Trick Play

by Eden Finley

  “Shit, don’t quiz me. It was a fluke.”

  Matt laughs. “Jethro’s the nineteen-year-old.”

  “Where does he go to college?”

  “He doesn’t. I offered to pay for his tuition when he graduated high school, but he’s determined to be a musician.”

  “So, he’s come up from Tennessee and didn’t tell you he was coming? Why didn’t he call?”

  “He won’t have my number. My parents made it clear I wasn’t allowed near my siblings anymore. They all disappeared from Facebook. My parents blocked me. I tried setting up a fake account and adding them, but they never accepted. Which is fair, I guess. I don’t really want them adding random strangers, but I had to try. My parents probably monitor their accounts too.”

  “That’s … extreme.”

  “Nah, that’s homophobic parents for you.”

  “Why do you think your brother’s trying to find you?”

  “I dunno. It’s a lot of effort to go to when he didn’t know if he could get a hold of me. I’m trying to not jump to conclusions, but I’m thinking something bad happened.”

  I don’t say it aloud, but one good thing about Jet making an appearance is Matt’s not freaking out about his meeting anymore.

  As soon as we hit the reception area of OnTrack Sports, a slim but toned guy in a T-shirt, skinny jeans, and chucks stands to greet us. My eyes immediately trace his intricate tattoo sleeve on his right arm. His hair is long and shaggy but is the same shade as Matt’s. A duffel bag and soft guitar case sits on the floor next to him, and if Matt hadn’t said Jet was a musician, I would’ve walked right past him in the waiting room. He’s cute but looks nothing like Matt.

  “Jethro.” Matt goes to hug him but pulls back at the last second as if thinking better of it. “What are you doing here?”

  His brother doesn’t have Matt’s hesitance and brings his older brother in for a hug. “Hey, bro.”

  “What happened?” Matt asks.

  “What do you think? Same thing that happened to you.”

  “Huh?”

  If Matt can’t tell his brother is gay, I seriously have to question his gaydar.

  “I’m gay as all get out, dude.”

  Matt’s mouth drops open, and I laugh at how adorable he is. “Since when?” Matt asks.

  “Uh, don’t know if you’ve seen the studies, but pretty sure I’ve been this way my whole life. But I’m guessin’ you either mean when did I figure it out or when I came out. The answers being fourteen, when I saw you and that guy making out when you thought no one was home, and—”

  “You were spyin’ on me?” Matt’s accent comes out thick, like Jet’s. And yep, still love it.

  “Not in a creepy way. I walked in, saw it, walked back out, and then realized kissing a guy was an option. I hadn’t considered it before then, and I knew both of us would be in shit if I said anything. Also, that guy is married now. To a woman. But I’m pretty sure he’s on Grindr. He has a tattoo on his ribs, right?”

  Matt’s eyes find mine, but he quickly looks away.

  Jet continues his rambling. “As for coming out, it was at a family dinner two nights ago. They were goin’ on and on as they do, but it’s been a hundred times worse since you came out. Char wants to talk to those reporter guys sniffing around because she wants the money, but Mom and Dad lost their shit over it, and then that began their ranting about gays burnin’ and we’re to pretend you were never born or existed. Don’t talk to them dang reporters and embarrass the family. Wah, wah, wah. I was over it, and I had to get out of there. When they asked where I was going, I said ‘I’m gonna go set myself on fire.’”

  Matt scoffs. “You didn’t.”

  “Oh, I did. To be fair, I didn’t think they were smart enough to get it. Probably should’ve tried to play it off like I was joking, but I didn’t want to lie anymore. Dad gave me five minutes to pack everything and get out.”

  “Sorry,” I say stepping forward, “but can we go back to the reporter part?”

  Jet’s eyes meet mine and then trail down my body. “Ah, the boyfriend, right? Senator’s son. Apparently, you’re a big deal.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. Then he turns to Matt. “When you rebel, you really rebel. Gay and with a black guy?” He laughs. “You should’ve seen Mom and Dad’s face when they saw that in the news. It was awesome.”

  “The reporter?” I push again. It can’t be good if they’re going after Matt’s family now.

  “Y’all don’t need to worry about them,” Jet says. “Mom and Dad won’t talk. The only one who might is Char. She’s about ready to pop, and she’s livin’ in a trailer. She needs the money, and these guys are offering a lot. One of them approached me in the bar I play at and offered me ten grand to give ’em the scoop.”

  “Did you give them one?” I ask.

  “Have you seen an article about my brother quoting me as a source? Do I look like a sellout?” There’s the attitude Damon was talking about.

  Matt’s eyes dart around the small office area and speaks low. “Can you tone it down? These people are in charge of my career.”

  Jet throws his hands up in mock surrender.

  “And why does Char need money?” Matt asks. “I send you guys money.”

  Jet looks confused. “Uh, no, you don’t.”

  “What?” Matt growls. “I send our parents eight grand a month. Have done since I was drafted.”

  “We’ve never seen any of that money,” his brother says.

  I see the moment it all clicks in Matt’s brain.

  “What the hell do they spend that much money on?” Matt asks.

  “They still go to the track a lot. Like every day. Dad retired as soon as you made it to the NFL, but—”

  “He said he lost his job.”

  “Are you really that naïve?” Jet asks.

  Matt grits his teeth, his jaw hardening, and I can’t help reaching for him, but then a door opens leading to the offices, so I step back.

  “Done with the family reunion yet?” Damon asks. “We have an offer for Matt.”

  I can understand what Matt means by Damon not being overly excited over the fact. There’s no smile, no enthusiasm behind his words.

  “Want me to come with you?” I ask.

  Matt shakes his head. “Can you stay out here with Jethro?”

  “Jet,” Jet says. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jet.”

  “Sorry, JJ,” Matt says.

  “That’s even worse,” Jet mumbles.

  I don’t miss the shock on Damon’s face when Matt kisses my cheek before heading into his office, but I’ll deal with that later. I’ll say Matt’s keeping up appearances. For his brother’s sake. For all I know, that’s the truth.

  Jet sits on the couch next to his guitar and eyes me again.

  “JJ, huh?”

  “Don’t even start.”

  “Jethro Jackson. Sounds like a country singer.”

  “We live like an hour outside of Nashville. What do you expect?”

  “And … you need a place to stay?”

  “Yeah. I was hoping to stay with Matt, but I guess if what the tabloids are saying is true, that means I’ll be staying with you.”

  “Are you going to follow him wherever his contract takes him?” It’s none of my business what this kid does, but the fact of the matter is, Damon said he has an offer for Matt, and I’m projecting my own question onto Jet. Unless it’s a New York team or on the East Coast, I’ll never see Matt. The thought of him moving across country makes me feel sick, and I realize I don’t want him to leave.

  “I don’t know what my plans are yet,” Jet says. “I’ll get a job or try to get a booking agent while I’m out here. Maybe follow Matt if I have to, but I don’t want to live off him like our fucked-up parents.”

  “Matt and I will help you with whatever you need.”

  Jet narrows his eyes, and it takes a second for my own words to sink in. My head’s not with it today. It’s spouting fan
tasies of shit that’s not real. Matt and I aren’t real.

  And the outcome of this meeting may cement that. I need something to take my mind off it.

  I turn to Jet. “Tell me your story.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Matt

  “Chicago,” Damon says, his tone serious and not at all comforting.

  Easy decision. “Done. The Warriors may not have seen a Super Bowl in over ten years, but they always go far.” Geographically, Chicago might suck, but it’s what, a two-hour flight? Noah has access to a private plane …

  Don’t take your fling into consideration. Football is the goal.

  Damon glances at his partner and then back at me. “You haven’t heard the details. The contract. It’s … not good.”

  “They’re lowballing me because they know no one wants me?”

  “They want you,” Damon says. “They’ve been calling constantly, chasing after you. But they’re bound by the salary cap. It’s a one-year contract with the promise of renewing with a bigger salary and longer contract if you do well throughout the season … if you even make it through training camp cuts.”

  I lean forward. “How low is it?”

  He slides a piece of paper over to me.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? That’s like … an undrafted entrant kinda deal.”

  “It’s not ideal, but it’s not that bad,” Damon says. “They’ve offered you basically everything they’ve got. They have a few veterans on their last year, and that’ll open up a whole heap more money if they choose to renew you next season. You can go home and think about it, but there’s no doubt that they do want you. And they’re not lying about the salary cap. We checked. We thought they might’ve been trying to get you on the cheap in case the team decides they don’t want to play with a gay guy, but it checks out. The GM insists your sexuality won’t be an issue. He’ll make sure of it.”

  “Bullshit. There’s always money somewhere. If they knew I hadn’t secured a contract by the end of last season—”

  “Your renewal with the Bulldogs was supposed to be a given, and the Warriors just scored a new QB.”

  Shit. I had read that. “Marcus Talon. Super Bowl champ two years ago. He’s worth every penny they pay him.”

  “You don’t have to take this,” Damon says.

  “But it might be your only shot.” Of course, the old dude has an opinion on it—take whatever they’ll give me because I’m lucky to get a contract at all.

  He might have a point.

  “I can’t help thinking if this was offered to a straight guy with a scandal under his belt, it would be considered insulting, but I’m supposed to suck it up.”

  “Something else might come,” Damon says. “The Warriors aren’t expecting an answer until training camp. The GM knows it’s a long shot, but he wants you. The coaches too. I’ve heard from nearly the entire management team.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  My feet propel me out of the office at a faster than normal pace. I tell myself to keep going before I do something I regret like tell my agents to fuck off or, worse, accept the shitty contract.

  “Babe?” Noah says as I bypass him and my brother and head for the exit.

  “We’re going,” I bark. I push the call button for the elevator harder than necessary, but it doesn’t make me less frustrated.

  “What happened?” Jethro asks and slings his guitar strap over his shoulder.

  “I thought Damon said he had an offer,” Noah says.

  “He did. For about a fifth of what other guys with my stats get.”

  “Ouch,” Noah says.

  I turn to my brother. “You coming with us?”

  Jethro averts his gaze as he admits, “Got nowhere else to go.”

  “I’ll look into getting a hotel—”

  Noah squeezes my hand. “He’s cool to stay with us. I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you,” I mouth.

  The elevator dings, and the three of us pile in.

  “So, what’re you gonna do?” Jethro asks.

  “I don’t know.” My tone is defeated. I’m defeated. Maybe retirement is my only option. I’ll become one of those guys, and people will continue to believe gay men don’t belong in sports.

  Or I could swallow my pride, ignore all the shit that’ll be thrown my way, and accept the offer that’s beneath my worth. Isn’t that as bad as retiring though? Admitting that I’m worth less because of my orientation?

  Fuck that.

  But it’s football, I remind myself. And the offer is still more than what most people make in a year. If I turn it down, my income will be zero until I work out what I want to do without football.

  “Is it this or nothing?” Noah asks.

  “Dunno yet, but probably.”

  We hit the parking garage and cram into Noah’s BMW. With Jethro’s duffel and guitar taking up most of the backseat, my brother has to somehow fold himself in half to fit.

  “Lucky we didn’t bring the Lambo,” Noah says. “Where was the offer for, anyway? You never said.”

  “Chicago.”

  Noah stiffens but hides it with a fake smile.

  Jethro leans forward between the two front seats. Somehow. I really don’t want to contemplate my brother’s flexibility right now, but what the fuck?

  “The Warriors? Take it,” my brother says. “Now they have Talon, they’re gonna go to The Bowl next season, for sure. They’ve spent the last few years building their offensive line to kick ass.”

  “Football fan?” Noah asks.

  “Our whole family is,” I say. “We were raised on it. We were even quizzed at the breakfast table on highest stats in the league, teams tipped to win the Super Bowl before the start of each season. Dad is a freak when it comes to football.”

  Noah opens his mouth to say something but hesitates.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Are you sure you enjoy it? I mean, it sounds like it was forced on you. It’s all you’ve known. Maybe you should try something else you could love just as much. Maybe even more.”

  “You don’t know Matt well, do you?” Jethro asks.

  “Umm—”

  I stop Noah from answering that. “I don’t expect you to understand. You hate the things your family has forced upon you. Public image. Politics. Money. I was lucky enough to love what my father forced on me. If I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t do it. I’d be a skinny ass like Jethro but doing something worthy like designing buildings instead of plucking a guitar.”

  “Hey,” my brother complains.

  I try to hide my smile. I’ve missed giving my brother hell. He’s four years younger than I am, so he was the easiest target. Char gives as good as I do, and it seemed mean to pick on the younger ones. The thoughts of my siblings remind me of the ugly news Jet gave me before my meeting. None of my brothers and sisters have been given a cent of their money.

  “So, when you say you haven’t seen any of the money …” I turn to my brother.

  “I mean, I haven’t seen any of that money. No other way to put it, is there? Yeah, Mom and Dad fed me and gave me a bed, and with four of us kids still living at home, that can’t be cheap, but my guitar, my car—which I gave to Char when I got on a bus to New York—everythin’ I own is because I paid for it from working at the movie theater.”

  “You still work at the movie theater?” I ask. “You got that job when I left for college.”

  “Yup. Well … worked there. I should call them and tell them I’m not coming in this week. Or ever, if I can help it. I’m so done with that town. I understand why you never came back.”

  “You can stay with me as long as you want,” I say. “And not going home wasn’t by choice. Mom and Dad told me to not bother, and I was never offended by it because I didn’t want to be there just as much as they didn’t want me there. Thought I’d turn you. Guess they were right.”

  Jethro snorts. “Yeah. You totally turned me gay, bro. Better watch out for Wade. I bet we both gave h
im the gay cooties.”

  I shouldn’t laugh. The morons that are my parents probably think that’s actually true.

  “If they should worry about anyone, it’s Fern. She’s super butch for a fourteen-year-old, and she’s on the softball team.”

  “Way to stereotype, JJ.”

  He knees the back of my seat. “Don’t call me that, asswipe.”

  “Sorry, Jethro.”

  Jethro smacks me over the head, and I laugh.

  “Thank God, I’m an only child,” Noah mumbles.

  “How I wish you could’ve taken Noah home to Mom and Dad,” Jethro says. “It would be like my birthdays and Christmases all in one seeing their racist, homophobic heads explode.”

  Noah reaches for my leg. “I might love your brother.”

  “Just wait. By the end of the week, you’ll want to kill him,” I say.

  My brother hits me again. “I would protest, but Matt’s probably right.”

  A month ago, I was alone in the world. Sitting here with my brother and a guy I’m beginning to care for, I realize I have people in my corner. My heart sinks at that thought because, with it, the weight of my decision becomes heavier. Now I have a brother to support and the potential to walk away from Noah with a broken heart. Or maybe break his.

  I examine Noah’s face as he drives, taking in his easy smile and relaxed posture and know I can’t break his heart when he’s not open to letting anyone inside it.

  Which means the only one open to getting hurt is me.

  I pace Noah’s living room, listening to the same message I got when I tried to call Char after I was outed.

  The number you’re trying to call is unable to be reached.

  “They move fast,” I say. “They’ve already canceled her phone. Probably bought her a new one with my money.” I thought they blocked my number, but after trying with Jethro’s phone earlier, I decided to try from Noah’s. That’s not working either.

  “Nah, they would’ve just bought a new sim card with a new phone number,” Noah says.

  “Not the point.”

  “Did Jet say he had Char’s baby daddy’s number?”

  “And I’m just supposed to call some random guy and be all ‘Hey, I heard you knocked up my sister. Can I talk to her?’”