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He sighs. “The doctors say I should take it easy. Coach Denner says I shouldn’t show my face there. I’m supposed to do my exercises at home and not make any rash movements.”
“Does that mean I have to tie you down in front of the TV today?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Bondage. I had no idea you were into that.”
“Hmm, let’s see what we can figure out tonight.”
I stand, and my hand slips out of Evan’s grasp. “Where are you going?” he asks, his puppy eyes wide open.
Shaking my head, I lean down and kiss him. “I still have to work.”
He lets out a low groan. “My life is a tragedy.”
“Poor Evan.” I pat his head, and he growls.
Laughing, I make my escape; otherwise, my chances of getting anything else done besides cuddling with Evan are very, very slim.
It’s still tough. Hours later, while the pre-game coverage plays on the huge TV in Evan’s living room, I finish writing one last statement.
“What’s going on right now?” Evan asks from his sickbed. “You seem super stressed.”
“No, focused.”
A reporter mentions his name, and we both turn to the screen. They’re discussing his injury and the consequences for the team.
Even though this is exactly my job, it hits different with Evan right next to me. This is about him. The anchor isn’t talking about some random athlete and everything that will affect him over the next three weeks. He’s talking about Evan, his fundamental concerns, his hopes. Only now do I feel the full weight of what shapes his life. He’s a public figure. What other people might discuss among themselves in the privacy of their own homes is reported live in his case. Opinions and analyses from random people who don’t even know him shape his public image.
I, too, wouldn’t presume to know what’s going on inside him.
The pressure to make an authentic decision and live up to outside expectations seems impossible to me right now.
I walk over to him with my laptop. “Right now, I’m researching material on a baseball player who’s going to sit out a series of games at the start of the season because his child is having surgery. In the process, I came across a French rugby player. He’ll miss the opening game against Ireland. He and his wife are undergoing fertility treatment. Of course, people are talking about it, but . . . He’s handling it pretty well and has the support of his federation.”
“And how does that help you now?” Evan turns to me and ignores the screen.
“I’m going through the coverage, the articles, the analysis, the arguments and try to develop a solid line of reasoning for us. Figuring out what works and what doesn’t.”
He looks pensive. “Derek would never allow that. What about the coaches?” Evan shakes his head. “I don’t know what to think about this. But if the association is behind it, everything’s easier probably.”
“It is.” Without thinking, I reach for his foot and massage it.
Evan throws his head back with a groan. “Shit. What am I going to do with Derek?”
I turn fully toward Evan. “If you want to switch management, you know . . . ”
“I know . . . ” He waves it off. “As long as it’s not relevant, I don’t even want to think about it. You won’t get me out that easily.”
There’s so much I want to say. Not just that a career can end solely because of a coming out, but possibly also because of an injury. Also, that it’s always better to run through the possible scenarios calmly rather than waiting until it’s too late.
But I don’t say anything. Evan doesn’t want to hear it right now, and I’m not sure if it’s the social media expert speaking through me right now or his partner.
Evan shifts so that I can snuggle up against him and lie in his arms.
I stay there for the rest of the evening. That way, Evan can’t jump up, even though he wants to. As if he could change the course of the game.
The Monarchs lose for the first time in weeks. Munns, the goalie, gets injured too. At least that’s what he writes to Evan in response to Evan’s message asking why he was pulled.
If Evan was in a bad mood before because he wasn’t able to play himself, he now seems caught in a spiral of frustration and self-loathing.
