“Think about it,” Damon says when I don’t say anything. “And if there is any paparazzi, always say no comment. It’s going to be okay.”
I don’t know if I believe him, but I want to. Matt won the Super Bowl the same year he came out. Surely, this won’t hurt my career too much. Maybe.
“What about my editor?” Lennon asks. “He’ll probably call again.”
“Don’t answer,” Damon says. “Only answer my calls, and we’ll speak soon.”
Silence descends as Damon ends the call, and now I’m the one avoiding eye contact with Lennon.
I need to wrap my head around the prospect of this actually happening. Years of trying to avoid this moment all comes down to a single photo and a rumor.
That’s kinda fucked up.
As per Damon’s instructions, Lennon and I leave the hotel separately and head for the airport in different cars.
I go home first to return my parents’ car and to get my charger and grab my shit to go back to my place in New York.
Ma and Dad look worried as they drop me curbside for the flight.
“I need to go to New York to talk to my agent, guys. It’s not a big deal.”
Yeah, I’m back to lying to my parents. If this comes down to press conferences and a media circus, I’ll give them a heads-up, but I don’t want to worry them for no reason or get Ma excited about the possibility either. If there’s a way out of this, I’m sure as hell going to take it, because this isn’t the way I wanted it to happen. Not by a long shot.
“I’ll be home in a few days. I might catch the game while I’m there, and hang out with Len—uh, Clark.”
Lennon thinks it’s hilarious my family won’t drop the name, but I find it hard to remember. He was only Clark to me that very first night I met him. In the six months following, he was the random guy who gave me hope, and now … now he’s the guy I want to have a future with if this doesn’t all blow up in our faces.
I’m about to invite the whole world into my life, and I don’t know two things: one, whether Lennon would be up for that, and two, if he even wants to continue this in the first place. We both travel for work, and unless he gets assigned to my team every year, our schedules are gonna clash. All I know is I want to try, and once this mess is over, whether I come out or not, I’m gonna make damn sure he knows how much I want to try. I think there will be a lot of naked time in the convincing process, and if that’s what it takes, then I guess I’ll have to be okay with that. It’ll be such a hardship.
I manage to get on the same flight as Lennon, but it fucking kills me to walk past him at the gate and pretend I don’t know him. It hurts even more when I glance back and see this complete and utter look of remorse on his face.
I sit across from him, a few seats down from where he is, and take out my phone. Shit. Still dead. When I move to a seat in the corner beside a wall with a power outlet, I feel Lennon’s burning gaze follow me.
The phone takes forever to power up, and my leg bounces while I wait.
Me: I wish I could sit with you right now. I want to hold your hand.
Lennon: Is that another Beatles joke?
Me: No, I just really want to touch you. After these last few days, I can’t imagine not touching you again.
There’s a pause where he stares down at his phone before he starts typing. With how fast his fingers move and how long it takes, I’m expecting more than the two words that come through.
Lennon: Me too.
I don’t know what to think of that. Especially when he refuses to look up at me.
Me: You look like your cat died. Most guys would love their … boyfriend type person to come out for them.
I watch for Lennon’s response as he reads my message, but when his eyes meet mine, he scowls.
Me: Too soon to joke about it?
Lennon: It will always be too soon. I may have fucked your career.
Me: My career will be fine.
Lennon: I may have fucked MY career too.
Me: Are there rules against us being together?
Lennon: No. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t know how it’ll work for a male reporter in a same-sex relationship with an athlete, because it’s never happened before, but for women, they’ve been discredited in their “biased” articles and hardly get any work.
Fuck. We’ve been so focused on my career we didn’t discuss his. I’ve been selfish in the past about my obsession with hockey, but I’ve never felt as bad about that as I do right now.