“Fuck you, faggot!” The crowd was loud, but I still heard the word. My eyes landed on two men three rows down, shoving at each other. Then security dragged them out before anything else could happen. I would never understand why people threw that word around so easily—how to them, that was the worst thing a man could be.
I tried to tell myself it wasn’t a sign.
The only things that mattered right then were Bashful and his game.
When it was over, when people rushed the field, and Anson and his team jumped all over each other, I hugged people I didn’t know, shouting and cheering, tears streaming down my face as I watched him take his moment, one he’d worked for his whole life, and I wished like hell I could be with him, that I could make sure everyone in that fucking building knew he was mine…even though he wasn’t.
It was hours later when I heard from him. I was already back at the hotel, getting some work done. I’d watched the highlights, the press conference, seen teammates hugging their wives, and saw Anson with his brother and mom, who’d flown in. I hadn’t even thought of that. It was ridiculous that I hadn’t.
Darren had gotten MVP. They’d interviewed Anson too, and then Darren and Anson together. I’d watched it all. Finally, my phone rang.
“You did it!” I said instead of hello.
Wherever he was, it was loud. I heard music and people in the background.
“I can’t believe we fucking did it! We’re the motherfucking Super Bowl champions!” he shouted, the pure bliss he felt clear in each syllable.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“What?” he shouted.
“I said I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks!” he replied, then to someone else, “No one! Just a friend!”
His words were like a punch to the gut. What had I expected him to say: The guy I’m seeing? Fucking? Of course he would say I was just a friend, and I was supposed to want him to say that, but I didn’t. I really fucking didn’t. Anson Hawkins had broken me.
He tried to tell me something else, but I didn’t hear him. When I responded, he couldn’t hear me either. “I’ll let you go,” I said.
“What?”
“I’ll let you go!”
“I’m sorry! It’s loud. We’re celebrating, but I just… I saw your text and…” The rest of what he said was muffled, and I couldn’t make it out.
“We’ll talk soon. Congratulations, okay?”
“Okay! Sorry, I’m just— Fuck you, Darren. Put me down!”
I hung up the phone. I got it. He’d just won the Super Bowl. Of course he was happy. Of course he was celebrating. He deserved it, but all I could think was, if we kept this up, I would never be part of the celebration with him, and I wanted to be. It was dumb and not what this was supposed to be about, but it was how I felt.
What had I been thinking when I’d decided to come?
This moment wasn’t for me, wasn’t for me and him together. I didn’t belong there.
I called and changed my flight to DC, then packed up my shit and headed out.
When I went to the front desk to check out early, the clerk asked, “Did you have a good stay, Senator Calloway?”
“Holy shit,” I heard from behind me. I turned, and…holy shit was right. It was Elias. “Sorry,” he added. “I’m a bit of a politics junkie. You’re from California, right?”
Yes, and I know your brother. I came to see him.
“You’re a fan of my brother?” he asked, and for a moment I thought I’d said the words out loud, but then I remembered I was wearing Anson’s jersey. Fuck, I should have changed.
“Um…yeah. Flew in to watch the game before I go to DC. Anson’s your brother?” Should I have called him Anson? Did that sound too familiar?
“Yeah. This is crazy. A senator is wearing my brother’s jersey. Most of the time I forget he’s anything more than my obsessive big brother, but it’s moments like these when I remember he’s famous.”
I chuckled uncomfortably. “He’s definitely famous. In fact, you might be the only person here who would think it’s cool that a senator from California is wearing his jersey. He’s a much bigger deal than me.”
“My brother isn’t into politics at all, but I think it’s great. Not that he doesn’t care about other people. I didn’t mean it that way. Everyone should care about politics. He votes and does his civic duty, but…yeah, he wouldn’t have recognized you.”
I figured Elias wouldn’t have either if the clerk hadn’t said my name, and Anson might not have known who I was the night we met, but he did now. “I know what you meant.” I nodded behind me toward the clerk. “I should go, though. I rescheduled my flight and have a last-minute plane to catch. It was really great to meet you, Elias.”