Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Coach jerks his gaze my way, staring sharply at me. “And yet you’re all playing sloppy today. Gee, I wonder why? Half of you were parading around on-stage last night for dates.”
Are we supposed to live, eat, and breathe football twenty-four-seven? “That was a charity fundraiser. The owners wanted us to do it. We did it for sick kids.”
“And yet you still need to show up for practice like it’s a game.”
“It’s practice,” I repeat. “We don’t always have great practices. No athlete does.”
“But you should. I ask for one thing. Focus and excellence.”
Well, if we’re splitting hairs. “That’s actually two things,” I point out like an asshole. But fuck him. I’ve had enough.
Coach steps closer, breathing fumes on me like a drill sergeant in a war flick. “You want to correct me, McKay? You want to keep on doing that? Go right ahead. You’re the most distracted of them all, with your show, your media bits, and your archrivalry. You better not let it distract you in the postseason. You hear me?”
I seethe, wanting to rip him to pieces, but I hold back. He’ll blow his fuse in, oh, twenty minutes when I tell him I’m seeing Beck.
Better to leave something in the tank. “Yes, sir,” I say.
“Hit the showers, go home, study the playbook, and be ready for Sunday. We can still get home-field advantage in at least one game in the postseason. Maybe two.”
He marches off the field, leaving us to chew on his cruel words.
In the locker room, the mood is sullen. This would be the worst possible time to jump on a bench and shout, “Hey, remember me? Your gay quarterback? Guess what? I’m in love with the bi quarterback across the city.”
Gritting my teeth, I take a quick shower and then change at my stall, keeping to myself as I consider a new plan of action.
Nate’s next to me, and he catches my gaze. “You okay?”
I just nod. He knows Beck and I got back together. I told him before practice. He knows too, I planned to tell the team now.
“Tomorrow works just as well, buddy,” he says, reading my mind.
“Thanks,” I say, exhaling at last.
As I zip up my jeans, Andre comes over to me and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for that. You know I have your back,” he says.
“I know you do, man,” I say, trying not to get choked up.
Emotions can suck it.
As Andre retreats to his stall, Elroy swings by. “Some people are just never happy, Jaybird,” he says sympathetically.
“Truer words,” I say.
I grab my polo shirt and tug it on, resigning myself to telling them tomorrow. Today is all wrong. As I’m about to go, I check my reflection in the mirror in my stall. I’m wearing the sky-blue shirt I wore to the photo shoot.
When Beck confessed he knew all my shirts.
It’s just a shirt.
Like the eggs were just eggs.
Like the coffee was just coffee.
But they aren’t just anything. They’re everything, and every boba tea, and every meal, and every night I spent with Beck drove me to where I am today. When I leave work in a few minutes, I’m going home to see my boyfriend, and if I want to go out to dinner with him tonight for the first time, I will.
Beck is worth it. I’m worth it.
I turn around and clear my throat. “I have something to tell all of you.”
Across the room, Xavier turns and meets my eyes with curiosity. The guys on the D-line look at me. Devon buttons up his shirt but angles his head my way.
“You guys may not like this, but I’m okay with that. You’re going to find out sooner or later. I’m in a relationship with Beck Cafferty, and I have been for most of the season. If you have any issues with that . . .” I stop myself. What am I offering them? A forum to discuss their issues? No way. It’s my fucking life. No one gets to decide who I love.
I reroute my impromptu speech. “If you have any issues with it, so be it. That’s life. I’m here for you every day, and every time we hit the field. Who I love has nothing to do with that.”
Nate grins so big I swear he’s going to break out clapping. I know he’s not on my side because he’s gay. He’s on my side because he’s a friend, and I’m damn grateful for that.
But when I stare down the line of my teammates, I have no clue what any of them are thinking.
Elroy’s eyes are wide. Johnson blinks. Orlando’s face is impassive. Devon frowns like he’s trying to do complex math in his head.
Andre breaks the silence. “That’s cool, man,” he says with a smile.
“Thanks,” I say, and he’s only one other guy, but his support is a lifeline right now.