Uncovered (Dev and Lee Book 4) (48 page)

“Christ.”

“Yeah. Welcome to the Age of Enlightenment, right?”

“Nobody asked me that.” Although, as I recall, some came close. “Mostly they just left me alone until they realized I wasn’t going to, y’know, jump on them and rape them in the shower.”

I never said anything out loud like that before, and I get a flutter of “oh shit” in my chest as the words come out, but the coyote barks a sharp laugh. “Yeah, being a tiger, you’d probably get that more. Me, I’m a big guy, and mostly people don’t assume shit, but I had one guy ask me how I could stand to have something shoved up under my tail. ‘That’s a one-way road,’ he said.”

I don’t want to admit that I’ve never done that. Not all the way. Lee’s played around a little with fingers now and again, but not—anyway, I don’t want to assume that Polecki’s been fucked, either. “So what’d you tell him?”

He winks. “I said, ‘I guess we have different zoning laws.’”

It’s so unexpected that I laugh, and my chest loosens. “That’s really all it is, right?”

“Absolutely.” He grins. “Most straight guys are so fucking paranoid about it, they won’t even try with a finger or anything, and they can’t believe it can feel good. Their loss, huh?”

The coffee is almost finished. I kill it and put the empty cup down on the table, and check the time. Polecki does, too. “I should probably get going,” I say. “I have a lot of phone calls to answer, and I can’t imagine you don’t have a million and one things to do.”

“Yeah, probably.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months, and I’m glad I got the chance to come out before we talked.” He raises his cup. “I’m still kind of shaking. But you know, talking to you has me more relaxed than I’ve been in...God. Months.”

“That’s probably the championship ring,” I say, with just a little jealousy. Maybe more than a little.

“You’ll get one.” He grins at me. “In the meantime, accept the compliment.”

“For what? Being gay? I didn’t choose that.”

“No.” He looks over the coffee cup with penetrating turquoise coyote eyes that in that moment remind me unsettlingly of Gerrard’s, despite the color. “For being a stand-up guy. For coming out—you did choose that. For reminding me that this is part of who I am, not just part of me that I have to hide. And for coming to a coffee shop after a gut punch of a loss just to talk with one of the guys on the other side of the ball who has no right to ask that from you.”

“Well.” I shift in my seat. “I mean, I couldn’t not, right? There aren’t that many of us. We need to stick together and…” I grin. “Anyway, you’re making me feel better too. Not about the loss, but about…lots of things.”

His lips curl back into a wide smile. “Go-go Gay Alliance.”

He drains his coffee while I laugh. “Anyway,” I say, “let me know your plans in the off-season. We can do this again for sure. And I’ll keep in touch about doing some PSA spots or visits. Maybe a commercial or something.”

“Have your flea call my flea.”

He waits for me to ask an explanation, but I just grin, startled at the familiar phrase. “Mine’s half-useless, but yeah, I will.”

“And if you work things out with your fox, bring him along.” He smiles at my hesitation. “I hope you do,” he says. “He sounded like a pretty good guy from that article.”

I don’t have any hesitation about what to say to that. “Yeah. He is.”

We shake paws, walk past the cooing ferret, and out onto the street. “Hey!” someone says. “Hey, it’s Polecki!”

A couple guys, a ringtail and a porcupine, run over to get a picture. This time, they recognize me, too. After a little ribbing about losing the game, they ask if both of us will be in the picture. “Fine,” I say, “but you have to cheer for the Firebirds now. Unless they’re playing the Sabretooths.”

“Deal,” the slim ringtail says, and we stand together. Polecki, a little shorter than me, puts his arm around my waist, and after a moment, I drape mine over his shoulder. It’s easy and feels good. Reminds me of Keith.

They snap the pics. “Hey, are you two dating?”

We laugh. “No,” Polecki says, and we disengage, but casually, not in response to their question. “We’ve both got boyfriends.”

Chapter 33 - Separation (Dev)

In the cab on the way back to my hotel, I take out my phone and prepare to go through the messages from Ogleby, my parents, friends, and so on. But first I call up Lee’s message, the one from before the game.
All the other things aside, I still believe in you and you’re a great football player. Wishing you the best of luck
.

It’s the third or fifth or tenth time I’ve looked at it. Polecki’s talk about boyfriends who know the life echoes in my head. Can Lee ever really know what I’m going through? He’s not in the locker room, he doesn’t play on the field, he doesn’t have the gut reactions. But. But but but. He’s a smart fox. And he knows how I feel, I think, about all of that. And where would I ever find a football player like him?

And then I think about his insistence on the meetings, the film spots, and I think, maybe he doesn’t really understand what it’s like. Or am I the one who isn’t understanding, blinded by the glow of my career?

Some career. Outside the cab’s window, Sabretooths flags spring up in my field of view. I almost become convinced that they aren’t there when I’m not looking, and I swing my head around to try to catch them out. But the navy blue and gold flutters just about everywhere, and where they’re not on car or window flags, they’re on t-shirts and sweatshirts and athletic shorts, in the glow of streetlights and headlights.

And here I am in my red and gold, with nothing to show at the end of this season but a second-place finish. Oh, I’m sure they’ll talk about the game for a while. One-point championships are pretty rare. But we’ll always be the team that couldn’t quite get it done. I don’t begrudge Carson his souvenir ball, because he made a better play with it after my sack, but it means I don’t even have that to hold on to.

For this I gave up Lee? I stare out the window. I don’t know what to make of his last message to me, and I don’t know what to make of my near-cheating on him. I mean, I didn’t come or anything, but another guy had his paw—and tongue—on my cock. That’s—that’s not being faithful, even if I stopped it before it went further. Argonne called me a few choice names once it was clear there wasn’t going to be a benefit to keeping his mouth closed, but I was beyond caring then, just thankful I recognized the smell before I did anything with the same guy Colin used.

‘Used’ is the right word. My fists clench. I don’t know how he can justify sticking his cock in someone’s mouth and not considering that cheating. Especially another fox—doing things with another species could just be experimentation, and when it’s gay sex you’re not going to get anyone pregnant. But to be with another fox, that’d be really bad if his wife found out about it.

So what was I doing with another fox? Well, he was the only one available, for starters. I’d be lying, though, if I tried to say he didn’t remind me of Lee. Different, yes, and in the end I think it wouldn’t have been very satisfying even if I’d gone through with it.

There’s only one Lee, and the question is whether my life is better or worse with him in it. I close my eyes and rub my fingers against them. That isn’t even a question, or it shouldn’t be, except that he made it one.

His text message stares up at me from my phone, the words clear through the white cracks. I don’t know what I can write to him that will say that I want him to come back, but only if he wants to come back, and if he doesn’t then I understand, and if he does but he wants me to change then I don’t know if I can do that, and all the other millions of things I want to say. Overwhelming all of it is just the physical need to hold him again, to feel him fit into my embrace the way I’ve grown used to, and, yeah, to feel myself slide into him in a more direct way.

Do I want him back just because I want to get laid? And if there’s nobody else out there for me to sleep with, does it matter? I want to type, “I LOVE YOU, YOU FUCKING IDIOT,” in all caps, just like that, but I start to type it and it looks stupid and then it looks desperate and I erase the letters and type them again three more times and then just stare at the phone. Then I put it down and stare out the cab’s window again, and then look back at the phone.

I turn the caps lock off and type, finally, because I need to type something.
Hope you enjoyed the game. Polecki’s a nice guy. You should meet him. See you soon.

It says nothing, but I hope it says enough. I move on to Ogleby, who wants me to call all of my prospective sponsors right away in case Polecki tries to steal them from me.

“He’s not going to do that,” I say.

“He just came out because he saw the money you were making! He wants to get in on it. I know how these people work.”

“Wait, what ‘people’?”

“You know, the other guys, all those guys out there who want your money! Trust me, just leave it all to me and I’ll take care of it. Nobody’s going to steal your endorsements on my watch.”

I exhale and try to keep myself calm. “Nobody’s stealing anything, you jackass.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you! Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I just had coffee with him. We talked about doing a commercial together.”

“You came out first. You should get the bigger fee. Just let me know what you’re thinking about and we’ll make it happen.”

My head hurts. How crazy is it, I think, that I don’t have Lee and I still have Ogleby. Yeah, he gave me my first break, and I’ve given him two years.

The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’ve said them. “You’re fired.”

The silence on the phone is longer than any I’ve ever had with him. After a moment, he says, “Hey, Dev, sweetie, the connection must’ve cut out for a minute there. I didn’t catch what you said. If you didn’t hear me, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to make you a ton of money off this. Playing in a championship just rockets your stock to the top of the charts. You’re going to be rich, and besides, next year we get to renegotiate your contract, and you can bet the Firebirds are going to pay top dollar, and if they won’t, we’ll find someone who—”

I hang up. I’ll decide whether I want to send him an official letter of dismissal later. I’ve got a creeping feeling that I acted a little rashly. Right now I don’t want to deal with it.

So once I get to the hotel, I call Mom from the room. “Oh, Devlin,” she says, as Dad moves close to the phone to hear. “We’re so proud of you. You did very well.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Not quite well enough.”

Dad’s deep bass comes through the line. “You did all you could be expected to. Good sack on McCrae.”

I stand straighter. “Wish I could’ve gotten just one more.”

“You have good, young team. Tell your teammates to stay together. You will win a championship.”

Mom adds, “We’re so excited to see you. Do you have time to have dinner tomorrow?”

“I fly back tomorrow morning,” I say. “But I want to see you guys. How about a drink tonight?”

“That would be wonderful. How is Lee?” Mom asks.

He’s somewhere else. “He’s fine.”

“Would he be coming with you?”

“Uh.” I close my eyes. “No, he…he’s got something else to do tonight.”

“Oh. Maybe we can see him afterwards?”

“Maybe. I’ll ask.”

We get together in a small bar near the hotel they’re staying in and sit around for about an hour. It starts with Dad going back through the playoffs, talking about the plays I made, and it sinks in that he’s been watching and he’s not focusing on my mistakes. Mom keeps asking about Lee for some reason, and that finally drives me to ask how my brother is doing.

They both pause when I ask. Then Mom says, brightly, “Oh, he’s doing quite well! The firm is keeping him busy with—oh, something. He said it should bring in more business later on.”

Dad says, “Free work is not the way to get business.”

“He’s working for free? A…” I can’t remember the word for it.

“For a charity.” Dad says the words slowly. Must really grate on him that Gregory isn’t getting paid. “I believe.”

“Can’t imagine him being excited about charity work.” It doesn’t really sound like Gregory, with his insistence on a paycheck. I decide not to mention the million-dollar commercial again. I’ll surprise them with a new plasma TV or something.

Mom looks at Dad and hesitates. They had an argument about it already, I bet. “Oh, I…he didn’t really tell us the details, did he, Misha?”

“Whatever it is is not important. We did not pay for law school so he could work for free.”

“Alexi is so smart for his age, they tell us…”

My dad and his practicality. I just listen to the familiar conversation rhythms, thinking about home. It’s nice to know that I still have that, no matter what else happens. With Lee or without him, though my mother kept telling me to bring him by during the off-season. That was nice to know too, and woven as it was with Dad’s talking about football, it felt like my parents were finally acknowledging both sides of my life together.

It’s a little after eleven when I head back to the hotel. Thoughts run flying around my head, about myself and Lee and Polecki and Coach and Carson and my parents. What I want, of course, is not just anyone to talk to. Not Charm, not Polecki, not my parents. I want my fox. I haven’t poured my heart out to anyone the way I have to him, and nobody has given back to me half the love that he has. I second-guess and third-guess my message to him, but resist the urge to take the phone out and type something else. It’s easier to leave things in this unsettled state for now, to wait a little while before doing anything, to wait until I’m sure I’m not doing the wrong thing.

Because I also hate being reliant on him, and him alone. If nothing else, Polecki reminded me that I’ve done a lot. And I know now that I can keep on without Lee if I have to. Maybe that’s the best thing he’s done for me.

I snort. I don’t want this to be one of those sappy movies where after teaching the hero the lesson, the best friend-slash-mentor-slash-gay boyfriend has to leave the hero to his own devices. But in the movies, the mentor is just a mentor. He doesn’t have a life of his own outside the movie; he only exists to help the hero. Lee has a life, and goals and dreams, and if living with me isn’t helping him reach those, well, then maybe he’s better off on his own, too.

It feels like a very grown-up thought, and a very lonely one. I’ve been through four years of college and two in the “real world,” or as real as professional sports can be. And Lee’s the only guy I’ve met—the only person I’ve met—who even remotely feels like someone I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.

Sure, he’s frustrating. But when I think about Fisher and how he’s maybe played his last game, I think about what will happen to me when it’s my turn to retire. Fisher has a wife and cubs. When retirement crosses my mind, it’s a vague, formless dream. I can bring parts of it into focus: a house somewhere nice and quiet, a neighborhood where everyone knows each other. I don’t know what I’d do. Maybe I could announce games on TV, or maybe I’d coach high school or even college. Or maybe I’d just relax and watch games and complain about the economy. But I can’t squirm away, even in the dream, from Lee being there with me. Maybe he still works for a pro team, and we play video games in the evening and watch football and go to bed together every night.

Three months ago, I wouldn’t even have considered that fantasy seriously enough to dismiss it as unrealistic. But damn if he didn’t assault my family until they gave in, force the issue in the press, do all those things I was too scared to do and, impossibly, make them work. The problem is that he can’t stop. I can’t imagine him being in the dream with me and just relaxing.

But I can’t imagine that life without him. Without him, the house grows to huge sizes and I wander from room to room, looking for something, looking for someone, looking for him.

Walking through the hotel lobby and up the stairs, because fuck the elevator, all the way to my room on the seventh floor, I force my thoughts away from the years-away retirement and the pangs that come with wanting my fox. He’ll respond to the message soon enough, and then we’ll move forward, and whatever happens in the future will happen. I just hope that “see you soon” says enough to him.

Unfortunately, the only other thing my mind wants to obsess about is my play in the championship. I flop back on my bed, replaying every down, seeing my moves one step too slow, my reach inches too short. I wish I could go back and get a jump, anticipate just a little better, cut just a little quicker. There are so many things in life that you could change with small adjustments, and an inch here, a second there, any of those things could have changed the outcome.

I know that I need to focus on getting better, that I need to let it go, because I can’t change the past. For tonight, though, I allow myself to review all the things I did wrong, what Lee would call self-flagellation and Dad would call being hard on yourself and Steez would call necessary. It’s been held at bay by thinking about Polecki and Lee and my life, but when I have time to think, it all comes flooding in until I clench my fists, tail lashing in agitation, and I have to force myself to calm down.
You’ve lost games before
, I remind myself.
Everyone did the best they could. You didn’t let down the team, or yourself. Or Lee.

“Hey,” Charm says, coming into the room, “you practicing meditation or something?”

I look up. “Just thinking about stuff. The past. The future.”

“So, yeah.” He drops his room key and wallet on the dresser, and taps the wallet. “Didn’t lose it this time.”

I can’t help but smile. Fucking Charm. “Good. You need to hold on to that.”

He plops down on his own bed and lies back. “I can’t believe that fucking C.C. guy kicked better than I did.”

“He didn’t kick better,” I say. “Just last.”

“Ah, he…” He lifts a hand from the bed, waves it around, and turns his long head to face me. “Made the game-winning field goal.”

“You kicked three to his one.”

“He kicked three extra points. We got a good blocking team, too. Didn’t faze him.”

“You did everything you needed to.”

“I thought so.” He puts both hands behind his head and stretches. “I guess I should’ve gotten one more kick in there.”