Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Excuse me, what?” he replied loudly, over the music that vibrated up through my feet and into my chest.
“I’m not into it. It’s not you; it’s me.”
“No shit it’s you. Way to get me excited for nothing.”
Well…he was a bit of an asshole. Not that I could blame him for being upset, but it did make me feel less guilty for not being nicer to him myself.
Just as I took a step backward, I heard, “Holy shit. Are you Cullen Atwood? Can I have your autograph?”
I closed my eyes, knowing I was well and truly fucked for the second time today, only this one wasn’t nearly as fun as the bathroom with Houston.
It was all a blur from there, camera flashes going off as I made my way through the club. I managed to lose them on the street, my fingers shaking while I ordered a car service.
I should go to a hotel, or the airport, but I didn’t, letting them drive me to Charity’s place. She’d left the small town we’d grown up in and moved to the city a few years back. My heart was beating with such strength I could hardly hear my own thoughts. I wondered if that might be a blessing since I knew all they were going to do was tell me how screwed I was.
Charity had given me a key, which I used to let myself in. I took off my shoes and made my way to my twin’s room. The apartment was dark, but the lights from outside shined through the window, giving just enough illumination that I didn’t add a broken toe to my already shitty day. She was wearing a Cincinnati T-shirt and pajama pants. She always swapped her favorite team, depending on where I was at the time. Cincinnati likely wouldn’t last.
I climbed onto the mattress, the bed shaking and making her eyes flutter. “I thought you weren’t going to make it tonight?”
“I fucked up, Chair-bear.”
She cursed quietly before turning on the lamp on her nightstand. “What happened?”
“I went to a gay bar, started hooking up with someone, then people figured out who I was, and I left.”
“What the fuck, Cullen! You dumbass! Why would you do that? You know I’m a hundred percent in favor of you coming out publicly. This world fucking sucks that it should be something you have to worry about, but there’s a smart way to do it, and that’s not it! Howie is going to lose his fucking shit!”
That was my agent, and yep, she was correct. I fully expected him to blow a gasket. “Probably not as much as my coach, team, and the team owner.” Because none of them knew my secret either, and they sure as shit wouldn’t be happy they hadn’t been able to prepare for this.
“What were you thinking?” she asked, her voice full of concern. Jesus, I didn’t know what I would do without her. She had a strained relationship with my family since they’d shunned me, but it was hard because they were still her parents, and our brother, Caleb, had kids whose lives she wanted to be a part of. When my dad died, it was even harder for her to bail on Mom and Caleb—not that I’d ever ask her to.
“I saw Houston today,” I admitted. Her hazel eyes softened even more. They were the same as mine, only the green in hers wasn’t as bright.
“Shit.”
“We might have hooked up.”
“Because if you’re going to screw up, why not do it spectacularly?” she asked.
“You know me.”
Charity sighed, pushing her blonde curls out of her face. “You dumbass.”
“You already said that, and I can’t help it.”
“Did you have to hook up with him, though?”
“The twink or Houston?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. She shook her head. “I went to the bathroom, he followed. He didn’t have to come. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
“Even when it only hurts you?” she asked.
Yeah…even then. Charity didn’t need my response to know the answer, though.
We had just lost our third game in a row—one in the preseason and the first two of the regular. Things were a mess and had been since Houston fucking McRae had left me in the bathroom that day months ago.
I was officially outed, though I wasn’t totally sure if I could consider it that way since I’d known damn well it could happen when I’d walked into the bar that night. I was pretty sure part of me had wanted it to happen, to pretend like I’d taken the choice out of my own hands.
The Cincinnati organization hadn’t been happy. They’d spun it as if they were only pissed because I hadn’t told them first, that I hadn’t at least trusted my team and coach with the information and let everyone come up with a plan on how best to navigate my coming out, but I knew that wasn’t the truth. It was just another Cullen Atwood fuckup. Another way to show I wasn’t a team player. Since I’d kept it from them, I obviously didn’t trust the guys out there with me every night. Another scandal that seemed to follow me around from team to team, according to all the sports outlets. And yeah, those things were true, but I also knew they didn’t want to deal with a queer player. That they’d likely wanted to trade me before all that shit had gone down; they just didn’t have a lot of options.