Trick Play (Fake Boyfriend 2)

But I can’t do it to him. He’ll end up resenting me or leaving me. Probably both.

I won’t do that to him.

The thought of moving to Chicago’s been niggling at me, but the last time I gave up everything for a guy, he left me anyway. It’d only be a matter of time before Matt did the same thing.

I won’t do that to me again.

Matt is football. Asking him to give it up would be like asking him to breathe without oxygen. I thought he didn’t know what he truly wanted because he was forced into football, but part of me now knows that was the beginning of me falling for him. It was wishful thinking that he’d give it up willingly and choose me instead. Now that it’s a possibility, I don’t have it in me to ask him to do it, just like I don’t expect him to ask me to give up my life here.

And I hate that I can’t let myself do it—that I’m letting a past relationship from when I was a fucking kid get to me so much that I can’t see myself having a future with anyone, let alone the only guy I’ve ever truly wanted in years.

I want to go back to before I ever met Matt, because back then I had nothing, and I loved it. I did whatever I wanted when I wanted, and I didn’t give a shit about anything. I want to go back to before I knew what love is because I was blissfully unaware of how unhappy I was.

Now, losing the guy who made me feel again, that familiar numbness and entitled asshole mask I’ve always worn before him slips back into place.

This is the end, so I do what Noah does best. I let Matt go and pretend I’m not dying on the inside.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Matt

Talon: First night in town. Drinks?

I groan. That’s the last thing I want. My new apartment may have a decent view of Chicago outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, but it’s full of boxes. I’ve literally just arrived, so I have to psych myself up to face a brand-new team, the upcoming press conferences, and then training camp. Not to mention I’m completely heartbroken. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but the last few days have been hell. Jet came back to PA with me to finish packing all my shit in the now empty loft that’s in escrow. It gutted me that when I left to drive across the country, my brother went back to New York—where my heart still is.

Matt: Not tonight.

The knock at the door comes immediately and confuses me. I stare down at my phone and then at the door. It better not be—

“I know you’re in there,” Talon calls out. “And we’re not leaving until you let us in.”

Us?

I swing the door open, and Talon pushes his way in with a huge smile on his face. Shane Miller, offensive tackle for the Warriors, follows him. The giant takes up the entire foyer. People think I’m intimidating, but Miller is mythical creature-like huge. Six foot five, at least. Muscles the size of Tennessee.

He claps me on the shoulder, and even that hurts. “Welcome to the fold, Jackson.”

“How did you guys know where I live?”

“Called your agent,” Talon says.

“And he gave it to you? That doesn’t sound like something Damon would do.”

“Nope. Refused to. Client confidentiality plus needing to prove I’m me and all that. Then his boyfriend grabbed the phone and gave it to me. Had me answer some bullshit question to prove I was me. Any football fan would know my stats, but hey, not gonna complain.”

Fucking Maddox.

“Well, you two are welcome to help me unpack, but I’m not going out.”

Miller laughs. “Ooh, new kid doesn’t know the game yet, does he?”

“Game?” I ask.

“It’s not so much of a game but more of a lifestyle,” Miller says. “Always do what Talon says.”

“That doesn’t sound like a fun game. Or lifestyle,” I say.

“I’m thinking of turning it into a franchise opportunity,” Talon says. “Come on. One drink with your new teammates. I read that article. The one that said your last team thought you weren’t a team player. So, time to right wrongs or whatever.”

“W-who … who else will be there?” I hate my voice cracks.

Talon’s brow furrows. “A few guys from the team. It’s not like the whole ninety-man roster will be there.”

A knowing smile crosses Miller’s face. “Ah. I think someone’s worried how the team’s going to react to bringing the gay guy along. Am I right?” There’s no malice in his words, only fact, and he’s hit the nail on the head.

“Want to know what happened when I was outed with my old team? One of the captains turned up on my doorstep, and I thought he was there to support me for some reason I can’t even comprehend now. Instead, he verbally abused me and tried to take a swing.”