn’t over. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Matt, after spring training, it’s graduation,” Trevor said firmly. “Which is a little too late. Will you even come out then? Once you’re out of here?”

  “I—I don’t know. Look, you don’t get it. I have a family and—”

  “I had a family!” Trevor snapped back. “And I chose myself over them. I chose the truth over being afraid. Have you ever even considered fighting? You could sue the shit out of them if they took your scholarship. Which they wouldn’t. They need you to win. You could actually do something for other gay players by coming out.”

  “I don’t want to be the poster boy for gay athletes,” Matt shouted. “Jesus, none of it’s worth the risk. I just keep my head down—”

  “And your dick out of my ass. Yeah, I get it, Matt,” Trevor snapped, then he stalked over to open the door. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter,” Trevor said with a small laugh. “We’re young. It wasn’t meant to last anyway. Let’s just end this now.”

  Matt stepped back as if he’d been hit. How could Trevor just dismiss them like that? Like this was some youthful experiment?

  “Are you for real?” Matt asked.

  Trevor looked him dead in the eyes. “Yes. I never should have broken my own rules. I don’t date closet cases. It’s over, Matt.”

  Matt realized in that moment he really did love Trevor. Because it felt like his heart was breaking in half. He was going to fucking lose it all over again if he didn’t get out of there. Crumble into a million pieces.

  “Whatever you want,” Matt managed to spit out, and then he left, leaving his shattered pride and broken heart behind.

  Matt’s dad had catered Thanksgiving dinner and invited a very wealthy couple from the country club, the Reynoldses, to join them. They were old money. Their only son was skiing in Switzerland, which thrilled them as he was dating some woman whose father was an international banker. More money for their coffers. Matt could practically see his father salivating.

  His sisters sat across from him, dutifully dressed up in festive attire, pushing the green bean casserole around on their plates. They hated green beans. His father knew this.

  Matt had managed to zone out, wallowing in his misery as his father pontificated on a hedge fund he was recommending.

  “Isn’t that right, son?” he heard his father say.

  Matt looked up. “Pardon?”

  “Bodine’s going to win the Championship, isn’t that right?” Mr. Reynolds repeated, helping him out.

  “We hope so, sir,” Matt politely responded.

  “Why in heavens aren’t you playing for a Division I school?” Mrs. Reynolds asked, fingering her pearls.

  “Just didn’t work out that way, ma’am. And I wanted to
stay close to home.” Close to his sisters.

  “But he’ll go to the pros,” his dad assured them.

  “Dad, you know I’m not interested in playing professionally.” Matt grit his teeth. How many times had they talked about this?

  “Why not, dear?” Mrs. Reynolds asked, and he wondered when his father had enlisted her to his side.

  “I’m not good enough to lead a team in the NFL. Warm a bench maybe, but rarely play.” It was true, but it wasn’t the main reason he wasn’t interested. He wanted to be able to live his life without scrutiny.

  “You’d get paid a lot of money to warm a bench,” his father said firmly.

  “Not interested,” Matt replied just as firmly, staring down his dad. He wanted to say more, wanted to lose his shit on his materialistic dad, but it would only make matters worse, so he held his tongue.

  “Well, girls,” Mr. Reynolds said, jumping in, as if sensing the tension. He was certainly much nicer than his wife. “Where will you two be headed next year?”

  “The University of Alabama,” his father answered for them. Close by. Not too expensive.

  His sisters exchanged glances, then Summer nervously set down her fork. “Actually, we’ve been accepted to a few places. Carnegie Mellon, Vanderbilt, and um, UC Berkeley.”

  “What?” Dad practically growled, putting his Scotch down with a thump. ”You’re not going to any of those places. All you need is an MRS degree.”

  “Dad,” Matt replied. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not ridiculous. They can’t hack it at one of those schools. Just look at them.”

  So what that his sisters were pretty? They could be pretty and smart. Matt gritted his teeth as Mr. Reynolds cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  “You two are rather beautiful. You could nab someone quite special,” Mrs. Reynolds chimed in. “Don’t you want to meet a nice, successful man and settle down?”

  “Actually,” Hope said, spearing a piece of turkey with vengeance. “I’m going to be a biochemical engineer.”

  Summer smiled next to her. “Computer programmer.”

  “This is absurd,” their father said, pinching his nose. “You’re going to school in state. I won’t pay for you to go elsewhere. You’d just get into trouble or flunk out or both.”