Out in the Offense (Out in College 3)

“Perez hired you. You’re employed by the football program. Get it?”

“No.”

“Tutor and student. Look, I’m not a celebrity and I know it, but that reporter in the locker room was supposed to cover my return next year. It was going to be a big press moment for the school and…well, it didn’t go according to plan. I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out what’ll happen next. Police investigation, school investigation, and somewhere in all this I have to think about my parents. This is how they’re finding out I’m gay. Not cool. To a couple of straight-laced conservatives, this is a scandal. And my dad works for the administration. This is a shit show in the making.”

“Okay. When you put it like that, it sounds bad but I’m here and—”

“No. You’ll lose your job, Rory. They’ll want a story about the guy who works at the YMCA. They’ll drag you into a story that isn’t yours and tell lies and make us seem…dirty.”

Rory huffed belligerently. “I can handle it.”

“I can’t.”

An eerie silence crept from every corner of the room. It was oppressive and bleak, covering me like a heavy blanket in summertime. I wanted to kick it off, open a window, and undo the day. But couldn’t help wondering if I’d brought this on myself. All I knew was, I couldn’t bring him down with me.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

I pursed my lips, hoping to keep the flood of emotion at bay when I spoke again. “We have to go our own way. For now. Maybe, I can fix this and we can be together someday, but…not now.”

Rory went still. He didn’t move or breathe for a long, painful minute. Finally, his nostrils flared and his hands trembled. He flattened them on his thighs as if to stop the shaking. When it didn’t work, he stood and paced to the opposite side of the coffee table.

“I don’t want to go.”

“You have to. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to drag you through this mess,” I whispered unhappily.

“Baby, I get that this isn’t easy. I get that it isn’t what you planned. I’m sorry some asshole took a shot at you, and I’m sorry you’re hurting. It fucking kills me.” His voice hitched with pain. He paused for a moment before continuing. “But I want to tell you something. Being with you isn’t a crime. We’re good and we’re right. We’re exactly who we’re supposed to be and—”

“Rory.”

“No, let me finish. You are by far, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I couldn’t believe my luck when I first met you, and I realized you were smart and funny and just a little dopey at math. I don’t know how this happened so fast, but I’m in over my head now. I want to slay all those fucking dragons and make things right. I don’t know what to do or what to say to make this better. But I want you to know that I’m here.” He reached for my hands and squeezed them tightly. “And I love you.”

I opened my mouth and stared at him in shock. “Love.”

“Yeah, love. I said it. Look, I swear I’m not trying to make this complicated. I’m not asking anything from you. I know you think you gotta do this by yourself, but maybe it’ll help to know that you’re not alone. Not really.” His voice was raw with emotion when he continued. “There’s always someone thinking about you.”

“Rory, I’m…”

He pulled me into a fierce embrace and held me close. Then he let go and moved to the door. “Go do your thing. If you need me, I’ll come. Day or night, call me. We can meet at Starbucks or throw a football in the park. Whatever. I can be flexible…I just—I don’t want to lose you, so if we can—”

“You’re not gonna lose me. I promise,” I choked, launching myself at him and holding on for dear life.

Rory ran soothing fingers through my hair while I sobbed big, ugly tears. When I finally calmed down, he kissed my forehead and gently pushed me away. He gave me one last longing look before opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

I closed my eyes as the lock clicked shut and braced my hand on the wall to keep myself upright. Everything in me ached. My bones, my muscles, my mind. I’d left part of my heart and soul on the football field, but the biggest part of me just walked out the door. I had nothing left. I was empty. Nothing inside me and nothing left to give. Nothing.

Just as I expected, all hell broke loose.

The reporter’s video clip of me coming out to my team in front of my vandalized locker was trending on social media. By Sunday afternoon, I’d become an unwitting sensation. I was a poster boy for LGBTQ athletes or an immoral sinner, depending upon whom you asked. I was followed to the gym and back, and again later that evening when I sucked up the nerve to visit my parents for our traditional Sunday night dinner. My father pulled back the curtain in the living room, then cast a disproving look between me and the photographer leaning outside the passenger side of a black Suburban. But he didn’t say a word.