Deke (Fake Boyfriend 3)

“Chances are you know at least, at least, one gay guy in your sport. Why do you think they haven’t come out?”

“Nah, if someone was gay, they’d say it. Our gym’s inclusive. Like, anyone is welcome, and …” As he says the words, the realization kicks in—that maybe he only sees what he wants to see, and some closet doors are made of fucking steel. I can practically see the moment he finally gets what I’m saying, but for some reason, my mouth feels the need to drive the point home.

“What about your gym screams inclusivity? Pride flags on the walls or is it in some membership rule book under tiny font no one reads? Do you guys have any idea what it’s like to have to hold your breath every time someone finds out who you’re attracted to in case they react badly? Try having to do that in a work environment where you have to come out to an entire team of testosterone-filled men who fight for a living.”

Nic pipes up to defend his brother. “No one’s truly that ignorant anymore about that kinda stuff, are they?”

I scoff. “How can you be this ignorant?”

They really don’t get it, and how Ollie has not blown up at them after all these years is beyond me. I’m not much for confrontation, but this … I can’t. I just can’t.

“The world has progressed in so many ways, but in others, it’s as bad as it always was. We may have tolerance in most places now, but we’re far from acceptance. Are you all really that blind to the world Ollie and I live in? I’m a sports reporter, and I still get told I’m in the wrong journalistic field by assholes at my magazine. They say I should be covering fashion instead. These are people in media—the news source to the entire world. You still wanna sit there and tell me the world is no longer ignorant?”

“Sports reporter?” Ollie’s dad asks.

Fuck.

“I thought you were in business,” his mom says.

And now I’ve not only screwed everything with Ollie’s family, but with Ollie as well.

“I … I have to leave,” I say in a voice much smaller than I’ve been using, because I let my tongue run away with my thoughts, and now I’ve screwed everything up.

I turn to go, but Ollie’s right there with Max flanking him.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask. His stoic face gives nothing away.

“Long enough.”

Without warning, he steps forward and takes my mouth in a punishing kiss. It’s all tongue and no hesitation, and a few grumbles about PDA are murmured throughout the group. When he pulls back, he’s … smiling.

“I—I … I’m not in trouble then?” I stammer.

His fingers interlace with mine, and he turns to face his family. “Guys, I want to introduce you to Lennon Hawkins.”

Silence. Dead silence.

His mom is the one to break it. “The reporter who hates you?”

Ollie turns to me and whispers quietly. “Sorry. You know how pissed I was when—”

“It’s okay.” I turn to Mrs. Strömberg. “For the record, I don’t hate him. He has an ego you may or may not be aware of, and I may or may not have accidentally crushed it.”

There are a few sniggers around the table.

Ollie pins his mother with his hazel eyes. “He’s not Clark, he’s not my actual boyfriend, but more importantly, he’s the only person who’s ever stood up for me like that.” His gaze finds mine again. “Including myself. And it’s only now I’m realizing why that is.”

“We always stand up for—” his mom starts, but he cuts her off.

“No. You don’t stand up for me. You stand up for the notion that everyone has to be accepted for who they are. And that’s great. But you ridicule me over the fact I’m not ready for the rest of world to know about me. I don’t know when I will be. You guys expect everyone to catch on easily, but I think it’s been proven that’s not gonna happen. Look at the NFL. Not much has changed since Matt Jackson came out.”

I could argue that, because the NFL has improved a lot since Matt came out, but that’s not the point of this discussion. Whether the NHL welcomes their first gay player and makes changes isn’t the issue. The issue is with Ollie’s legitimate right to not want to be that guy.

“Lennon pretended to be my boyfriend six months ago because you guys would not let up about how I’m screwing up my life. I love you guys. I really do. But I need a fucking break from all the pressure you put on me.”

“Ollie—”

He cuts his mom off again by turning to his grandmother. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I hope you have a great birthday lunch, but I have to go before I say anything else I can’t take back.” His hand on mine is tightening by the second, and his chest heaves. Despite his words to say he’s leaving, he either can’t make his feet move or he’s waiting for someone to stop him.