The End Zone (Atlanta Lightning 2)

When he left, Anson squeezed my shoulder. “No pressure at all, right?”

“No shit.” I sighed.

“You got this, man. I know it.”

I sure hoped so. “Mia left. I told her you’d take me home.”

He nodded. “I got your back. Always.”

He didn’t have to say it for me to know, but it felt good to hear, regardless.

Anson drove me to my house. When we got there, West’s car was out front. I said, “He’s worried—Jeremy, I mean—that whatever happens will be his fault.”

“That’s normal. West felt the same.” We were quiet for a moment. “How are you doing this publicly?” Anson asked, and I winked.

“You’ll see.”

West and Jeremy were in the living room, talking, and when they saw us, Jeremy got up and came right over to me. “How’d it go?”

“I’ll tell you in a second. Come here.”

I took my phone out of my pocket, kissed his cheek, and took a selfie.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming out…if you’re cool with it.”

He hesitated for a second, and I thought for sure he would say no, but then he nodded and watched as I posted the photo on social media, captioned: Rumors are true. I got my ride or die by my side. Gonna get this arm strong and play some fucking football. I tagged Jeremy and added hashtags for AtlantaLightning, LGBTQ, demiromantic, and bisexual.

“Jesus, I love you,” Jeremy said.

“Fuck, this is weird,” West said, followed by Anson’s, “No shit.”

“How long you guys staying? I was promised a blowjob,” I teased, making everyone laugh.

As much as I knew this was the right thing, and as much as I loved Jeremy, worries still mounted inside me. I tried to ignore the fear that all this would blow up in my face. I could do this. It would all turn out okay, one way or another.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jeremy

“Jesus Christ, you’ve created quite the buzz,” Bobby said when I answered his call.

It had been a couple of days since Darren had posted the photo of us together, officially coming out. He’d shared with me everything that had gone down at the meeting, so now we just hoped like hell his arm healed well and there wasn’t too much drama. He was dying to get to rehab, to build up his strength and work out his limb. I figured his mind would be pretty much on one track for a while.

“How is everything?” Bobby asked when I didn’t reply.

I didn’t tell him that Darren had uninstalled social-media apps from his phone, and I couldn’t help wondering if it was because he didn’t want to focus on what people said, or if he was regretting his decision. I didn’t tell him I was stalking the comments like crazy, and while there were a lot of supportive replies, there were a whole lot of ugly ones too—the F-word, making fun of the team, wondering who would be next, joking about the Lightning turning people gay and orgies in the locker room. What bothered me the most were the ones that said Anson and Darren had probably been secretly fucking for years. But while I loved Bobby and trusted him, Darren didn’t know him, and I didn’t feel comfortable sharing some of those things, so I said, “As good as it can be, I guess. He’s really worried about his arm. I just want… I want it all to work out for him.”

“Of course you do. You love him,” Bobby replied, then, “he can give you the things I never could, can’t he?”

“Yes.” There was no anger between us. We wanted what was best for each other, and while we had once been in love, that time had passed for Bobby and me. What I felt for Darren was different; it was more.

“I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Try not to worry. I know you. You’re stressing yourself to death. He loves you. He chose you. No matter what happens, he knew the possible repercussions, and you were more important to him than anything else.”

“Wow,” I teased. “You’re good at this.”

“I try. What’s the plan, though?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “We haven’t talked about it. I’d already given my notice at the firm. I’m lucky that I don’t have to work if I don’t want to. I’ve been at the center with West or helping Darren out. Just taking it one day at a time.” Something else I didn’t tell Bobby was that I was nervous Darren hadn’t spoken about the future. I was living with him, but I’d never officially moved in. He’d never asked. I still had my home in San Francisco. Then I reminded myself that Darren had enough on his mind, and how could we make plans for the future when he didn’t even know what his future held? What if his arm was never the same? What if he was traded? He could be anywhere at the end of this season.