Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
In the tiny video, Gavin charged from his Rover to the Nissan. He proceeded to yank the driver’s door open and wrench the driver out. There was a brief exchange of snarled words, but the meaning was lost to the wind and the surrounding traffic. What was apparent was that the other guy was talking a lot of shit, if I judged by the speed of his lips and the scowl on his face.
Shouted words flew back and forth, but all I could hear was the guy saying “—sell it to someone who wants to pay,” right before Gavin pushed him against the side of the car. The guy responded by punching Gavin with flailing fists multiple times. It was a mistake. Gavin, who was contorted by such anger that I couldn’t imagine what the guy had done to trigger it, drew blood with a single hit. If I judged by the end of the video, when Gavin pinned the guy with one hand and watched him fumble with his phone, I’d guess the guy had taken a picture of something damning.
“Jesus,” I said. “Does anyone have any idea what was on the phone?”
“No. They didn’t say.”
“Odd.” I frowned. “If he was trying to blackmail Gavin, you’d think he’d have brought it up.”
“Yeah, but either way, you can see he’s dangerous. Who knows how he could fly off the handle? Fucking bully.”
“Dad, the guy hit him first. Multiple times. The way everyone talks about it, it’s like he mauled the dude.”
“He’s a professional athlete!”
“And he was being attacked! I’m not saying he should have fought, or that he should have chased the guy down, but I’m also not gonna say he was fully in the wrong until I know the entire story.” I grabbed my backpack again. “I’m going to ask him about it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Noah.”
“Well, I’m not going to just come up with theories on my own. I don’t know Gavin very well, but the idea of him randomly charging after some guy just for kicks literally makes zero sense. There was something more going on there. I’m not going to crucify him based on one side of a story devised by people who already hate him. There’s more to him than that.”
Dad’s face had gone from protective to dawning with horror. “Noah.”
“What, Dad? I have to go.”
I stepped out the door, but he grabbed my arm. “Don’t do this again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His face colored. “You damn well know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t do this to yourself again. The same thing that happened with that scumbag you worked for last time—”
“Oh my God. Seriously?”
“Yes,” he said, voice rising. “Seriously. This is always what happens. You see something soft and admirable in the men you work for—”
“Dad, there is nothing soft about Gavin Brawley.”
“Oh, really? Then explain why you’ve been talking so much about the look on his face when he talked about that kid? Or his past in the foster system.” When I grew quiet and looked away, my father’s voice grew urgent. “I know you. You fall for two types—people who either have the same passion for change as you do, or people with hard stories and rough pasts. And I will tell you right now, young man—Gavin isn’t that person. His past shouldn’t make you forget what he is. You can’t change him or save him, and I hope you’re not going to fall into this same hole again!”
By the time he finished his rant, I wanted to fall into a pit and never come out. And not one with Gavin Brawley. One that would hide the humiliation of realizing all my past relationships, the ones I’d tried so hard to keep private because I’d never wanted my parents involved in my love life, had clearly been analyzed and discussed.
“Have you been talking to Mom about me?”
“Yes,” he said, unapologetic. “And we’re both concerned.”
“Nice. That’s really great, Dad.” I pulled away and stepped out the door. “Well, you can tell her not to worry. Gavin Brawley is a heterosexual football player with zero interest in a broke gay boy from Queens.”
“That doesn’t change you getting invested in—”
“I’m done. See you on the weekend, Dad. I’ll call you later.”
He didn’t call after me as I stormed down the hallway and towards the stairs, but I was sure I’d be receiving several text messages later. The worst part was that I didn’t know whether to feel humiliated or insulted. Like Gavin, my own parents believed I had a habit of falling for men I worked for or with. But unlike Gavin, they seemed to think I would be foolish enough to think I could have any influence on Gavin’s lifestyle or personality. The only thing I’d influence in the next few months were where he ordered food from online, his response time to fan mail, and an Instagram full of workout porn.