The Endgame (Atlanta Lightning 1)

I gave Anson my number…and waited.

Almost thirty minutes later, my phone buzzed with a video call from Georgia. I accepted it, and there he was, my bashful bar boy, sitting on an armchair in a corner. I couldn’t tell what room he was in—bedroom, living room, or what. His eyes were red-ringed, with bags under them, his hair a mess, fear making his pupils dilate. Fuck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have messaged. I just wanted you to—”

“Did you know the whole time?” he interrupted me. “When you sat down, did you know who I was?”

“No. I didn’t lie about anything. I was in town for work. I’ll admit I was interested, which was why I sat close to you, but I didn’t know who you were. My buddy had tickets to the game the next day and dragged me with him. I was on my phone when I heard the announcer say Anson. Like I said, it’s a unique name. I looked up, and there you were.”

“Fuck,” he cursed softly. I imagined he was regretting giving me his name. “I’m not…what you think…what you asked me. That’s really the only reason I’m calling.”

Damned if a piece of my heart didn’t break off right then and there. Fuck society. Fuck people who made others want to deny who they were. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.” He frowned. “I would have said it that night, but I was so fucking shocked that you would think…that of me.”

He had said it…kind of, but I didn’t reply that way. “That’s fine. You can be straight all you want, but don’t make it sound like there’s something wrong with being queer. I am very, very gay if you couldn’t tell, and there’s not a damn thing wrong with that.”

Anson flinched, regret clear in his eyes and the downturned corners of his mouth. “I know. I didn’t mean there was. I just wanted you to know I’m not.”

“Okay,” I said again. “If you were—and I know you’re not—I wanted to make sure you knew that I would never tell a soul. I don’t out people. Ever. Like I said, I probably shouldn’t have messaged at all, but I just…wanted you to know I’m here if you ever want to talk. Also, I wanted to stress the fact that you really do have shitty taste in how you eat steak, and I’ve decided I’m keeping your sunglasses.”

I picked them up off the desk and put them on. Anson smiled. His eyes darted away, and his cheeks pinkened. Good. I wanted to make him smile. I liked that better than the fear.

“You’re a senator,” he finally said.

“Wait. What? I am? Holy shit. That would explain that email I received.”

This time, I got a soft laugh. “You’re still as weird as you were that night.”

“It’s a gift.” I shrugged. It was true.

He was quiet for a moment. I could tell he had something to say, so I waited, and eventually he asked, “But you’re out?”

“Yeah. I officially, which of course means publicly, came out in college, much to the dismay of my family. We’re not close. My father’s also a senator. From North Carolina. I’m a disappointment to him, but I think he’s the real disappointment. Well, I mean, that’s not to say I’m an angel. I like being bad. The media likes me being bad, but I’m not ashamed. He should be.” I believed that. People shouldn’t have kids if they weren’t going to love them unconditionally.

“Oh shit. You’re both in politics, yet he doesn’t approve?”

“Yes. It’s scandalous. Though I’m sure you’ve seen the coverage of all my escapades.” Anson was quiet, which made me say, “Wait. You didn’t look me up after I messaged? When I realized who you were, that was the first thing I did.” Jesus, this guy. What was it about him that made him so endearing?

“I didn’t want to invade your privacy.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. I believe you.”

He rolled his eyes, and fuck if it wasn’t cute. Many people did the same thing to me often, and though Anson didn’t know me, the response made it seem like he did. “I was a little busy worrying that you thought I was…” He sobered.

“That you’re gay? Or bi? It’s okay to say the words. They don’t make something true that isn’t.” Because no matter what, I had to respect what he said. I didn’t have the right to label him. We sat there, neither of us speaking. If he was at home, it was three hours ahead for him, so it was late. I wasn’t going to tell him we should stop talking, though. Maybe that was me being a good guy, or maybe it was me being selfish because I wanted to chat with him and look at him. “So, you’re a professional football player.”

“Wait. What? I am? Holy shit. That would explain all the aches and pains.”