by Eden Finley
Matt: Go outside and call me. Please.
I want to tell him no, but even eight hundred miles away, he has a hold over me that I can’t shake. My eyes go back to the stage. Jet’s in his element, and I’m sure he won’t even notice if I duck out for a second, but I still use it as an excuse.
Noah: Jet didn’t want me to leave him on his big night.
It buzzes impossibly fast.
Matt: He’s killing it, and you know it. I need two minutes. It’s about a public appearance coming up.
I don’t fully believe him, but it does the trick. I’m out of my seat and heading for the exit before the song is finished.
When I find a quiet spot on the street, halfway in the alley beside the bar but still on the sidewalk enough to be mugger-safe, my finger hesitates on the call button.
With a deep breath and a reminder to keep this business and not personal, I hit dial.
“Thought you were going to blow me off.” His voice is sexy and sleepy, and of course, my brain gets stuck on the words blow me.
“What’s this public appearance?”
“Straight to it then, I guess.”
“You promised.”
Matt sighs. “How’s Jet doing? Apart from kicking ass on stage.”
“He’s picked up a job as a waiter, but he hates it. I like it because he brings me dinner when he’s done.”
“Nice.”
The conversation dies an awkward death, and I’m transported to the first few days on the cruise where we didn’t know each other yet and everything was difficult and strained. I half-wish I could go back to then when I was still oblivious to what it’s like to truly be with someone.
Our relationship may’ve been fake, but I’ve never felt anything more real.
And it’s all Matt’s fault.
Fucker.
“I cut my parents off,” he says quietly.
“You what?”
“I took your advice. I’ve set up trusts for the kids, have organized to send money directly to Char, and told my parents they can take whatever I give them or get nothing at all.”
I let out a humorous laugh. Even when Matt’s trying to be mean, he still cares. “How much are you still giving them?”
“Enough to survive. Half of what I was. The rest goes to the kids like I originally wanted.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”
The stupid thick silence grows between us again.
“I spoke to Damon today,” Matt eventually says. “He thinks it’ll be a good idea if you’re there for my press conference announcing my contract with the Warriors.”
“No problem. I said I’d do whatever you need. That was the original deal.”
“Noah—”
“Matt, I can’t do this. I can’t talk on the phone and pretend everything is okay and pretend I don’t miss you like crazy. I’ll do the public appearance, and I won’t have to fake having feelings for you, but I can’t … I can’t torture myself and pretend we’re friends because we’re not. You know it and I know it.”
There’s a pause before he quietly says, “All you had to do was ask me to stay.”
“All you had to do was not leave.”
And there’s the truth. If he’d decided to give up football because he didn’t want that future, that’s one thing, but asking me to make him give it up? There’s a huge difference between the two, but he can’t see that.
As someone who has changed their entire life plan for a guy, there’s no way I’d let him do it for me, and I don’t want to go through that heartache again.
Yet, here you are, an annoying voice reminds me.
“I should get back inside. Jet was super nervous, and he’ll probably freak if he knows I left.”
We both know it’s a lie, but he doesn’t call me on it.
“The press conference is in two weeks. Right before training camp kicks off.”
“Text me where and when, and I’ll be there.”
“Thank you. And thanks for looking out for JJ.”
My mouth is dry, and I can’t bring myself to say I’d do anything for him. And his brother.
I have two weeks to come to terms with the fact I’ll be seeing Matt again. Two weeks to learn something I’ve never had: self-restraint.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Matt
My throat constricts from the tie trying to choke me. I can’t stand still, I fidget like crazy, and then my palms start sweating.
Talon nudges me. “Dude, what is wrong with you? It’s a press conference. You could do these in your sleep.”
“Dude. First openly gay player. You try being in my shoes.”
We’re the only two players being interviewed today. Talon, because he’s a megastar, and me … well, because I’m me. And we’re both the new guys.
Even though this will be my first press conference as the gay guy, that’s not the reason I’m nervous. I’m dying to see Noah, and at the same time I’m dreading it.
I’ll gladly sit through an entire day of media asking inappropriate questions, but facing Noah? I won’t know whether to maul him or keep my distance.
The locker room of Milwaukee University smells like feet and ass but I’d rather be in here than out there. The first time I’m going to see Noah in weeks will be in a room full of cameras.
Talon grabs my arm this time. “Is something else wrong? Is it just the gay thing or—”
I shake my head. “Noah and I are having issues. I …” I contemplate how much I should tell him, but I think I might be having one of those episodes. Like when the paparazzi cornered Noah and I at the cruise ship terminal. Noah called it a panic attack, but I reckon that’s extreme. It’s majorly freaking out. That’s not an attack. “We haven’t spoken since I moved to Chicago,” I admit.
“But that was weeks ago.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Did you break up?”
“No.” The response flies out my mouth on reflex. “Yes? But he’s coming here today to support me, so …”
“No wonder you’re a mess.”
“All I have to do is get through this press conference and then I can beg him to move here or do long distance or … I don’t know.”
“Yeah, the whole football thing kinda sucks for relationships. I had a girlfriend who couldn’t even handle the college level.”
“Not making this any better, Talon.”
“Sorry,” he says.
Coach Caldwell and the GM appear in the doorway. “Ready, boys?” Coach asks.
Hell to the no. “Let’s do this.”
“Want me to hold your hand?” Talon mocks.
“Fuck no,” I say quiet enough so only he can hear.
“Right. Don’t want the boyfriend thinking you’ve been messin’ around on him.”
“Don’t want the media to get ideas.”
“That too,” Talon says.
The coach and the GM lead us through the halls of MU and arrive at the auditorium where a makeshift press room’s been set up. We take our seats at a long table with a microphone and glass of water in front of each spot. The auditorium’s first few rows are filled with reporters, and cameras and lights are directed at the stage.
Vomit threatens to rise in the back of my throat with how many people there are for this, but then I see him. Very back row away from all the press. His lips turn up into a cocky smile, but his eyes are lifeless compared to the shining blue-green eyes I’m used to.
The media circus disappears, their words drowned out by the fact I can’t take my gaze off Noah. Damn, I’ve missed him. It’s only been a few weeks, but they’ve been the longest of my life. I want nothing more than to run up there and tackle him to the ground.
Then I remember our goodbye, and my heart breaks all over again. Yet, I still can’t bring myself to look away.
I’m only able to drag my eyes front and center when they ask Coach the chances of me making it onto the roster this season.
“Ther
e’s no doubt in my mind he’ll dominate in training and come out on top. Unless he’s injured”—he taps the desk twice to touch wood—“you can guarantee Matt Jackson will be on the Warriors’ lineup come game one.”
Yeah, he says that, but he can’t know for sure. I can’t go in there thinking I have this in the bag. It’ll be all the more devastating when I get cut.
My eyes find Noah again, and I realize being cut wouldn’t be the end of the world. It might be the start of mine.
A reporter to the right stands. “Matt, sources say you were offered a contract with the New York Cougars that was worth almost nine times the amount for Chicago. What made you choose the Warriors?”
My heart sinks into my gut, and I freeze up. My brain goes blank because all I can think about is what Noah’s face must look like right now. And as much as I wish I could restrain myself, I spare a glance in his direction. Yup, shock, anger, and hurt are present on his cleanly shaved face. How do I get out of this one?
“It, uh, wasn’t quite that much,” I say into the mic, and my voice croaks as if I’m lying. Which I am. It was more than that but totally not worth the cost of losing Noah.
Then I realize I lost him anyway. Noah’s dad won. And I bet my left nut he was the one who leaked that tidbit to the press. Insurance—I guess. A way to put a wedge in between us.
I stare down the reporter and try not to grit my teeth as I speak. “The Warriors have a great team this year, and I have no doubt that with Jimmy Caldwell coaching, we’re going to make it to The Bowl. I want that championship ring more than I want money.”
I’m either going crazy and can hear Noah’s voice or he actually says out loud You want that ring more than you want me. But when I look in his direction, I know it was my imagination, because he’s gone, and I can’t even chase after him.
Coach takes over for me, talking offensive strategy and how a guy like me is important to the team, but I don’t stop watching the back of the auditorium where Noah slipped out.
A throat clears off to the side, and my eyes go to Damon who also flew in to be here for this. He discreetly points to the exit, silently asking if I want him to go after Noah, and I nod.
I’m going to be stuck here awhile if their next line of questioning is anything to go by. When they ask the GM how he feels about being the first team with a gay player, I want to stab my ears with a butter knife. I knew it was coming, but if I hear that question, or any variation of it, one more time, I might come close to asking all the reporters who they go home to at night and how it affects their jobs.
Damon sneaks back in during the middle of the GM’s speech about team inclusivity and the zero-tolerance policy that means nothing in a locker room. The subtle shake of Damon’s head lets me know everything I need to. Noah’s probably back on his Gulfstream right now, waiting to head back to New York.
Talon sees and reaches over to clasp my shoulder in support. The press will think it’s a move for team solidarity, but it’s because he knows my heart just walked out the door and isn’t coming back.
After being let out of the longest press conference in history and the media files out, I go straight to Damon with Talon on my heels.
“No idea where he went?” I ask.
Damon shakes his head. “He was gone by the time I went out to find him. You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Of course, I didn’t tell him,” I snap. Damon’s eyes dart around the small space to make sure everyone has left. “Sorry,” I say a little calmer, “but what good would it have done?”
“Well, you’d still be together, for one,” Damon says.
“What’s he talking about?” Talon asks.
I stare between him and Damon and then look at the ground. “Noah’s dad bribed me with the New York contract. If I took it, I had to break up with Noah.”
“But you broke up anyway,” Talon points out.
“Because he didn’t ask me to stay.”
Talon’s mouth turns into an O. “Oh.”
“I have to find him and explain why I didn’t take New York.” I go to leave, when Talon pulls me back.
“We have a team meeting.”
“Fuck!”
“You go to your meeting,” Damon says. “I’ll find Noah.”
“And if he’s already on his way back to New York?”
“Then he’s an idiot,” Damon mutters. “Leave it with me.”
I take out a keycard to Talon’s and my hotel room. “Room twenty-five oh seven. If you find him, give him this, and get him to wait for me to explain before he runs off on me.” I turn to Talon. “Let’s get this shit show over with.”
It’s our first team meeting with the entire ninety-man roster and coaching staff to kick off training camp. I doubt they’ll take roll call, and I guarantee some of the veteran players won’t turn up, but they’ll definitely notice if I’m not there. After all, I half-think this could be a test. Let’s see how the team handles the gay guy on day one.
The bar meetup a few weeks ago has nothing on what I’m about to walk into.
We head across campus to the college stadium. With the Damon holdup after the press conference, Talon and I are the last ones to arrive, and all eyes land on us—the two morons in suits. The rest of the team wears their workout gear while they sweat under the afternoon sun. Guess training started without us.
By some coincidence, or perhaps my phobe radar alerts me, I catch Carter’s scowl first up and have an involuntary stare off. It’s broken by Miller and Jenkins calling us over to them.
“Nice tie,” Jenkins says and shoves Talon playfully.
“Hey, careful with the merchandise. Jackson and I are precious.”
“Precious is one word for it,” Miller mumbles.
Talon gets Miller in a headlock. “What was that? Didn’t hear you.”
Coach Caldwell stands in front of us all. “Cut the shit, Talon. Everyone, take a seat.”
It never escapes me that being a football player is a lot like being a kindergartener. We all sit on the turf, while the coaches stand before us like they own us. Nothing reinforces this more than when Coach starts going over the rules.
My face heats, and I know I’m going red, because it feels like it’s all about me. Conceited, maybe, but when management tells us to come to them if they have any issues with other players, it’s not hard to guess they’re preparing for the worst.
As hard as I try to listen to Coach, my mind keeps drifting to where Noah could’ve gone and if it’s too late to fix this. If he’s gone back to New York, there’s nothing I can do. I’m stuck here for the next month.
When the team meeting lets out, I’m hopeful Damon’s found him, but there’s a text on my phone from Damon saying he’s handling it and to go to the hotel and rest up. I don’t know if it’s my agent or my friend telling me to do that, but I read it in a serious tone, because there isn’t any question about it. It’s an order.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Noah
Damon: Where are you? And if you say New York, I’m going to kick your ass.
Guess it’s time to face the music. The music being Damon chewing me out for leaving Matt in the middle of a press conference, but can he blame me?
With a few drinks under my belt, I decide to return the calls and messages Damon’s sent in the last few hours. As soon as I got out of that auditorium, I was lost. Both physically and mentally. I walked aimlessly around campus and around Milwaukee. No surprises here: there is nothing to do in Milwaukee. So that’s how I landed my ass on a barstool at six p.m. That was two hours ago. I haven’t moved since.
Noah: Don’t get your balls in a twist. I’m at a bar. Google gay bars in Milwaukee, and I’m at the first result. Can’t remember the name now. Something about asses.
It takes a few minutes for his message to come through.
Damon: Are you seriously at a bar called Nuts and Butts?
I snort.
Noah: Yeah, that sounds about right. Thought it was funny.
Damon: Don’t move. I’m on my way.
Noah: Yay!
Damon: Even in text, I know you’re being sarcastic.
Noah: Me? Never.
I’m in that glorious level of drunkenness where I still have all my motor functions but I don’t give a shit about anything, which means I’m ready to face Damon. He needs to give me some fucking answers. He knew about the New York contract, and I want to know what the hell is going on.
Matt had the chance to stay in New York, yet he still chose Chicago. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t care if Chicago is a better team than New York. The fact of the matter is, he had a chance to stay with me and have football, and instead, he chose his career—and a pay cut—over the possibility of us. It also means his bullshit plea to ask him to stay was an empty gesture. He knew I wouldn’t do it, and he was going to leave no matter what.
It’s all bullshit.
Nathaniel chose money.
Matt chose football.
When is someone going to choose me?
My eyes catch on a tall blond guy making his way toward me. His burning blue gaze travels over my arms and chest and then back up to my face as he cracks a smile.
Oh yeah, he’d choose me. At least for a night.
He leans on the bar next to me. “I’m Lennon.”
Wow. He isn’t even trying with the fake name.
I give him a quick nod. “McCartney.”
His smile becomes tight. “Yeah, never heard that one before.”
“Huh?”
He pulls out his wallet and shows me his ID. “My name really is Lennon.”
I stare at the ID and wonder if it’s fake. That’s taking anonymous hookups to an extreme though. “Did your parents hate you?”
He laughs, and it’s deep and rumbly. “I still give them hell for it. When they complain I haven’t visited in a while, all I have to say is ‘You called me Lennon.’”