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I'm surprised by how bad I want to cry. Right here. Right now. My own mom just...doesn't fucking want me the way I am. Doesn't see the value in me. As a gay man. Even though, apparently, my mom is fucking bi or gay herself. There's so many other people that wouldn't accept me either, if they knew the truth, and some of them might be on this team.
My throat is stinging, my eyes feeling sore as fuck and blurry, when my phone rings.
Millsy. Oh fuck, is something wrong?
"Hello?" I murmur.
"Hey, angel. Can you do me a quick favor?"
"Yeah. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. Are you okay? You sound a little off," he murmurs.
"I texted my mom. I'll tell you later. What can I do for you?"
"Right behind you,” he says, “there's this bathroom. Behind you and to the left, but when you turn around, it'll be on your right. You think you could slip off in there?"
I can't breathe, and now my eyes are really blurry.
"Are you there?" My voice sounds too high.
"Yeah." He laughs. "I'm in here. Come let me give you a hug and tell you that your mom's a tragedy, a fucking loss, but nothing more than that, and nothing personal. If I were her son, she wouldn't accept me either. You know?"
"I'm glad you're not," I manage as I swallow, glancing toward the bathroom.
I find Miller standing in a stall, a big, sly grin on his face and his ball cap turned around backwards so his dark hair is pressed against his brow. He’s got a look in his eyes that morphs from happy and sly to sad and then concerned when he looks at me for a second.
"Hey, angel." He wraps me in a bear hug, pulling me against his chest. He shuts the door, and his lips move over my hair. "You smell good. And feel good.” His hands rub my triceps. “Fuck, I'm glad I hopped the one before you."
"Deceit," I tease.
"I wanted to surprise you. Welcome you here."
"Thank you," I rasp. I press my cheek against his warm chest. "I just broke up with my mom. Over text."
"Oh, shit. What happened?"
"I sent her a picture of us. Told her I'm happy. And she said she’ll never approve. So I said...I don't want to talk to you. And I signed it your forever gay son, who loves Josh.”
I look at him, and my eyes are leaking just a little. He wipes my tears with his sleeve.
"That's gotta feel like shit."
I nod, looking down at our feet. "Not as much shit as what she did last year, though. Anyway, I did what Greeley said. What felt right to me. I don't want her in my inbox anymore."
"You gonna block her?"
I nod. I show him the message first.
"I love this picture," he says. I hug him tighter. He looks and feels so good in his gray fleece jacket.
"Me too,” I murmur. “And you know what? I don't care. I gave her a chance I didn't have to give her, and she didn't take it. And I knew she wouldn't. She's...a fucking zealot, I guess. Also, I didn’t tell you this, but I found romantic letters in a drawer of hers—ones from another woman—last time I was at her house. So part of what she did to me, was…about her."
Miller hugs me. "Fuck, that’s intense. We’ll have to talk about it later, when you’ve got more time.”
“No we don’t. I’m over it with her. Let’s talk about the two of us.”
Mills kisses my cheek, and then I have to get back to the team. We're staying at a Hampton Inn for the next two nights—got the whole place rented just for the team. We've got practice tomorrow, a dinner tomorrow night, and the next morning off, and then a rest night at the hotel, followed by game day.
Maybe I'm a simp, but I think that schedule and the isolated hotel mandate fucking sucks.
It takes that whole night and most of the next day for me to get my head in the game, as they say. But then I'm focused, and I feel more peaceful. I feel fucking lucky that I get to do this. Get to play in Pasadena. Playing in the Rose Bowl is a dream come true.
The morning we have some free time, Josh and I go to the beach and lie in the sand. I put my head in his lap, and he plays with my hair.
"How are you feeling? About tomorrow?" he asks.
"Really good. I'm gonna play like it's the last time I play football ever."
"But it won't be. Next year, I'm gonna be in the band section for every game. I looked at my tickets for this game here and I'm pretty close this time, too. Row eighteen."
It makes me feel good, knowing he’ll be so close. “I’ll look for you. Blow you a kiss.”
