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23
Tiller
“Sam, dammit, tell me what the fuck is wrong with him? He won’t even answer my calls.”
I’d completely lost my patience with Mikey. Something was wrong, and he wouldn’t fucking talk to me. I’d almost decided to ditch practice on Wednesday and fly out to Colorado to shake him in person and ask him what the hell was going on. In the end, I forced myself to stay put since I was playing in the game Thursday and my team was counting on me.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t shake down our friend for information. I left Sam a message Wednesday night but didn’t get a call back until I was heading into the Bills’ stadium late Thursday afternoon.
Sam had been busy with a family thing. I knew that, but I couldn’t help but think he might know what was happening with Mikey.
“Tiller, take a breath.” His voice sounded calm the way it always did. Sam was steady like a rock. “And then sit down. Because you’re not going to like this.”
My face started tingling with fear that he was going to impart some terrible news. Teammates jostled past me on their way to the locker room, but I ignored them. “Just spit it out.”
Markus glared at me for taking a personal call this close to the game, but I waved him on ahead. He’d supposedly come to Buffalo to meet with another client of his, but I suspected he was really here in case he had to handle another injury involving his highest-paid asset.
He tapped his smartwatch and tilted his head toward the locker room. I waved him on again without looking up.
Sam sighed. “I’m not supposed to know this, and I sure as hell am not supposed to tell you, but you two fuckers need to get your head out of your asses before you get railroaded by external forces.”
That didn’t make any sense. My head wasn’t in my ass. I was all-in with Mikey. Hell, I’d spent the better part of the week making plans to show him how all-in I was. “How so?”
“He accidentally sent me a text that was meant for someone else. But it looks like maybe his dad is threatening him to make him leave you.”
“Leave m—” I stopped as I realized what he was saying. He didn’t mean quitting his job as my chef and assistant. He meant walking away from the relationship. “How?”
“He told Mikey he would play you injured or possibly trade you. He said he would deny the Riggers’ endorsement of Mikey’s cookbook deal.”
Sudden hot rage came over me. My personal life was none of my coach’s business, but more than that, how could he be such an uncaring asshole to his own son? How could he deny Mikey a chance at happiness?
“Fuck.” I felt like my back teeth were going to crack. I’d never felt so angry at my coach before, and that was saying a lot since he’d bawled me out plenty of times and run me until I puked.
As I made my way down the hallway, I tried to talk myself down from the cliff. Every part of me wanted to find Coach Vining and lay him out.
“Take a breath,” Sam said.
My thoughts pinged around in my head like an exploding bag of Skittles. I didn’t even know where to start. “Why does he even care?” I wondered out loud.
“Optics?” Sam suggested. “That’s all I can figure. I’m not sure what angle bothers him, though. Is it the player with coach’s son thing or the star player being publicly gay thing?”
“But I’ve been out the whole time,” I argued.
“Not the same thing as being in an actual gay relationship. There will be photos of you together. It would mean putting your sexuality in people’s faces. The media would have a field day.”
I lowered my voice as I made my way to the locker room. “The media already has a fucking field day with my sexuality. How is this any different?”
My hands were shaking with the familiar rush of adrenaline, and I knew I needed to calm down if I had any chance of playing well in the game.
“I need to talk to him,” I said.
“Do not confront Coach V. right now,” Sam warned.
“No. I mean Mikey. I need to talk to him. Ask him if this is why he’s been avoiding me.”
“Feeling like you already know the answer to that. Calm down, play your game. Focus on your job right now.”
He was right. I knew that, but I also knew I needed to hear Mikey’s voice. I needed him to tell me he wasn’t going to let his father get in the way of how we felt about each other.
“Okay,” I said finally.
Sam let out a breath and sounded resigned. “You’re going to go off half-cocked.”
“Pretty much.”
