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AVERY
Three Weeks Ago
“I take it you know why you’re here?”
My gaze lifts from my lap, where it was trained on my interlocked fingers to keep from fidgeting. Too bad all it’s actually achieved is making my hands clammy with a cold sweat while I’ve been sitting here, silently waiting under the penetrating scrutiny of Foltyn College’s Dean.
Dean Ian Marshall.
Also known as one of the few people in the world who is capable of scaring me as shitless as I am right now.
“The photo, sir,” I manage past the knot the size of a baseball lodged in my throat.
“It’s more than just the photo,” Dean Marshall says, the deep timbre of his voice leaving little room for debate. “It’s your intentions behind your actions that are the issue. Something I think you’re all too aware of.”
More cold sweat seeps through my clothes as his words slice through me, and it’s only now when I realize the true gravity of what I’ve done. By having the photo of Keene and Aspen kissing added to Keene’s slideshow shown on the scoreboard for Family Night, I might as well have signed my own death sentence. Or at least the death sentence of my baseball career.
My silence is drawn out too long, and it must make him impatient, because the frown-lines creasing his forehead deepen. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? Any reasoning behind your actions?”
Plenty.
But coming out with them now, especially to the Dean, will only look like a last ditch effort to keep from being punished.
Self-preservation calls for me to lie instead. Tell him I didn’t do anything with malicious intent, and do my best to salvage what I can from the wreckage I’ve caused. Too bad for me, the truth is plain as day, and lying about it now would only serve to dig myself an even deeper grave than the one I’ve already begun to bury myself in.
What I can offer Dean Marshall is the truth. Or as much of it as I’m willing to share.
“I regret my actions, sir,” I start, doing my best to keep my voice steady. “They were done out of anger and spite during a moment of blind rage. It wasn’t premeditated, and looking back now, I see just how wrong I was to act on those impulses.”
“Only looking back on it? Not when you were in the middle of digging through your teammate’s phone or sending a personal photo to knowingly be broadcasted on the scoreboard in front of thousands of people?”
I already knew this meeting had a very high likelihood of ending poorly; no doubt with my baseball career being a thing of the past. But the bite in his tone creates a sinking feeling in my gut I can’t shake.
This is so much worse than just losing baseball.
My jaw ticks, and I clear my throat. “As I said, sir. I was blinded by rage. I didn’t think about the repercussions my actions would have on anyone involved.”
“No, you didn’t. Because if you had, I’d certainly hope some form of common sense would have led you to pause and think about what you were doing. The way it would not only reflect on you, but the damage it would cause your teammate to be outed so publicly.” His eyes take on the same hardness his tone already possesses. “And then, thanks to cell phones and technology, videos were taken and the whole thing went viral on the internet within hours.”
I wince, already more than aware of the fallout my actions have on my teammate, Keene. Aspen too, though I don’t really give a damn about that dickhead. Keene is who I care about. Or cared, I guess. Even if I had a funny way of showing it by outing his and Aspen’s relationship.
It’s not one of my proudest moments, and God knows I’d take it back now if I had the chance. But that’s the thing about hindsight, right? It’s always twenty-twenty.
Not waiting for a reply or more excuses, Dean Marshall continues laying into me.
“Of course, on top of the havoc you’ve wreaked in Mr. Kohl and Mr. Waters’ personal lives, there’s also the reputation of the baseball program, and even this university, to think about.”
My heart crawls up into my throat, becoming nearly impossible to breathe around. I choke on it as I cough out the word, “Sir?”
“I’ve had parents calling and emailing since the incident. Hundreds of them, especially those with students in the LBGT community here at Foltyn. They’re all demanding action be taken.”
My brain snags on his last sentence as more fear and regret crashes over me in waves. They pull me under, lock and chain themselves around my ankles until I might as well be drowning in them. At this rate, letting them take me forever might be preferable.
Wetting my lips, I murmur, “I can’t begin to apologize for what my actions have caused, sir. It was foolish, tasteless, and uncalled for, and had I thought ahead to the way it would make others in the LGBT community feel, things never would have escalated this far. I can assure you.”
Dean Marshall studies me, surely looking for a crack in my sincerity where I know he’ll find none. Because, on top of hurting both Keene and Aspen and possibly screwing myself out of a future here at Foltyn, I’ve become the one thing I never dreamed of.
My father.
