Uncovered (Dev and Lee Book 4) (6 page)

The drawback of this iPhone is you can’t snap it shut with a satisfying clack. So I just turn it off and shove it in my pocket.

“Those guys’ll take as much of you as you’re willing to give,” Gerrard says. “You gotta make sure you keep enough of yourself to do your job.”

The confidence he has in me is great. I hold it to myself, and I remember Gerrard’s words in case Lee brings up any more requests for me to do gay rights work while I’m trying to win a championship. I’m excited to see Lee, of course, but I’ve also learned with my fox to be prepared for anything.

I stop by my hotel room to drop off the playbook and put on a nicer shirt. Excitement has won out over worry about what he might say as I slip down the service elevator and out the side entrance they’ve set aside for us. I’m bouncing on my feet, and then I stop, because the area around the side parking lot where my cab is waiting isn’t empty, like it has been all week.

They’re hanging out in two groups: a deer, a weasel, and a cacomistle, all female, the weasel puffing on a cigarette. On the other side are a female wolf and a male fox wearing a colorful filmy scarf. I know the females by their type: their glittering jewelry catches the light of the afternoon sun and most of them have more bare fur showing than clothed. They all have the same predatory, desperate looks on, and one or two of them start toward me before others pull them back. If they don’t recognize me specifically as a guy not interested in females, I know how to get by without making eye contact, and they usually don’t press.

The male, the fox, I know by name: Argonne. His scarf is a pastel, pale yellow, and he stands with his head tilted and his muzzle up, like he’s looking down on me. I get almost out to the street before he calls out behind me, “So long, sister.”

He’s definitely not talking to any of the ladies; his voice is too loud. I hesitate just for a second, and then ignore him and keep going. He’s got dedication, I’ll say that for him. And I’m glad that there’s someone else on the team he can hook up with, so he’s not just after me. Curiosity stings again, making me think I could just hang out, see who catches his eye…though they don’t do it that publicly, or I would’ve heard of it. Then why does he hang out here in public like this?

I remember Strike asking, “Would you have wanted me to out you while you were still closeted?” My feet keep walking, taking me to the cab, and I get in without looking back.

Chapter 3 – Hidden Messes (Lee)

Without Dev at the apartment, it’s hard to keep my mind from going back to my mother. Especially when I walk around looking at my clothes, my pictures, my computer, and all the other things reminding me that Chevali is my home now, I don’t think of my apartment in Hilltown. I think of my bedroom, sealed behind a lock at the top of the stairs in my mother’s house. I think of my pride jacket, burned with all the things that might remind my mother that I grew up. I know none of those things are me; I’m still the fox I am whether my jacket is denim or ash. But lying in Dev’s bed—our bed—alone at night, I feel so isolated that I have to resist the urge to call my tiger.

I do call Father and talk to him on Wednesday the first, when for some reason turning the calendars over brings back lots of memories. He gives me some generic advice about remembering that I’m loved by a lot of people and then some specific advice to remember that my mother is not only that person we ran into on December 28
^th
; she’s also the mother who loved me and raised me. I point out that I’m not the cub she raised anymore, that she and I have grown into these people we are now, that I am perfectly willing to talk to her, only
she
doesn’t seem to want that. After a pause, Father goes on to talk about my job possibilities, how the guys in Yerba will probably call me now that the season’s over (
their
season is over, anyway) to finalize whether they want me to take the scouting position, how the guy at the Firebirds was going to talk to me about doing community outreach there, how I could just do none of those things and live off Dev’s money and be an activist.

It’s hard to articulate to him why that last one won’t work, but I give it a shot. Dev feels all this pressure to be part of the activist stuff I do, which admittedly is partly my fault, but it’s not something I can put back in the bottle now. He knows how I feel; if I don’t talk about it, then he’ll think I’m hiding it specifically to spare his feelings and he’ll feel guilty anyway. “If you talk about it,” Father suggests, and yes, I think over a year or two we could work it out, which is what he’s getting at: our relationship is not contained in these few months.

“But I want to do the scouting, too,” I remind him, and he laughs.

“At least you know what you want. You’re lucky.”

What I want seems like it should be so simple: I want a tiger to love and curl up with at night, and I want people to think I’m smart about football, and I want gay people to be treated like everyone else. Is that so much to ask?

On Thursday, I talk to Rodriguez, the Firebirds’ General Manager, about the community outreach job. I’ve prepared a few ideas, standard LGBT awareness tactics for community involvement, and I toss them out just to see what his reaction will be. He sounds interested but not excited, and launches into what sounds like a lot of stuff he threw together at the last minute out of a marketing brochure: “Increase awareness, build excitement,” stuff like that. He doesn’t really react to anything I say, but says he wrote it down and he’ll discuss it with his team. I tell him I have to think about things too and that I’ll touch base this coming week.

I still want to know if Dev was the one who set up that job. But again, that’ll wait. I keep going back and forth on how important it is. He probably thought he was doing something nice. Or was he just trying to keep me away from the Equality people and Brian? I just haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it and I don’t want to distract him from this game.

Getting on the plane to go to Hellentown reminds me of the last time I boarded a plane, in Hilltown, still so angry from the shock of the visit to Mother’s house that I picked at the fabric of the armrest all the way home without realizing it. This time, I make sure my paws just lie on the armrests, claws quiescent, and I remind myself that I’m flying out to visit Dev, that I’m going on vacation for a weekend. Also I order a rum and Coke and I listen to angry punk music all the way there. The drink relaxes me and the music draws my anger out so that when I shut it off for landing, I feel much more calm.

And then I get my luggage and walk outside, and my purring tiger’s there in the purring cab. I toss my bags in the trunk and settle into the back beside him, and we do the awkward half-hug-in-the-car-seat thing. I want to kiss him, but not in a public taxi, not here in Hellentown.

“I’ll walk you to your hotel room,” he says, “then I gotta go to this team thing we’re doing. Order yourself some dinner at room service or just go out. There’s some fast food near the hotel. I’ll be back late.”

“What’s the team thing?” I ask. “Gena said she was coming out to Hellentown this week. Is she going to be there?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It’s just a dinner, but, you know, it’s the guys.”

“Okay.” Room service dinner doesn’t sound bad after the long day of flying anyway. Plus I need time to pick up a Hellentown t-shirt before Saturday night, to re-enact what we did the night before the Kerina game. I didn’t have a chance to get one last week, what with coming back from Mother’s place and all. I kind of wanted to spend an evening with Dev just relaxing from the flight, but hopefully a change in scenery will be calming enough for me to get some rest and get in a better mood to spend tomorrow with him.

He does at least walk me up to the hotel room, where he puts his arms around me and kisses me, and that puts some wag in my tail. “Mmm,” he says as we break apart. “Tempted just to blow off the team dinner.”

I know he’s tempted; I can feel it. I am too. If I say, “Stay with me,” he probably would, but of course I shouldn’t, and he shouldn’t, and we both know it. “I’ll still be here when it’s over,” I say. “Go.”

“Mmm.” He grins and kisses me again, a shorter peck on the nose this time, and leaves.

My phone rings over dinner, but it’s not Dev’s number, it’s Hal. Just seeing that lifts my spirits, and so I finish chewing the bite of steak and take a sip of wine, and pick up the phone with a smile on my muzzle. “It’s Friday night,” I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be going out with your girl?”

“In an hour,” he says. “Time difference, remember, genius?”

“Yeah, yeah. Where you taking her?”

“Caravan. Upscale Middle Eastern.”

“Nice. She likes the hummus, huh?”

“I’m hoping so. If not, there might not be a future for us.”

“And after?”

“Dancing at the Spot.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a place guys take girls. I wouldn’t expect you to’ve.”

“Nice place?”

“Smelly. Good music.”

Every place is smelly when you’ve got a six-inch nose. I prop my legs up on the bed, let my tail hang off the chair, and grab the dinner roll from the desk where I’ve put my meal, ignoring the rest of my dinner for the moment. “That’s what dancing’s all about. You feeling any better about her?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. We’ll see after tonight.”

“Oh ho. So after the dancing, it’s back to your place?”

“You kidding? Have you seen my place?”

I laugh. “No.”

“There’s a reason for that. No. Her place. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” I lean back in the chair.

“We’ll see how things go. How’s Hellentown? How are you holding up with the thing with your mom?”

“Trying not to think about it too much.”

“That’s okay for a bit. Don’t let it become a habit. Got to deal with it sooner or later, and sooner is easier.”

“Yeah. I talked to my dad on New Year’s, and I’ll call him again. It’s this whole Families United angle that’s making it really hard, you know? Like she’s deliberately trying to hurt me.”

“I’m sure she’s not,” he says, and then, “Oh, hey. Got a note from that sheriff back east today. This’ll interest you.”

“Back east?”

“The King family. Seems the parents have retained an attorney and are filing a suit against Families United.”

I jump and almost overbalance backwards, scrambling to my feet as the chair clatters to the floor. “A lawsuit? Criminal?”

“Civil. Says it was filed Thursday…” He gives me the name of the court while I run to get my laptop out of the travel bag.

“Hang on, hang on. I want to look up the court record.”

“There’s not much there. It’s been filed but they haven’t responded yet.”

The laptop takes forever to power up. “This is amazing. This is so cool.”

“I dunno about that. They must be pretty desperate if they’re gonna drag this through the courts. Sheriff thinks someone’s pushing them to do it. He called me ’cause I ‘seemed genuinely interested’ in the kid, not just the sensationalism of the case.”

Finally I get to the startup screen. “So, this make it more interesting to you?”

“Maybe.”

“Still just maybe?”

“I’m still working on this injury article. It’s hard to do two big stories at once.”

I open a browser and look up the court. “The injury thing is big, huh?”

“To the people I usually sell to. Hey, you know, if you go write up this case, I’ll help you polish the article. Could sell it to a couple papers, I’m sure.”

“I don’t need extra incentive to look into this,” I say. “There’s the court case. Nothing more than the initial filing.”

“That’s my way of saying I’m interested too.” Hal chuckles into the phone.

“You think this could become a big case?”

“Honestly? No. Ten to one they settle out of court—make that a hundred to one. Those groups have deep pockets and a good interest in keeping their dirty laundry out of the media. Couple papers picked up the kid’s suicide, but it wasn’t national news, and from what I saw, Families United wasn’t mentioned in any of the articles.”

That makes my teeth grind. “Can’t you write something mentioning it?”

“What, now? A month and a half later?”

“In connection with the court filing.”

“Enh.” I hear the rustle of fabric; sounds like he’s getting dressed. “I can’t just write things and have ’em published, you know.”

“You could start a blog.”

“I haven’t hit rock bottom yet, kid. You want me touching tails with your friend Brian?”

Brian would be interested in this, too. Course, he won’t want to talk to me after our last dinner, after I sent him home with a bottle of wine and a “thirty pieces of silver” comment. “Maybe I’ll write him. Anonymously.”

“Told you things would go bad.”

There’s nothing more on the case. I save the link and close the computer, then stand and stare out the window. “You didn’t, and even if you had, so what?”

He chuckles. “So how’s Hellentown? You talk to your tiger about that job yet?”

The clouds outside glow softly with reflected city light. Hellentown is about as big as Chevali, but brighter, gaudy with neon and fluorescents, and the low cloud cover reflects the light back down. One of the buildings has a “GO PILOTS” sign hanging from it. I step back and sit at my laptop again. “The one in Yerba or the Chevali one?”

“Look at you, poor little rich fox with your two job offers. The Chevali one, of course. Why, do you think he was calling up the Yerba guys to get them to hire you, too?”

“He’s in the playoffs, and it can wait.” I search online for any other info on the case, but nothing comes up.

“The job offer might be off the table by the time their season’s over.”

“I know.” I sigh. “But if I confront him about it and they lose…”

“He won’t blame you. Not entirely.”

“I’ll blame myself.” And I think about Dev claiming he was losing concentration for one key play in the last game. He’d blame me, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

“So you just have to make the decision yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“Know what that’ll be?”

“The only reason I’d take it would be to stay in Chevali with him. But what if I take the job and he gets traded? What if I take the job and Yerba pulls their offer because I worked for Chevali, and then the Chevali job runs out?” I sigh, my tail curling back and forth as I pace the room. “No, the Yerba job is what I want. If they offer it.”

Hal chuckles. His voice sounds strained for a moment. “Let me get this tie on…”

“A tie? You own a tie?”

He wheezes and then comes back. “Har har. Anyway, look. You gotta chase the thing you love to do, first and foremost. Settle along the way if you have to, but never lose sight of that.”

“Very inspirational.”

“It’s life. You haven’t been around as long as I have—” I snort. “True story,
cub
.”

“I figured things out pretty well on my own. I had to.” I put the laptop aside and poke at the cooled dinner.

“Doesn’t mean you should turn down advice when it’s offered.”

“All right, all right. I’ll think about it.”

“Write back to Emmanuel. Ask him if it’d affect his decision if you take a short-term position with Chevali.”

“I will.”

“Great. I gotta go. Have a good night.”

“You too. Good luck.”

“You’re more likely t’get lucky than I am. But thanks.”

I pick up a bite of steak and hold it near my muzzle. “Hey, just because you’re old doesn’t mean you can’t get some action.”

He laughs. “Take care.”

The dinner’s cool but not too cold to eat, so I finish it and then turn on the TV and lie back on the bed not watching it. I don’t call Brian and I don’t write Emmanuel. I manage to keep my thoughts away from Mother, away from my job situation, and mostly I think about the lawsuit and how that might change things. That’s a good topic for my mind to wander on, as there is absolutely nothing I can do about it one way or the other, so I don’t have to decide, I don’t have to commit. I’m safe. I lie there and daydream and I don’t do anything except wait for Dev.

“Hi,” he says when he comes in.

I thump my tail against the bed and say, “Hi,” but don’t get up. I do turn off the TV, though.

He turns down the lights. My eyes adjust seconds later to the sight of him stepping out of his pants, pulling his shirt off. Wearing nothing but a tight pair of boxers, he drops on top of me, purring so hard I feel like I put a quarter in a Magic Fingers bed.

“You okay?” He pushes his big nose at my muzzle, his warm breath tickling my whiskers. “You’re wearing lots more clothes than I would’ve thought.”