The Right Words (28 page)

“Uh, I don’t know, Bran.” I caved when I saw Brandon’s worried expression. “I’m—okay fine. Let’s go.”

There was no way to stop Brandon sometimes, and tonight I simply didn’t have the energy.

W
EST
H
OLLYWOOD
on a Saturday night was raucous, vibrant, and colorful. Beautiful boys and hunky men of all shapes and sizes. It was a feast
for the eyes, and Brandon was obviously in his element. He was dressed in a tight pair of red pants he assured me were jeans, not leggings, and a super snug white T-shirt with something vaguely inappropriate scrawled on the front. I went for a more conservative pair of form-fitted jeans and a striped dress shirt. I could tell my friend wanted to suggest I change into, well… less, but he held his tongue and led the way to the first hot spot on his agenda that
night.

Monty’s was what Bran referred to as “adorable.” It was a quaint little bar in a Spanish-style hacienda tucked in between a posh restaurant and a popular coffee shop. Celebrity sightings were a regular occurrence and not something the regulars got too excited about. Unless it was someone super special, like Cher. The plan was to get a cocktail here before heading to a club down the street. I followed Brandon to the bar and stood aside while he ordered for us.

The bar was packed, so I moved back toward the high bar tables nearby to get out of the way and turned my attention to the crowd. There were a couple of men sitting off to the side talking animatedly as they pointed to the flat screen nearby. Probably some football game, I guessed. The American version. I looked toward the bar hoping to catch sight of Bran when I noticed another couple of men gesturing to something on television. After what I’d seen earlier, I wasn’t in a hurry to watch anything on TV, but curiosity got the better of me when the skinny twinks next to me dressed in tight, colorful clothing started gushing and gesturing toward the screen.

It was ESPN. Ugh. I’d managed to avoid it my whole life. And suddenly it was everywhere. Why now? And at a gay bar? This wasn’t a sports bar catering to a gay clientele, either. The universe was conspiring against me. I was about to turn away when I saw his name. Only his name.

Michael Martinez.

My heart jumped into my throat. I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t. What was wrong? What happened? Was he okay? Did he get injured again? I wished I didn’t care, but it was useless to pretend I didn’t. I had to know what was going on. I stepped up to the table closest to me and offered what I hoped passed as a friendly smile to the three men sitting there.

“Hey, what are they saying about that soccer player? Is he okay?” My voice sounded high and off, but these guys didn’t know me.

One of them gave me a suggestive once-over and an overly friendly grin. “Want to join us, honey?”

“Uh, I’m… my friend’s at the bar. What’s going on?” I pointed at the screen again.

“Some soccer player just came out.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s a big deal. He’s a local guy. He was just about to sign a contract and decided to come ou—hey, where you going?”

I stepped away from their table just as Brandon returned from the bar.

“Here you are, sweetie. A berry vodka martini. Drink up!” He tried to hand me the drink but turned when I wordlessly pointed to the television.

This time there was a photograph of Michael in uniform. It was true. It was him.

“Holy fuck!”

I blinked and refocused when I overheard someone say “interview with out soccer player.” The bar was loud and though I could hear sound from the speakers, it was difficult to make out. Luckily there was a newsfeed at the bottom of the screen and verbiage for the hearing impaired. I walked a little closer to the nearest flat screen, grateful Brandon was at my side. He shoved the martini in my hand before he too turned his attention to the television.

“In a statement issued by the team president, Victor Guzman, Mr. Martinez was ready to return for the upcoming season after making a recovery from a torn ACL. His contract was up for renewal, and the thirty-three-year-old star player was set to re-sign with his team. We take you now to the previously recorded press conference with Michael Martinez.”

I could hear Brandon sweet-talking the bartender to please turn up the volume, but I didn’t take my eyes from the television. Michael was giving a press conference? It all seemed so surreal. The picture switched to a banal-looking room with a podium. Light bulbs flashed and a general air of confusion permeated for a few moments. And then it went quiet as Michael took his place behind the microphone. My heart stopped. He looked so incredibly handsome and very fucking tired.

“I’m a soccer player. I’m a teammate. I’m a son, a brother, an uncle, and a friend. I’m also a gay man. I have been proud to be all of these things, but I haven’t been open about the last. I don’t want to hide who I am or whom I love anymore. I don’t want to lie by omission. I want to live a life of truth in the hopes that I can be an inspiration to a younger generation of minority kids who love a sport, love their families, love God, and also happen to love someone of the same sex.”

Michael looked up from his prepared statement and cocked his head as though listening intently to a question. Then he nodded and looked directly into the camera.

“I was told I only had a few minutes to give my statement. No Q&A. But I’m going to take the one from the guy in the back who asked if I’m currently in a relationship. The answer is… yes, I am.
Es tan corto el amor, y tan largo el olvido.
”

As Michael walked away from the podium, the screen switched back to the talking head in the studio with the perfectly coiffed hair and questionable fashion sense. He finished reporting the breaking story in a monotone voice while my heart pounded wildly in my chest. It was so loud I could barely focus on what was being said.

“There is no word yet regarding the status of his contract. We’ll keep you post—”

“Love is so short, and forgetting is so long.” Pablo Neruda
.
That was for me. A message for me spoken in a way I would understand. Only me.

Someone behind me said, “I think he just said he loves me.” The bar erupted in laughter. The kind of good-natured silliness Brandon and I both usually loved. Something bigger was happening, though. We stared at each other for a long moment.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll call you.” I kissed his cheek and took another sip of the martini for courage before handing him the glass.

I pushed past the crush of men at the bar’s entrance and hurried outside to send a quick text message to a number I’d memorized a long time ago. A reply came a few seconds later.

I’m waiting 4 U. Come home.

T
HE
TRAFFIC
was mercifully light, and I drove faster than the legal limit in my haste to get to Corona del Mar. When I finally pulled onto his quiet cul-de-sac, my nerves began to fail me. My hands shook. My palms felt sweaty. It figured. It was reminiscent of the first time I’d pulled up to this house. Except everything had changed now.

I stepped out of the car to take my first breath of clean ocean air. The house looked dark, but I knew he was waiting for me. The designer in me admired the fresh white paint job and the beautifully manicured foliage as I briskly walked up the neat path and knocked on the charcoal-gray door. It magically opened before my hand hit the wood, and I was immediately enveloped in a strong embrace.

When he pulled back, he stared at me in the familiar way he did sometimes, adoration warring with sheer puzzlement. I started to speak but stopped myself. No words were necessary. I was here and nothing else mattered. I knew when I looked at him everything in my heart was on clear display.

I held nothing back when I lunged into his arms and wrapped mine tightly around his neck. He caught me and held me close, rocking gently from side to side. His right hand raked through my hair lovingly as he pushed my head back far enough to capture my lips in a soul-searching kiss. We didn’t separate until the need for oxygen forced us apart. Michael leaned his forehead against mine for a quiet moment before yanking me inside and closing the door with his foot. Then he picked me up and carried me through the house. I giggled and clung to him like a monkey as he maneuvered down the hall and past the living room. In the strange way your brain focused on odd details, I noticed the new furniture had been delivered and the house looked wonderful.

Michael opened the bedroom door with his shoulder before he tossed me on his huge bed and instantly covered my body with his larger one. I arched my back and molded my torso to his, desperate for contact. He sat up on his knees to undress. His T-shirt, jeans, briefs, socks, shoes went flying while I tried to fumble with the tiny buttons on my dress shirt. When he stilled his movements he was above me, kneeling between my thighs as he stroked his rigid cock leisurely. He looked like a god. I could have stared at him all night.

“What are you waiting for?” He broke my reverie with a smirk. Before I could answer, he bent over me and reached for my collar. I thought he was going to help me with the endless row of buttons but he stopped.

“What are yo—” I gasped in protest when he ripped my shirt down the middle, sending buttons flying across the room.

“I’ll buy you another one. I’ll buy you ten, just shh… let me inside you. Please.”

My hands rested on his shoulders as our eyes met. I nodded and removed the last of my clothing before opening myself to him. He entered me slowly and carefully. His touch was tender, gentle, and worshipful. When he moved inside me, I could have cried at the sheer beauty of our intimacy. The connection was sublime. My legs wound around his waist and my heels dug into his ass, urging him on. Begging for more. We clutched and clawed at one another and held each other tight as our bodies quaked with our joint release. I couldn’t move if I tried, and I didn’t want to lose the delicious feel of his body covering mine. When he rose on his hands to pull away, I squeezed my thighs to hold him in place. He chuckled and collapsed before rolling us over so he lay underneath me.

“This feels so….” I tucked my chin into his shoulder and breathed him
in.

“So what?”

“Amazing, fantastic, marvelous. I love it.” I bit his neck playfully before disengaging our bodies and flopping down next to him.

“I love you.”

I turned on my side to study him. There was no mistaking his words, but….

He gave a chagrined half-laugh and rolled to his side to face me. “You don’t believe me?”

“I… I want to, but—I have so many questions and….”

He reached out to smooth my hair away from my eyes. “Bonito.”

“Why did you do it? What happened?”

He quietly considered me before answering. “I was tired of lying. It really was that simple.” He sighed deeply and continued. “Jamie sent a letter to the stadium, but because he wrote my name on the envelope, it was forwarded to Tonio’s office. He freaked out and concocted some crazy plan to Photoshop a model in your place and—”

“I saw it.”

“You did? Where?”

“Seriously? Your engagement to the beautiful blonde featured that picture. The same one that was in some crappy magazine Brandon showed me. Millions of people saw it!”

“Yeah. My mom was one of them. She was very upset she wasn’t the first to know. And who was this girl anyway? I… I had no idea Tonio had gone ahead with—”

“I believe you.”

“Good. It’s true. I was pissed and I felt trapped. All of a sudden reality came crashing down, and it was time to look at the big picture. The biggest thing wrong, the worst thing over these past couple weeks, was that you weren’t with me. And nothing really mattered anymore. Soccer is… it was my life for a long time. But it’s a game and you’re my….”

“What?”

“My truth. My reason for getting up in the morning. My reason to push myself to be stronger, to get stronger, to be something more than I am.”

His dark eyes bored into mine, looking for clues or answers. I wished he’d just ask. I’d tell him anything he wanted to know.

“Luke, I don’t know what will happen now. I’ve been dodging calls all fucking day. Tonio is out of his mind, and I can’t even begin to think of all the repercussions this will have. My family, the team. But here’s what I do know….”

He took my hand and kissed my fingers in a courtly, sweet manner.

“If I can’t have everything, I want the one thing I can’t live without. You.
Te amo
, Luke. I love you.” He gave a short laugh and set his warm hand on the curve of my bare hip. “More than soccer, more than anything. Everything else is…
nada
, nothing without you.”

I bit my lip hard in an effort to stop my tears from falling.

“I love you too.”

Michael flashed me a brilliant, wide grin and fused his mouth over mine. He let his lips and his tongue take over where mere words weren’t enough. He’d already said all the right words.